Coffee

It was the cat who picked the café.

Fay marched them straight to a place two streets past the square, sat down on the doorstep and settled in to wait.

“Your cat knows exactly what he wants,” said Axel.

“Always.”

Inside it smelled of coffee and toast. Two workmen were having breakfast, a young couple were giggling quietly, and an old man was reading the paper with his lips moving.

Fay crossed the room without asking anyone and hopped up onto the chair by the window, as if he had it booked.

At the next table a woman with immaculate hair and a pearl necklace was having breakfast, sitting so straight her back didn’t touch the chair. She’d cut her little cake into four equal pieces. When they came in, she looked up from her milky coffee to inspect Axel’s muddy rucksack, then the whole of Eva, paying particular attention to her feet.

Her mouth twisted and she went back to her little cake.

Axel didn’t even clock it. Eva did.

The waiter came over, a friendly-looking lad in a stained apron.

“What can I get you?”

“Black coffee for me, and toast with tomato and ham,” said Axel. “And you?”

“A glass of water.”

“Water? Get something, go on.”

“It’s just I don’t really fancy a coffee.”

She didn’t sound very sure.

“Go on, a coffee and a bit of toast. My treat.”

“You don’t have to, honestly.”

“Well, if you don’t eat it, I will.” And to the waiter: “Two coffees and two proper rounds of toast, please.”

The woman at the next table decided she’d heard enough and opened her mouth, practically dripping venom.

“If you can’t afford a coffee, dear, you just say so. It’s one thing not to have any money and quite another to come in here and get someone else to pay. And barefoot, on top of everything. In a café. Whatever next?”

She made sure the whole café heard. The workmen looked at Eva’s feet, the young couple stopped laughing, and even the old man lowered his paper.

Eva’s face turned to stone.

Axel realised why Eva had ordered water. He had a sharp reply ready for the old woman when he felt Eva’s hand on his arm.

“Leave it.”

So he turned to the waiter and raised his voice a little, just enough.

“Oh, and bring us two nice cold orange juices, would you? We’re celebrating being alive today.”

He winked at Eva, who couldn’t quite keep herself from smiling.

“You’re off your head.”

“Not off my head. Happy. Which is worse.”

“And the mug pays for the lot,” the woman muttered, to nobody.

Axel saw something small scurrying along the wall. He thought it was a rat until he made out the bare feet and jumble of rags on a little person the size of a beer bottle, heading very purposefully for the old woman’s table.

For fuck’s sake. It was happening again, and this time in a café at ten in the morning.

The thing climbed up the leg of the chair where the woman had her handbag hanging, stuck its head inside and came out hauling a leather purse with both hands. It let it drop to the floor with a little thud and dragged it off, walking backwards, keeping close to the counter, between the legs of the stools.

The woman carried on with her coffee, little finger out, terribly pleased with herself.

The purse disappeared behind the counter.

Axel held his breath and searched the tables for someone else who’d seen it. When he turned to Eva, she was looking at him.

“Tell me you saw that too.”

Eva took her time.

“I saw something down there. A rat, or something.”

“It wasn’t a rat.”

She didn’t say yes or no. Her eyes went very still.

“Fuck,” Axel said quietly. “There’s never anyone who can tell me they saw the same thing.”

Eva fiddled with a paper napkin.

“The night I left home there was one.”

“You what?”

“I’d had my rucksack under the bed for three weeks. Every night I’d tell myself tomorrow. And that night I was sitting on my bedroom floor, in the dark, with my trainers on, not daring. An hour and a half like that. And one turned up on the windowsill, on the outside of the window. Barefoot, in his little rags, with the cheekiest face you’ve ever seen. And he said something to me.”

“What did he say?”

Eva looked him straight in the eye.

“‘Now or never. Give your life some welly!’”

Neither of them said anything.

“And I got up and went. Didn’t lock the door, so I wouldn’t have to hear it.” She shrugged. “I did what a brownie told me. And ever since, I’ve wondered if I made it up because I didn’t have the guts. Imagine. ‘I left home because a brownie told me to.’ They’d lock you up.”

“You’re not mad,” said Axel. “And if you are, that makes two of us. And two nutters together is a day trip.”

At last, Eva laughed.

The waiter brought their juices and toast and left the bill on the next table.

The woman put one hand in her bag, frowned and tried the other. In the end she got fed up with rummaging and tipped the whole lot onto the table.

Out came a fan, a wad of old receipts and a sweet stuck to a hairpin. There was also a brown envelope folded in half, which clinked as it landed. She grabbed that first and tucked it under her arm. What she didn’t catch was a little plastic box. It rolled across the floor, popped open and put her false teeth on display for the entire café.

Half the café turned round. And this time they weren’t looking at Eva.

“But I had it right here,” the woman kept saying, quieter and quieter. “It’s not here. I haven’t got a penny on me.”

Axel leaned across to her and put a few coins in her hand.

“Here. On me.”

The woman looked at the coins, then at Axel and the barefoot girl she’d just torn into. Her chin began to tremble and she burst into tears, the money clenched in her fist and the envelope still under her arm.

“Forgive me. I’m not like this.” She looked for a tissue in the mess on the table and couldn’t find one. “I’ve been coming here every day for four years, same time, same table. And this month, on top of everything, I can’t even stand myself. And today you two walk in with a cat and a heap of rucksacks, and you laugh. And that’s what came out.”

Eva pulled her chair over, sat down next to her and put her own juice in front of her, the one she hadn’t touched.

“Go on, drink this. And eat your cake, you’re halfway through it.”

The woman let out a horrible laugh, the snotty kind. She blew her nose on a paper napkin and lifted her head.

“I live just round the corner,” she said. “I’ve got an enormous house and nobody to show it to. Come on. I’ll give you lunch, a shower, whatever you like. And if you don’t want to, I understand, you know. I’d say no to me too.”

Axel looked at Eva. Eva looked at Axel.

“Have you got hot water?” said Eva.

“Love, I’ve got two bathrooms.”

“Let’s go, then.”