The 24-Hour Café

by Libby Page

  ‘Shall we get on?’ she says, reaching down for one of the suitcases. He feels panic rising inside him. He can’t let her see this – he can’t let her know how their plan has come to nothing, that what they hoped for and dreamt of is nothing more than a broken-down old train with shards of smashed glass scattered among discarded rubbish on the tracks.

  She starts walking and the train hisses again and obscures her with a cloud of steam.

  ‘Mum?’ he shouts, following her through the fog. For a moment he spots the bright cream of her trouser suit, but then she is gone. He has reached a door to a carriage and tries the handle but it is locked. He rattles the handle a few times, but it won’t shift.

  ‘Mum?’ he shouts again, starting to run along the platform. He tries each door and peers in each window, but each carriage is empty.

  ‘Mum?’

  His voice rises above the sound of the engine but he is alone at the station, peering through fog at an old, abandoned train. He feels the same childish fear he felt when he lost his mum at the library when he was seven (she wasn’t lost, just sat at a chair propped against the end of an aisle, absorbed in a book). Except this time there is no librarian to run to, sobbing, who can walk with him around the place until his mum is found. He is completely on his own.

  When he wakes it takes him a moment to realise where he is. His eyes adjust to the bright lights and focus on the linoleum floor, the flash of red napkins in the middle of the table, the clock and the outstretched paws of the bear on the wall.

  ‘Mum.’

  He says the word so quietly that it is less than a whisper.

  Hannah

  The boy with the rucksack and sleeping bag is still sat quietly at the same table he has occupied nearly since the very start of Hannah’s shift. To begin with, Hannah headed over every now and then to ask if he wanted anything else, but the way he shifted in his chair and looked from his books and back to her again told her to leave him alone. It’s not as though they have been short on tables this morning. He is awake now, head tilted down as he reads the battered copy of The Hobbit. Hannah noticed him sleeping earlier, although she pretended not to. She knows that Stella wouldn’t approve of a customer sleeping here – as an all-night café it happens quite often and when Stella is working she asks them to wake up or leave. But Hannah doesn’t mind the sleepers. They’re no trouble – it’s the night-time and early-morning drunks that she fears. The ones who look at her with wild eyes and ask her for things she isn’t prepared to give.

  The door opens and a construction worker with a weathered face and tattoos circling his neck orders a filter coffee to go. He carries his hard hat in his hands and has dust under his fingernails. As he pays, Hannah spots a photograph in his wallet of a young girl dressed in a ballet outfit. He catches her looking as he returns his credit card. He places a large thumb over the photo.

  ‘My daughter,’ he says and his face softens into a smile and his eyes shine. Hannah nods and smiles back, passing him the coffee. The man returns his wallet to his pocket and his hard hat to his head as he leaves.

  Outside, the street is starting to grow busier. The keenest office workers head out of the station and towards the offices along the streets, some grabbing newspapers from the outstretched hands of vendors, others keeping their heads down as though staring at their feet could trick them into being somewhere other than this – another street somewhere sunnier, perhaps.

  In less than an hour’s time the café will become too busy for Hannah to think. But until then, her mind floats, unrestrained and untethered. She still feels shaken by her conversation with her mother, and guilty about not speaking the truth. And however hard she tries not to go there, she finds her thoughts returning to Jaheim.

  *

  Mona is working tonight, dancing in a new production being performed at the Bush Theatre. Hannah has already been to see it twice, but tonight she stays home. Some of their friends are attending the show; she knows that Mona will stay with them afterwards for drinks and won’t be back until late.

  ‘That will be fun,’ said Hannah cheerily in the morning, ‘I’m sure it will be nice to catch up with everyone and let your hair down, you deserve it. I’m just sorry I can’t make it too.’

