by J. A. Baker
‘Are you ready to order?’
A slim woman barely out of her teens is standing at Celia’s table, notepad and pen in hand. Her hair is scraped back into a tight ponytail and her eyes are sparkling with the vitality of youth.
Celia affords her a tight smile and points to the menu. ‘Full English please and a latte.’
‘No lattes, sorry,’ the waitress says with a sigh and taps the pencil on the notepad irritably. ‘Machine’s broken. We can do instant though.’
Celia feels a smattering of anger edge its way up her throat. She has been thinking about this latte since dawn. She really needs it. She can do without the breakfast but the latte is a must.
‘Can you not make one by hand?’ She tries to smile but her features feel constricted, as if she is wearing a tight mask over her face that is pressing down on her and stopping her from breathing properly.
‘Not really,’ the girl continues, ‘we need the machine for the steam you see. The kettle doesn’t get hot enough to make a proper latte. And the milk has to be boiling for the froth. And besides, there’s only me and the chef here at the minute and I’m not really sure how—’
‘Fuck’s sake! All I want is a fucking cup of coffee! You can manage that, can’t you? You are a fucking cafe after all! What sort of cheap restaurant doesn’t serve their customers a fucking coffee, eh?’
It’s out before she can stop it. The words ring around the empty room, echoing off the tiled walls and bare furniture. Celia’s chair scrapes sharply across the stone floor as she stands up and arches her body towards the waitress. Celia’s head has a tight ribbon of pain around it and her breath comes out in short gasps. She brings her hand up to her mouth and is horrified to see that the waitress is now crying.
Where in God’s name did that outburst come from? Her skin is prickling and behind her she hears a roar emanate from the kitchen area.
‘Oi!’
The waitress is standing wide eyed, her notepad clutched tightly in her tiny hand. Fat, perfectly formed tears drop from her eyes and run down her face in perfect symmetry.
Celia turns around to see a large middle-aged man making his way towards her. He is wearing a white apron and his face is creased with anger as he stalks over to where she is standing. He jabs a finger in her direction and spits out the words, his face flushed with fury.
‘We will not tolerate anybody abusing our staff! You need to leave this establishment right now!’
‘I… I’m not sure what—’
But before she can say anything else he takes her by the elbow and marches her over to the door.
‘Out! And if you try to come back I’ll call the police.’
She feels a hand pushing her in the small of her back, propelling her forwards, and in just a few seconds she’s out in the cold. The door is slammed in her face and she listens to a lock being turned, a shutter rolling down, and the distant murmuring of voices from the other side of the door.
She staggers over to a nearby bench where she sits and tries to work out what has just taken place. This has never happened to her before. Never. She feels humiliated and can’t bring herself to turn around in case anybody saw it all. Her face burns with shame as she stuffs her hands deep into her pockets to still the tremble that has taken hold of them.
Did that man in the cafe really just throw her out? Her eyes bulge and she shakes her head in disbelief. She is a grown woman and she has just been ejected from a restaurant. And for what? All because she refused to accept shoddy service and requested a cup of proper coffee. Her mind feels fuzzy, full of cotton wool. She is disorientated and can’t seem to think straight. That was what just happened in there, wasn’t it? Sometimes her memory gets a little frayed around the edges and her thinking gets a bit disjointed, but she is pretty sure her request wasn’t so bad that she deserved to be ejected into the street. He actually manhandled her, grabbing her arm with force. It should be she who reports him. She has a mind to rap on the door and tell him exactly what she thinks of him and his dim-witted little waitress but has more important things to do. He isn’t worth the effort.
Sitting up straight, Celia readjusts her jacket and tightens her clothing. Why is this place so bloody cold all the time? Her eyes water as the breeze picks up and bites at her exposed skin. She sniffs and looks at her watch. Now would be as good a time as any to go and see Eva’s parents. Celia has no appetite for coffee or any damn thing at all. Her stomach is in knots. The walk back up to West Cliff will do her good; help her clear her head and get her thinking straight again. That man has pushed her off balance with his wild accusations and forceful manner and now her mind is in a whirl.
