The Last Cup of Coffee
For the first time this month, snow is truly pouring down. Not just a dusting to cover up the muck, not clinging in scraggly coats to the trees and fences, but really coming downsteady, thick, unstoppable. Its as if someone has ripped open an old feather pillow hidden away in the attic of some stooped old house, or a baker, waiting for guests, flings a mighty handful of flour across her board before kneading her soft, yielding dough.
Black stretches of earth along the pipes, the dull tarmac streaked with dirty puddlesall of it is now covered by a soft, white blanket, as pure as a bride’s dress, as clear as her heart on her wedding day.
Outside the restauranta charming bistro on the High Streetits terrace trimmed with strings of fairy lights and bright red poinsettias, the steps freshly swept clean, a long queue is snaking down the pathway. The cloakroom boy, Tom, wiry and lanky, with cheeks that flush fiercely at the slightest attention, is struggling to keep up. Coats, jackets, minks, macshe juggles it all, the heavy hems tripping him up, cheeks redder than ever, as hats and gloves slip through his hands, his apologies tumbling out, making him feel everyone is cross with him. Perhaps they are, or perhaps theyre just anxious for their table, shows, holiday dresses, or cufflinkstrying to catch a sliver of festivity. And Tom, right now, is just a little hurdle on their way to celebration, small but unavoidable.
Whats going on? This queue is worse than Waitrose the day before Christmas! Theres a round fellow, belly stretching his suit, grumbling loudly.
His wife, clearly used to him, hushes him, apologising to Tom.
Hes simply tired, you know… Bit of a year its been. And his head aches… Sorry… Simon, please, do hush! People are staring.
And what do I care, Sarah?! What do I care about people? Listen! Im not taking stick from anyoneYou hear me? The brash man leans over, catching Toms sleevethe shirt as crisp and white as the snow outside, freshly pressed this morning by Aunt Anne, Toms lodger for nearly three months now. Ive earned it! Understand?
Tom nods. Yes, he understands. Hes always understood. His father was always telling him he was a good-for-nothing. There you are, Tomalways eating, but couldnt even get into college. A tech, Tom, thats what it isand even that shut the door in your face!
Tom tried, truly tried, prepared all summer, but when he sat down for his exams everything blurred, a constant noise ringing in his head. The pressure was too much; he wanted to sink into a black, silent void, so dark and numb it promised peace. The week before his exams, he dashed to the hospital for his mum.
Mum, it was Dad, wasnt it? Stop saying you tripped. Please, just tell the truth. If it was Dad we need to tell someone. He gripped his mothers hand as she lay, pale and weary, on yet another laundered sheet. Her hand was thin, veins lacing across fragile bones; his own grip almost too tight.
No, Tommy, Ive said it all. I tripped, these things happen. Ninas eyes darted nervously around the ward; other women feigned distraction, but of course they were listening. Everyone loves a bit of drama, poking their noses into what isnt theirs. Even the doctor pressed for details, but what business was it of his? Just do your job.
She was discharged, returned home alone. Her husband sat at the table, eating, wiping his hands on his shirt. When she came into the kitchen, he didnt even greet her.
Back, are you? Put the kettle on. And youve lost weight, Ninajust skin and bone. Cant look at you. He raised his hand to slap her, as he would say, just putting her in her place, but Tom grabbed him. Simon twisted away, then shoved Tom against the wall. He stumbled, limbs flailing.
Nina just watched. Shed grown used to thisshe was an old, obedient dog, chained in place. It didnt matter if her owner patted her head or lashed out; shed still come back. Where else would she go? The years blurred. Change was too much.
Tom left a month later, packed a bag, bought a train ticket, and turned up at Aunt Annes.
How are they? Anne asked, arms folded. The same?
Tom just shrugged. As bad as ever.
Why, Aunt Anne? Why does she stay? His large, sad eyes made Annes heart twist. I told her we could start fresh. Id work, shed get well… But she told me not to badmouth Dad, and banned me from coming home. Why, Aunt Anne?
I dont know, love, Anne smoothed his hair, Your mothers not herself. Always been that way. She couldve left years agobefore you were born. But she never did. No one outside can understand. That you leftthats what matters. Cant save someone who wont be saved. Youve suffered enough. Now well sort you out: a job for now, youll apply again next year, yes?
And so Tom found himself working as coat attendant, thanks to Annes recommendation.
Now, here he is, with yet another guestSimon, as his wife calls himmaking a scene. Tom snatches Sarahs coat, hangs it with Simons, and hands over their tickets.
Simon strides into the dining room, nose turned up. The manager, Mrs. Margaret, is all smiles, confirming their booking, shrinking into her suit jacket as she greets them.
Tom will work all New Years Eve; hes tired, keen to celebrate with Anne, or the lads, but work comes first. The owners promised a fair wage.
