The 24-Hour Café

by Libby Page

  Suddenly too warm, he unzips his green hoody and folds it on top of his bag, stretching out his legs beneath the table.

  In class this afternoon he received his grade for the first assignment he had completed. He had been nervous all day, but when he was handed back his paper he saw that he had done well, really well. He held the paper to his chest and thought immediately of his mum.

  Dan still hasn’t worked out where he is going to stay tonight. He has sent messages to a few old friends, but they are people he hasn’t spoken to in a long time and so far he hasn’t heard back. He isn’t sure he can face another night of forcing himself to try and stay awake in the café, but the alternative seems much worse, so when the library closed he headed here again.

  The waitress hasn’t spotted him so he walks up to the bar.

  ‘What can I get you?’ she says with a smile.

  ‘A cappuccino please,’ says Dan. He looks into the Cadbury’s counter at the array of cakes: there is a carrot and walnut, a red velvet and a dark chocolate cake.

  ‘Anything else?’ says the waitress.

  ‘No, just that. I’m sat over there.’

  ‘I’ll bring it over. You can pay later.’

  Dan returns to the table and pulls his textbooks out of his bag.

  Mona

  The young couple who are moving to Bristol pay their bill. Mona notices their feet nudging each other under the table as they hand over their cards.

  ‘We won’t miss London prices either!’ says the man with a smile. Mona simply nods as she deals with the payments. As they stand and prepare to leave she is hit by a sense of the transient nature of the city she lives in. Looking out the window at the street that is busy even at this time, she wonders how many people are coming and how many going. Who is a local and who is just passing through? A car screeches to a halt to miss a woman who has dropped her handbag in the road and is reaching to collect it. She grabs the bag, the driver punches his horn and then swerves away, skipping a red light. Further down the street a young woman in a yellow tracksuit drags a huge suitcase quickly down the pavement, a couple in their seventies sidestepping out of her way as she tears past them. They watch her for a moment and then link arms, continuing at a leisurely pace. The pavements are dusty and marked with the dark patches of chewing gum long since trodden into the ground.

  Mona thinks about moving to London for the first time. She landed in a drizzle of rain, the air not as cold as she had expected as she stepped off the plane but damp and dull – the meteorological equivalent of being welcomed by an indifferent glance. The city didn’t care one bit about her arrival.

  At first, she wondered why she had travelled so far for such an anti-climactic greeting. Was this really what she left her family for? All this grey? But over time she found a way to slot into the puzzle of the city and learnt to appreciate its own kind of beauty. She moved between houseshares, she made friends on her course, including with Poppy, the first real friend she made in London. The cheerful, chestnut-haired young woman had approached her after a dance class one day and asked simply if Mona wanted to get lunch with her. Over lunch she asked a dazzling number of questions, showing genuine enthusiasm for every detail of Mona’s life. Poppy had stopped mid-conversation, resting her chin in her hands and saying, ‘Gosh, it sounds like I’m interviewing you, doesn’t it?’ She had then switched to telling Mona about her life: about her family in Manchester and her dog Tyler – a beagle. Poppy referred to her parents as ‘Mummy and Daddy’ and at first it embarrassed Mona, making her flinch slightly every time she heard the words, but over time she came to find it endearing.

  Thinking of Poppy makes Mona feel a little less sad about leaving London – she is looking forward to spending time with her again. As she thinks about Poppy her mind also turns to Hannah again, and the Halloween party when they first met.

  The message from Poppy about the party came out of the blue when Mona was just about to head out for a shift in the nightclub where she was working at the time.

  ‘MONA! HALLOWEEN PARTY AT MINE!’ read the message (Poppy always texts how she speaks, in capital letters), ‘COSTUMES ESSENTIAL. xxxxx’.

  Mona very nearly didn’t go. As she read the message she recalled other parties at Poppy’s house in Bounds Green. The parties were always heaving and for once Mona couldn’t imagine facing a crowd of dancers and reciting her current CV to them, as the inevitable questions would be asked about what she was currently working on and what she’d done since they last saw each other.

  How close she came to staying at home, Mona reflects as she watches the café and thinks about that time in her life. On the day of the party she was still undecided. She picked up a costume but it hung in her wardrobe, the labels still attached in case she decided to return it. She can’t even remember what made her finally decide to go. Perhaps she couldn’t face the thought of a night alone with Netflix. Or maybe she didn’t even think about it, but just found herself reaching for her costume as though some force outside of herself was moving for her, pushing her out the flat and towards the party that would alter the direction of her life.

