Between Cups of Coffee Read online

  I flicked through some more pages and continued to read from a different page further on:

  ‘I feel ashamed. How could I behave like that? It was as if I was haunted. I am not on those terms with him. I talked too much and then suddenly erupted angrily as if I had known him for years, and yet he didn’t seem to mind. He did leave soon. He did leave soon after though. He didn’t say goodbye but there was something in his eyes as he was leaving and then I knew he wasn’t angry with me. Perhaps I want to believe it that way. I haven’t heard from him for three days now. Maybe he is annoyed; maybe he doesn’t want to know. After all who am I? What am I to him? If he hadn’t minded my anger, he would have contacted me by now. Why should he, even if he is not annoyed? We are not on those terms to contact each other every day. The point is that his office is not on my way and it is awkward to go that way just to see if he is in. But why shouldn’t I call him? What is wrong with that? Yes. I must do that. I can apologise for the way I behaved. It was so uncalled for. He wanted to have a coffee and what he got was a barrage of insults. I shall call him tomorrow. I must call him even if we are not to see each other again.

  Another page:

  I phoned twice in the morning, there was no answer and I didn’t leave a message. I phoned again after lunch. It was him. He was surprised. He had just come back, literally as I phoned him. He said he had left for an unexpected meeting on a project. He seemed happy, things had gone well. Then he asked me what I was doing tonight. He asked me out to The Glass Cabbage.

  Raindrops were hitting the window. I remembered the restaurant. We had a pleasant night. The restaurant is a furniture shop now. Strange how fast it was turned around. I couldn’t continue with the diary. I took it with me and went to the kitchen.

  My throat was dry. I went to the sink and turned the tap on. I let it run for a time and drank from it. Then I left the flat for the office. I don’t know why I went to the office, could have easily gone home. It was late enough. As I arrived, I phoned Elizabeth but she wasn’t in. I thought it was stupid of me to think she would be back that time of the day under the circumstance. I did a bit of tidying up and went to the pub. It was dark and empty. I had a large beer very quickly and then left.

  I decided to walk home. It was raining but I needed the walk. The streets were deserted; a rainy Thursday night around ten wasn’t that attractive. I decided to go faster. My mind was racing and now I wanted to be at home. I thought it had been a long day although I hadn’t done much. Kate’s diary was in my chest pocket and I was pressing on it with the inside of my arms, my hands in my side pockets. I remembered the drawer with the pictures. The collection was odd. And the way she had put them all together was untypical of her, she was so tidy. There were some official pictures, some pictures taken with her colleagues by the book shelves and at the desk. Then there were old pictures with her parents when she was little, then pictures of her as a very young girl with her father. And among all these she had empty postcards of Himalaya and South America. There were also two pictures that I knew well. They were pictures of a river as water was splashing onto its stony bank. There was nobody in the picture. She took the pictures when we went to the countryside for a weekend. I had forgotten about that trip. It was the only time we went somewhere together for that long. I felt the thickness of the bundle of pictures in my pocket. I had taken some of the pictures with me thinking that I could give one for the memorial to be printed in the university magazine. But I had more pictures with me and thought that I was making excuses for having taken the pictures. For whom did I need to justify my action though? After all I had her diary in my pocket. I could not sit there in the flat and go through all the pages. There wasn’t much written but I had to read them slowly, very slowly.

  I was now almost running and was close to the flat when I tripped and fell. One side of me was completely wet from the rain water in a puddle. I wasn’t sure whether it was better to take the diary out of my pocket or to keep it there until I went into the flat. I kept it in and started climbing the stairs. As for the pictures, they could be dried later if they were wet. As I started to go up I felt a sharp pain in my upper thigh. I opened the door.

  ‘So you are home eventually,’ Carol said. I just ignored her and went quickly to the radiator, taking the diary out of my pocket. The radiator was cold. ‘This is cold,’ I said.

  ‘I know. It was too hot in here. You know me!’

  I left the diary open face down on the radiator. The pictures seemed to be OK.

  I went to the boiler and turned it on.

  ‘What is the urgency?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing of any importance to you.’

  ‘So you mean none of my business? You are a rude man. Come here and make your love happy!’

  I said, ‘I am going to take a quick shower. Have you eaten?’

  ‘What do you think? Should I waste my youth waiting for you? I had a quick bite with friends.’

  I turned on the shower. I wanted to stay under it for a week or two!

  When I came out of the shower, Carol was in a deep sleep. The flat was warmer now. I went to the radiator. The diary had dropped on the floor. One page was folded under the weight of the rest. I opened it and straightened the pages, put it back on the radiator and went to the kitchen. I sat there. There was some ham and cheese and a stale baguette. I had the meal with a bottle of beer.

  11

  Next day, the morning was bright and it stayed sunny for the best part of the day. When I came back to the flat, Carol was singing away walking naked into the bathroom and back.

  ‘So it seems that you have something going tonight.’ It was just a manner of speech from me.

  ‘Yeah, it’s my Salsa trainer. You must see him. He is gorgeous.’

