From Coffee Shop Corners

By M K Lee

People watching might be George's favourite way to spend his time. Why wouldn't he lose himself in dreaming up the loves and lives of other people to escape the mess that is his own? From this new favourite cafe corner, in the new town he's made his home, George makes up backstories for each of the baristas. And as they serve coffee, George imagines happily ever afters for their waiting customers. But when a surprise email forces him to relive the heartache he's running from, George can think of little else. How can he move forward with his life if he keeps looking back?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M K Lee
• Release date: Mar 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386617976

M K Lee

M K Lee is a freelance writer who is almost permanently attached to their laptop wherever their travels may take them, writing everything from poetry blogs to language articles and many other things in between.

Book preview

Chapter One

This cafe is homely. In the four weeks since he arrived here in the town of Wilthall, George has come to Castle View more than anywhere else. He already has a favourite corner. It is a window seat towards the back of the raised main floor, from where he has a perfect view of everything. His choice of seat is a deep, red armchair with thick, springy cushions, where he could happily curl up with a book in the rare moments he forgets to keep himself busy.

George likes this spot specifically because when his laptop battery runs out on him, the cable for it reaches the plug socket without him having to perform a contortion act to charge it. There is a small, sturdy table in front of him, made from recycled pallets, where he can balance his coffee or whatever treat from the counter catches his eye. This is his little corner, George's retreat away from the entire world.

Castle View is the perfect place to work in for so many reasons. It is a fifteen-minute walk from the place George is starting to call home; a room he lets in a large house owned by a widower. The cafe's Wifi is strong, which is why George chose here to continue his translations, proofreading, or whatever other work he's got for the day. The coffee is pretty good, as is everything he's so far eaten. The staff are friendly without being too chatty, and the constant music on in the background is never too loud to distract him, yet is just enough to keep George occupied between thoughts.

Most of all though, in this favourite corner, with his perfect view from his deep, red armchair, George can indulge in something that has always brought him comfort when feeling out of his depth; people watching.

Take, for instance, the table to his left. This is the second time George has seen who he presumes is a mother and her teenage daughter. Both have straight strawberry blonde hair they have a habit of tucking behind their ears when speaking. They are sitting after ordering, their coats already hung on the hook by the door when they came in. George keeps his eyes on his laptop screen listening to their complaints about choosing the table with the wonky leg again. Though he does follow their gaze to the counter when they look, debating something else to eat.

Did Dad send you a text earlier? the girl asks, who George puts at about fifteen.

Your dad texts me all day long.

Yeah, but the one at lunchtime. With all the cupcakes and stuff his colleague brought in for her birthday?

Oh, that one, the mum replies, smiling as she pulls out her phone to read. "I did. Along with a, Julia, this frosting is to die for."

I sent him one back telling him to brush his teeth since he's always nagging me to.

Sarah, Julia says, smiling again, your father doesn't want you to have cavities, is all. You know he had—

That bad filling when he was a kid that got infected; yeah, I know. Mum, we're gonna eat, Sarah protests, shifting in her seat as though she can't get comfortable. Anyway. Can we make cupcakes this weekend?

I thought you were going to that party at Declan's?

There is a loud, disgruntled sigh from Sarah that carries across the cafe. She follows it with a dismissive shrugging of her shoulders that makes George smile.

I just want a weekend at home away from everyone.

Oh? Julia says. Even from here George catches the concern in her eyes. Has something happened?

I just... don't wanna be around anyone is all. I want Friday to come, and to leave school, and to not have to talk to anyone until Monday.

It's only Wednesday. Sarah has a little while to wait.

Is everything okay? Julia asks. Sarah has no time to answer since the barista chooses that moment to come to their table, carrying a tray loaded up with coffee and cake. It's the same cake George had when he came in; a thick wedge of toffee and buttercream sponge he could eat another slice of without hesitation.

The barista is tall, stooped over the table as he sets everything out for Julia and Sarah. His fingers curl around the edge of his tray as he straightens up, thumbs drumming a dull beat against it. Can I get you anything else?

No. That's everything, thank you, Julia replies. She reins in a tiny smile before turning her gaze on Sarah, who fidgets in her seat with her head bent forward, tucking her hair more firmly behind her ears. George can't see since Sarah is sat at an angle to him, but he is sure she is blushing.

This looks amazing.

Better than cupcakes?

Well, Sarah says, tilting her head to the side as she scrapes her spoon around the glass of her latte. I wouldn't mind making toffee cupcakes.

He could give you the recipe, Julia teases with a nod over her shoulder that sends George's gaze to the barista's retreating back.

"Mum—"

I have eyes, Sarah. He's cute. Far too young for me, obviously.

Mum—

But, Julia continues, her eyes twinkling with mirth, it's good to know you have such good taste.

George checks the barista for himself, taking in long limbs and muscular arms, with dark hair stood up in every direction. He hides his smile behind his last sip of coffee, pulling a face when it's cold.