  *

  It is a long way to Poppy’s house and as she walks to the Tube she feels uncomfortable, very aware of her costume and the blonde wig that sits on her head. But as she rides the Piccadilly Line into the centre of the city she notices more and more gruesome characters getting on and off. A man wrapped head to toe in bandages sits and looks at his phone. A group of girls dressed as skeletons stand by the doors and chat to each other, a bottle of wine badly hidden in a plastic bag and passed around the group every now and then. When they spot Mona watching them they smile and wave at her. As she passes through the most central stations – Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square, Covent Garden – the train carriage heaves, everyone dressed up somehow, either in going-out clothes (short dresses and high heels, suit jackets and gelled hair) or in Halloween costumes. The train has a noisy, carnival feel to it as groups clearly already softened by drink laugh and joke, even chatting with strangers who stand near them. It cheers Mona, even as the train heads further east and the carriages empty. When she gets off at Bounds Green she thinks she is the only one until she spots someone walking a little ahead of her down the platform towards the escalator. Looking closer, she notices the woman is dressed as Wilma Flintstone. Too shy to run and catch her up, Mona is still grateful for this costumed woman who walks a little ahead of her, guiding her all the way to Poppy’s house.

  As expected, the party is heaving. Poppy and her housemates have decorated all the rooms and Mona has to duck under trails of toilet roll, bin liners and cobwebs as she follows a few guests into the living room. She spots Poppy immediately – Cruella De Vil dancing in a showering of silver stars given off by the glitter ball.

  ‘Mona!’ Poppy says, rushing over to hug her. They chat for a moment, but then the doorbell rings and Poppy dashes off, leaving Mona in the middle of the room surrounded by people who, in their costumes, she struggles to recognise. She heads for the kitchen, thinking that a drink will ease her in to the party, help loosen her and shield herself from the inevitable questions about her career.

  The kitchen is already a mess, the floor sticky from spilt drinks. In the centre of the room is a table littered with bottles – most half-empty – and the sink is filled with ice and cans of beer. Mona rummages for an empty cup, rinses it in the sink just in case and opens a beer, pouring it into the cup. She drinks half the cup in a few sips. Taking another long drink, she prepares herself for returning to the party. She thinks about what she will say in response to the questions and sets her face in a calm expression, tilting her chin.

  She turns to leave at the exact same moment that a red-headed woman dressed in a patchwork dress and painted in green walks quickly into the room. Before Mona can step out of the way they are colliding with each other and the rest of her beer has launched itself out of the cup and ont
o the floor.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ says the woman, steadying herself on the table. She is a similar height to her, Mona notices, and her face and arms are covered in black seams, her mouth extended into a wide, eerie smile. But beneath the make-up she looks concerned. The contrast makes Mona smile.

  ‘No, it’s my fault,’ says Mona, ‘I’m sorry!’

  The woman with the red hair and the green face reaches for some kitchen roll from the top of the fridge, leaning to wipe the floor.

  ‘Thanks,’ says Mona, ‘It really was my fault though, I should have moved out of your way.’

  ‘Wow,’ says the woman, standing up, ‘We don’t really make great evil characters, do we?’

  Mona smiles. She notices an accent – it has taken her a while to get to know all the different British accents, but she thinks this woman’s is Welsh. She is smiling back at Mona and there is something about her face, despite all the make-up, that makes Mona feel comfortable immediately.

  ‘No, I guess we don’t,’ she says eventually, ‘I’m Mona by the way, the rest of the time.’

  ‘I’m Hannah.’

  Mona learns that Hannah is one of Poppy’s housemates, although she has only lived there for a few weeks. Hannah mentions there is a spare room going in their house and it sparks a thought in Mona’s mind – her current flat share is with two women who seem to like to live in filth and whom she can’t stand. She has been desperate to move out but has been struggling to find somewhere. She files the thought and continues listening to Hannah. She is working as a part-time receptionist and Mona notices how she spins this in a positive way as though it’s exactly how she planned things to go. She doesn’t mention it, but it makes her smile – this language of positivity that she is so used to as well. Listening to Hannah talk so excitedly about singing and music, she feels a renewed sense of enthusiasm for her own career. This woman painted in green reminds her what it feels like – that drive, that hunger – because she can tell immediately that she shares it too. It makes her feel an immediate warmth towards her.

  Hannah laughs easily and her smile is so wide that the painted grin on her face isn’t too much of an exaggeration. As they chat people come and go, looking for drinks, but Mona and Hannah barely seem to notice them.

  ‘So why dancing?’ Hannah asks after a while.

  Mona pauses. She has been dancing for so much of her life that it has become part of who she is. She thinks of herself first and foremost as a dancer, even though at the moment she spends more of her time working in a nightclub, her shoes sticking to the floor and leering comments from drunken customers reaching her across the bar like slaps. Her love of dancing is something that has informed the most important decisions of her life, and yet she can’t remember ever really stepping back and thinking why exactly this is. To her, it makes so much sense that it doesn’t even need explaining. It is her, it is what she is meant to do.

  She isn’t really aware of what she is saying when she answers. Hannah watches her closely, nodding. As she speaks, Mona feels that well-known yearning inside her that she feels every day and every time she thinks about all the things she wants to achieve. Sometimes she feels she has to hide it or at least dull the strength of her ambition. But with Hannah, she senses she can be honest. It is a relief to speak like this. It makes her feel like herself – like a dancer, not a bartender.

  When she finishes speaking she feels slightly dazed.

  ‘Does that sound mad?’ she says.

  ‘Not at all!’ replies Hannah, ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

  Mona smiles. Because she gets the sense that this smiley, red-headed woman does understand her, and that with her she doesn’t have to be anyone other than herself.

