The 24-Hour Café

by Libby Page

  If she could go back in time and do things differently, she would. She would never have dated Jaheim, for one thing. She would have been more honest with Mona about how truly terrified she felt about her future, instead of letting those feelings build up to the point that they made her obsessive and irrational and eventually pushed her to breaking point. She would have appreciated the support of her friend instead of starting to take it for granted. She would have thrown her a wonderful party for her thirtieth birthday instead of spending it in bed, crying over Jaheim. She would have come to wave her goodbye at the station. She would have told her that despite their arguments she loved her and was proud of her. And then she would have called. And called and called and called. She would never have cut the thread of their friendship, she would have held on tightly, never letting go. Her life might now be more settled, but she still carries this regret and the pain of her lost friend. Her career may never have reached the heights she dreamed of when she was younger – she doesn’t have a record deal, she has never been on tour, she is not able to support herself financially by singing alone – and yet this doesn’t seem to matter so much any more. The biggest regret of her life so far has been the breakdown of her friendship with Mona.

  She shuffles in her seat, pushing her knife and fork onto her now empty plate and looking anxiously out the window, searching the anonymous faces for a glimpse of brown eyes and long, dark plaited hair. Her heart beats quickly inside her chest. Maybe they can never go back to how it was before, but she wants to explain everything that has happened since they last saw each other, and how hard it made it for her to reach out, despite wanting to. She wants to say how sorry she is. She wants to take the first step back towards her old friend.

  Mona

  And yet something holds her back from opening the door. She stands a little way down the street from the café, looking towards it but frozen on the spot.

  She hasn’t seen Hannah in a year. She thinks back to that night a year ago when she arrived home from her shift ready to try and fix things with Hannah but was met with an empty flat and a note taped to the mirror in the hallway that said Hannah had gone home for a few weeks to stay with her parents. She wouldn’t be back before Mona left, the note said. Despite the note, on the day of her train to Paris Mona lingered a little longer than she meant to in the flat, wondering if Hannah would turn up at the last moment to say goodbye. The flat felt bigger now that it was empty of her things: some in storage, most sold or given away, and the rest piled into the two large suitcases that stood by the front door. She wandered through the apartment, running her fingers across the walls and over the peeling posters and standing for a few minutes in her empty room. Before leaving she went into Hannah’s too and sat on the edge of her friend’s mattress. She looked at the framed photo of them both that still stood on her bedside table. She picked up a dress from the floor and folded it over the end of the bed. Then she closed the door, reached for her suitcases and left the flat for the last time, posting her keys through the letterbox.

  In Paris, it was easier to shut out thoughts of her friend. Everything was new and different and exciting. Poppy and Antoine met her at the Gare du Nord and they shared a taxi back to their apartment, Poppy chattering the whole way while Mona looked out the window, watching her new city flash past her and trying her best to take in every detail. She caught Antoine’s eye and he smiled at her.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ he had said. And over time, she did.

  Whenever her thoughts turned to Hannah, as they often did despite her best efforts, she considered picking up the phone and calling her. But there was always something to do instead – a rehearsal to attend with her new company, or a party to go to with Poppy and Antoine, or a brunch with her new colleagues. She distracted herself in order to push out the painful memories of the breakdown of their friendship. She distracted herself for nearly a year.

  When she received the wedding invite from Bemi and Anya, one of her first thoughts had been whether Hannah would be there. And yet it still came as a surprise when her phone buzzed and she saw Hannah’s name there. It had been so long since they had spoken that it felt strange to see her name, even if not too long ago she was the person who texted her most frequently. It was a short message asking if she wanted to meet in the café before the wedding. Mona stared at the message for a while before replying. Did she want to meet her? She considered for a moment how awkward it might be to meet for the first time at the wedding, but how safe too – among the crowds of wedding guests and in the glow of Bemi and Anya’s special day there would be no chance for honest words or explanations. It’s this that finally made her reply to Hannah’s text with a simple answer: ‘Yes, let’s meet.’ Her own reaction to the message had surprised her, but she realised that after so long shutting out thoughts of their friendship she was ready to confront it again. She wanted to talk to her, she wanted to see her. She couldn’t explain why exactly, because she still felt a twist of anger knotted inside her when she thought of Hannah, but something pulled her back towards her too. Their shared history, and all the happier memories.

  But as she pauses on the street next to the café, she suddenly isn’t so sure if it was a good idea. She doesn’t know what she will say to her, or whether she wants to hear whatever words Hannah has to offer in exchange. She thinks of her friend when they were at their closest – living together and working together and sharing every detail of their lives. She realises she is terrified of opening the door and seeing a stranger. She hesitates on the pavement.

  A couple with hands entwined brush past her and veer off down a side street. Mona stands alone, looking up at the familiar sign of the café and wondering if she wants to see her friend again. The thought of her hotel room enters her mind: cool and safe and impersonal. She thinks about Hannah and whether there is anything left from their old life together for them to hold onto. Are there any words left to say, any new chapters to add to their story, or is what it has become all that it can ever be – two women with two separate lives, in two separate cities, two separate worlds?

