My Coffee Shop Angel

The January air was cold and crisp as Dom stepped off the street into the coffee shop. It was much warmer inside the franchised café and his glasses quickly fogged up, causing him to turn his head this way and that in an attempt to find a clear corner to peer through. In the end, he resorted to peering over the top of his slim, black-rimmed spectacles, giving him the air of a disapproving librarian. Turning to his right, he examined the tall cabinet containing sandwiches of various descriptions, his hand hovering eagerly over the goods on offer until it paused above a spicy meatball panini. He scooped it up and made his way to the counter. It was late afternoon and there were relatively few patrons so it was only a few minutes before the girl at the till turned her smiling attention towards him.

“Would you like that toasted?” she asked, nodding at the sandwich in Dom’s hand. He muttered in the affirmative and handed it over. The gentle questioning resumed: “Any hot drinks? Cakes? Pastries?”

Dom’s mouth twisted to one side, his left eyebrow dipped a little and he looked up at the board, looking for all the world like someone who had no idea what they were after. In fact, he knew exactly what he would have; the same thing he had every time he drank in a coffee shop. For some reason, though, he went through this charade whenever he bought coffee; it was as if he wanted to appear as a man whose tastes were many and varied and what was he going to choose today? when in fact he was the kind of person who would only timidly try a very few things, quickly latching onto the first one that in any way appealed.

“I’ll haaave, er… aaa medium mocha, please… oh, and can I have that with skimmed milk? Thanks. Oh, and… uh… I’ll have a lemon muffin as well, please.” His words were elongated and faltering, as if he was still thinking about his choice even as he began to speak.

The girl smiled brightly at him. “Certainly, sir.” She tapped his order into the register and politely asked for the money. Dom handed over a crinkled ten pound note and received a disappointingly small handful of change in return. He slipped some of it into the tip cup on the counter and stuffed the rest into his jeans pocket. “And your receipt, sir.” He pinched the proffered slip between his thumb and forefinger, but as he moved his hand away there was resistance; she was still holding onto it. He glanced up at her; she stared into his eyes, then cast her eyes towards the receipt, nodding slightly. Then she released her grip and turned to prepare the coffee.

Confused, Dom looked down at the receipt; only it wasn’t a receipt, it was a blank piece of paper with a single word scribbled on it: HELP. Dom glanced up at her, startled; but her back was still turned as she frothed the milk in its metal jug. He looked at the slip again. The word was still there, an unspecific cry for aid. Help her? Why? How? His mind raced. What kind of trouble was she in? Was it financial? An abusive boyfriend? And why had she asked him for help? She had no idea who he was, or whether he was capable of doing anything at all to help her. Was she really so desperate that she would ask the first stranger that walked in? He glanced at his watch. Wait, not the first stranger; it’s just gone 4, I can’t be the first one she’s served. Has she asked others? Has nobody helped? Why wou–

His train of thought was halted by his mug of hot and chocolatey coffee being set down on a tray, followed swiftly by a muffin on a plate. He looked up at her still-smiling face. I’ve got to ask. He opened his mouth to speak but the girl beat him to it. “I’llbringyourpanini over when it’s ready.” The first words came out in a rush; she’d deliberately jumped in before he could speak, no doubt about it.

“Okay, thanks – “ he glanced at her name badge “uh, Michelle”. She smiled and nodded, then turned to the next customer.

Confused, Dom made his way over to a seat by the window. He sighed deeply, and stared into his coffee. What was going on? Why couldn’t she talk? Were they being watched? So many questions; so few answers. The beeping of a timer drew his attention; he glanced over and saw Michelle removing the sandwich from the toasting grill, putting it on a plate, and walking out from behind the counter. He steeled himself to ask his questions. But there was no need.

As she leaned slightly to set down the plate, still smiling, she spoke urgently but in measured tones that suggested she’d rehearsed this speech, waiting for this moment. “There’s not much time. Listen to me. I’m an angel. They stole me from Heaven many years ago. They’ve kept me here all this time. This place has changed. My appearance has changed. But they keep me here. You have to help to me. Wait until closing. Then I’ll tell you what to do.” She straightened herself. “Enjoy your panini, sir.” Then she turned and left.

Dom was left reeling. Did I just hear all that? Is she mad? She doesn’t look mad. Could she even hold down a job if she was? Some questions answered; more questions posed. He glanced at his watch; closing time was just a couple of hours away. He could wait; he would wait. He glanced over to the newspaper rack on the wall and saw that there were still a couple of papers that hadn’t yet been stolen that day; he walked over, took them both without looking, and returned to his seat. He laid them out in front of him: The Sun and The Independent. He umm-ed and ahh-ed between the two, eventually settling on the Indie. He pushed the other paper to one side, and started to read; or at least, he tried to, but Michelle’s words haunted him. His eyes glazed over as he repeated them in his head, over and over. You have to help me. Wait until closing. Then I’ll tell you what to do. He slipped off his specs and rubbed his eyes. What would he have to do?

The door slammed, and Dom jolted upright. It was dark outside; he glanced at his watch and realised that he must have been daydreaming for far longer than he’d realised as it was nearly 6 o’clock. Time for closing; time for action. He looked around; the café was empty apart from Michelle, who was nervously fiddling with the leftover pastries behind the counter. Her eyes flicked upwards towards him and held his gaze; she smiled a small, nervous smile and Dom did his best to return it with one of reassurance. It’s okay, Michelle; I’ll save you. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, then turned back and made her way around the counter and towards him.

“Okay, we have to go now. You have to take my hand and lead me out; it’s the only way I can be free. Please, hurry!”

Dom nodded and scrambled up out of his chair. Michelle’s hand was outstretched; he grabbed it, and moved towards the door. A sudden shout from behind stopped him in his tracks.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?”

The Staff Only door behind the counter was open, and a large man stood in the doorway; he was dressed smartly, and Dom guessed that he was probably the manager. No, not the manager; the bastard keeping this angel here. Dom steeled himself for confrontation and put on his most macho voice.

“I’m taking this girl to freedom and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

The man didn’t respond; and it was only when Michelle spoke that Dom realised that he was not the one to whom the question had been addressed.

“Oh, come on, you know the score; I haven’t feasted in days and this… fucking… maggot was just begging for it. Look at him, thinking he’s my White Knight; I was all set to do the biz and you had to go and ruin my fun. Look, he’s shitting himself; he’s going to taste of piss and fear now.” Michelle’s mocking tones shocked Dom. This… this is my angel? The man rolled his eyes.

“Christ ‘Chelle… yeah, alright then, but take him through the back and be quick; I’m out tonight so I want to lock up and get going ASAP.”

Michelle turned to Dom. “Right, you, this way; and for fuck’s sake, don’t struggle, ‘cos you’ll just make it worse for yourself.” She yanked his arm and pulled him towards the Staff Only door. The man stood to one side as Dom was dragged into the kitchen and through a small side door, into a dimly-lit room with, he noticed, a gently inclined floor sloping towards a metal grille. Dom struggled but to no avail; Michelle clasped his hand tightly. “Oh, stop being such a pussy!” she spat. Then she raised her free hand and slammed Dom’s head hard and messily against the wall.

…

“And your receipt, sir.” He pinched the proffered slip between his thumb and forefinger, but as he moved his hand away there was resistance; she was still holding onto it. He glanced up at her; she stared into his eyes, then cast her eyes towards the receipt, nodding slightly. Then she released her grip and turned to prepare the coffee.

Confused, Nathan looked down at the receipt; only it wasn’t a receipt, it was a blank piece of paper with a single word scribbled on it: HELP.