Kermit in the Kardomah
“Kermit,” the young woman said. Then
towards me, “Sorry it just slipped out.”
She was referring to the American guy by
the window making a call home on his cell phone.
Luckily he didn't hear. “Yeah, I'm fine….
Yup, Helen's fine…. Yeah, we're having a great time!”
I involuntarily grinned. She was right of
course. He sounded just like Kermit. But when I looked I saw that she was
dressed all in green and yellow and I couldn't help but think she was one to
talk.
She was one to talk. “I got a job
today,” she continued seeing that I'd smiled.
“Congratulations” I said and looked away.
“Selling solar panels as part of the
government's new scheme.”
“Well done you.”
I shovelled a forkful of coffee cake into
my mouth. Sipped at my tea. Admired the
fifties style décor, the gleaming mirrors and panelling, the Chinaman by
the door.
“Yes. I was just coming out of a bad
relationship and I got this interview this morning and now I have a flat, a job
and everything.”
“Things are looking up then,” I remarked
and I tried to smile.
My husband blew at the froth on his
cappuccino and gave me a look: don't encourage her. There were few
people in at that time of the day and I wished I had taken more care in
choosing a table but I hadn't immediately noticed her there, sequestered under
the stairwell.
“Now I can make a home for me and the
kids.”
“I see. Well good luck with that.” One
can't simply be rude, I implied in an answering glance.
She poked about a bit in her oversized
handbag, produced a pen and began scribbling things down onto a note pad from a
magazine she'd been flicking through. She had an odd way of writing with her
hand twisted inwards as if shielding the page from unwanted viewers. “I'm
looking into interior design,” she said “because I have this new flat.”
The manager, a tall dark haired Italian
flitted past our table. “Everything okay?”
“Yes this cake is gorgeous,” I said, though
I had the feeling he didn't mean the food. He nodded then and went about his
business. We only had to say the word.
“Oh, look at these!” she darted over to our
table, magazine in hand to show us some colourful glass kitchen panels. “Aren't
they great?”
I was somewhat startled by the sudden
movement and I could smell alcohol on her breath but she was just being
over-friendly I knew, and I suddenly realised how vulnerable she was.
“Of course I haven't phoned yet to find out
the price,” she giggled and went back to her table. She pulled her green coat
closer. It was waist length; the casual type that had a zip and hood and not at
all what you'd wear to an interview and I'd noticed she was wearing jeans.
Close-up she'd looked older; pale and drawn. I glanced at my watch – 4pm –
schools would be out now if she had any kids but I doubted it.
After rummaging again through another bag,
she set to with a pair of nail scissors, cutting pictures from the magazine,
frantically writing notes and shoving them into each of several bags she had
occupying another seat.
Kermit left.
A waitress came to clear his table. I saw
her have a word with the manager and approached the stairwell. “You can take
that magazine with you if you like,” he told the girl.
“Can I? Thanks.” It was a broad enough hint
but she made no move to leave even though they were cleaning up around her.
We wished her well with the new job on our
way out.
“I wonder where she goes to when they
close?” I said outside.
“Oh she's okay.” my husband said. “Probably
a hostel or a B&B. She's clean and tidy and she'll muddle through. They do
you know.”
And I knew he was right but I was glad I
hadn't ignored her. I suppose that's always been one of the things I like most
about the Kardomah. It's always been a place where misfits fit.
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