Chapter 1 - The Coffee
Chapter 1 - The Coffee
By the time Leah reached the café, her arms had started to object to the morning’s decisions. The instructor had called it challenging themselves, which had sounded perfectly reasonable while the music was loud and everyone else was reaching for the heavier weights. Leah had joined in with enough enthusiasm to suggest she had forgotten she would need to use her upper body again that day. Now, with her bag sliding off one shoulder and the prospect of lifting a large coffee ahead of her, she was beginning to think enthusiasm needed closer supervision.
The ache pleased her, though. She had finished the class feeling strong, and that feeling had stayed with her through the walk into town. When she caught her reflection in the café window, she paused long enough to take herself in properly. Her hair was escaping its tie, her cheeks were still warm, and the fitted jacket she had once felt self-conscious wearing sat comfortably across her shoulders. At forty, she was beginning to appreciate her body with a warmth she had rarely offered it when she was younger. It had carried her through the class and would carry buckets, boxes and whatever else the afternoon required. She liked the woman looking back at her, and the ease of that thought made her smile as she pushed open the door.
Inside, the windows were beginning to mist at the edges, softening the view of the pavement beyond them. The coffee machine hissed behind the counter, competing with a small child who had recently discovered that dropping a spoon produced immediate and satisfying results. Fee sat at their usual table near the window, already moving her coat from the spare chair before Leah had reached them. Such a small thing, having a place kept for her, but it still brought a quiet sense of pleasure. Somewhere between school-gate conversations and walks that had grown longer than any of them intended, these mornings had become part of her week.
“You look very pleased with yourself,” Ali said, glancing up as Leah approached.
“I used the heavier weights.” Leah eased her bag from her shoulder and lowered herself into the chair, trying to make both movements look less considered than they felt.
“Willingly?” Ali asked, her eyebrows lifting.
“There was music. I got carried away.”
Fee pushed a menu towards her, amusement gathering at the corners of her mouth. “Can you still hold a cup?”
“We’ll find out together.” Leah reached for the menu, then paused when a length of green ribbon caught around her fingers. It had worked its way through the keys in her hand, trailing from them like evidence that she had once again failed to leave work entirely behind. She unwound it, wrapped it around two fingers and tucked it into her pocket.
“Work following you again?” Fee asked.
“A bride wants to compare greens.”
Ali glanced towards the pocket. “How many are there?”
“Enough to make this a second meeting.” Leah set her keys on the table. “We were very happy with sage last week. Apparently we’re less certain now we’ve seen it beside the napkins.”
Their laughter settled around her with the comfortable familiarity she had come to love. There had been a time when she would have filled a morning like this with something useful, gone straight home after the school run or answered another enquiry while standing on the pavement. She could always have a coffee later, she used to tell herself, once she had finished. Being self-employed had eventually taught her that finished was a flexible concept, usually moved further away by whoever emailed most recently. These days, she was getting better at allowing an hour to belong to her without having to justify it first.
She put her phone on silent and ordered when the waitress came over. For a while, the conversation wandered through the ordinary concerns of their week: a school message none of them had understood, Fee’s washing machine, and whether the field would be dry enough for their usual walk the following morning. All three of them knew it would still be muddy, but they discussed the possibility with the determination of women who had already decided to go. By the time their drinks arrived, Leah had loosened her jacket and settled back in her chair, the pleasant heaviness in her arms becoming something she could forget about between sips.
Then Ali asked about the book, and Leah’s hand paused halfway to her cup.
“Which book?” she asked, although the small change in Ali’s expression suggested the attempt had failed before she finished speaking.
Fee looked up from separating a piece of cake with her fork. “Oh, that was convincing.”
“I’ve read several.”
“The one you messaged us about at half eleven,” Ali said. “With the man in the woods.”
“There are a lot of men in woods.”
“Apparently very few of them have shirts,” Fee added, inspecting the piece of cake she had finally managed to detach.
Leah laughed, feeling warmth rise into her cheeks. She had sent the message after reaching a scene she had immediately needed somebody else to appreciate, then spent the following morning hoping neither friend would mention it while they stood beside the school gates. “I finished it,” she admitted, bringing her coffee closer.
“And?” Ali asked.
Leah looked down at the pattern in the milk, which had softened into something the barista probably wouldn’t want to take responsibility for. There were several easy answers available. She could complain about the ending, discuss the writing or make another comment about men who apparently considered clothing an obstacle to character development. Any of those would have kept the conversation where it was comfortable.
“I liked it,” she said.
Ali waited, and Leah found herself smiling despite the unease beginning to gather beneath her ribs. That was the trouble with becoming close to people. They started to recognise when an answer had been shortened for their convenience, and these two had grown particularly good at recognising it in her.
“I liked how interested he was in her,” she said eventually. “Even when she was being difficult. He wanted to know what she thought.”
Fee’s expression softened, and Leah reached for the spoon beside her cup, although she hadn’t put sugar in anything. Now that she had said it aloud, the admission felt more revealing than the late-night message. It was easy enough to laugh about an attractive fictional man. Explaining why his attention had stayed with her after she closed the book required something she had not quite prepared herself to offer.
“I tried explaining that at home,” Leah continued, turning the spoon between her fingers. “Apparently I’ve developed unreasonable expectations of men who have jobs in the morning.”
