Only Coffee

Rachel looked at herself in the mirror. Why the hell was she so nervous? It was only coffee. But after so long.

He’d contacted her on Facebook out of the blue. ‘Hey. Remember me? Fancy meeting up?  Coffee?  Talk through old times?’

Of course she remembered him. They’d been an item back in the day. He was young and good looking, she was young, drawn to those blue eyes, that ready smile. Yes, and she supposed she’d been attractive back then. Then she’d gone to college, uni, and well, he hadn’t. Gone into business with his dad, a builder, so no further education needed. They’d drifted apart, gone their separate ways. It happens.

She looked at her reflection. The bags under the eyes, the lines round her mouth that turned it down, the chins, how many were there these days? She lifted her chin, pulled down the flesh on her neck, smiled. At least her teeth are still quite good, though the effort of smiling put more creases round her eyes, her mouth. Ah well.

She looked at her hair. It had always been on the wild side, but now looking at it, she wondered if she should lay off the blond highlights, get a good cut. Too late now for retouching the roots.

Then there was the body. She’d been a skinny thing when he’d known her; now she looked at her body with fresh eyes. She stood up straight, pulled her shoulders back. Her breasts were still good, bigger than they had been when they’d first known each other, but now in her mid-forties, gravity was starting to get the upper hand. And as for the jelly belly.

Need to put on a looser top, she thought, something that hides those folds of flesh that never fully went away after the birth of Jess and Maddie.

Need to get fit, said another voice, the one that thought every spare moment should be put to good use. But work, single motherhood and apathy had always got in the way. And now? Yes, she still had work, but first Jess and now Maddy had gone to university, leaving evenings and weekends free to do what she wanted, at least during term time.

Get on top of the housework, she’d told herself. But that had been a failure. She’d always been okay at cooking, always managed to keep on top of laundry, but cleaning was for some reason beyond her capabilities. She marvelled at those women that seemed to have loads of time yet kept an immaculate house.

Besides, she’d couldn’t bring herself to disturb the girls rooms, and when she’d tackled the bathroom, she’d found a nest of spiders and realised that no matter how many she caught, there’d still be more. Even now the strongest four had taken up their positions in the corners of the bathroom, the lesser spiders finding what territories they could.

She sighed. Don’t worry about the spiders – you’re not inviting him back here. 

She looked at herself with a different, looser top on. Was she too casual in this? Don’t be stupid, it’s just a coffee with an old friend. It’s not a date. You’ll meet, chat, go your separate ways.

Then why did she feel so nervous?

She wished she’d not created that damned Facebook account now, but her daughters had insisted on it. “You can see what we’re up to mum,” they’d said. So she’d let her daughters create an account, let them upload a photo, an old photo, and let them put her down as status: Divorced.

And now Julian had found her and wanted to meet up.

She’d looked at his profile. Status: Widowed. Children two, boy and girl. Works as a builder. If nothing else, she told herself, you could talk to him about coming round here to redo the kitchen. Not that she’d got the money for that, but it would be a talking point, getting advice on how to do it on the cheap.

She examined his picture. It was of him with his two children, both younger than her daughters. It looked like the girl – what was her name? – had taken a selfie of the three of them together. Julian was laughing as was the girl. The boy, who was the image of the man in his youth as she remembered him, looked pained and unwilling, as only pubescent boys can.

She looked closer at the man. The smile was there in the mouth, in the eyes, but his hair was thinning, he needed a shave. He had not aged well. We’ve got something in common then, she thought.

She wondered at the irony that sometimes, those that began adult life as handsome, rakish, went downhill, while those that were considered ordinary or boring sometimes matured into something more pleasing.

Watchit kiddo, she said to the boy in the picture. That’s what you’ll look like someday. Maybe he knew. Maybe that’s why he was scowling.

She wondered again at why he might want to meet up. Her job in IT meant that she was reasonably well paid, could look forward to a half decent pension at some point in the dim and distant future. But still there was always too much month left at the end of the money. There was still the mortgage to pay, and the rest, to say nothing of the cost of putting her girls through uni. Tom, her ex, had always paid maintenance for the girls, but there was still never enough.

Are you after my money, she thought. Are you thinking because I’m a homeowner, got a job in IT, lonely, that I’m an easy touch? After all, he was a manual labourer, self-employed. Which means he didn’t have things like a guaranteed pension. And surely with that sort of work there was only so long that you could keep doing it. Wasn’t there? So then what do you do? Look for a lonely woman you can tap for a few quid? She didn’t like that thought, made her feel ill. She looked at herself in the mirror again. Her clothes at any rate didn’t sing out money. The exact opposite, they were shabby with only a small amount of chic. It had been so long since she’d bought new clothes, been out on a date.

