The elderly lady walks out of the salon, her silver hair perfectly coiffed. She turns into the side street, takes out a turquoise silk scarf from her bag and wraps it around her hair. She gazes at her profile in the shop window, pouts her pink lips and smiles.
Her slim hips sway as she slowly walks down the street in her slim fitted skirt.
“Excuse me,” looking up to a young man in a rush to get somewhere. “You wouldn’t have change for a fifty,” flashing a pink note.
“I’m sorry I don’t,” the man answers.
“I need to get on a bus you see,” she says.
The man takes out some coins, hands her three. “That’s all the change I have, I hope it helps.”
“Thank you, she says and eyes up the two men in navy suits. Again she pulls out the fifty pound note. “Excuse me, you wouldn’t have change for a fifty?” The tall man looks down at her five feet frame like a long lost aunt and hands her a five pound note.
“Thank you.”
The elderly woman turns down a side street, past some shops and enters a sleepy cafe.
Her eyes on the sandwiches. “Is that cheese?”
“Yes its brie,” the man answers.
“And a hot drink. What’s a chai latte. Is it sweet?”
“My wife says it’s very sweet.”
“I’ll take a hot chocolate. I’d like some water too.”
“I’ll bring it over.”
She sits at a table near the door and takes out her mobile phone. She presses her ear close to it.
“Hello, darling did you take the rubbish out? I’m having a bite to eat, I’ll call after. I love you.” She takes off her scarf, rolls it like a cylinder and places it inside her bag.
She eats half her sandwich and sips her drink. She calls across the room. “Do you have some lettuce?”
“Lettuce? Yes I’ll bring some over.”
The man places a small plate of shredded iceberg on the table. She doesn’t look up and begins to nibble at it. The man wipes down the tables as the last of the customer leaves.
The woman stands with effort.
“Are you closing?”
“Yes in five minutes.”
“Can I have a slice of cake?”
“Walnut or the carrot ?”
“Your walnut looks nice.”
He slides it on a plate and places it in front of her, now seated again.
“I’m cashing up now, would you like to pay ?”
“My son is on his way, he’ll pay.”
“Sorry, but I’ll be locking up in ten minutes.”
“He’s nearby,” she says. The mobile near her ear. “Darling, are you ready. The man is about to lock up.”
She sits by the door, her eyes distant.
Twenty minutes later, the man switches off the lights and cashes up briskly leaving the till open for her payment. He carries his keys to lock up and a weighty bag of cash to stress his hurry.
“I can’t wait,” he says. “I have to pick up my daughter,” and hands her the bill.
“I’m sorry something must have happened to my son, he’s not answering.” Her lips quiver. “I can come by tomorrow.”
The man doesn’t answer. He stares down at her.
“I live close by.” The woman continues. “My son often comes in here. You’ve probably seen him – a tall handsome boy. He’s very polite and kind.”
The man concedes. “My wife will be here tomorrow. I’ll tell her you’ll pop by to settle up.”
The woman smiles and begins to get up slowly.
The man dumps the keys and bag of cash down on a table. He walks back towards the till, closes it and retrieves his jacket from behind the counter. As he straightens up, he sees the cafe is empty and the lady has disappeared. He picks up the bag of cash, it feels light he thinks, he opens it to his shock.
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Ansuya writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. Some of her poems have appeared in anthologies, online and print publications. A couple of her poems have been short and long listed.
© 2023, Ansuya Patel
Halfway Down the Stairs 