The Passing Coat

Home, a long-forgotten word in Vera Brockovich’ s dictionary. She was a girl of twenty who worked in multiple restaurants and cafés and slept in small room which had four other occupants. Every day had been the same. Work, work, work, and more work. Sleep was impossible with roommates playing poker all night. And she spent her long nights, tossing and turning in a small sleeping bag. She had never known happiness. When she had been a child she had stayed in an orphanage where they were provided a single meal and were put to work 17 hours a day. This was till she was sixteen. Then she was given a month to find lodgings and a job, or she was thrown to the streets. Somehow, Vera’s smart tone and quickness gave her a job and a rental lodgings. She was saving up. Saving up for a place she could call home. A house, with a garden and all the things a house should have. She was a smart girl. She had spent nights studying in the library and enjoyed those times. If only she had a proper degree, she would have done much more in life. But a degree needed money and she had barely enough to manage. That was till she started parting with small pleasures like sticks of gum and morning coffee in order to save up.

Vera walked on a dull Saturday morning to “Café la Britain” where her first shift was. She would have loved to climb on to a train or even a bus. But she could only walk. She had a shabby, secondhand coat over her simple clothes. It kept her reasonably warm.

It was something gifted to her by a mysterious customer who left it to her with a small note addressed to her. The old man had seen her shiver as she walked to the store on the cold mornings and left her this. At that moment she knew there was some kindness in the world. She never saw the old man again. Normally, it would have bothered her. But in the state, she was, she could not afford to ponder over something so miniscule.

She reached the café after an hour’s walk.

The bell jingled merrily as she walked in and many usual customers turned round to smile at her and in some cases, wave cheerfully. She smiled back at them warmly, hiding her daily problems.

She walked into the back of the kitchen where Marco, her coworker was busily preparing the morning’s muffins and coffee. She reached for the apron on the back of the door and put it on in swift, practiced motions.

“Hey” Marco said without looking up from the batter he was mixing.

“Hello” She replied without a thought.

“I didn’t see you yesterday at the year anniversary of the café party” He asked looking up.

Vera felt her cheeks go red and eyes swell up as she turned around to make the frosting. She would have loved to go. But “Hailey’s Nights” had given her the late-night shift. And even if she went, she would look rude in her work jeans and roll sleeves shirt. She quietly whipped the cream without replying.

“Cold day, isn’t it?” Marco tried to make conversation again.

“It’s oddly warmer than usual” Vera replied curtly.

“I can’t tell the difference…But those poor children on the streets might” He said pointing at some children shivering under a thin piece of cloth.

Vera looked at them without a word. She understood what those children felt. She had gone through that at a point of time. Her fist clenched over the whisk. The children deserved better. Better than her fate. She herself could not afford to help them, without giving up her ‘home’ idea. She closed her eyes.

“Something up? You look tired.” Marco pointed out.

“Nothing. Just another day gone wrong” She replied sniffing.

Marco did not reply. He knew Vera well enough to leave her alone on her ‘day gone wrong.’

The door jingled as a customer entered.

Marco put his head out of the door.

It was James Carrisford. The Carrisford family lawyer. A frequent customer.

“Vera, why don’t you take James’s order and I’ll finish the icing” Marco asked. He knew Vera’s troubles and let her take tips from customers often.

Vera grabbed a pot of coffee and balanced a plate of glazed donuts on the other hand and walked out of the kitchen, muttering a soft thanks.

The café as usual smelled of cinnamon and cream. James Carrisford took a seat near the window and pulled out a notebook and worked out something in it.

Vera gracefully walked towards the table and poured hot, creamy rich coffee into a mug. She topped it with cream and sugar and stirred it gently.

She placed the cup on a coaster and the doughnuts next to it.

James looked up from his paper and smiled.

“Marco told you my usual order, didn’t he? Nice guy” He asked chuckling.

Vera blushed, a soft but noticeable blush. Noticeable enough for James.

James leaned forward and said – “Do you happen to know a girl called Vera here? A chef, or perhaps another waitress?”

Vera’s heart skipped a beat. Why was James Carrisford looking for her?

“Ah yes, Vera. Her shift is later. Why do you want to know?” She said carefully.

“A private matter. And it does not concern you” He replied, evidently displeased.

“You can tell me. I can be trusted! Generally, one would be curious if a high-status lawyer came down to a petty to look for a waitress” She asked putting on an innocent look on her face.

“What are you suggesting madame? What did you say your name was?” He darted back, his face reddening.

Vera was about to reply but Marco walked through the kitchen door.

“Vera Brockovich! Boss will be mad if he found out you were chatting with customers! You can’t afford to lose this job you know?” Marco explained, annoyed.

James jumped to his feet and spluttered – “Vera? I thought she had a later shift, my fellow”

“Sir, Vera is the lady in front of you” Marco said, puzzled.

James pounced in front of Vera and grabbed her hand and shook it.

Vera was pale and confused.

“Vera my dear you are truly of the luckiest women on the earth!” He mumbled.

Marco stood protectively in front of Vera.

“Explain yourself”

James had now regained his sanity. He pulled out a bunch of papers and spread them across the table.

“Vera, my uncle, Trey Carrisford has passed away a month ago. He had a large amount of money and property in his hands. He left them all too his lost goddaughter- Vera Brockovich. He told us in his last words she was in Britain café. We spent a month looking for you in England. It stuck me when I came here that you could be here. You are rich beyond your dreams.” He said pursing his lips in happiness.

Vera just stood, frozen. She sat down from nausea. She was rich. She was rich beyond dreams.

She would have a home. A home with furniture and other homey things.

She wiped her eyes, sobbing.

 She grabbed her coat and purse and ran out. Telling them she would be back in a few moments.

She ran towards the poor slum children.

She went nearby and went on her knees. She kindly held out her coat.

They looked at her in disbelief and then smiled.

A rich man had given a poor girl a coat when she needed it most. It had given her luck. Now she returned the turn. Hopefully, these children would get luck like she had did.

Vera walked away with light back in life.