Don’t be silly, it’s not a date. It’s just coffee. You don’t have to commit to anything more. And forget about mentioning the state of the kitchen. At least for now.

They’d arranged to meet in a garden centre. It meant she could get there early, wander round the plants, hide behind a display of herbaceous perennials to give him the once over. That had been the plan at any rate, but roadworks delayed her, leaving her just enough time to park at the far end of the busy car park. She was walking towards the garden centre when…

“Get stuck in the roadworks?”

He was there. No backing out now. She looked him up and down. He’d had a shave – thankfully – and a buzz-cut had improved the hair line. He was dressed in jeans and a checked short-sleeved shirt.

“Err, yes.” Why the hell was she feeling so nervous?

“Me too.” And she noticed that he wasn’t looking directly at her. Was he nervous too? They stood there for a moment or two, having run out of things to say. “So, coffee?” He took the lead and led the way to the café. She walked beside him, a step behind. There was no closeness, no brushing up against one another as if they were friends, would-be lovers.

Well, this is going well, she thought, but at least with a coffee they could sit and sip if they couldn’t think of anything to say. What do you say to a man who you knew everything about at age 16, but know nothing about now?

He took charge at the café, wouldn’t take no for an answer. He insisted they had cake, no he shouldn’t really either, but why not? Once in a while? It’ll give us something else to do when we can’t think of anything to say, she thought, eat cake. She watched him as he ordered, paid. He’d been skinny when she’d known him before. Now he’d filled out. But not too much, she noticed. No beer gut at least. His short-sleeved shirt showed the ends of tattoos, and his arms looked strong, used as they were to labour, his hands calloused from his work. She quietly breathed him in as she stood behind him in the queue. He smelled nice. He’d always smelled nice, she remembered.

They sat, they sipped. It was still awkward, until she took a bite of the éclair, ending up with cream on her nose. He laughed, the ice was broken, and it was suddenly easy to talk. 

They talked about the old days, went through the routine of ‘do you remember’, talking about the friends they’d liked, the teachers they’d hated.  He asked about her divorce, a mutual separation eight years ago, she asked about his wife, cancer, five years ago. He asked about her work, and she asked about his. He was his own boss, he said, a small building company, five men relying on him for work. Turns out he’d had more education than she’d given him credit for with all the regulations he had to follow. He liked being his own boss, wouldn’t have it any other way.

She said she wouldn’t either. Preferred the security of the 9-5, an annual wage, a secure pension. He smiled. He’d be okay. He was buying up properties, doing them up, renting them out. He’d currently got six properties, intended to add more until he retired. Then he’d live on the rent.

So, not after your money then, she thought. Only a coffee after all. No hidden agenda.

Suddenly he looked awkward again. “Look, I’ve got a confession. I didn’t contact you. I’d seen your profile and Kelly had seen me looking. She sent the message from my phone while I was out of the room.”

“So you didn’t want to be here today?”

“No, I did. It’s just that I wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask you myself. She knew you’d been my girlfriend at school, thought it was about time I was out there again.”

“She sounds like my daughters. That’s what they keep telling me. What business is it of theirs anyway?”

They both laughed, suddenly easy in each other’s company once more.

The coffee, the cake, was finished. “Do you fancy looking round the plant section? I’ve got to get something for mum.” It seemed he wanted to extend the date.

“Okay. I need a couple of perennials to fill a gap.”

They moved easily into the plant section, wandering around all parts, discussing what they liked and disliked in an unhurried fashion and as they browsed, they moved closer. It was the end of the season and perennials were three for two, so she chose three, gave him one for his mother. She’d always liked his mum.

Plants paid for – she refused to take any money from him, she was giving him the free plant after all – they moved to the car park. She put her plants into the boot and turned to say goodbye. 

“Look, Rachel,” he said nervously, “I’ve enjoyed today. I wonder if you’d like to meet up next weekend? Just for coffee and a chat.”

She smiled. Yes, she would. He wasn’t the handsome youth she remembered, but hey, time had caught up with both of them, and at her age she didn’t think she should be too picky. Besides, they were only two old friends meeting for a coffee.

He leaned in, held each of her arms and kissed her gently on her cheek. She was surprised at the electricity, the sudden attraction she felt for him and judging from the confusion on his face as he pulled back, she wondered if he’d felt the same.

“Till next week then.” And as he walked away, she put her hand to her cheek as if the feel of his lips was too precious to let go.