  She had told Mona that she was working and that’s why she couldn’t join her for drinks. It was nearly true – that afternoon she had been offered a last-minute slot in an open mic night in a bar she’d played at before. But without really thinking she had turned it down, saying that unfortunately she was unwell and couldn’t sing, but that she’d love to do it another time. They were understanding and she hung up feeling pleased, like she’d done the right thing. It was important to let herself have some time off, she told herself, and besides, it was just the one gig. She didn’t mean to lie to Mona about what she was doing this evening, but she didn’t know how to explain how important tonight was – that she and Jaheim hadn’t had either her flat or his to themselves in over two weeks. That she felt like she was going crazy because of it. She knew that Mona wouldn’t understand and she didn’t want to offend her either. Lying felt kinder.

  For the first time since living with Mona, Hannah has started to feel bursts of relief when Mona is not home. Usually when she arrives back from a shift she looks up to their flat as she approaches the building, picking out their front door and checking to see if a light is on. In the past she searched for that light like a beacon. But recently she has found herself turning the corner into the housing estate and looking up somewhat nervously. No light means an evening alone with Jaheim. Although they have only been together for two months, they have spent most evenings together since they met. But he has three housemates and she, of course, has Mona. Nights alone with Jaheim have very quickly come to be Hannah’s greatest source of happiness. She feels greedy for them and even though a quiet voice tells her that perhaps things are moving too fast, or perhaps some time apart might be good for them both, the voice is so quiet that it is very easy to ignore.

  Hannah, not usually bothered by the state of her bedroom, does a quick tidy up while she waits for Jaheim to arrive. She pushes her shoes under her bed and removes a pile of clothes from the floor. She applies her make-up carefully, her hands shaking slightly with anticipation. As she clears up she spots a book that Mona must have left for her, balanced on top of a pile of clothes on the end of Hannah’s bed. Hannah picks it up and glances at the cover – it seems to be some sort of motivational non-fiction book of the kind that Mona devours – and notices a card slipped inside. On the front is a picture of two toddlers dressed in superhero outfits. They are holding hands and laughing. Hannah opens the card.

  ‘Darling Hannah,’ it reads:

  I know things have been tough for you recently with auditions and gigs and everything that comes with trying to get the world to see how fabulous you are. I’m sorry they don’t always see it straight away, because to me it is just obvious. I’m so proud of you for sticking at it, even when it’s hard. I hope you might like this book, and that it might encourage you. Good things are just around the corner, I’m sure of it. And I will always be here, cheering you on and believing that you are in fact a superhero. Mona xx

  Hannah blinks back tears as she reads the card and imagines Mona choosing it. She suddenly feels guilty for wishing her best friend away. But then the doorbell buzzes. As soon as she hears the sound she feels her heart rate rising so rapidly it feels like her heart is going to break out of her chest and run away from her. Everything else falls suddenly away. Quickly, she stuffs the card and the book under the bed, along with the pile of clothes and turns to the door buzzer.

  ‘It’s me,’ says Jaheim, and just those two words are enough to drive Hannah crazy.

  He arrives carrying tulips and smiling that smile. Since Hannah has met him they have spent hours talking, staying up late and asking each other questions that feel like questions no one has ever asked them b
efore – details no one has ever truly cared about before this, before each other. Even with Sam it had felt different, or perhaps she has just forgotten how exactly the same it was. Love has made her forgetful.

