20th November 2019
Morning
I roll onto my side and try to open my eyes. I manage to open one, just a sliver and it closes again. My bedroom light is on, it’s too bright, it hurts too much. And the drill is there. Hammering away.
Shit, Neve. You did it again, didn’t you?
I fall out of bed, landing on my elbow, right on the knobbly bit that should have jolted pain into my hand, but instead it jolts the other way, a mainline straight into the space behind my eyes. The hammering becomes an intense throb. It hurts my head so much I think my eyes will burst. I gingerly get to my feet. I’m really hungover, more so than most days. I stagger into the kitchen, the bottle I bought on the way home is lying on its side, a small pool of red where the dregs had dripped. And there is a bottle of vodka beside it. Oliver’s vodka. I must have raised a glass to him last night. The bottle is empty. I cannot remember how much was in there when I got home after being spooked at work.
I go back into my bedroom to grab my phone. No missed calls, no texts, no fiancé saying he is sorry for leaving without taking anything with him. But the consolation is, it’s just before seven and I’m not late for work. I shower, wash my hair, dress. It helps. I feel less like I want to pass out. I try to find my glasses; I must have left them at work. I still have an hour before the café opens. But I want to show Esther I meant what I said, about trying harder. I can get the till ready. Warm the place up. I may even dig the Christmas decorations out of the box in the back of the storeroom and start giving The Tea Tree a more festive feel.
Despite the headache I’m feeling good about today and, grabbing a breakfast bar, I leave, locking my door behind me. It’s raining. Not like last night’s downpour, but the kind that feels like TV static on your skin. Stopping at the nearest shop I buy as many painkillers as I can without raising an eyebrow of suspicion, pop two and head into the station. Thankfully, the train is far less crowded than yesterday, and I find myself at Ealing Broadway in what seems much less time than usual. I even had a seat for the entire journey, a real treat.
The rain stopped as I left Shepherd’s Bush station, and with my painkillers starting to kick in, I took my headphones out of my coat pocket and plugged into my playlist. As I turned onto Richmond Way, I could see our café in the distance. And even without my glasses, I knew something was terribly wrong. It was in the way people were slowing down as they passed the shop. The way they had to walk around something on the floor. I hoped I was mistaken, but as I drew closer, I could see rainwater shimmering on broken glass. A few more steps and I could see where the glass should have been. Our shop’s front door had been smashed in. I could see the tables and chairs scattered on the floor within. We had been robbed. I must have let out a gasp or a cry or something because people looked at me, their quizzical expressions changing as they realised it was my shop. I fumbled in my bag for my phone. It wasn’t there. I must have left it at home. Shit, Neve. Of all the days.
A woman approached, she asked if I was all right. I wanted to say no, of course I’m not bloody all right. But the words didn’t come.
‘Has, umm, could somebody ring the police, please?’ I asked, unable to look away from the mess inside the shop.
‘I have already. They’ll be here soon.’
I nodded towards her and started for the door, taking my keys out of my pocket as I approached.
‘Perhaps it’s best if you stay outside? Until the police arrive?’ the woman said. I didn’t look back, just put my key in the lock, trying to jiggle it open. It was stiff as it usually was, but eventually it gave, and I opened the door. I don’t know why I bothered. There was no glass in the frame. I could have stepped in without needing to unlock it. Just like the person who robbed us did.
The sound of glass crunching under my weight seemed to echo off the walls and squinting, I scanned the room. Tables had been overturned. Chairs knocked over. But, as far as I could see, nothing was missing. The glass was still intact on the serving counter but some of the cakes from the display cases were gone. With my heart pounding so hard I could feel it behind my eyes, I leant over the counter. I expected to see the till missing or smashed open but it too was untouched. My glasses sat on the top, where I left them last night. Putting them on, I looked around the café once more. It was a mess, but I couldn’t see anything, besides a few cakes, missing. It confused me. Why would someone break in for a piece of cake?