  She was wearing a dark red skirt and a white shirt with the top buttons undone. ‘I might go to Brazil you know. He is going back. He is on short term visa. He works in the dancing class just for fun. Nobody wants him to leave but he is going and I think I will go with him. He’ll be gone within a couple of months. So I don’t need to look for a flat here any more! You don’t mind me staying for a little bit longer do you?’

  ‘I am not particularly keen on you staying here. I am sure you feel the same, it is not comfortable.’

  ‘Oh, come on! Don’t be like this.’

  ‘Look! You have stayed here long enough! After all your Brazilian will be upset to see you sleeping somewhere else.’

  ‘Who’s going to sleep somewhere else? I shall be here sometimes. It is a pity because he is staying with a friend of his as he is not sure what to do next.’

  She was doing her make-up.

  ‘I thought he wants to go back.’

  ‘Yeah! That is an option. He might yet be convinced to stay. He can stay you know. He is a very well known artist. The Home Office will be only too happy to offer him a visa. It is just that, oh why am I explaining. You can’t understand. He is an emotional man. He is volatile. He loves living.’

  ‘Well I am happy for you but I really want my space now.’

  I went to the kitchen. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t mind eating alone; actually, I preferred it but I had no energy to go out. I took out a box of ready-made food from the fridge and looked at the thin metal-looking box with the pasta inside it. I put it in the oven. Soon the oil would come out of the food, light yellow at the edges of the strings of pasta, looking heavy. I opened a bottle.

  ‘Be a good boy and pour me a glass before I go! You will remember these moments and regret having been so awful to me.’

  I poured her a glass, sat at the table waiting for the pasta to warm up. She came towards me with the glass in her hand. ‘Don’t be stingy, give us a kiss!’ Her face was near mine and I could smell the make-up. She stayed behind longer than I expected. I surprised myself. How could I after that exchange of words only a few minutes ago? And how could she? She was going to see the Brazilian shortly, all made up for a long night. But her motive was clearer to me, somehow cheap
. As for me, it was, I suppose, a question of ego. No matter what her motive was, I was chuffed to see her stay and show such interest. Perhaps all she did was to make me jealous; perhaps she really wanted me and was going out of her way to reignite my waning attention.

  She straightened her skirt. ‘I really have to go now. I am too late.’ The plate of unfinished pasta with the aluminium container was sitting on the kitchen table. I poured some water in the kettle to boil. It was too humid in the kitchen. I opened the window. Cold air rushed in. I was looking forward to reading the paper, anything that could distract my mind. I was hungry now but had no appetite for the cold, oily pasta. While having the coffee, I pictured Carol getting into a taxi, tidying up her hair, pulling her stockings up revealing her thighs. Which one would she do first? I thought she had lost weight. She was really quite thin now. Perhaps she could be a good dancing partner for the Brazilian. Oh, by the way, if the boy was so important to her, why didn’t she mention his name? The kitchen was getting cold. I closed the window, sat by the table and opened the broadsheet.

  I kept on reading the headlines. There was a flag of a country with some odd comments under it. I could not find the relevant line quickly to see the significance of the picture. I couldn’t concentrate. Now I kept on thinking of Kate and hospital food. Eventually, I stood up, took the pasta box to the sink, threw it into the rubbish bin and started washing up in silence.

  12

  It was a university-based staff-student committee meeting with a three line whip to attend. I arrived a couple of minutes late but the staff were still coming in. There weren’t enough seats. I squeezed myself into a seat at the corner. It was going to be a long and useless meeting and I thought that I had secured a good corner to doze off. A piece of paper went around with our names to sign. After the usual introduction, the Dean of the faculty started with the way things had changed and that we were now much more accountable both to our colleagues as responsible individuals and to the students who were our customers demanding attention, and deserved it because they paid. Then he laughed: ‘And remember, the customer is always right!’ I felt claustrophobic. His comments reminded me of a corner shop near the university. The shopkeeper had a handwritten piece of paper with the same sentence stuck next to the till.

  The room was already stuffy with closed windows and steaming wet raincoats that the staff had hung or left on the floor next to their seats. I was struggling to keep my eyes open.

  ‘…and I’m not saying these things just to fill a gap, we are all busy and have loads to do and this is the last thing I want to say but it is quite worrying…’

  He brought out some papers from a folder and calmly waved them:

  ‘I have had a series of complaints from a student…it is like a story, a boring one but alarming. I wonder why we should ignore students and give them the excuse to complain. What’s more disturbing is that apparently the line manager had cautioned the person in question about his treatment of the student. Was there a positive action from the staff in question? No! I have to say that I am very disappointed. This sort of behaviour will not be tolerated in the future. Let me make it quite clear,’ he was getting quite animated, ‘of course we want to maintain the quality work that we do but I should not have to remind you that it is the question of bums on seats. We cannot afford bad publicity.’

