Thirty Years and Change
It was a late evening in a little coffee shop on the corner of High Street. The walls were painted a warm ochre, and drops of rain slid lazily down the glass. Three coats hung on the hooks by the door a light one, a grey one and a third with a strip on the lining. Inside it was dry and cosy, the scent of fresh scones and tea filling the air. Emily, the waitress, moved between tables almost silently. At a table by the window sat three men: Ian, Sam and Alan.
Ian had arrived first he never liked being late. He slipped off his coat, folded his scarf neatly and immediately pulled out his phone to scan a few work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows planning meeting. His palms were still cool from the street the room was warm, the windows steamed up from the temperature difference. Ian ordered a pot of green tea for everyone thats how almost every one of their gatherings begins.
Sam slipped in almost unheard: tall, a little stooped, eyes tired but smile alive. He draped his jacket on the next hook, sat opposite Ian and gave a brief nod.
Hows it going? he asked.
Slow and steady, Ian replied, holding back a smile.
Sam ordered a coffee for himself he always has one in the evening, even though he knows it will keep him up later.
Alan was the last to come, huffing a little after a brisk walk from the tube. His hair was damp from the drizzle under his hood. He flashed a wide grin at his mates, as if everything were fine, but his eyes lingered over the menu longer than usual; instead of his usual slice of cake he only chose water.
They meet here once a month occasionally missing a session because of work or sick children (Sam has two boys) but the tradition has endured for thirty years, ever since they were undergrads together in the physics department. Now each leads a different life: Ian is a senior manager at an IT firm, Sam teaches at a college and does some tutoring on the side, Alan ran a modest electronicsrepair business until recently.
The evening starts in the usual way: they chat about the news whos travelled where for work, how the kids are getting on, what books theyre reading or series theyre watching, and the odd funny incident at home or the office. Alan listens more than the others, jokes less; sometimes he stares out at the rainy street for so long the others glance at him.
Ian is the first to notice the shift: Alan no longer laughs at the old university stories; when the talk turns to the newest smartphones or a holiday abroad, he steers the conversation away or smiles awkwardly.
Sam also picks up on it: when the bill for tea and coffee arrives, Emily slides it over with, Split it or together? Alan fumbles with his phone and says the app is acting up, offering to settle his part later something hed normally done straight away, even covering the whole tab.
At one point Sam tries to break the tension with a joke:
You look serious, mate. Taxes got you down again?
Alan shrugs.
Just a lot piled up.
Ian adds:
Maybe you should think about switching fields? You could pick up an online course, learn something new
Alan forces a smile.
Cheers for the suggestion
A pause settles, and none of them knows how to carry on.
The light in the café dims quickly; the street disappears behind the fogged glass, only the occasional silhouette of a passerby flashing by the streetlamp opposite.
They try to lift the mood: chat about sport (Ian finds it boring), argue over the latest law (Alan stays mostly silent). Yet the strain between them grows more palpable.
Soon Sam cant hold it in.
Alan if you need a hand, just say it. Were your mates.
Alan looks up sharply.
You think its that simple? You think just asking makes everything better?
His voice trembles; for the first time that night he speaks loudly.
Ian steps in.
We just want to help. Whats the problem?
Alan glares at both of them.
Help with advice? Or so you can remember a debt forever? You dont get it!
He pushes his chair back hard enough to scrape the floor. Emily watches from the bar with a wary eye.
A few seconds pass in silence; the air feels heavy, as if the tea is cooling faster. Alan snatches his coat from the hook and bursts out, slamming the door louder than needed.
The two left behind feel a knot of guilt, but neither wants to be the first to speak.
The door swings shut behind Alan, and a gust of wind cools the window seat for a moment. Sam stares at the murky glass, where the streetlamps glow reflects, while Ian idly twirls a spoon in his cup, unsure who should speak first. The tension doesnt fade, but now it feels almost necessary as if without it nothing can be cleared up.
Sam breaks the silence.
Maybe I overreacted Im not sure what the right thing is. He sighs and looks at Ian. What would you say?
Ian shrugs, his voice unusually firm.
If I knew how to fix it, Id have already done it. Were all adults but sometimes its easier to step back than to say something stupid.
They fall quiet. Behind the bar Emily slices a fresh cake, and the aroma of warm pastry drifts back into the room. Outside, a fleeting figure of Alan appears under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling slowly on his phone. Deciding, Ian stands.
Ill go get him. I dont want him walking off like that.
He steps into the vestibule, where the cool air mixes with the lingering damp from the street. Alan stands with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Alan Ian pauses beside him, not touching. Sorry if we overstepped. Were just worried.
Alan turns slowly.
I get it. But you dont tell me everything either, do you? I just wanted to sort it out myself. It didnt work, and now I feel ashamed and angry inside.
Ian thinks over the words and, after a pause, says:
Lets go back to the table. No ones forcing you to do anything. Talk or stay quiet whatever you prefer. Just one thing: if you need help with a problem, tell us straight away. Money I could help with something specific, but I dont want awkward debts between us.
Alan looks at him, relief and fatigue mixing.
Thanks. I just want to be with you guys, normal, without pity or extra questions.
They walk back together. On their table already sits a plate of warm cake and a small bowl of jam. Sam forces an awkward smile.
I got the cake for everyone. Figured I could do something useful today.
Alan sits down again and thanks quietly. For a while they eat in silence; someone stirs sugar into tea, crumbs collect near the napkins. Gradually the conversation softens they move from problems to weekend plans and new books for Sams boys.
Later Sam asks 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.
Alan nods gratefully.
Lets leave it as it is for now. I dont want to feel indebted or like an outsider.
The pause no longer feels oppressive; each of them seems to have accepted an unspoken rule of new honesty. They agree to meet again in a month, same spot, whatever news anyone brings.
When the time comes to leave, each pulls out a phone: Ian checks messages about tomorrows office meeting, Sam replies to his wife with a quick All good, Alan lingers a bit longer on his screen before slipping it back into his pocket without fanfare.
Only two coats remain on the rack Ians grey and Sams light one. Alan has already put his on after returning from the vestibule; now they dress slowly, helping each other find a scarf or button a cuff, as if regaining the easy camaraderie through simple, caring gestures.
Outside the drizzle thickens; the streetlamps glow reflects in a puddle right by the cafés entrance. The friends step out together under the awning; a cold gust rushes past their faces as the door swings open.
Sam is the first to move forward.
Next month then? Give me a ring if anything comes up, even at night!
Ian pats Alan on the shoulder.
Weve got your back, even when we act a bit daft.
Alan smiles, a little embarrassed.
Thank you both really.
No grand promises are needed now; each knows his own limits and the weight of the nights words.
They part ways at the doorway: some head for the tube through the rainlit streets, others turn into the back alleys toward their homes. The tradition lives on now it demands a greater honesty and care for each others hurts, and thats what keeps it alive.