Sarah continues to make a fuss of stirring her coffee and straightening her plate. Anyway. Thank you for the cake.

You don't have to thank me, Julie says. This is our thing. Our time.

Confirmation that this is a regular outing for them leaves George wistful. His mum's face drifts into his thoughts but George pushes her away again. It's too painful. He made his decision, so there is no point missing the comforts of family and home now.

So. Declan, Julie says then, the change of subject jolting George's thoughts back from becoming sad ones.

It's nothing, Sarah says in a tone that suggests it's definitely something. A few of the girls who are supposed to be going to this party are just... I don't like them all that much, is all.

Not that Jessica and her friends?

Maybe.

Sarah. Is she bullying you again? Julia asks, her spoon clattering against her plate as she looks across the table in alarm.

What? No. No, Mum, it's nothing like that. I just don't wanna be around people like that.

People like what?

"People who spend all day on Twitter and Instagram just looking to start drama, then keep stirring it up in real life at school. They're the worst."

Well. That really doesn't sound like much fun, Julia says, reaching across the table and squeezing Sarah's arm. Of course we can make cupcakes.

Their attention shifts to their cake the moment Julia slides her spoon through hers, urging Sarah to try it. It makes George's mouth water for that second slice he's talking himself in and out of, debating it for all of five minutes before giving in. George keeps a constant eye on his seat and laptop the entire time he waits in the queue at the counter, daring anyone to go near. Not that he'd know what to do if they did.

When he returns, Sarah is telling Julia about her day at school, and Julia, in turn, shares a funny story about her morning at work. George has a brief memory of curling up in his mother's lap when he couldn't have been much younger than Sarah here, sharing similar stories about their days. It shouldn't make his heart so heavy. But it does make him want to go home to Hemsby to see his family, even though it's far too soon. Instead, he writes a long overdue email to his mother and fires off a text message to his sister Beth.

So. Your father is away for this retreat thing with your Uncle Martin, Julia says as she scrapes her plate clean and sits back with a contented sigh.

The subject change this time puts thoughts of massages and saunas in George's mind. Both would be far too peaceful, which is not what George needs at all.

Yeah. I know, Sarah agrees, pressing her fingertip into the plate to catch the last of the crumbs there. You think we should call an air ambulance now, or...?

They aren't that bad, Julia says, laughing, even as she lets out a groan. It's only a little mountain biking and trail work.

Yeah, Sarah says, disapproving. Last time when they came back neither one of them could walk.

I'll get some of those heat packs in when I go shopping tomorrow, Julia says, making a note on her phone.

Is he gonna steal one of my bath bombs again?

Oh, I don't doubt it.

I'm gonna leave him the ones with glitter in.

Well. Maybe he'll be too tired to notice, Julie replies. George sees her face light up and imagines she is picturing her husband sparkling. George has to force his eyes back on the laptop screen so she doesn't catch his answering smile.

So, it's just us this weekend? Sarah asks, draining the last of her coffee and stretching her arms against the edge of the table.

Yep. They're leaving straight from work on Friday and won't get back till Sunday afternoon.

So... girls' weekend, since we have the house to ourselves? Sarah says, her voice hopeful.

George thinks of the house that is now his home. He pictures his large bedroom filled with old oak furniture, and the creak on the landing outside his room that announces anytime he leaves. He sags in his chair for thinking of how his landlady Miranda appears out of nowhere the moment he comes downstairs to eat or do laundry.

Miranda is well-meaning but inquisitive, a widower suffering from empty nest syndrome since both her sons have long moved out of Wilthall. Her constant presence makes George miss the privacy of his apartment and want to spend the weekend alone, curled up in pyjamas with bad TV and no need to go anywhere. Julia and Sarah's conversation about their weekend is only reinforcing that thought.

Julia's plans for facials and nail polish might not interest him, but Sarah's suggestion of the films they can watch does make his heart sting. He shouldn't make the connection he does of being curled up on a sofa somewhere in the arms of someone he shouldn't even be thinking of anymore. George's thoughts take him there anyway. His stomach gives a painful clench for how much he is missing him when he knows he can't.

George tries to focus on the words in front of him, reading through the text he needs to translate as he blocks Julia and Sarah's conversation out. But all he can think of is how lonely he's succeeded in making himself. That his family are only reachable by phone. George is alone in the world, and it's all his own doing. And there is nothing he can do about it now.

There is a man sitting in George's usual spot when he arrives at Castle View this morning. He grumbles under his breath for it begrudging this stranger his comfy seat, then selects another that won't leave him fidgeting. This one is blue, a low-backed couch instead of an armchair. And since the socket is within reach, he can be cheeky, turning to stretch his legs out along the length of it.

Since he had another night of little sleep, George orders espresso instead of his typical latte before setting up his laptop. It takes longer than he'd like to go through his checklist scheduling work for the day because he is so tired. George has a deadline he must meet if he wants to be eligible for a piece in a journal he writes for, and a translation he needs to get to a client overseas by nine in the morning their time. George checks the corner of the laptop screen, thankful he still has a good few hours.

