Nate headed to the cafe. It had free WiFi, large tables, coffee on demand and was much more spacious and comfortable than the bunkhouse. In fact, the bunkhouse didn’t even have a desk. It had a miniature two-person table, already covered with stuff that couldn’t go anywhere else; a camera, books, notepads, a skull called Dave (Nate had no idea who had brought that). So, the cafe it was.
He negotiated his way around a couple of prams, smiled wanly as a toddler tried to hand him a green lorry, and ignored the looks and whispers of a couple of mums. Nate wasn’t delusional. He was the only eligible guy in the cafe, and these ladies looked like they would whisper about anything with a pulse. Nevertheless, he made sure to give them a little smile. Well, he did have a pulse.
‘Coffee, decaf, black,’ he said to the waitress hovering near the large table he spread his papers over. The laptop swung open, and Nate settled down to work.
Three decaf coffees later and Nate’s quiet haven was becoming more and more like a child’s play area. The kids had multiplied somehow, and the cafe was busy with parents with prams. A couple of grandparents doted on cute pudgy kids, and those who were child-free looked on adoringly.
He’d managed to get halfway through the weekly report due to the university, had planned out the report due to his funders, ordered more materials and catalogued the few noteworthy finds that had come to the surface. It wasn’t unusual to find a lot of early 20th century debris in the first layer – bottle caps, drinks cans, coins – but he was a bit concerned. They hadn’t even found any Victorian junk yet. Geophysics had said that there should be finds here, and Nate trusted geophysics more than he trusted most people. He just had to be patient.
Nate pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sleep was an issue on those fucking bunk beds, and the noise in the cafe was giving him a headache.
‘Ahem.’
Nate dragged his hands down his face slowly and looked up at the woman who had sidled up to his table.
He straightened up in surprise when he saw it was Laurel before him, in a pretty green sundress, arms crossed over her chest.
‘Oh, hey,’ he said.
Laurel surveyed his mess of paperwork, and her lips curved up in what could have been a smile, if her eyes weren’t blazing with annoyance. ‘Hi. You’ve been here for nearly an hour and a half.’
So?Nate shrugged and shook his head; she must be driving at something. Why did she care where he was?
‘An hour and a half. In peak time,’ she added meaningfully, raising her eyebrows. Nate looked around. Huh, yeah, it was busy.
Laurel sighed. ‘You can’t work here. The cafe needs the table. You’ll have to find somewhere else.’
He didn’t have the patience for this.
‘Where, Laurel? You know full well that there’s nowhere in the bunkhouse I can work,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.
‘There’s a dressing table in the apartment. That should be big enough for your...’ she surveyed his table again, ‘work.’
‘I’m not in the apartment. I gave it to a couple of masters students who live together,’ he said, checking his coffee. He let a tiny self-satisfied smile curve his lips at her surprise.
‘Oh.’ She bit that full bottom lip, thinking, narrowing her eyes as she weighed up her options.
If she didn’t give him somewhere to work, then he would take up this very same table each and every day. Just to piss her off.
‘Come with me,’ she said, taking a couple of steps away from the table.
Nate flipped his laptop shut and scrabbled for his papers, clumping them together messily. Two pens were in the mix somewhere and Nate scooped it all up to his chest. He scowled as he pressed the work to his chest and scraped the chair back.
Nate had taken three steps after Laurel before those pens started making themselves known.
Oh no.
They were rolling between his laptop and notebook, and no matter how hard he clenched the papers to him, they were starting to slide. The noise of the cafe was overwhelming and everything was slipping. She was walking too fast and blatantly choosing the most tortuous route. He hoisted the laptop against his chest again.
As if in slow motion, a sticky handed child with a snotty face trundled into his path and oh god. Nate swerved and twisted to avoid the corner of a table and it was happening. He clutched the papers to his hips as the laptop slid dangerously low. It was all falling, he was losing his grip and instinctively grabbed the computer as the papers exploded out of his arms, showering down in a rain of print and scrawl.
‘Fuck,’ he said loudly, dropping to the floor to collect his work.
Laurel whirled around, her face flashing from shock to fury.
‘Sorry everyone.’ She smiled brightly at the reproving looks from mothers and the elderly. ‘What are you doing?’ She whisper-shouted at him, lips pulled back into a not-smile.
‘You could help,’ Nate muttered aggressively, stretching under a table to retrieve scribbled notes.
