Read by Tony Bell
It’s while you’re ordering a tall double decaf skinny latte that what you realise you really want is a beer. An ice-cold beer, with beads of condensation all over the glass that you can trace lines in with your finger. It’s too early, it’s just gone ten, but that’s what you’d really kill for right now.
“Would you like anything with that?” asks the young girl behind the counter.
Yes, you’d also like a fresh start. “What do you have?” you say.
“A muffin or maybe a toasted panini?”
“No, that’s fine. Just the coffee.”
The girl serves you and you take your cup to the service table to pick up some sugar. You look around the room. All of the tables are taken. All of the tables are taken by people sitting alone. Some are reading books or newspapers, some are typing on laptops, and some are just staring out of the window. You envy them, it’s a sunny day and girls are finally showing some leg. It would be nice to sit here all morning and read the paper and watch girls walk by. If you could, that’s what you would do.
“Yap, yap, yap…”
There’s an old lady with some stupid toy dog at her feet. It’s a Chihuahua or something. It’s looking at you and barking.
“Quiet, Molly,” says the old lady and tugs at the lead.
You glare at Molly and don’t think the old lady is tugging quite hard enough.
Then you see her in the corner. Dressed in black, understated, a bit arty, the type you like, thin face, but pretty, with long brown hair. She’s sitting very straight, looking out of the window, looking lost in thought. There’s just the one cup on the table in front of her.
So, a space is a space, right? All the tables are taken so it won’t seem obvious. You head over.
“Yap, yap, yap…”
The dog sniffs your plastic bag as you walk past. You picture dropkicking Molly out of the café. The old lady tugs silently at the lead, lost in her paper. The Daily Mail you’re guessing by the look of her.
The girl is still looking out of the window as you arrive. She has one hand on her cup, the other is just resting on the table, no varnish or jewellery. She looks like someone down to earth, someone you could talk to, someone who would listen. Not a superficial stuck-up bitch. You’ve had enough of those.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?” you say.
She turns to look at you. Her eyes narrow. She was far away. Very far.
“No,” she says. “No, not at all.”
“Thank you,” you say, looking into her brown eyes.
She turns back to the window, her gaze to beyond.
You have a newspaper but you should have brought a book, something that tells her something about you. You should have brought one of those highbrow novels, the ones that sit unfinished next to your bed. You could have smiled or shook your head at certain passages to show that you are getting it, that the story speaks to you on so many levels. Never mind, you have The Independent, it’s neutral, neither here nor there. It shows you’re an open kind of guy, she can’t pigeonhole you yet. But don’t start with the Sports section, go International. Maybe you could begin a conversation over an article of news: the failure of the latest peace plan in the Middle East or something about the starving orphans in Malawi.
You take a sip of your coffee. It’s hot and burns your lip. You curse silently and raise your hand to your mouth. You idiot. You’re still wearing your ring. You glance at her, drop your hands and casually remove it under the table. She didn’t see it, it’s fine. And you’re not being misleading, it would just add confusion. It’s as good as off anyway.
The guy at the table next door taps away at his laptop. He’s not impressing anyone with his budding novelist routine. You don’t write about the human condition over a cappuccino, you write about it over nights spent lying awake, over empty bottles trying to cope.
You look at her over the top of your paper. She’s still looking out of the window. Her cup is untouched. Definitely late twenties, hardly any make-up that you can tell and a small black mole on her cheek. She has a peaceful face. You could picture yourself coming home from work to that face, talking to that face, waking up to that face.
You should say something to her. You think you would connect. You’ve wasted too much time on people you don’t connect with, people who spend all day shopping or watching television or talking about the people on television. God, you’re sick of that.
She shifts and takes a sip from her cup. As she does so, her eyes look across the room, meet yours. This is your chance. Just throw something out there.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” You follow it up with a smile.
Her eyes stay on you, then glance out of the window, then come back to you. Her expression doesn’t change. “Yes.”