As he types, slowly untangling the text blinking back at him on the screen, George can't help noticing the man in his regular seat. He must be reading for the way he stares at his tablet, occasionally reaching out as though to swipe a page.

Every few minutes he picks up the large coffee cup on the table in front of him, taking a careful sip that somehow never hits his moustache or beard. George wants to mock him, this stranger with carefully groomed copper facial hair like every other hipster walking by. But the moment he even thinks cruel thoughts George chides himself for being unkind, dropping his gaze back to the work in front of him.

George tries not to clock watch as he works, tension building in his stomach for how quickly time is passing. This translation should be an easy one despite how tired he is; it is a paper on global politics that aims for neutrality and misses terribly. Though it is balanced enough for George not to worry about forcing his own opinion into the words.

Pleased with his progress when he's proofread his work, George decides he's earned a break for lunch. He orders the soup of the day that he's come to enjoy so much here in Castle View, along with another coffee. George is relieved to be hitting send on his projects as he breaks up the thick slice of granary bread that comes with the soup ready to dunk. Today's is chicken. It is thick, creamy, and with a hint of leek and onion. Just a spoonful transports George into his mum's kitchen, leaning against a counter as she stirs a pan on the stove. George fires off a quick, guilty message saying hello.

George can't help looking around the cafe to see what other customers are doing. He toys with imagining the conversation of the couple in the corner, and guesses the subjects studied by three people waiting to be served who he's already decided are students. The woman in a high-necked jacket stood waiting outside takes his attention for a moment, though not as much as her yapping dog who he can hear even through the glass.

Inevitably his eyes drift back to his usual seat, to this Hipster-Man wedged in his corner, making up a history for him as he watches. The man is a guitarist, a bookshop owner, a software engineer, and a student all rolled into one. Then he's an office worker, a night school teacher, and an author of children's books. A stay-at-home father taking a morning off one moment, and an optician waiting to start his afternoon shift the next. He is someone who typically takes care of himself whatever he does, George is sure of that from the perfectly pressed plaid shirt and jeans with matching turn-ups. Although when George really looks at him, it's obviously been a few days since the guy trimmed his beard.

When the man looks up and stares across the cafe without seeing anything, George's heart breaks for him, any cruel thoughts he'd been having dissolving into guilt. The man's despair seeps across the cafe making George want to cross the rug on the floor between them and ask if everything is okay. Defeat seeps into his shoulders, pressing him into that deep, red armchair George likes so much. His sadness adds lines to his face that stack up in years. And when he reaches for his coffee George sees his hand is trembling. George watches him pinch his eyes and sigh, then hears the unmistakable sound of a controlled sob.

This man has lost something, George is sure of it, the echo of his own heartache resonating as he keeps staring at him. A weight presses on George's chest for this unfortunate man that urges him to pick up his phone and call a familiar number. He pushes the thought away. Instead, George focuses on this man sat before him, trying to imagine the source of his pain.

There is a woman. Carefree and smiling, jean shorts and plaid shirt teamed with battered purple Converse that have a hole in the toe. Her hair is wild, the same copper colour as is in this man's beard. Her fingers are forever through it putting chaos into its every strand.

She holds his hand, skipping as she walks the street beside him, telling him about her day. He is enchanted, delighted, and so in love; it's why this Hipster Man is so broken that she walked away from him, though he only blames himself. He stopped listening, so she stopped talking, and slowly the two of them drifted apart. He woke one morning in too-quiet apartment with half his closet space empty of her things, loneliness creeping in like a shroud.

George watches him pinch his eyes again, thinking it's to stop the onset of tears. He's been there. So long has passed since the hope George had held in his heart was shattered, but that heartache still stings fresh. There are moments when it hits him, the life George had let himself hope he might one day be leading snatched away since it was never his to have.

This town is his start over, this new existence the promise of life in a different direction. Though it doesn't matter how many times he tells himself this story. George can't deny he is running away. It's pointless since the only thing he's running from is himself. This intentional isolation from his friends, family, and most importantly, him, seemed the perfect solution. It was foolish and whimsical, and hasn't solved anything. Yet George is stubborn enough to want to make it work.

But George is lonely, too scared to reach out and truly start over. He might have forgotten how to make friends. Which is why he's sat here in this cafe corner, forcing himself to leave the room he's renting so he doesn't get to know every crack and crevice of its four walls. George knows he has to make an effort, yet so far, he's barely interacted with anyone here in Wilthall.

Hipster-Man shifts in his seat once again stealing George's focus, and he's thankful for the change in direction of his thoughts. George imagines another source of pain for this stranger, this time the loss of a sibling. A younger brother who recently went off to university enjoying Freshers' Week a little too much. He took a shortcut home back to his halls of residence and found himself splattered on the front of a car.

George scolds himself for such dark thoughts, sending a silent apology across the