She stands up, her legs still weak with shock, and heads back up to the steps. The noise of the gulls overhead suddenly seems deeply invasive, their screeches blocking out all other sounds nearby. She brings her hands up to her head and stops for a second. This is silly. She has to pull herself together. Is she really going to let one bombastic man spoil her day and ruin her plans? She is better than that; stronger and a damn sight more capable than that silly little waitress back there. She was a waste of space. No wonder the economy of this county is in the state it’s in if the nation is relying on the likes of her to keep it turning over.
Celia carries on up the steps, her energy waning after being wrongly accused like that. She gets to the top and stops to catch her breath and checks her watch again. It’s only just after 8.30am. She is almost certain that Eva’s parents are either retired or unemployed. Celia is bound to catch them in. It doesn’t even matter whether Eva has already made the visit there or not. Celia will soon set them both straight and let them know who the sane one is out of the pair of them and who the delusional one is. It will become apparent anyway, once she gets talking to them. Celia is good with people. They warm to her. She may not have many friends but those she does have, remain so for life.
The noise of the gulls above her continues, rattling her thoughts and putting her on edge. For the love of God, what is it about that noise that is so unsettling? It makes her want to gnash her teeth and scream out into the open air for them to stop. It’s all pervading and an assault on her ears.
The beach below her is empty apart from one dog walker. She watches as a man braves the elements to throw sticks for his Golden Retriever. The dog responds by running off in the other direction and chasing its tail round and round like a whirling dervish, sand and water spraying far and wide.
Celia looks up again at the huge white birds swooping and diving overhead, their hooked beaks and beady eyes making her feel quite sick. One of them lets out an almighty screech directly above her head causing her to bring her hands up to cover her ears. The whole thing makes her giddy and unsettled.
Another sound in the distance draws her eyes away from the birds. It’s coming from behind her. Somebody shouting, calling her name. Her blood thickens in her head. The people from the restaurant – could it be them? She shivers as a strong gust of wind takes her by surprise. Of course it’s not them. How silly of her. They don’t know who she is so how on earth could they be calling her name? The whole episode has made her paranoid.
She listens again. Is it somebody calling her or is the sound of the sea and the circling gulls above her playing tricks on her over anxious brain?
There it is. Definitely somebody shouting her.
Oh God. Please don’t let it be him. That awful Gareth man from last night. She doesn’t think she could bear to even look at him let alone have a conversation with him. Perhaps he’s calling her to apologise? She hopes not because she won’t accept it. It may be prissy of her to get so uptight about something so small, but she refuses to be second best to anybody, especially somebody’s ex-girlfriend. He can take his apology and shove it up his arse.
Her ears become attuned to the cry from behind her. It’s not him. This voice belongs to a female. It’s not Eva either. She would recognise her voice anywhere. This one has a distinct timbre and a completely different accent. Ev
a has a slightly northern accent whereas the one that is currently calling her is lacking in any sort of local brogue. It’s coming from somebody who enunciates every sound; each and every syllable coming out clearly and ringing through the crisp, morning air.
Celia feels herself sigh out loud, suddenly realising who this person is. Not now. Of all the times to spot her, it has to be when she is on her way to do something very important. Why can’t they just let her be so she can get on with seeing Eva’s family? Of all the times for the girls to bump into her, why does it have to be now? Celia can practically see the house from here.
She hears the clatter of feet pounding up behind her and turns to give them her best smile, the force of it making her face ache.
‘Hey, lovely lady, Celia! We’ve been calling you from back there. Did you not hear us?’
Lizzie and Tyler, the Goth girls from the train, stand opposite her, their attire and make-up even more severe and outlandish than on the journey here.
