someone new to study, someone who looked a little out of place.
I noticed a man in a suit sitting two tables away from where the girl had been. I realised he’d been looking at me before I glanced his way. He turned his head before I did. Was that because I caught him looking or because he had something to hide?
I made a new page for the man.
Midforties man, in a suit that’s seen better days. Probably working in low-level management. Full head of grey-brown hair—more grey than brown. Slouching in his seat. He doesn’t want to be here.
I called him Crumpled Suit Man . To be fair, the suit was not really crumpled. It just looked like a suit that had been lounged around in a lot and was soft around the edges. I made a guess that the man came home from work each night, mixed himself a tonic of disappointment and dissatisfaction, and then fell asleep on his sofa. Later, he’d wake and call a takeaway place for dinner. He’d silently curse the declining quality of the food and then watch some reality TV show. He didn’t live with a woman. At least, I didn’t think so.
He turned his head as a woman entered the shop. With interest, he watched the woman in her tight black skirt, boots, and oversized jacket. He drummed his fingers on the table. I didn’t see a ring on his hands. He was probably divorced, with an ex-wife and kids somewhere out in the ’burbs. Everyone was someone else’s ex.
He kept his eyes on her until she had her coffee and doughnut in her hands and she was walking his way.
I wrote on his page: Not a paedophile.
Then shut the book quickly. The look and sound of that word made my stomach turn on itself. Allowing myself to think about what might be happening to Tommy if he was still alive was a type of insanity. No parent could bear to think on it.
People were shuffling in and out of the shop, disappearing into the mist.
I watched them all.
An elderly homeless man wandered past outside the window, deep in the fog. He glanced in momentarily. He seemed so other . It was not his life to be sitting on a comfortable chair in fresh clothing drinking coffee.
I lost sight of the man in the fog when a woman inside the shop drew my attention. She was positioned towards the back of the shop, sitting alone. She was past the age of being a city worker. She couldn’t see me. I had a view straight through the potted fig tree that was next to me.
Flipping my notebook open again, I made a new page for her.
Woman, late seventies, red coat bunched around her. Hair whitish . Not blue.
Old ladies didn’t have blue hair anymore. What had happened to the blue-rinse set? Who told them to stop dying their hair that powdery shade? Someone was replacing them. There weren’t even as many little old ladies around anymore. In their place were sharply dressed, coiffed ladies who looked well travelled.
Would I be one of those well-dressed, poised ladies when I reached that age? Or would I turn into Nan—spending my days doing puzzles in my armchair, suspicious of everyone? I was suspicious of everyone now. The only difference was age. Or what if I became Bernice? Living a life away from everyone, never having children. God, why did that thought panic me so much? I hadn’t wanted to have children. That was the life that Saskia had chosen. She’d adored Tommy, but said she intended never missing a night’s sleep for a baby or having to deal with fingerprints on her walls.
My thoughts were running in all directions. I needed to refocus.
The woman in the red coat was sealing an envelope on her table.
An envelope .
It looked blue.
Was it blue? I couldn’t tell from here for certain.
I needed to see. Standing, I slipped the notebook into the back pocket of my jeans. Taking my coffee, I wound my way through the tables. The crumpled-suit man looked hopeful as I walked in his direction. Maybe he thought I was going to ask if I could join his table. His face fell as I moved past.
I stopped a couple of
I noticed a man in a suit sitting two tables away from where the girl had been. I realised he’d been looking at me before I glanced his way. He turned his head before I did. Was that because I caught him looking or because he had something to hide?
I made a new page for the man.
Midforties man, in a suit that’s seen better days. Probably working in low-level management. Full head of grey-brown hair—more grey than brown. Slouching in his seat. He doesn’t want to be here.
I called him Crumpled Suit Man . To be fair, the suit was not really crumpled. It just looked like a suit that had been lounged around in a lot and was soft around the edges. I made a guess that the man came home from work each night, mixed himself a tonic of disappointment and dissatisfaction, and then fell asleep on his sofa. Later, he’d wake and call a takeaway place for dinner. He’d silently curse the declining quality of the food and then watch some reality TV show. He didn’t live with a woman. At least, I didn’t think so.
He turned his head as a woman entered the shop. With interest, he watched the woman in her tight black skirt, boots, and oversized jacket. He drummed his fingers on the table. I didn’t see a ring on his hands. He was probably divorced, with an ex-wife and kids somewhere out in the ’burbs. Everyone was someone else’s ex.
He kept his eyes on her until she had her coffee and doughnut in her hands and she was walking his way.
I wrote on his page: Not a paedophile.
Then shut the book quickly. The look and sound of that word made my stomach turn on itself. Allowing myself to think about what might be happening to Tommy if he was still alive was a type of insanity. No parent could bear to think on it.
People were shuffling in and out of the shop, disappearing into the mist.
I watched them all.
An elderly homeless man wandered past outside the window, deep in the fog. He glanced in momentarily. He seemed so other . It was not his life to be sitting on a comfortable chair in fresh clothing drinking coffee.
I lost sight of the man in the fog when a woman inside the shop drew my attention. She was positioned towards the back of the shop, sitting alone. She was past the age of being a city worker. She couldn’t see me. I had a view straight through the potted fig tree that was next to me.
Flipping my notebook open again, I made a new page for her.
Woman, late seventies, red coat bunched around her. Hair whitish . Not blue.
Old ladies didn’t have blue hair anymore. What had happened to the blue-rinse set? Who told them to stop dying their hair that powdery shade? Someone was replacing them. There weren’t even as many little old ladies around anymore. In their place were sharply dressed, coiffed ladies who looked well travelled.
Would I be one of those well-dressed, poised ladies when I reached that age? Or would I turn into Nan—spending my days doing puzzles in my armchair, suspicious of everyone? I was suspicious of everyone now. The only difference was age. Or what if I became Bernice? Living a life away from everyone, never having children. God, why did that thought panic me so much? I hadn’t wanted to have children. That was the life that Saskia had chosen. She’d adored Tommy, but said she intended never missing a night’s sleep for a baby or having to deal with fingerprints on her walls.
My thoughts were running in all directions. I needed to refocus.
The woman in the red coat was sealing an envelope on her table.
An envelope .
It looked blue.
Was it blue? I couldn’t tell from here for certain.
I needed to see. Standing, I slipped the notebook into the back pocket of my jeans. Taking my coffee, I wound my way through the tables. The crumpled-suit man looked hopeful as I walked in his direction. Maybe he thought I was going to ask if I could join his table. His face fell as I moved past.
I stopped a couple of
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