She’s not giving you much to work with but it’s a challenge. You weren’t expecting this on a Saturday morning, it was only supposed to be a quick coffee, a brief respite. You’ve been having a tough time recently, she doesn’t know how tough it’s been. But this could be a meant-to-be, don’t let it slip by …
“Yap, yap, yap…” Molly must have found another target.
“Do you come here often?” Christ, did you just say that? Did you actually just say that? “I mean, I haven’t seen you here before so I was wondering if it was your local?” Good recovery, you might get away with that.
She looks at you, puzzled. “I used to come here with a friend.”
You’re expecting more but she doesn’t add anything. Boy, she’s a tough one, but you think she likes you. But then again, why wouldn’t she? You’re a good catch. You’re good-looking and smart, you have a decent job and you drive an Audi. A girl like her could do worse, she could do a lot worse. Of course, she looks a bit dour, she’d have to lighten up if she wanted to go out with you. And start wearing more colours.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You stop it before it rings and take another sip of your coffee.
“Boy, these drinks are really hot, aren’t they?” you say. “We could leave them till next week and they’d still be hot.” Humour is good, she needs to see that you have a good sense of humour, that you’re fun.
A half smile briefly flickers across her face then disappears as if it never happened. She turns to look back out of the window.
Press on, she’s crumbling. A girl like her won’t give in so easily. She’s putting on a front, we all do, it’s all a game, all smoke and mirrors. But she’ll come round, and when she does, she’s the type you can really connect with. You can finally share real emotions, and help ease each other’s load. You should find out what she’s up to later. Maybe you could meet her back here for a coffee. She needs to get to know you better, when you have more time. You could do it while the kids are at that party.
“Do you have any nice plans for today?”
She stares at you, it’s quite a full-on stare. “I’m going to a funeral.”
This catches you off guard. You hadn’t planned a response for this. You blink a couple of times.
“My friend, who used to live here, was killed in a car crash. A stupid car crash. She’s being cremated today. That’s my plan for today.” She delivers all this in a steady voice as she holds your gaze. Then she takes a sip of her drink and looks back out of the window.
“Oh,” you say, because you can’t really think of anything else to respond. “I’m sorry.” You’re confused, you’re too used to games. Maybe sometimes you blow away the smoke and break through the mirrors and things are exactly as they appear.
A minute or so passes. You take another sip of your coffee but it’s still too hot. You really wish you had that beer now. You look at the girl. She hasn’t moved but there’s a tear running down her cheek. You try and think of something to say but nothing comes to mind. You look at your watch.
Then you stand up and walk away.
“Yap, yap, yap…”
“Quiet, Molly,” says the old lady.
You walk out into the street. You stand in the sun, pull out your mobile and call home watching a girl in a mini-skirt walk by.
“Hi honey … Sorry but I was in the supermarket … Yeah, you were asleep so I thought I’d pop out and get a paper and breakfast … Yes, there was a bit of a queue … I’m on my way now … I’ll see you in a bit … Love you too.”
Yap, yap, yap you think to yourself as you head home.
--
She Doesn't Know How Tough It's Been by Sebastian Aston was read by Tony Bell at the Liars' League Smoke & Mirrors event on Tuesday 9 November 2010 at The Phoenix, Cavendish Sq., London.
Sebastian Aston lives, works and plays in London. He spends his free time attempting to meld words into passable sentences. He is currently out of work and available for washing up. This is his first story for Liars’ League.
Tony Bell has been an actor for over 20 years, appearing in West End shows including A Man for all Seasons, for which he was nominated for an Evening Standard Award, and Rose Rage (based on Shakespeare’s Henry VI). He has performed all over the world with award-winning all-male Shakespeare company, Propeller, playing many of the leading clowns and fools including Bottom, Feste, Autolyclus and Tranio. TV credits include Coronation Street, Holby City, Midsomer Murders, EastEnders and The Bill. He is also a radio and voiceover artist.
Comments