Part 10 (1/2)

'Why's that?'

'Breakfast is served at eight-thirty on weekends. You're too early.'

'I thought you said I could have breakfast early if I wanted to.'

'I don't think we agreed to that.'

'I wake early,' I say. 'I always eat breakfast before eight o'clock.'

'I'm as busy as a frog in a sock,' she says.

I stand.

'I'm sorry,' I say.

I've told her I'm sorry when I've nothing to be sorry for.

I go to the front door without saying goodbye, as though this is the way to show my strength.

It's a cold, bright morning and I walk along the water's edge with my hands outstretched. There's n.o.body but that old man with his small white dog to see me.

I go to the cafe.

There are four people, each of them alone, at four separate tables.

I stand by an empty booth and the lovely waitress comes from the kitchen carrying two plates.

'h.e.l.lo,' she says.

'h.e.l.lo.'

It takes me too long to realise I'm standing in her way. 'Take a seat,' she says.

I sit.

A few minutes later, she comes back.

'Your mum was in here yesterday evening.'

'Was she?'

'She came for her tea with another lady.'

Jennifer.

'Right.'

'She wanted to know why I wasn't an actress. She was very sweet.'

I fancy the waitress, and my mother's sniffed the air and realised it.

'Don't worry,' she says. 'She said she was going home this morning.'

My mother's already gone then and I don't feel too great about it. I wanted her to go, and now she's gone it's like rejection, feels like it was her idea and not mine.

'What would you like to eat?'

'Sausages and eggs.'

I read the newspaper while I wait.

The waitress comes with my breakfast, four sausages, two eggs, two pieces of b.u.t.tered toast.

I take my time eating and read the paper, start at the back, then work my way to the front.

When she comes to clear my plate, I look at her and smile.

'This is a nice cafe,' I say.

'I'm glad you like it. My dad owns it.'

'Why doesn't it have a name?'

'It does. It's called The Harvest, but the sign's being re-painted. It used to be called Powell's, but we all hated that name. We changed it four years ago.'

'Who's Powell?'

'That's the family name. But it's a boring name for a cafe.'

'Harvest is good.'

'I agree.'

She's got blue eyes and, as far as I'm concerned, blue eyes are more real than any other colour.

'How long have you worked here?' I ask. 'Four years.'

'You changed the name first chance you got.'

'That's right.'

'Is it fun working here?'

'Listen,' she says. 'I need to serve a few tables. I'll come back to you.'

I want to say more, something smarter than the things I've said, one more thing before she walks away.

'I'll be here,' I say. 'When you come back.'

'Where else would you be?'