Crossword
by Ian Carass
They managed to arrive at the cafe, walking at pace, without getting soaked.
The sun had not made much of an effort that morning, as the year drifted into dilapidation. A thin blear of cloud covered the sky; a fretful, cold drizzle fell intermittently. The sea, always there in the background, was stilled to a self-effacing hush and did not intrude.
They sat at their usual table in the cafe. They shucked off their coats and sat down in silence. He would be the first to speak, as he usually was. And he would talk almost without pause throughout breakfast. Now and then, she caught a few words in his monologue.
She was always the one who spoke to the person who took their order at the table. But as their order never varied day to day, few words were required to complete this transaction (unless it was a new waiter or waitress who attended to their needs).
When they first came to this cafe, at breakfast time on the first morning after their move to the seaside and only a month after he had retired, they had chosen this table. It stood towards the right side of the cafe, with an oblique view of the promenade and a glimpse of the sea. Near to the window but not so near that they could easily be seen by someone passing by and casually glancing inside.
They were not so proprietorial about “their” table that they had to sit there (and nowhere else). If they arrived and happened to find someone already enjoying breakfast at that corner table, they never knowingly gave them a hard stare or a toss of the head or a snort. If they were obliged to sit elsewhere, they sat at the back of the cafe, but on those occasions, they never stayed long.
***
They had seen changes at the cafe over the years, and pretty much accommodated them. The cafe had changed hands twice and gone from a bog-standard seaside affair to a more up-market napkins-and-side plates eatery, and thence to a so-called espresso bar. They had come to terms with (or capitulated to) smoked bacon and sourdough toast. They had grimaced but endured Mexican eggs, smashed avocados and cappuccinos.
It wasn’t really about the food; it wasn’t much about the company; it was about the routine.
On the walk to the cafe from their flat, he always bought a newspaper. She watched the dogs racing up and down the beach. She had wanted to get a dog when they retired. She had wanted a house too, with a little garden (for the dog) and not just a balcony and pot plants. He had said that he didn’t want to spend his precious retirement maintaining a substantial property. Besides, they didn’t want to rattle about, did they? And think of the heating bills!
Pets were not allowed in the flat where they had settled. There was no spare bedroom either, so they rarely saw the grandchildren.
She couldn’t recall the last time that they had sat out on the balcony. She dried her washing there sometimes, on fine days.
He had installed a fish tank in the sitting room.
He did not feel hungry in the mornings these days. He now only ever drank coffee in the cafe, whereas she always ordered something to eat (the same thing every day, more or less). She usually managed to eat only a corner of her meal. She would have preferred to have been served her tea in a pot and not in a mug.
***
Whilst she ate (or sat looking at her food, or stirred her tea), he worked on the crossword in the newspaper. It was not the most challenging of exercises. He read the clues out loud every time and, without looking at his wife, he paused to see if any suggested solution was forthcoming. In the early days, she had offered her answers to the crossword clues, but he had never provided feedback on her suggestions. She never knew if she had made the correct guess, if he had used her offering or even if he ever successfully completed the crossword.
He always dropped his newspaper into a bin as they walked back home.
***
Rain was now hammering on the window of the cafe, and she reflected that she had not brought her brolly. It didn’t look like it was going to stop soon.
His eyes remained on his newspaper; he gnawed the end of his ballpoint pen and frowned in concentration.
“To expire,” he said, eyes down. “Three letters.”
She looked at him directly, for the first time that morning.
“Die,” she said quietly, the corner of her mouth twitching.
And then she repeated it: “Die!”
WENSUM 