18
Chris
Iclear up the last few tables and take the plates and glasses through to the back. It’s midmorning, and the breakfast rush is starting to die down. By now, most people are wandering around the shops, and we probably won’t get any customers for at least an hour, unless someone pops in for a quick coffee.
I go back into the main room to top up the milk jugs, arranging them on the tables, then take a five-minute break outside to have a cigarette. I lean back against the glass. Today is grey and rainy, even though we’re well into spring. This weather always fills me with a strange sadness, brings me down more than usual. I slowly exhale the smoke and watch people rushing up and down the street, peering every now and again into shop windows. I put my cigarette out into the ashtray and decide to head back inside to start preparing the sandwiches for lunch, wiping my feet on the doormat as I go in. But out of the corner of my eye, I make out a familiar figure on the other side of the road.
He turns, confused, from one window to the other, looking inside and then shaking his head. He walks a few paces, then turns back. He stops. Then he retraces the same steps again.
I stand there watching for a few minutes, as he repeats the same movements, then I decide to cross the road.
“Mr O’Connor?” I call.
He stops in his tracks and looks at me, though his eyes are distracted.
“Everything okay?” I ask gently.
“I think so,” he replies, shaking himself from his trance.
“Are you out for a walk?” I try.
“Mmm…maybe…”
I take him carefully by the arm. “Can I get you a coffee or something?” I ask, guiding him towards my café.
“Oh…okay.” He lets me steer him away, but I’m not sure that he knows who I am.
I open the door to the café for him and help him sit at a table near the counter, so I can keep an eye on him. Vic comes over as I’m making him a coffee.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but he seems confused. I’m not sure.”
“Do you think there’s something wrong with him?”
“I have no idea, Vic,” I say, worried.
“Do you think we should call someone?”
“I wouldn’t know who to call. I don’t know his number or where he lives. He comes in sometimes with his wife, and I know Ian and Riley, but I don’t know how to get in contact with any of them.”
“Maybe he just had a moment…”
“Maybe,” I say, unconvinced.
“What shall we do?”
“For now I’ll just take him this coffee,” I say, leaving the counter and heading towards him.
I sit down next to him and hand him the mug.
“Thank you,” he smiles.
“Milk and sugar?”
“Just milk.”
I pour him some milk and stand there watching him in silence for a few minutes, then I decide to investigate.