  In the living room the music continues to boom and the glitter ball sends stars around the walls and ceiling. Mona catches the voice of Poppy somewhere in the house and the sound of laughing. She thinks about returning to the rest of the party, but instead she pours another drink for her and Hannah. They still have so much more to talk about. They talk quickly and animatedly, gesturing with hands and nodding at each other. The drink and the rush of such an instant connection go to her head, making her forget for a moment the stresses that wait for her back in her flat and her part-time office job.

  I think we’re going to be friends, thinks Mona to herself as Hannah talks. She is suddenly very glad she came to this party – she thinks it might be one that she will remember.

  *

  Remembering their meeting, Mona thinks for the first time how similar it felt to falling in love. The same rush, the same sense of excitement, just different motivations. Mona feels an ache as she realises she still needs to confront what Sofia said earlier and decide whether there is anything worth salvaging in her friendship with Hannah – if it is worth fighting for. She glances to the clock again and it is as though time has suddenly sped up, pulling her closer to her return to the flat and to the words she knows she must say to Hannah but hasn’t found yet.

  Suddenly a blast of cold air rouses her from her thoughts as two of the women in the group stand and step outside for a cigarette. Mona looks up and as the door shuts behind the women she notices for the first time the only other person in the café who, like her, is alone. The young man who ordered the cappuccino and who is now reaching for a jumper from the rucksack that she notices for the first time is stashed under his chair. Long blond hair falls over his unshaven face as he zips up his green hoody.

  Dan

  ‘It’s you!’ says the waitress. She is looking directly at him but Dan still turns around.

  ‘It’s you!’ she says again. She is holding a Post-it note in her hand.

  ‘Young – twenty-ish – man,’ she reads, looking up at him and then back at the Post-it note, ‘Longish blond hair, slight beard, green hoody, large rucksack. That sounds like you.’

  Dan frowns, his heartbeat rising. Had he done something wrong? Maybe the waitress had spotted him sleeping last night and had written a note for her colleague, telling her not to let him in if he came back. But the waitress’s voice sounds cheerful. He is completely confused.

  ‘Um …’ he says, but the waitress is already turning back to the counter. She returns a second later, holding out a large brown envelope.

  ‘Here,’ she says, ‘This was left for you earlier. I’ve been looking out for you all day. I’m so glad you came back.’

  Dan can’t help but smile – relief, but also an unusual feeling of being welcome, wanted even. The waitress is still smiling at him, holding out the envelope.

  ‘What is it?’ he says.

  ‘Don’t know,’ she says. ‘It’s yours though. Here.’

  After a small pause he reaches for it. The waitress stands by him for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to open it but then she does a little nod and returns to the counter.

  Dan is left on his own again, staring at the large envelope in his hand. It is quite light and flat, but whatever is inside feels solid – he feels sharp corners as he runs his thumb over the edges. Carefully, he opens it and slides his hand inside. He pulls out a book, and as he turns it over he realises it is the crossword book. He thinks immediately of the writer, the man in the Pink Floyd T-shirt and the shirt with the red button, who talked with him and bought him pancakes and a strawberry milkshake. Dan feels his face softening into a smile.

  At the table next to him the woman with the birthmark and her boyfriend stand up, knocking the table slightly. A drink spills and the waitress is suddenly there again, mopping at the pool of liquid.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ says the man, leaning forward to help. The waitress waves him away.

  ‘Don’t worry. You two have a nice evening.’

  The couple give her one last glance, nod, and then head for the door, the man stepping aside to let his girlfriend out first. Dan glances briefly at the waitress as she finishes wiping the tabl
e. She catches his eye and peers at the book in his hand, laughing as she does so.

  ‘I can’t believe I got so worked up over a crossword book,’ she says, ‘Honestly, I was jumping every time I saw someone in green.’

  She straightens the table and returns to the coffee counter.

  Dan decides to have a go at one of the crosswords and reaches down to find a pen in his rucksack. As he reaches, his arm accidentally knocks the book and it falls onto the ground, an envelope and a folded sheet of paper slipping out from between the pages as it falls. Dan stoops and picks up the book, the envelope and the paper and sits back on his chair. The envelope is not sealed. He feels inside and pulls out two fifty-pound notes and two twenties. He stares at them. The fifties are crisp and smooth but the twenties are slightly more worn and crumpled. He runs his fingers over each note.

  With hands that have started to shake slightly, he unfolds the piece of paper that fell out alongside the envelope. It is a handwritten note, made out in slanted writing and a black biro, and he starts to read.

  To my crossword companion,

  Over the years as a writer, I have developed a habit of guessing at people’s stories. Sometimes I get it wrong, sometimes I get it right, but I can’t help but think about what is going on, what kind of journey someone has been on and what their life is like.

  If I have correctly guessed your story, or at least parts of it, then I hope that this will help you a little while you try to get back on your feet, and that you will see it not as charity, but as a selfish act – a father getting a kick out of helping a stranger when he is struggling so much to help his own son.

  If I have guessed wrongly, then please enjoy this as a random act of kindness – perhaps to be spent on a deserved night out after all your studying.