‘Girls!’ Celia cries. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t hear a thing with these bloody awful things whining and whirling around up above me. How are you? Enjoying the festival, I hope?’
‘Oh, it’s ace!’ Lizzie says with a slight squeal of excitement. ‘We’re already looking at booking for next year, aren’t we, Tyler?’
The other girl nods, her pale face and long hair shimmering in the early morning light.
‘That’s great,’ Celia says, happy that they are having a good time but desperately anxious to get away.
‘So where are you off to so early?’ Tyler asks softly as she pulls at her fingerless gloves to straighten them.
‘Me?’ Celia asks as she flaps her hand dismissively. ‘Oh just out for a stroll in the quiet.’
‘On your own?’ Lizzie looks genuinely concerned as she speaks, ‘Why isn’t your friend with you? We go everywhere together, don’t we, Tyle?’
Tyler nods enthusiastically and they link arms as if to prove their point.
‘Oh don’t worry about me being on my own, girls,’ Celia says quickly. ‘I’m an early riser but Eva prefers a sleep in. I’ll be just fine.’
‘Is that the name of your friend? Eva?’ Tyler says in a squeaky voice that is almost childlike in its innocence.
Celia could kick herself. She wishes she hadn’t told them Eva’s name. She has no idea why. It just feels safer that way, more secure. When it comes to dealing with Eva, Celia would much rather keep it all to herself and not share any details with strangers. Eva is her problem. Hers and hers alone.
Celia smiles and nods, hoping this will be enough to tide them over. Why are people always so curious about what she is up to and who she is seeing? Like the time Jade, her ex-boyfriend’s sister, kept asking her where she and Liam were going to and why Celia had stopped Liam from seeing his family. Sometimes people just don’t get it. She told Jade as much and a whole lot more which included some home truths about what Liam actually thought of his family. Jade obviously got straight on to her beloved brother and told him a pack of lies about what Celia had said. He broke it off with her a few days later, choosing to believe his sister over his girlfriend.
Celia bites her lip. All she had done was say what he was really thinking. He didn’t need to say it out loud. It had been evident by his expressions and body language what he thought of them all every time they were mentioned.
Celia smiles. Jade got what was coming to her afterwards, however. Nobody could prove that the dog shit posted through Jade’s door was linked to Celia, or the threatening letters. They tried to pin it on her by getting the police involved but they got nowhere with their wild accusations. The whole family was sent packing. Sometimes karma is very sweet and swift indeed.
‘Anyway, girls, it’s been lovely seeing you. Enjoy the rest of your holiday and don’t do anything too untoward!’ She gives them a hearty smile and quickly backs away as Lizzie tries to hug her.
There is a flicker of shock in Lizzie’s face at being rebuffed. She hides it with a sudden smile.
‘Oh, we most definitely will!’ Tyler cries.
Celia scrutinises Tyler’s wide eyed expression. She is clearly unaware of the fleeting awkward moment that has just passed between Celia and her friend. Such naivety and innocence. Such complete stupidity. Some people see nothing. They’re too wrapped up in their own hedonistic lifestyles to notice or care about the plight of others.
Celia smiles at them one last time and watches as they head off into the distance, relieved to see the back of them. She is a busy woman and has things she needs to do. And as for the hug? She has never been particularly tactile and doesn’t have any plans to start cuddling near-strangers in the street. Her mind is honed in on one thing and one thing only – seeing Eva’s parents and informing them of how deranged and unstable their daughter is; telling them how she will try to warp their minds and convince them of many untruths about her life. Nobody knows the real Eva like she does. They’re inseparable. Eva doesn’t see it like that at the moment, but it will soon become apparent to her that they are practically the same person.
Celia turns once again towards the house and feels her heart leap up into her throat. She squints and blinks hard and deliberately, as if it’s an apparition and closing her eyes will make it all go away. Her pulse quickens at the sight of the figure over the road. She watches it closely. There is something deeply voyeuristic about being able to observe people who don’t know they are being watched. You see them in their true form; see them for what they really are. They are stripped bare of any pretensions and artificial mannerisms. What you see is the very essence of their being; their inner core. The real them.
