The café on the high street was new, and it looked nice. Modern but inviting, cosy but not stuffy. There were quite a few people inside but I didn’t recognise any of them so I stood by the door, basking in the sunshine, and waited patiently. My patience was rewarded ten seconds later.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
‘I couldn’t even charge you that in good conscience,’ I said, turning to see one of my favourite people in the entire world racing towards me with her arms open.
‘Good because I haven’t got any cash on me anyway,’ Sarah replied as she pulled me into the biggest, warmest hug in the world. ‘Oh, it’s good to see you, Taylor. Look at me coming in on my afternoon off, I must really love you.’
It was exactly what I needed. A quick break with my best friend, someone who didn’t run hot then cold, or rather scorching then arctic. I always knew exactly what Sarah Nixon was thinking. Everyone did, it was both a blessing and a curse.
‘Shall we get a coffee?’ she suggested. ‘My treat.’
‘Does it really count as a treat if you own the coffee shop?’
‘Oh, so you want to pay double?’ Sarah replied cheerfully. ‘Works for me.’
‘Your treat it is,’ I said, following her inside.
Sarah Nixon wasn’t just my oldest friend. Sarah was my childhoodpen pal. Our love ran real-handwritten-letters-sent-to-each-other-in-the-post deep. When we were little, her parents lived in Bakewell, next door to my grandparents. Every time we came to visit, I’d put in a ten-minute shift with the family then race aroundto Sarah’s house to play in her massive only-child bedroom or, even better, in her treehouse. Proof enough that her parents loved her way more than mine loved me as far as I was concerned.
In between visits, we wrote each other essays on Groovy Chick writing paper in multicoloured glitter gel pens, disclosing every last little detail of our lives. Sarah knew things about me I’d never told anyone else; I’d always found it easier to express myself in writing than in real life. Eventually, we abandoned letters and graduated to emails, then when we got our own phones, pages long emails turned into a barrage of texts and DMs, until we arrived at our current destination of infrequent three-hour phone calls supplemented by a daily exchange of gifs and heatless curler hacks. We left memes in each other’s DMs the way cats left dead birds on the doorstep, a silent but meaningful offering. Friendships like ours didn’t need to be coddled with never-ending deep conversations, a crying laughing emoji response to a photo of a cat that bore a passing resemblance to Timothée Chalamet was more than enough to keep our love alive.
‘Go on then, what do you think?
Standing behind the bar, Sarah opened out her arms wide, presenting the coffee shop to me like I’d just won a game show and this was my prize. As far as I was concerned, I had. Free coffee whenever I wanted? It was better than winning the lottery.
‘I don’t think anything, I know for a fact this is the greatest coffee shop I have ever seen,’ I told her as she fiddled with a very large, very shiny silver machine. ‘Can I have a go? I’ve always wanted to play barista.’
‘Touch my Gaggia and I’ll chop your hands off.’
I gave her a thumbs up and kept my mitts to myself. Sarah did not tell lies.
‘Still can’t believe you did it,’ I said while she busied herself cranking handles and pouring milk into little silver jugs. ‘From accountant to coffee shop owner in five easy steps.’
‘There were more than five and none of them were easy. But they were necessary. You’re not going to believe this, Soph, but it turns out bookkeeping is really boring.’
‘No!’ I exclaimed, slamming my hand down on the counter. ‘I refuse to accept it.’
She gave me the kind of look you could only exchange with a person who still remembered when you thought you might be pregnant because you let Assad from the sixth form finger you at your sixteenth birthday party. Her not me, obviously. No one from the sixth form wanted to finger me, not even when I was in the sixth form. I was, to put it kindly, a late bloomer when it came to romance.
‘It was a bit of a left turn,’ she admitted. ‘You must have thought I’d lost it.’
‘That implies I thought you ever had it in the first place. Honestly I was more surprised when you told me you wanted to be an accountant.’
I spun around on my stool to get another look at the place. It was welcoming and warm, but still felt fresh and fun, a far cry from the traditional tearooms of Bakewell and the copy-and-paste coffee shop chains that seemed to pop up everywhere these days. Everyone who came in left smiling and even the other girl behind the counter looked happy to be going about her day.Couldn’t say the same for the staff in my local Starbucks. They always seemed to be one non-fat, no-whip, triple-shot Frappuccino away from an emotional breakdown. Sarah’s coffee shop truly felt like a one-of-a-kind place and I loved it.
‘Fair point.’ She held a stainless steel jug to the steamer with easy confidence, effortlessly frothing up the milk for my latte as she spoke. ‘I can’t even tell you what brought it on. I woke up one morning and knew I could not stand to sit in the office staring at a screen full of numbers for one more day.’
‘I’m still impressed you were ever able to do it,’ I replied. ‘You know how I feel about maths.’
‘Numbers are not your friend,’ she acknowledged with a smile. ‘It was time for a change. I understand how to run a business, I’ve never met a cup of coffee I didn’t have a very informed opinion on, and not that I’m advocating for divorce in general, but it helps that Dave takes the kids three nights a week.’
‘The two of you make divorce look so good, I almost want to get married just so I can split up,’ I remarked, breathing in the deep, rich coffee aroma as she ground a fresh espresso shot. ‘I’ve never seen two people more thrilled to get their decree nisi and, to the best of my knowledge, you’re the only couple I know who had a joint party to celebrate.’
‘At least you won’t have to murder him in his sleep,’ Sarah said, misty-eyed with nostalgia. ‘Again, Taylor, best maid of honour speech ever.’
‘You know I would kill for you in a heartbeat,’ I replied. ‘Please ask me to kill for you.’
She looked at me from underneath her blunt blonde fringe. ‘Anyone in particular?’