A sprightly older couple have just arrived. The ladyTom would call her that, a real ladysmiles as she wishes him, Happy New Year, her attire understated but eleganta trouser suit, crisp white blouse, neat silk scarf, low-heeled boots. Her poise is both assured and gentle; shes not seeking to prove herself. Shes here to share the night with loved ones, to smile, nod, quietly straighten her scarf, covering the scar from her surgery. The diagnosis, the operation, that blinding hospital light, anaesthetists hand on her browshe remembers it all, but tonight wants only to celebrate.
Paul, did you notice the lad in the cloakroom? asks Helen after theyre seated, perusing menus.
Where? Paul frownshes forgotten his glasses, the menu lines blurring.
Oh, come off it, Paul! Helen laughs, passing him her specs. That boy in the coat room. Such rosy cheeks, sweet thing. Reminds me of our Jamie.
Their son Jamie is on his way. He called to say hed be late, but hell make it in timeHelens only wish. That, and being here, alive and together, is enough.
Oh, that one? Yeah. So, what are we having? Youve already ordered, havent you?
Helen tries to persuade Paul to wait for the rest of the family…
Oh, for goodness sake, Helen! Let me eat, Im famished! he winks.
This year, she lets it slide. Not for this New Year.
All right, Paul. Lets have the salad, then? I really dont mind. Eat what you like, love. I do love you, Paul… She leans her head on his shoulder, just as she did decades ago after a poor grade at school. Shes always loved him.
Tom feels warm now, shrugs off his vest, against the rules, but there are too many people overheating in the entry.
Here, mate, take this! says a short, sturdy man, tossing Tom a white coat. At his side, a nervous girl totters on towering heels, clinging to her dateDavefor dear life. Shes been out with Dave only two weeks, but is thrilled hes invited her along for New Year. Emily’s only been to a restaurant thrice, and only to caféssplitting a single éclair with her ex, who, after rummaging empty pockets, made her pay.
But Dave? Well-mannered, well-offcar, flat, the lot. Emilys not after money, simply tired of getting by, just wanting to taste the good life. Maybe this is ita stroke of luck.
Tom whisks away Daves mac, hangs it up, and is handed a couple of crisp notestwenty quid for the coat boy.
As Paul carefully picks bones from his herring salad, Helen surveys the assembled guests.
So many people prefer to spend their holiday outits almost everyone! Why? For Helen, its just tiredness, nothing more.
People are lazy, you know? says Paul, reading her mind. Nobody cooks at homethose days are over. Though I do love our meals at home…
Lets do next New Year at home. I mean it, Paul. Ill make it happen.
Paul gives her an approving look. Amen to that.
Over by the square table, Simon is grumbling, Sarah tittering, then finally falling silent as she picks at her food.
Dave and Emily survey the bustling sceneDave a little dazed by the heat and lights, Emily, so young and naive, folding her hands, shy. The smell of pine, spice, and smoke hangs in the air. Emily thinks, How lovely! If only Gran could see this… She feels a pang, takes Daves handhe thinks shes nervous about his mates, but shes not, not really.
Life with Grandma isnt so hard. Sometimes lonely, but not unkind. A rough year… A horrid year, Emily sighs. But lucky and unlucky seem to exist together, dont they?
The clock will soon strike midnight. For Tom and Aunt Anne, for Helen and Paul, for Dave and Emily, the year ends, full stop.
Helen and Paul’s relatives have arrived, sharing hugs, kisses, warm handshakes. Coats are shed, hair is patted. Waiters bustle through with platters, all with their own stories and hopes for the future.
Checked out the view? says a cocky lad in a biker jacket to the hunched man standing by the restaurant window, staring inside at Helen and Paul, at Dave and Emily, even at grumpy Simon.
Yeah. Hello there. People look so lovelyespecially the women tonight, replies the older man.
Theyre beautiful because they’re happy, the younger man smirks. You been waiting long? Pointless, mate, better move on before someone says something you dont like. Not scared?
Im not afraid. I just want to say goodbye. I want to watch one last time. The old man looks resolute.
The young man grins, Come on, I’m booked intable for the bright new future. He gently ushers the man forward.
Tom, glancing at his watch, takes the coats from these strange guests. Theres something different about themguests like this dont usually come for New Years Eve dinner. The old mans eyes are tired, as though hes carried too much.
Must remember to ring Aunt Anne! Tom reminds himself, handing the men their tags.
They order coffee.
Drink up! You never know when youll have your next, says the young man, who keeps his red scarf on.
Thank you. Funny, I feel a chill, the old man says, gripping his cup. So cold. Why is it so cold?
Because youre not needed anymore! the young man answers, as if reading his thoughts. Hes handsome and fresh-faced, a gentle fuzz on his upper lip, the careless bravado of youth.
Paul stands. Helen gives him a glass; he nearly spills it.
Well, lets toast… What a year! I wouldnt wish it on anyone… May it be damned! Heres hoping next year brings better luck!
At the next table, Dave lifts his pint, Cheers, lads! Here’s to money, love and all that… And let this year be gone. At least it paid off, even if it cost a fortune! Emily lowers her eyes, guests nod sympathetically.
Tom takes a sip of tea. For the first time, hes spending New Year without his mum. It feels strange.
In the corner, the old man listens, frowning. Not a fond send-off. Didnt he do his best?
