The 'Steam And Sip' Eavesdropper

It was a dreich Monday and one that promised more rain later. I’d grabbed an earlier bus that morning, I needed to get my usual seat and my Monday morning fix.

As I hurried along the high street towards the café, The Steam And Sip, I looked up at the darkening clouds and quickened my pace.

I found ‘my spot’, a small corner seat by the café window. This was the perfect spot to do some people-watching outside and people listening inside. The acoustics were perfect here, not too loud to drown out conversations and quiet enough to pick up on them, pretending to read my book or scroll through my phone as I sipped my coffee.

I suppose I’d always been a people watcher and used to make up stories about the folk I was watching, usually lying by the pool on holiday. I had a drink in one hand and a book in the other, they were so loud it was hard not to listen in.

I’d been coming to the café for a few weeks now, not long after being made redundant. I was uptown getting my eyes tested and had happened to come across the café so popped in for a coffee and slice of cake. Looking back I missed the social aspect of work and saw the café as a substitute for that. By my third visit, I was hooked and used to make up excuses for going in.

By Now the Barista, Monica, knew exactly what my order would be. A ‘Foggy Morning’ and a slice of Millionaires Shortbread. She was Spanish, and as I’d been dabbling in Spanish for years trying to learn ‘the lingo’ I used to try and impress her with a bit of chat.

The Foggy Morning was a creamy blend of Caturra coffee beans from Columbia, steamed milk, a dollop of honey syrup, a hint of vanilla essence and a secret ingredient, that Monica wouldn’t divulge, it was a superb compliment to my shortbread. Monica said she had been perfecting the recipe for years using varying blends and flavours.

This was my guilty pleasure and my Monday morning fix.

Over the weeks I became like one of the fixtures and fittings along with a few other regulars. Never having spoken to them I made up names and stories about them too.

Evelyn sat at the opposite window from me. Younger than me, maybe around the late forties, difficult to say as her hair was streaked with grey, wearing oversized glasses and thick Fair Isle jumpers. She was always scribbling in her notebook, perhaps a writer or …….. taking notes on the rest of us. I can see her as a spinster with two or three cats waiting at home for her.

Sandra is a student type. She had a penchant for wearing vintage dresses and mismatched socks. She always had around a half dozen textbooks that were scattered about her table and usually nursing chai latte.

Henry is a retiree, the same as me. Older though and loves to appear wordly wise. I have heard him say he’s travelled the world and loves nothing better than to regale the tales of his adventures to anyone who will listen.

And then there’s Monica. Always happy with a smile on her face, busy as a bee and chatty with the customers. I have found out that she’s from the Barcelona area of Spain and it’s Catalan Spanish she speaks, rather than the Castilian Spanish that I’m learning. That explains the giggles when I’m in full flow babbling on in Spanish.

The bell on the café door chimed and a couple walked in. I looked up casually to see who they were, strangers I hadn’t seen before, a chance for some new gossip I thought.

They looked comfortable together so not a date, maybe work colleagues out for a break, or maybe clandestine lovers out for a secret liaison. They took the booth to my right and immediately engaged in hushed conversation. I shuffled in my seat to get a bit closer hoping to catch a few of their words. I was hypothesising in my head about them, trying to weave a narrative. I tried to convince myself that what I was doing was harmless and just a bit of fun. I pretended to be engrossed in my book but all the time I was listening in to them.

Suddenly the woman said “Are you sure?” a little louder than she might have intended, she quietened down “I mean it doesn’t have to be this way, we don’t have to…”

“We have no choice, Alison,” the man had interrupted her before she could finish the sentence his voice sounded a bit menacing. “We know how this has to end. That was always the ultimate goal.”

That was it I was hooked, I couldn’t leave now.

Monica was tidying up a table nearby, “Disculpe Monica!” I said, “Una café con leche, por favour.” She smiled and nodded.

My curiosity was getting the better of me and I leaned in closer, trying not to move suddenly, for fear of being caught.

Alison spoke again, pleading with the man, “There are other ways. Please. We can still get what we want. We can….”

“STOP,” the man said almost shouting. I nearly dropped my book in fright. “It’s what we agreed, we stick to the plan.”