It didn’t take long before I could hear sirens approaching, followed by blue lights from the police car bouncing off the walls. Two officers stepped in, looked over the place, took my details, Esther’s details, and told me forensics would be out soon to dust for prints. They didn’t seem bothered by it all, but, I guess, awful as it was, little had actually been taken. They speculated it was probably a bunch of kids, but I was told not to tidy yet, not until the forensics had finished. All I could do was sit and wait for Esther to turn up so we could call a window company, our insurance, post on our Facebook page that we were shut – as well as everything else I knew we had to do but couldn’t yet process. I sat and waited for what felt an eternity for her to arrive, as I couldn’t call her. I didn’t know her number, it was stored in my phone as it had been for the past nearly two decades. Of all the days to forget your phone. I made a mental note to learn it. I bet she knew mine.
Esther arrived twenty minutes after the police left. She looked as shocked as I must have done.
‘Neve? What the fuck?’
‘Someone broke in last night.’
‘Shit!’
‘Yeah, shit.’
‘Have you called the police?’
‘Of course I have,’ I snapped. ‘Sorry. They’ve been and gone.’
‘Shit,’ she repeated as she stepped over a patch of broken glass and sat on a stool beside me. I wanted to hug her but didn’t.
‘I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t call the police!’
‘Sorry.’
‘Cheers, Esther.’
‘Sorry, I just… is there anything missing?’
‘A few cakes.’
‘Cakes?’
‘Yeah, a few chocolate muffins, some other bits.’
‘Is that it?’
Esther stood and walked towards the display and looked in behind the glass. Then, leaning over, she looked at the till.
‘They didn’t even touch it,’ I said.
‘That’s weird. Lucky, but weird,’ she replied as she sat beside me once more. We both stared at the chaos of the shop, passive, like we were at the cinema. ‘They just took cakes?’ she asked again.
‘Little shits with the munchies, no doubt.’
‘Really? Are kids that bad?’
‘Worse,’ I said quietly, remembering how when I was a kid, it wasn’t cakes but booze from the local off-licence. ‘I’ve been told not to tidy until they come to dust for prints. Otherwise I would have started.’
She nodded and looked to the bin which had been knocked over, the contents scattered on the floor. If we’d not been robbed, she would have no doubt said something about me not emptying them, especially as it was on the list. I almost offered an apology but saw she had narrowed her gaze on something and, following her eye line, I saw her look at the empty bottle of wine.
‘I only had one, while cashing up, and I paid for it.’
‘Neve, you were so hungover yesterday…’
‘It was only one. Just to take the edge off.’
‘That sounds like something a person with a drinking problem might say.’
‘I don’t have a drinking problem.’
‘That’s another thing they would say, right?’
‘Esther!’ I said, my voice sounding louder and more wounded than I intended.
‘Sorry, yes, now isn’t the time. I just worry about you.’
‘Well, don’t, OK? I’m all right. I’m on the mend.’
‘OK.’ She smiled. ‘So, I guess now all we can do is wait for the fingerprint people to come. Why didn’t you call me?’
‘Left my phone at home. Shall I make us a coffee?’ I asked, already getting to my feet as I knew what her answer would be.
‘Good idea. Neve?’
I turned and glanced back at Esther, who – for a moment – looked smaller than she usually did, her petite frame somehow swallowed by the mess around us. Although she called my name, she wasn’t looking at me, not at first, her eyes were back to the small empty bottle of wine on the floor. ‘Things will get better, you know that right?’
‘Yep,’ I responded too quickly. ‘The insurance will cover it; we’ve got a crime reference nu—’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said, bringing her eyes to mine. ‘You’re not keeping something from me?’
‘What, no, of course not.’
‘You were drinking a lot back at uni when… you know.’
‘Esther. I’m fine. I’m OK.’
I tried to smile, to show her I was all right, and she didn’t need to worry about me, she had enough on her plate. ‘I promise.’
‘OK,’ she said, not convinced. ‘I’ll find the insurance policy so we can give them a ring.’
‘I’m sorry, Esther,’ I said, although I had no idea why.
‘Me too,’ she replied before touching me on the shoulder as she made for the stockroom at the back. As I waited for the coffee machine to warm up, I looked at the door, the glass on the floor and I knew they wouldn’t find any prints. Kids were smarter than that, despite also being completely thoughtless sometimes. But, with only a few cakes missing, I knew no harm was really done. Kids just being kids.