  And he went on an on. I looked at Michael who was sitting next to the Dean. His eyes were looking at the piece of paper in front of him and he was scribbling on the paper. Outside the widow, I could see the trees bending in the wind. It was quite strong. Then I could hear the rain hitting the window. I thought it might stop by the time the meeting ended.

  I rushed to my office after the meeting. It had gone on for too long and I had an urge to go home. I was pleased that I did not respond to the Dean’s long speech on work ethics and responsibilities. I wanted to tell him, and for that matter the Chair and other colleagues sitting there being lectured at, that I didn’t care a hoot about bums on seats and actually I thought fewer bums on seats would be better, that accepting whatever illogical demands the students had would and had affected adversely our education system, quality of service, and society at large not to mention our international standing. I wanted to say that imitating other countries’ relaxed systems had created a sense of numbness in our youth and that our timid blind tagging onto fashionable untested ideas was not only irresponsible, but it was a betrayal. But I didn’t utter a word. I needed to see Kate, sit there with her in the coffee shop and discuss all this with her, sort of nagging, get it out of my chest. But that was a dark joke now.

  Richard was standing outside my office. I didn’t have any desire to see him, talk with him, have anything to do with him. There was no need for that speech by the Dean to strengthen my feeling but there you are. He was standing outside my door. I said, ‘was it useful?’

  ‘I don’t know. It didn’t work.’

  ‘What do you mean it didn’t work? How come?’

  ‘I am not sure, I couldn’t make it work.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry. I hope there weren’t too many numericals. I am sure you will do well in general.’

  ‘I wanted to say something.’

  ‘Yes? I was collecting my stuff, taking my coat to leave.

  ‘I am sorry but I lost it….your calculator!’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘I can pay you for it. I can do it in instalments.’

  Pay back! Instalments! I could erupt. I just said, ‘don’t worry.’ He was still standing in the office at the door. I had to practically push him out of my office as I was leaving. I started to run. I wanted to get away from it all. I couldn’t understand people I thought. Did I expect a lot?

  As I reached the street, the bus was just leaving. I managed to catch it, just. I was wet and the driver didn’t like me as I was going through my pockets to find the ticket. So what if he didn’t like me? Perhaps he didn’t like my coat, or my face. ‘So what?’ I kept on telling this to myself as I went along the bus to sit at the back. The bus had braked harshly twice and I was lucky to have stayed on my feet without damaging my back. I wondered why I bothered to go all that way to sit down while my stop was only three stops away. Why didn’t I stand by the door to get off quickly? But then it meant that I could end up having an argument with the driver.

  And after all this, I missed my stop. I started walking back and it was pouring. By the time I got to the flat I was completely soaked. Carol was not in and the flat was cold. I touched the radiator, it was cold. I checked the boiler, it wouldn’t start. I sat in the kitchen for a while. Still. There wasn’t much in the fridge but I couldn’t make up my mind to go out. I took off my coat, dropped it on the floor and sat on a chair. Kate’s diary was sitting on the bookshelf. I took it, and sitting in the kitchen started reading:

  I looked at him as he was talking to the students in the corridor. There is something about him that I cannot place. I am not obsessed. I only observe. But I was curious to see what he was talking about. The students were laughing. He seems to me to be a serious man; a man of some discipline.

  I moved to another page:

  He wanted a book by Hegel. I wonder why? Not that it is an unusual request; it is unusual, though, coming from a scientist and during the term time. He couldn’t find it. He was quite embarrassed when I went straight to the shelf and showed him where it was. It was right in front of his eyes staring at him! ‘Sorry about this, sorry to have taken your time,’ he said.

  I wonder if he was sorry for his mistake or for losing his image. I would have been! But then maybe he was genuinely sorry to have taken me from the desk at the ground floor all the way to the end of the second floor. This was the event of the day for me apart from having to ask the security to come over and deal with some rowdy students and their mobiles. What a change. Is there a generation gap really? Sometimes I feel I am older than him! He seems to understand the students better than me, anyway…looks more tolerant! It seems that he is
creeping into my mind and I am accepting it with pleasure. Calm down! I’d better keep calm.

  The kitchen was very cold now but I didn’t want to leave, continued reading. Another page:

  I didn’t expect to see him at that party. It was a nice surprise. It really wasn’t a party; it was a university reception, some sort of marketing event. I wouldn’t have gone myself had it not been for Elizabeth not going. There was some sort of problem with her daughter. She lives alone with her and most of her time is occupied by her. I suppose it is not easy to live with a daughter in her early teens. ‘It is not a good show if the library is not represented, would you be able to go? There are drinks and nibbles. I was going to buy some food on my way and have an early night,’ Elizabeth said. ‘OK, I don’t have any particular plans,’ I said. As if I would have!

  I asked him ‘I was pushed to come here, what made you?’ I surprised myself by saying that. How could I say that? So out of place I thought. I suppose after the library episode, I felt self-confident. ‘There was no one to push me so I pushed myself to come!’ he said. He was smiling as if he was into some sort of mischief. ‘Actually I came hoping to see someone. I have been trying to find him for a month now. But it seems I’m not in luck.’