Not everyone gets to be the star of the show, pal. Drink your coffee before it goes cold, adds the young man.
I didnt expect to be…
Music fills the restaurant, a big screen flashes with the faces of celebrities, fireworks, Christmas trees, strangers beaming at the camera. Everyone is desperate for the old year to disappear and pin their hopes on whats next.
And youll seeitll happen to you, too! People never appreciate enough. Always remember the bad.
Not me. Ill make sure they miss me. Ill give them everything they wish for! Laughing, the young man calls for champagne. He has everything ahead.
A rotten year, what can you do! someone shouts from the middle of the room, a woman laughs, guests head off to the dance floor, disco-lights flashing.
So many faces… The old man has seen them all, done his best to care, to protect. Sometimes, he couldnt. In the end, people choose for themselves. Now, they send him off with hardly a backward glance, eager to move on.
Good evening! Emily suddenly sits with the two men. Shes a little dizzy in the crowded room. Happy New Year! Sorry, Ill leave in a sec…
She falls silent, looking at the old man, who cups his face, then quietly asks, Wasnt there anything good in this year for you?
Emily shrugs. Well I did get a job, went to Liverpool in the summerthe weather was gorgeous for once. And I met Davehes over there. We might even get married. Yes, there was some good. Oh, excuse me, I need to call my gran!
She dashes out, phone in hand.
Tom cant help overhearing Emilys whispered promise to her grandmother: that she loves her so much and will always look after her.
That inspires Tom to dial Anne. She answers, cheerful as always.
Aunt Anne, thanks for everythingfor a home, for helping me work. I feel like Ive finally started to breathe again. Are you okay?
Anne is wonderful.
After some hesitation, Tom rings his mum. She picks up, her tone cool and distant, saying all is well, Dads home, and shes about to turn in.
No point celebrating, Tom. One years like the next. Bye.
He never tells her hes waiting, that things should change. But she wouldnt listen anyway; change is frightening.
Do you know, Helens voice drifts across the room, This year, I learned again to notice thingshow the rain sounds on the path, how the sun rises and sets, how it shines through the linden trees by our window. I relearnt how to see, to feel. We made it to the sea, after all No, the year was mixed, but there was plenty of good. Paul, dont you think?
Her husband shrugs. Maybe shes right. Works settled, their sons getting married, and Helen is still herealive. There was good, after all.
The music pauses, waiters light tiny candles on the tableslike little drops of light, scattered on the darkness.
Well, we’ve spent the year alive, dining here like royalty, plenty of foodwhats wrong with that? says one of Daves mates. What we could do, we didand a lot of our troubles are our own fault. On the grand scale, were powerless. But this year was decent enough. Heres to the past, lads! To us!
The clink of glasses is noisy, the young man with the red scarf grimaces, but smiles.
Simon and Sarah exchange a look. Their publishing house is struggling, but whose isnt these days? Still, theres hopebetter writers, some quick sales, things may improve. Sarah finished a language course this year, took up hairdressing, which is good in itself. Home is calm, comfortablenot passionate, but at their age, thats a blessing. If they row, it doesnt last; Simon always kisses Sarah goodnight, and they cuddle like children. Some envy them, and honestly, they envy themselves a little too.
Sarah, thank you for putting up with me, Simon murmurs, covering her hand with his. She nods, wants to say more, but he shakes his head. No need, love.
Tom stands at the open door, breathing in the snow. Snow has its own scent, hes sureor perhaps its just laundry, aired in the frost. No matter. The worlds changed in a tiny yet precious way. Falling snow is a fresh pagedo what you will, enjoy it!
Well, time for me to go, the old man says with a smile, buttoning his jacket, leaving a note for the coffee. Calm now, brow uncreased. Hes served his time well, yes, as well as he could.
The young man stands too. Suddenly unsure, a hint of fear showinghes a child asked to save the world. Will he cope? Will he make it?
Dont be afraid, lad, calls the old man. Just do your bestwhatever will be, will be! Until we meet again.
Tom watches as the lone figure vanishes into the snowy swirl, as if erased. He even steps outside, looking for him.
But he is gonehis service done, leaving room for the one to come.
Tomorrow, people up and down the country will tear down last years calendar, flipping through their memories like rosary beads, smiling. So much happened there, and now its gone. But every moment spent is a piece of their lifea little light in destinys chain. Without it, nothing else would shine. There are no parallel circuits here, only yesterday-today-tomorrowone after the other. Thats why each moment matters, whatevers in it. And for that alone, thanks.
The chimes of Big Ben ring out from the speakers. People leap to their feet, hugging. Paul squeezes Helen close, kissing her hair, eyes, cheeks, lips. She smells sweet and familiar. Ahead lies a million more moments, and theyll savour them allwithout regret.
Tom, twisting the coat check for the old guest in his fingers, closes his eyes. He wants to weep and laugh, shout and fall silent, to dance for joy. The good has already started!
And up on stage, the young man with the red scarf takes the mic. Hell be holding court here for many a day and night, and hell do it wellhow could it be otherwise?
