Just before ten, the café was packed. People were stamping their feet and blowing on their hands when they first came in, but soon began opening their coats and loosening scarves as they acclimatised to the muggy atmosphere. Condensation was running down the front window, even though the extractor fan in the kitchen was going full pelt.
Den had been freezing when he got back to the café, but he’d warmed up taking orders and making hot drinks. Dad was frying sausages, bacon and burgers and toasting buns as fast as he could. When Den went into the kitchen to collect another order, Dad broke off from the cooker to slap him on the back. ‘Hey, how about this, then?’ he said, eyes gleaming, sweat glistening on his brow.
Den couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It seemed in bad taste to be so triumphant about a busy café in such circumstances. He picked up two plates that were ready and took them through to the café. It was strangely hushed given the number of people crammed in. A feeling of defeat and disappointment hung in the greasy air.
‘Great effort, everyone!’ Marlon, the seemingly self-appointed community leader, turned to face the room and raised his tea mug in salute to the other volunteers. Those with drinks already raised them back in a half-hearted way.
‘We didn’t find her, though,’ a man near to him said, shaking his head.
‘No, but we’ve been all over that estate, so we know she’s not hiding outside or had an accident or something.’
‘So someone’s got her?’
‘We don’t know that for sure, do we? She could have run away somewhere. The thing is, we’ve done as much as we can. We done it together. Searched the whole estate.’
There were murmurs of agreement.
‘What about tomorrow?’
‘Let’s see what happens overnight. Perhaps there’ll be good news.’
Den was in and out for another half an hour or so, listening to fragments of conversation. Marlon was talking to the man next to him.
‘Why do you think she wasn’t reported missing yesterday? Where was the mum?’
‘Yeah, it’s fishy, innit? You don’t just leave a child that age alone overnight.’
‘You shouldn’t. People always going on that a kid needs their mum, but some of them, man—’ Marlon shook his head. ‘No one talks about fathers, do they? Fathers like us.’
‘No, mate. It’s like we don’t matter.’
‘That’s it, bro. It takes two to raise a kid. They need a mum and a dad. Some people just don’t see it that way.’
‘Do you think her mum’s got something to hide? Do you know her?’
Den, picking up a pile of dirty plates from the counter, suddenly realised that Marlon was talking directly to him.
‘Sorry?’ Den said.
‘Do you know the girl’s mum? Does she come in here?’
There was a pile of flyers on the counter. Mina looked at Den from the top of the heap. Now, her eyes didn’t seem sad, so much as accusing, her face going in and out of focus, but the eyes boring into him.
‘Yeah. No. I don’t know.’
Marlon picked up a flyer. ‘That was taken here, wasn’t it?’ It felt like he was being accused of something, put on the spot. The top of that chair – it’s the same as yours.’ He showed it to the man next to him, who nodded. ‘So they come in here. What’s her mum like?’
Den could feel the palms of his hands getting clammy. ‘I honestly don’t know. I can’t remember them coming in together. Just Mina on her own.’ The laugh was back – stuttering, traitorous, inappropriate.
Marlon looked at him, held his eyes for longer than was comfortable. ‘Okay, man. It’s cool. Just thought you’d know.’
Den scurried into the kitchen. He dumped the plates on the top next to the dishwasher and leaned against the side.
‘Not there! What have I told you? Get them straight in the dishwasher.’
It was even hotter in the kitchen. Den felt a wave of nausea sweeping upwards towards the back of his throat. He gripped onto the edge of the surface and tried to control his breathing.
‘It’s not the time to slack off, Den!’
‘Dad … I don’t feel very—’
Dad turned round. ‘You okay?’
Den swallowed hard. ‘I think I’m just tired.’
Den expected his dad to give him a bollocking, tell him to get on with it, but instead he put two thick rashers of bacon onto a slice of bread, then topped them with another slice and said, ‘We’ll call it day. Take this out. No more orders. Chucking-out time.’
Den took a deep breath and stood upright. ‘Okay.’ He took the plate into the café and shouted the order number. The crowd was thinning now anyway and the door kept pinging as more people left. On his way out, Marlon raised a hand and called out, ‘Thanks for staying open, mate. Good to bring everyone together.’
Den managed a feeble hand raise in return. Before too long, the café was empty and Den made his way wearily around the tables, somehow finding the strength to gather up crockery and wipe down tables. Dad came out to join him when the kitchen was clean, holding two open bottles of beer.
‘Here, sit down a minute. You’ve earned this.’
‘I just need to do the floor.’
‘Do it in the morning, son. Come on. Sit down.’
The beer was icy cold as it travelled down into Den’s stomach. He rolled the bottle across his forehead. They sat in silence, taking slugs of beer, enjoying the quiet of the empty café.
‘We did a good thing today. People need places like this, to come together. That’s what we are. A place for this community.’
Den was too tired to pop his bubble. ‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘You look shattered. I’ll finish up down here. You go to bed.’
Den didn’t need to be told twice. Too tired to even finish his beer, he left it in the kitchen and walked wearily upstairs. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed, expecting to go straight to sleep. Instead, he lay awake, eyes open, going over the events of the day. Below him, he heard the faint clattering of the mop and bucket as Dad finished the cleaning. Somehow this made him relax and his racing thoughts started to slow.
He was finally drifting off when he heard the back door go – on rainy days the wood swelled a little and you had to pull it really hard to shut it – and then the sound of an engine starting up, the low growl of the café van. He was asleep before it came back.