  Mona stands on the pavement, the cold beginning to bite at her as she pauses between decisions, between paths, between anger and forgiveness.

  Harry

  The sound of something crashing in the kitchen rouses him; he looks around the café, suddenly remembering where he is. In the corner he spots a young woman with red hair sat alone, eating a plate of pancakes. Something about her is familiar, and Harry is suddenly filled with aching.

  Martha. It was the red-haired woman who served them when they came here before their honeymoon, a year ago today. He remembers telling the waitress about their honeymoon and their hopes to see an elephant on their safari. The memory seems a very long time ago now even though in reality it is not so old. It belongs to another time, a time before.

  Harry grips his coffee cup, now cold, so tightly that he fears he might break it. But it remains intact – the only breaking is happening inside him.

  He had six months of being married to Martha before she died. A heart attack, completely unexpected, completely unbelievable at first. They had only just finished putting their wedding and honeymoon photos into albums. Harry and Martha cutting a cake, Harry and Martha dancing together, Harry and Martha leaning out of a safari truck, an enormous elephant towering in the background. He had only just got used to being married again, to calling Martha his wife, to seeing the new wedding band shining on his finger.

  At first, he had raged against her death – against the unfairness of it all, against the horror and the suddenness. He was consumed by anger, turning to drink instead of his friends, instead of the sons he hadn’t spoken to since he left Jennifer. He barely left the flat, pacing and shouting during the day and at night lying in bed and staring at her wedding ring on the bedside table, her pyjamas still folded on the pillow.

  Then his anger had turned to something different: a numbness, an inabi
lity to feel anything at all. He couldn’t imagine ever being happy again, but he didn’t feel sad exactly either. He felt nothing, a nothingness that was all-consuming. He stopped drinking so much then, no longer needing the alcohol in order to feel numb. He stopped eating too.

  Tonight, he couldn’t face the emptiness of his bed again, so without realising what he was doing, he had dressed again and come here, to the café that reminds him of Martha and their honeymoon where they saw an elephant and she had laughed so hard she had cried. He recalls it again – the sound of Martha’s laughter. He remembers it so clearly that it is as though she is there next to him, holding his hand and looking out the window, pointing things out to him and talking to him. She is wearing her green summer dress with the carefully selected layers over the top – so like her to think everything through like that. Their suitcases sit under the table, neatly packed, waiting for them to carry them to the coach and then the airport. They are both excited, looking forward to their honeymoon, to the prospect of seeing an elephant, but also to the whole rest of their lives together.

  ‘I’m so glad I’m here with you,’ she says, in that voice that Harry knows so well.

  And although when he looks up to reply he realises that she is not here, that he is alone, Harry is glad too. Glad for her voice, for her laugh, for the way she smiled, and glad for the time he had with her, even though it was too short. Their time together was full of happiness, a happiness he had never known was really possible, not for him, not any more. He had waited ten years of knowing her for two years together, two perfect years. As he sits and thinks of her, remembering her so much his whole body aches with grief, he realises something. That he would have waited a whole lifetime for just one day with her.

  Dan

  He stands at the counter, watching the man who sits alone in the middle of the café. Sadness is painted on his face and Dan wants to go over to him, to say something, but he pauses, sensing that right now this man would prefer to be alone. Instead, Dan focuses hard on sending him happiness, hoping that just by thinking it and wishing it for him, some of it might land on the man’s drooped shoulders.

  The rest of the customers have gone by now, apart from the red-haired former waitress who sits in the corner. She has been here for nearly an hour without moving, her eyes fixed on the door. She has drunk a cappuccino and eaten a plate of pancakes while she has been here, the whole time looking outside. She is so focused on the window that Dan leaves her alone, staying at the counter.

  Eventually the old man stands very slowly and walks to the door, leaving a pile of coins on his table. He takes one last look back inside, as though he has forgotten something. His eyes search the café. But he must not be able to find what he is looking for, because then he turns and is gone.

  Dan starts to slowly clear up, removing empty cups and wiping tables, making the most of this brief moment with no new customers and no new orders to make. But strangely, as he works and stares out the window into the night, he doesn’t feel quite so alone any more. He is an island in the dark, the city moving around outside the window. As he looks out at the street he spots other islands – a woman waiting for a bus, an unexpected night cyclist whizzing past – and realises all over the city must be people like him, passing time, carrying sadness and worries but a tiny whisper of hope too. The people he sits next to on the bus and who visit the café have their own stories, some with words and chapters that read just like his. He lives alongside them, their lives brushing up against each other for brief moments, before moving on. He might not know them, but he knows they are there and that however different they might be, at times they feel things that he has felt before and will likely feel again. As long as this is true, and as long as they exist, he will never truly be alone.

  Hannah

  The clock on the wall edges closer to one and she shifts on her seat, her body growing numb. A cold cup of tea stands on the table in front of her. She looks out into the night and realises that it is probably time to leave.

