30April2025 Thursday
Evening settled over the little corner café on Victoria Street, Manchester. The walls were a warm ochre, and rain traced lazy tracks down the windows. Three coats hung on the peg by the door a light beige one, a grey one, and a third with a thin stripe on the lining. Inside it was dry and cosy, the air scented with fresh scones and tea. The waitress slipped between tables almost unheard. At the window table sat the three of us: Ian Clarke, Sam Harris and Andy Foster.
Ian arrived first he never likes to be late. He shed his coat, folded his scarf neatly, and immediately pulled out his phone to scan a few work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows briefing. His palms were still cool from the street; the room was warm enough that the panes steamed over from the temperature clash. Ian ordered a pot of green tea for all of us a habit thats become the quiet start to every reunion.
Sam slipped in almost silently: tall, a touch stooped, eyes weary but a lively smile. He draped his jacket on the adjacent peg, took the seat opposite Ian and gave a brief nod.
Hows it going? he asked.
Bit by bit, Ian replied, his tone restrained.
Sam ordered a coffee for himself he always has it in the evenings, even though he knows itll keep him up later.
Andy was the last to come, a little winded after a brisk walk from the tram stop. His hair was damp under the hood. He flashed a wide grin that made it seem all was well, but his eyes lingered over the menu longer than usual; instead of his usual slice of cake he settled for just water.
We meet here once a month sometimes we miss a round because of work or the kids being ill (Sam has two sons). The tradition has survived thirty years, ever since we were undergrads in the physics department. Life has taken us in different directions: Ian now manages a team at a software firm, Sam teaches at a furthereducation college and does some private tutoring, and Andy, until recently, ran a modest electronicsrepair business.
The evening began as usual: we traded news where work had taken us, how the children were getting on, what wed been reading or bingewatching, the odd funny incident at home or the office. Andy listened more than he spoke, chipping in rarely; he stared out at the rainstrewn street for ages, prompting the occasional glance from the others.
Ian was the first to spot the shift. Andy didnt laugh at the old university anecdotes; when the chat drifted to new smartphones or a holiday abroad, he steered the topic elsewhere or offered a strained smile.
Sam noticed too: when the waitress brought the bill and asked, Separate or together?, Andy fidgeted with his phone and said hed settle his share later the apps acting up. Hed usually pay straight away or even cover the whole tab.
At one point Sam tried to break the tension with a joke:
Why so serious, Andy? Those taxes got you down again?
Andy shrugged.
Just a lot on my plate.
Ian chimed in:
Maybe you could switch tracks? There are online courses for anything now pick something that works for you.
Andy forced a smile:
Thanks for the suggestion
A pause stretched; none of us knew how to move forward.
The café dimmed quickly; the light grew sharper, the street beyond the glass disappeared behind a veil of rain, only the occasional silhouette of a passerby flickering under the streetlamp opposite.
We tried to coax the conversation back to lighter ground: sports updates (Ian found them dull), a new law (Andy stayed mostly quiet). Yet the strain between us grew palpable.
Soon Sam could take it no longer:
Andy if you need money, just say it straight. Were mates.
Andy lifted his gaze, his voice trembling for the first time that night:
You think its that simple? You think asking makes the weight disappear?
Ian stepped in:
Were just trying to help. Whats the problem?
Andy glared at both of us:
Help with advice? Or just to feel I owe you forever? You dont get it!
He pushed back from the table so hard the chair squealed. The waitress watched from the bar, uneasy.
For a heartbeat nobody moved; the air grew thick as if the tea were cooling faster. Andy snatched his coat from the peg and stormed out, slamming the door louder than needed.
The two of us were left, each feeling a knot of guilt but unwilling to speak first.
The doors slam let a brief draft sweep over the window seat. Sam stared at the murky glass, the streetlamps glow reflected back, while I absentmindedly twirled a spoon in my cup.
Eventually Sam broke the silence:
Maybe I overreacted Im not sure whats right. What would you say, Ian?
I shrugged, my voice steadier than usual:
If I knew a fix, Id have done it by now. Were all adults but sometimes its easier to step back than to say something that might hurt.
Silence settled again. The waitress was slicing a fresh cake, the sweet smell filling the room once more. Outside, Andys silhouette appeared under the awning, hood pulled up, his phone scrolling slowly. I rose.
Ill go get him. I dont want him to walk away like that.
In the little hallway the cold from the street mixed with the lingering damp. Andy stood with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Andy I paused beside him, careful not to touch. Sorry if we overstepped. Were just worried.
He turned slowly:
I get it. But you dont lay all your cards on the table either, do you? I just wanted to sort it out myself. It didnt work, and now theres shame and anger inside.
I thought over his words, then after a pause said:
Lets head back to the table. No ones forcing you into anything. We can talk or stay quiet up to you. Just one thing: if you need help with a problem, tell us straight. Money I could maybe help in a practical way, but I dont want awkward debts between us.
Andy looked at me, relief and fatigue mixing in his eyes:
Thanks. Right now I just want to be with you guys, without pity or extra questions.
We went back together. The table already held a warm slice of cake and a small bowl of jam. Sam smiled awkwardly:
Got the cake for everyone. Figured I could at least do something useful tonight.
Andy sat down and thanked us quietly. For a while we ate in silence; someone stirred sugar into tea, crumbs gathered near the napkins. Gradually the talk softened we moved from problems to weekend plans, to new books for Sams sons.
Later Sam asked gently:
If you ever need to bounce ideas about work or look for options, Im happy to help. As for money you decide when youre ready to bring it up.
Andy nodded gratefully:
Lets leave things as they are for now. I dont want to feel beholden or out of place with you.
The pause no longer hung heavy; each of us seemed to have signed an unspoken pact of honesty. We agreed to meet again next month at the same spot, whatever news we each might bring.
When it was time to leave, we each pulled out our phones. I checked a message about tomorrows board meeting, Sam replied to his wife with a quick all good, Andy lingered a moment longer on his screen before slipping it into his pocket without fanfare.
Only two coats now hung on the peg Ians grey one and Sams light beige. Andy had slipped his coat back on after the hallway visit; we helped each other fasten a scarf or button a cuff, as if the simple gestures could restore the ease wed lost earlier.
Outside the drizzle thickened; the streetlamps glow reflected in a puddle right by the cafés entrance. We stepped out together beneath the awning, the cold wind whipping across our faces.
Sam was the first to move ahead:
Next month, then? And give me a ring if anything comes up, even in the night!
I clapped Andy on the shoulder:
Weve got each others backs, even when we act a bit foolish.
Andy managed a shy smile:
Thanks, both of you really.
No grand promises were needed; each of us now knew our limits and the true cost of that nights words.
We part ways at the doorway: some sprint to the tram, others turn down the lane towards home. The tradition endures now demanding a little more honesty and care for each others pain, and thats precisely what keeps it alive.
Lesson learned: true friendship isnt about never fighting; its about meeting each other in the storm, speaking plainly, and letting small acts of kindness mend the cracks.