  Jaheim works for a young TV production company as an assistant for a demanding but fair boss who is going through a divorce and whom Jaheim told Hannah he saw crying over the photocopier one day. ‘I pretended not to see and she pretended too,’ he told her, and Hannah had nodded, loving him for that. He has two older sisters and one younger brother and admitted to Hannah late one night that although he loves them all equally, he looks up to his older sister the most. She was the one who helped him with problems with friends and girls when he was young. She is also the person in his family he most strives to impress, but whose attention is hardest to win (she has twin toddlers and a new baby). Jaheim is a vegetarian and tells his friends it’s because of environmental reasons but admits to Hannah it’s because of a school trip to a farm when he was young, where he fed a lamb and has always remembered the feeling of its warmth in his arms as it sucked hungrily on the bottle. He blushed when he told her that but she didn’t care – there was nothing he could tell her that didn’t somehow contribute to the miraculous picture that was him. No detail is uninteresting to her: his favourite toast topping is peanut butter and sliced bananas, he has size ten feet, he prefers Star Trek to Star Wars, he wants to own a German shepherd one day and to write his own TV show and to drive a forest-green Jaguar. He prefers autumn to spring; he is, as she guessed, kind to his mother but is frightened of his father; he talks in his sleep, he has a big group of friends but only a few he can really count on, he is competitive, he has never been to Scotland, he never wears matching socks, he is scared of snakes.

  She feels she knows him, even though they haven’t been together for a long time. There are so many things that she loves about him already. But her favourite thing is still that smile.

  As soon as he steps inside the flat their hands are on each other. He wraps one arm around her and kisses her. She takes the flowers from him and places them on the table in the hall so that both their hands are free to hold each other. He kicks the front door shut and pushes her gently against the wall, his arms tight around her waist, his lips warm against hers. Their hips press against each other. She wonders if there is any greater satisfaction than this.

  Last week they said ‘I love you’ for the first time.

  ‘Tell me,’ she whispers into his ear as she starts walking backwards towards her room, his arms still tight around her.

  ‘I love you,’ he says, kissing her earlobe and working down her neck to her collarbone.

  ‘Tell me again,’ she says as they stumble inside her room.

  ‘I love you,’ he says again, gently tilting her face towards his so he can kiss her hard on the mouth.

  ‘I love you,’ he repeats when their lips are parted, ‘I love you and I want you.’

  They are her magic words and as he says them they fall together onto her bed, the door still open, her moans filling the flat unrestrained. Because nothing feels better than this – to be this wanted, this needed. When they are together Hannah forgets everything else. But letting go is addictive; the longer she spends with Jaheim, the less she wants to go back to real life.

  A different type of hunger finally sends them out of bed and into the kitchen, Hannah dressed in Jaheim’s shirt and Jaheim wearing her dressing gown. She puts the tulips in a vase and pulls ingredients out of the fridge for the dinner she planned for the evening.

  ‘You chop and I’ll start frying?’ she says, handing him a knife and a board.

  ‘Yes, chef!’ he says with a salute. She can’t help but laugh at the vision of him saluting in her floral dressing gown. She puts on some music – Ella Fitzgerald – and pours them both a glass of red wine as they cook together, sharing the small space comfortably. The kitchen soon warms and fills with the smells of a rich tomato sauce, heavy on the red wine. She normally hates cooking but this feels different. She feels relaxed and she likes watching him move around the room, likes seeing him in this space she knows so well.

  She thinks briefly of Sam, remembering not the affair, but the flat they shared together in Stoke Newington. She knows it is still early days but she wonders how long it will be until she and Jaheim want to find a place of their own. The thought makes her smile. This time it will be different, she thinks to herself, this time it will be for good. She just has a good feeling about Jaheim, and about this new relationship.

  ‘I could do this forever,’ she finds herself saying, stirring the sauce and looking up at Jaheim, who is leaning against the counter, a glass of wine in his hand and his bare foot tapping along to the music. And she means it. She always thought she wanted so much more: to see her name on a programme she felt truly proud of, to travel and live abroad, to sing at Ronnie Scott’s and listen to her own music on Spotify. But in this moment, all she wants is for this to continue forever: the sound of Ella Fitzgerald and the bubbling of the pan, the steamy warmth of the tiny kitchen and Jaheim’s smile. She doesn’t want it to end, and right now she doesn’t need anything or anyone else.

  ‘Me too,’ he says, as he leans in to kiss her.