  She is the only customer left now and the chairs sit empty, waiting. The waiter leans against the counter, a book open in his hand and a look of relaxed contentment on his face. Hannah reads the book cover: The Hobbit. Above him, Ernest the bear watches the café and the street beyond, his stern eyes peering down from beneath the top hat.

  Hannah wonders if she will come back here again. It seems too strange now – a part of a previous life. Her heart aches as she realises that the friendship that was once so important to her is truly over. She has lost the friend who for years felt like a sister. The woman she lived with, worked alongside and shared her dreams and ambitions. The woman who spurred her on and who supported her, but whom she ultimately pushed away without truly meaning to. She feels the sharp pain of regret and most of all she misses her friend. She misses the moments that are now memories and the moments she had hoped they would one day share together. Weddings perhaps, where they would watch each other marry and feel a huge happiness for one another; children they might meet, feeling astounded that their friend had managed to create a whole, wonderful person; parents’ funerals where they would cry for each other and hug each other fiercely, hoping that friendship might help heal wounds and nurse broken hearts. Hannah pictures these moments and sees them disappearing, knowing that they will never happen now, that she will no longer be a part of her friend’s life. She reaches for her jacket on the back of her chair and her handbag on the floor.

  As she is reaching down, she notices the sound of the café door opening. She grips her bag tightly as she hears a voice she recognises.

  ‘Hello,’ says the voice.

  Hannah turns around in her chair, looking up at the new customer standing in the middle of Stella’s. Through the tears that are suddenly falling down her cheeks, she sees a face that she knows well. For a moment it is set in a frown and Hannah’s heart beats fast, her feet rooted to the spot. But then the face opposite her breaks into the start of a smile. And in an instant the two women are crossing the space of the café, stepping through the distance of a year and hundreds of unspoken words. When they reach one another, Hannah wraps her arms around her old friend. This time she won’t let go, she thinks as Mona hugs her back. For the past year, Hannah has felt stuck at an ending. But in the quiet of the café, hugging her friend, she feels as though she has just found a beginning.

  Acknowledgements

  Although Hannah and Mona may have their ups and downs, the starting point for this book was wanting to write about the importance of female friendships – about the strength, the support, the laughter, the love. So, in these acknowledgements it feels fitting to firstly thank my wonderful friends. My school friends Alice, Harriet and Janaissa, who knew me as a dorky, awkward teenager and still wanted to hang out with me. It feels so special to still have you in my life. Juliette, my ‘French sister’ - your letters dropping on my doormat always make me smile. My London friends: Lucy (the first friend I made in the city) and ‘diosas’ Kitty and Marie who helped me find my place and took me to shows and jazz bars. Kim, Dee and Shalini who started as work friends but soon became friend friends, with a special thank you for all the food we have shared together. Frankey, my Ladies Pond swimming buddy. Sharon and Juno, for the trips to the zoo / park / story centre that always brighten my day. Alex, who as well as being my sister is the very best of friends. To friends unnamed but who each bring their own type of happiness to my life. And to friendships that may have now run their course but that still brought so much at a particular time in my life.

  Thank you, Mum and BK, for your constant love and support. I feel so lucky to have you both as parents. Thank you Sally and Michael for turning up to so many of my book events and seeming to never grow sick of hearing me speak – your support means so much. Thank you to my Grandpa, Fred, for all the ways you’ve supported me and cheered me on over the years.

  Writing this book was somewhat different to writing The Lid
o. This time round I was fortunate enough to dedicate all my time to it rather than sneaking in moments at my laptop around a full-time job. And I was cheered on and encouraged by actual, real, lovely readers. So a HUGE thank you to every single person who supported my first book – to all the book sellers, bloggers, journalists and librarians who championed it and to every reader who read it, recommended it, came along to an event or listened to the audiobook. Thank you.

  Thank you to my brilliant agent Robert Caskie for being the best champion and supporter, and to Liza De Block for all your hard work too. Thank you to the whole team at Orion, for your endless enthusiasm and brilliant work. Clare Hey, for your fantastic editorial eye and in particular for allowing me the freedom to write the book I wanted to write. Virginia Woolstencroft for all your work promoting this book and for coming along to support at events. Cait Davies – whose creativity knows no bounds. A big thank you also to Sarah Benton, Katie Espiner, Britt Sankey, Olivia Barber, Harriet Bourton, Paul Stark, Rabab Adams, Jen Wilson, Barbara Ronan, Esther Waters, Victoria Laws, Francis Doyle, Ruth Sharvell and Sally Partington.

  And last but not least, thank you Bruno for everything else. For talking me round whenever I doubt myself, for putting up with my moods when I’m struggling to get the words down on the page, for making me laugh and for simply being home. The year this book is published is also the year we get married. I cannot wait to call you my husband.

  About the author

  Libby Page wrote her debut novel, The Lido, while working in marketing and moonlighting as a writer. The Lido was a Sunday Times bestseller in the UK and was published in over twenty territories around the world. Film rights have been sold to Catalyst Global Media.