Celia stares hard. It looks so much like him, Gareth. She needs to get closer to see properly. The powers that be are really putting her patience to the test today. It feels like she is taking one step forward and two steps back. She quickens her pace, focusing on the individual ahead. Her breath stops as the figure turns around. Celia lets out a sharp bark of a laugh. It’s not Gareth. Of course it’s not. She can see that now. This person is much older, stockier around the midriff. She has no idea why she even considered it. Anybody would think she was obsessed with him the way she’s going on. She hardly knows the man and that’s exactly how she wants it to stay.
Shaking her head, she continues walking. The road is almost clear of cars. All she has to do is cross it. The house is almost within striking distance, so close she can almost feel its warmth emanating from within.
The sudden clatter causes her to stop. A small shrill scream pierces the air, rising above the sound of scraping metal. Celia turns around and behind her is a cyclist lying on the side of the road, the handlebars of her bike twisted at an awkward angle, her legs jammed under the frame. The cyclist’s face is pressed into the asphalt and a gathering of fruit from the basket on the front of the bike rolls around the road, scattering in all directions and circling in the gutter next to Celia’s feet. Frustration grips her. Something else put in place to stop her. Reaching down, she gets on her haunches and puts her face next to the cyclist’s head. A lone apple rolls to and fro in the gulley at the side of the tarmac, a chunk of its skin missing revealing the creamy moist flesh inside.
‘I’m fine.’ The strength of the voice takes Celia by surprise. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind helping me up, it would be much appreciated.’
Placing her hands under the woman’s armpits, Celia manages to hoist her to her feet, the cyclist’s legs half dragging the bike off the edge of the road and onto the pavement.
‘Damned stone on the road,’ the woman says as she stands up and brushes herself down with mottled, gnarled hands. She taps her arms and legs and smiles at Celia, offering her hand to shake. ‘Nothing broken. I’m Frances by the way. Thanks for helping me up. I’m not quite a supple as I used to be.’
Celia nods, annoyance beginning to grate at her. It’s obvious this lady is fine; no injuries and as she just said, nothing broken and yet she wants to hang around and have formal introduct
ions when all Celia wants to do is get moving and get inside that house. So many hindrances and obstacles and this cyclist is just another one; somebody who is getting in her way and impeding her progress.
‘Well, anyway,’ the woman says as she retracts her hand in mild embarrassment and leans down to salvage what she can of the fruit. She places two apples and an orange back in the basket and pulls her bike upright then straddles it again, a fleeting look of confusion crossing her features. ‘Best be off. Thanks again for helping me out.’
And with that she is gone, a speck in the distance, her long cape fluttering out behind her as she picks up speed and rounds the corner, quickly disappearing out of sight.
Celia turns back to look at the house and feels her stomach plummet. She is just in time to catch a brief glimpse of a young looking person step over the threshold and close the door behind them. It was all too fast to see who it was but what she can say is that it wasn’t either of Eva’s parents. Celia digs her nails into her palms, enjoying the mild pain that bites at her skin. Shit!
She turns her back to the house and stares out to sea. Could it be Eva in there right now? If it is she should take this opportunity to knock on the door and settle this once and for all, tell Eva to leave it be, that her parents abandoned her and that it’s Celia she should be with, not the cruel callous people who left her behind. But what if it isn’t her? What if it’s a neighbour or a friend? This is a delicate situation and she may only get one chance to speak with them, to persuade them to let her in so she can put her side of the story across. She has to get it right first time.
Celia looks around for a seat. She can sit and wait. She has no other pressing engagements, nowhere she needs to be. She drops down on a nearby bench and sighs heavily. The one thing she does have in her empty life is time.