  *

  As she remembers the intensity of the start of their relationship, Hannah feels a wave of guilt at those nights when she wished Mona away so she could be alone with Jaheim in the flat. Since breaking up with him, she has started to look for a light on when she arrives with a sense of hope again. She doesn’t know what she would do without her friend. Now the fog of her relationship has lifted she sees her clearly again. Mona is someone she knows she can rely on and Hannah feels a surge of gratitude for that – a glimmer of brightness to keep going for.

  Hannah is relieved that things seem to have gone back to normal with Mona – they haven’t spoken too much about Jaheim, or about how Hannah’s love for him turned into what she can now see as a sort of obsession. But they have started to slip back into their old routines together and that has been a huge relief for Hannah.

  Glancing at the clock, she wonders if Mona managed to sleep. She knows her well enough to know she probably stayed up practising instead, perfecting her routine as a way of calming herself. Forcing herself to go over and over the same thing, even when she is exhausted. Because that’s just who she is.

  As though anticipating the morning rush, the young man in the green hoody stands now and starts piling his textbooks into his bag. Hannah attempts to read the titles of the books as he tidies them away, and works out they are to do with engineering. She spots a Kings College London key ring on his rucksack, just below where the sleeping bag is wedged in the top. His hair falls in front of his face – it’s a nice blond shade, perhaps a little too long, but she thinks it suits him.

  ‘Thanks then, bye,’ he says quietly as he heads to the door.

  ‘See you,’ she replies, watching as he heads out into the early morning.

  Once he is gone, she heads over to clear the table, pushes the chair in and wipes down the surface. That’s when she spots the crossword book. She looks towards the café door – it has already swung shut and she can no longer see the young customer. She picks up the book, and as she does, a white envelope flutters out from inside the pages and falls on the floor. She stoops to catch it. It is not sealed.

  Quickly, before she can change her mind, she opens the envelope and pulls out two crisp fifty-pound notes. She stares at the fifties. They are dry and stiff beneath her fingers and a shade of pinkish red that seems to her incredibly pretty. She can’t remember the last time she held a fifty. She looks around her in the café. Pablo is in the kitchen and Eleanor has her back to her, serving a customer on the other side of the café. No one is watching her, and in a swift movement she slips the money, as well as the crossword book, inside the pocket of her apron.

  ‘Good morning,’ she says, trying to keep her voice brigh
t as a customer approaches the counter, a pale blue handbag tucked under her arm.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Something strong,’ replies the woman. Hannah spots an NHS lanyard hanging around her neck.

  ‘A double espresso?’ offers Hannah, reaching for a cup.

  The woman nods and sits heavily in a chair at a small table facing into the café, the same table where the boy with the rucksack spent most of the early hours of the morning. Hannah notices the choice and feels her cheeks growing warm as the weight of the crossword book, and the money, nudges against her stomach. She tries to ignore it though – she will think about it later.

  ‘Coming right up,’ she says as she turns to the coffee machine.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ says the woman suddenly, the noise rising above the sound of the machine. It makes Hannah jump and she spills hot milk onto the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ says the woman as Hannah leans to wipe up the spill, ‘I just noticed the bear.’

  When Hannah brings the woman her coffee, she notices she is reading the book that the young man left on the table from the lending library, The Hobbit. The woman smiles up at Hannah as she reaches for the coffee.

  ‘This was my favourite when I was a girl,’ she says, ‘My friends preferred books about ponies and all-girls boarding schools, but for me, it was The Hobbit. I haven’t looked at a copy in years, though.’

  ‘Enjoy,’ says Hannah with a nod. The woman returns to the book and smiles, her eyes growing misty.

  Hannah sits down at an empty table, keeping an eye on the door in case of new customers. It feels good to rest her feet. She tries not to think about what is in her apron pocket, or about Jaheim, or anything other than the prospect of breakfast. A few minutes later Eleanor joins her at the table, followed by Pablo who carries three plates of pancakes drizzled with maple syrup and scattered with berries.