I heard a clinking of cutlery and looked up as Monica laid my coffee on the table. “Gracias!” I said and she replied “De nada.” The conversation I had just heard wasn’t a casual argument between friends, there was a definite tension between them and my mind went into overdrive trying to determine what it was all about.

“We can still walk away,” Alison said. “Think of all the implications if we carry this through.” She started sobbing “I think I’ve fallen in love with ...”

The man interrupted her again, “Don’t say his name, you know I don’t like you mentioning him. It’s too dangerous, someone might be listening.”

My mind was already going at 100 miles an hour and at the mention of danger, it nearly exploded. A name? danger? What were they talking about? I didn’t mean to pry as much as I had but now I was caught up in it, drawn to it like a moth drawn to the light. I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me and wasn’t any of my business but my curiosity was overpowering.

Then the conversation took a rather dark turn

“If we go through with this, people will get hurt. What about his daughter and grandchildren?” Alison said. “You don’t want them on your conscience. I know you don’t.”

“I’ve made my peace with what we agreed, the man replied. “you need to make yours too.”

My stomach was turning in knots. The conversation I had just heard was not typical of relationships or personal drama. This truly felt dangerous and something I shouldn’t be hearing, this could get me into trouble.

I should have gotten up and just left at that point but my legs were rooted to the spot. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave.

I reached for my phone and opened up my Notes app. I hesitated, thinking what am I doing? My fingers hovered over the keyboard, then I slowly began typing.

** Man – “We know how this has to end. That was always the ultimate goal.”

** Alison - “There are other ways. Please. We can still get what we want. We can ..”

The excitement grew and I could feel my heart beating faster as I typed. What was I doing? I questioned myself yet again. Was this even ethical? There was something about the man’s tone, a coldness about it, making me think that this was not a lover's quarrel. My thoughts were spiralling out of control as the conversation grew quieter and more intense.

Then, there was a pause. I so wanted to look up at them but that would have been a huge mistake.

“You’re in too deep now, Alison,” the man said after a long silence. “We both are. You knew what you were getting into.”

The woman’s response was barely audible, a quiet sob, muffled by the sound of the café. I felt my throat tighten, the atmosphere was so intense. The woman sounded so panicky and fearful.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, the conversation shifted.

“You should leave now then,” the man said, “This is your last chance to get out. I’ll handle the rest of it.”

A long pause followed that seemed to last an eternity.

“I … I can’t,” Alison whispered, “I can’t do it now. I can’t kill him.”

The man sighed heavily, then there was a hushed angry response which I couldn’t pick up clearly. I leaned in a bit closer, there was silence. Then the sudden scraping of chairs on the floor.

The café went strangely quiet as the couple just upped and left.

I sat up and looked at them through the window, trying to get a better look at them.

The man was tall, over six foot I’d guess. Clean shaven wearing a dark hat and coat that obscured his face. He could be anywhere between 35 and 55 years old.

Alison is shorter, around my height so about 5ft 8 inches. Brown shoulder-length hair with a brightly coloured scarf around her neck.

They didn’t look back as they exited the café and disappeared along the high street.

My phone vibrated. “Where the hell are you? We were supposed to be meeting for lunch half an hour ago!” Then another text came through “You better not still be at the café eavesdropping”.

It was my wife, Harriet. I was so caught up in the café that I’d forgotten about lunch.

I paid my bill and said “Hasta Luego!” to Monica, then hurried out of the café towards the car. Everything I’d heard in the café was swirling about in my head and I was trying to make sense of it all. I should tell someone, Harriet, at the very least.

I arrived at the restaurant to meet Harriet and was met with a stern face, “You're spending more and more time at that café. It’s becoming an unhealthy obsession,” she said. “You’re here now though,” she continued. “better late than never.”

“Shall we order then?” I replied meekly. I couldn’t tell Harriet now, not with her being in a crabbit mood. I know what she’d say, “Men aren’t supposed to be the gossip. If you keep spending all your time at the café I’ll ban you from going.”

The café and its gossip were my addiction, like a drug addict trying to score their next high, or a gambler chasing the next big win.

I couldn’t stop even if I tried. I decided to delete the notes I had on my phone, no evidence no crime I thought. I drove home, apologised to Harriet and tried to forget it.

I needed my Monday morning fix. Nothing else mattered.