“What did you ask for?” Fee said.
“An evening away.” Leah moved the spoon slowly through her coffee, watching the remaining pattern disappear. “And a bit of enthusiasm about the prospect.”
Neither of them laughed, which made her wish, briefly, that she had phrased it differently. She could hear how it sounded once she put the disappointment into words, stripped of the familiar tone and ordinary distractions that had surrounded it at home. Her husband could still make her laugh. There were still moments when being together felt easy, when she caught a glimpse of the closeness she kept hoping they would find their way back to. She felt an immediate need to make sure those moments were represented too.
“He wasn’t horrible,” she added, looking between them. “He just made a joke about the books I spend all my ‘spare’ time reading. Then we talked about who’s doing the dentist appointment.”
Ali rested her forearms on the table, her attention settling fully on Leah. “An evening away isn’t a lot to ask.”
Leah nodded, because agreeing was easier than explaining how quickly she had helped the conversation move on. She had supplied the practical objections herself: the cost, the diary, the arrangements they would have to make for their child. By the time they were discussing the dentist, she had almost managed to convince herself she had only been thinking aloud. It was a habit she was beginning to recognise, making a disappointment manageable before anybody else had to acknowledge it.
Her reflection in the café window came back to her then, along with the uncomplicated pleasure she had felt a few minutes earlier. She was enjoying parts of her life more than she had in years. She wanted to tell him about that, to feel his interest when she spoke, to catch him looking at her with something that made her forget what she had been about to say. She could remember how that felt clearly enough to miss it.
“I don’t want an affair,” she said, the words quieter than the rest of the conversation had been.
“We know,” Fee answered, leaving her fork beside her plate.
“I just miss looking forward to something with him. Being looked at as though he’s thought of something other than a job that needs doing.” Leah placed the spoon on the saucer, suddenly aware of how long she had been holding it. “And then I feel ridiculous for getting so caught up in a book, because obviously it’s a book. The man doesn’t have to remember to put the bins out. Someone’s written him to say the right thing.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re ridiculous for enjoying it,” Ali said.
Leah glanced up at her, grateful for the simplicity of the answer. She had met Fee and Ali when their children started school, and over the years she had come to rely on their honesty as much as their company. They listened when she needed them to, and they were getting increasingly good at noticing when she was being too hard on herself. Around them, the café continued with its morning: cups being cleared, chairs scraping against the floor, the child across the room celebrating the return of the spoon. Having ordinary life carry on while she admitted something that had felt so large in her own head was oddly reassuring. Fee and Ali were still looking at her with the same warmth they had when she arrived, and she could feel herself beginning to relax again.
Ali glanced at her phone, then back at Leah. “There’s something you might enjoy,” she said. “An app.”
Fee’s eyebrows rose. “Please tell me this isn’t another group we need to join.”
“Interactive stories,” Ali explained, reaching for the phone. “You pick a character and talk to him.”
“Like those books where you choose what happens?” Leah asked.
“Sort of. You know when you’re reading something and the heroine keeps making decisions you would never make? This lets you answer for yourself. You choose what to say, and the story changes around it.”Ali tapped through a couple of screens before turning the phone towards them, angling it so they could both see.
The man in the picture was leaning against a motorbike, one hand resting on the seat beside him. He had dark hair, a black T-shirt and the sort of relaxed posture Leah always found more appealing than an obvious attempt to look impressive. There was enough detail in the image to make her look twice: the line of his forearm, the slight turn of his mouth, the way his attention seemed directed at whoever stood just beyond the screen. Beneath the picture, his name was given as Tucker, followed by Motorcycle Club Chair and a short description of the storyline.
Leah read the description, then caught herself looking at his hand again.
“Well,” Fee said, leaning closer. “These AI photos are getting too good.”
Leah laughed properly then, the last of her discomfort easing as she leaned forward to read the opening message. She could already imagine the kind of story being offered: the stranger arriving somewhere she shouldn’t, the man who wanted to know what she was doing there, the immediate suggestion that answering him might be more interesting than leaving. It was familiar enough to amuse her, and appealing enough that she understood why Ali had thought of it.
“And it’s all made up?” Leah asked, lifting her gaze from the screen.
“AIl AI,” Ali said. “The men, the conversations. You can close it whenever you want.”
Leah looked back at the small message box beneath the profile. Say something, it prompted, with a cursor waiting in the empty space. The invitation was so simple that it caught her more effectively than the photograph had. She had been with Mark for more than half her life, long enough to recognise the pause before he asked whether she had remembered something. Lately, she found herself listing what she had done before he could ask what was left. Even on days when work had gone well, she could end the evening feeling behind. The thought of a conversation that began with what she wanted made her hesitate. Leah found herself escaping her daily life of mother, wife, default housemaid and business owner, into reading her Romantsy books.
“Send me the name,” Leah said.
Ali drew the phone back to share the link, and Leah settled into her chair again, wrapping both hands around her cup. The coffee had cooled while they were talking, but she drank it anyway, listening as Fee began questioning whether a motorcycle club would be any easier to organise than the school summer fair. When the link appeared on her screen, Leah opened it and tapped to download the app.
She still had orders to finish and the school run ahead of her, but she caught herself calculating how long it would be before she could open the app.
