Another Cup of Coffee by Jenny Kane

with the be-suited man at Heathrow, she hadn’t minded answering their queries. Strange; she thought, she’d always been so guarded before. She hadn’t mentioned Jack though; that would have been a confidence too far.
    Drawing back her curtains, Amy looked through her window properly for the first time. Brick-built terraces, cars, motorbikes, deafening aircraft noise, litter clogging the kerbside drain, and people, masses of people. Richmond; right on London’s doorstep. A place simmering with possibilities. All she’d have to do was overcome her natural nervousness and grasp every opportunity. It was all out there for her. Even in its dark, damp, autumnal state, everything appeared inviting. She’d have to wait to hit the sights though; today she was going to be sensible. Today Amy was determined to take the first job she could find, and then tomorrow she’d start writing a CV and hunt down a proper career. Well, OK, maybe the day after tomorrow. Then she was going to call Rob. Jack could wait.
    Amy felt a small rush of pride just thinking it.
    Now she was here, Jack could wait.
    The winter boots had been a mistake. Her feet felt uncomfortably prickly and hot. Amy smiled ruefully; this wasn’t Aberdeen. London was wet, true, but not half as cold as Scotland. It was incredible how having unpleasantly over-heated feet could make her feel good about her situation.
    Amy passed by the grubby and well-worn Part-Time Help Required sign that had been stuck to the window of the small newsagent’s nearest the house, promising herself that if she hadn’t found anything else by the end of the day, then she’d enquire about it on the way home. Crap money was better than no money at all.
    By ten o’clock Amy had already explored employment opportunities at Waitrose, Tesco, and WHSmith, and her need for a caffeine hit had reached epidemic proportions. Caffé Nero seemed to be calling to her, siren-like, from across the street, but it was packed and she couldn’t face being penned in with so many strangers. Looking around for an alternative, she spotted a faded sign advertising that Pickwicks Coffee House was lurking down a narrow side street. Amy strode off to discover where it was hiding.
    She loved it instantly. An eclectic huddle of flower-filled vases and jars vied with each other for space on the crowded windowsill. Cream and blue Victorian tiles were embedded here and there in the plastered walls, and dark beams made the ceiling feel deceptively low. A higgledy-piggledy mixture of dark wooden furniture, a stripped pine floor, mismatched china, and a dominant aroma of coffee and sugar-coated pastries created a cocooned atmosphere of warmth and safety. Caffé Nero could keep its crowded convenience. In here, Amy thought, she could hide from the world.
    â€˜Can I get you anything, love?’
    The waitress, her incredibly long dark hair drawn back into a thick ponytail that almost reached the waistband of her black trousers, stood beaming at Amy as if she was the most important person she’d seen all day.
    â€˜I would love a really huge black coffee please.’
    â€˜Well, you’re in luck; we deal in really huge cups of coffee.’ She pointed across the room to a lady sat in the far corner scribbling away at something, a soup dish-sized mug of hot liquid caffeine in front of her. ‘That cup about the right size for you?’
    â€˜That would be perfect, thanks! Oh, and a Belgian bun if you have one?’
    â€˜Coming right up.’ The waitress shimmied away, returning almost instantly with Amy’s order.
    Amy stared into her drink. It was so fresh that it steamed as if smoke was rising from its opaque surface. The cup’s welcoming presence gave out that special kind of comfort that you only get from coffee when it’s black. If she could find a job locally she’d be able to come in here for lunch every now and again. Maybe she’d meet