Late evening in a corner café on Victoria Street. The walls are brushed a warm ochre, rain beads slide lazily down the glass. Three coats hang on the hooks by the door: a light one, a grey one and a third with a stripe on the lining. Inside its dry and cosy, the air scented with fresh scones and brewed tea. The waitress glides between tables almost without a sound. By the window table sit three men: Ian, Sam and Anthony.
Ian arrived first he hates being late. He slips off his coat, folds his scarf neatly and immediately pulls out his phone to scan a few work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows meeting. His hands are still cool from the street the room is warm, the panes are fogged from the temperature clash. Ian orders a pot of green tea for everyone thats how almost every reunion of theirs begins.
Sam slips in almost silently: tall, a little hunched, eyes a touch weary but his smile lively. He hangs his jacket on the neighbouring hook, sits opposite Ian and gives a brief nod.
Hows it going? he asks.
Just taking it slow, Ian replies, his tone restrained.
Sam orders a coffee for himself he always has one in the evenings, even though he knows it will keep him awake later.
Anthony comes in last, a little windbreathless after a quick walk from the underground. His hair is damp under the hood. He flashes a wide grin at his mates, as if everythings fine, but his eyes linger on the menu longer than usual; instead of his usual slice of cake he just asks for water.
They meet here once a month sometimes they miss a slot because of work or a childs illness (Sam has two boys), but the habit has survived thirty years, ever since they were undergraduates on the physics faculty. Now each has his own life: Ian is a senior manager at a tech firm, Sam teaches at a college and does private tutoring, Anthony up until recently ran a small gadgetrepair business.
The evening starts in the usual way: they chat about news whos travelled where for work, how the kids are getting on, what theyre reading or bingewatching, funny incidents at work or at home. Anthony listens more than the others, jokes less; occasionally he stares out at the rainy street for so long the others exchange glances.
Ian is the first to notice the shift: Anthony doesnt laugh at the old university anecdotes; when the talk drifts to new smartphones or a holiday abroad, he steers the conversation elsewhere or forces a halfsmile.
Sam spots it too: when the waitress brings the bill for tea and coffee, she sets it down and asks, Splitting or together? Anthony fidgets with his phone and suggests paying his share later the apps acting up. Hed usually settle the tab straight away, or even cover the whole thing.
At one point Sam tries to break the tension with a joke:
Whats got you so grim? The tax man again?
Anthony shrugs:
Just a lots piling up.
Ian adds:
Maybe you could switch lanes? You could do anything online now take a course, pick up a freelance gig
Anthony forces a smile:
Cheers for the tip
A pause stretches; none of them knows how to move the conversation forward.
The café grows darker quickly: the light sharpens, the street disappears behind the misted glass only the occasional silhouette of a passerby flickers by the lantern opposite.
The friends try to recapture the easy chatter: sports updates (Ian finds them dull), a debate about a new law (Anthony barely joins in). Yet the strain between them thickens.
Soon Sam cant hold it in:
Anthony if you need cash, just say it straight! Were mates.
Anthony lifts his gaze sharply:
You think its that simple? You think just asking makes it easier?
His voice trembles; its the first time hes spoken up loudly all night.
Ian steps in:
Were only trying to help! Whats the problem?
Anthony glances at both of them:
Help with advice? Or just to remember this debt forever? You dont get it!
He jumps from his seat so abruptly the chair screeches across the floor. The waitress watches warily from behind the bar.
For a few seconds nobody moves; the air feels heavy even the tea seems to cool faster. Anthony grabs his coat from the hook and storms out, slamming the door louder than necessary.
Two remain at the table, each feeling guilty, yet neither dares to speak first.
The door shuts behind Anthony, and a gust of cold air briefly cools the window seat. Sam watches the fogged glass where a streetlamps glow reflects, while Ian absentmindedly stirs his spoon in the cup, hesitant to break the silence. The tension doesnt fade, but now it feels almost necessary as if without it nothing could be cleared up.
Sam finally breaks the hush:
Maybe I overreacted Im not sure what the right thing is. He sighs, looking at Ian. What would you have said?
Ian shrugs, his voice unusually firm:
If I knew how to fix it, Id have already done it. Were all adults but sometimes its easier to step back than to say the wrong thing.
They fall quiet. Behind the bar the waitress slices a fresh cake, and the scent of warm pastry fills the room again. Outside, a figure moves Anthony, standing under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling his phone slowly. Deciding, Ian rises.
Ill go get him. I dont want him walking off like that.
He steps into the vestibule where the cool air mixes with the lingering damp from the street. Anthony stands with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Anthony Ian stops beside him, not touching. Sorry if we overstepped. Were just worried.
Anthony turns slowly:
I get it. But youre not sharing everything with me either, are you? I just wanted to deal with it myself. It didnt work out now theres shame and a knot inside.
Ian ponders the words, then after a pause says:
Lets get back to the table. No ones forcing you to do anything. We can talk, or we can sit in silence up to you. Just one thing: if you need real help, tell us straight away, and about money I could sort something concrete, but I dont want awkward debts between us.
Anthony looks at him, relief and fatigue flickering in his eyes:
Thanks. I just want to be here with you, normal, without pity or extra questions.
They return together. Their table already holds a warm slice of cake and a small bowl of jam. Sam offers an awkward grin:
Got the cake for everyone. Figured I could do something useful tonight.
Anthony sits down and thanks quietly. For a while they eat in silence; someone stirs sugar into tea, crumbs gather near napkins. Gradually the talk softens they move from problems to weekend plans or new books for Sams boys.
Later Sam asks gently:
If you ever need to discuss work or look at options, Im happy to help or put you in touch. As for cash you decide when youre ready to bring it up.
Anthony nods gratefully:
Lets leave it as it is for now. I dont want to feel indebted or out of place with you lads.
The pause no longer hangs heavy; each feels theyve adopted an unspoken rule of new honesty among them. They agree to meet again next month here, whatever news each brings.
When its time to leave, each pulls out a phone: Ian checks messages about tomorrows office briefing, Sam replies to his wife with a quick all good, Anthony lingers over his screen a moment longer before slipping the device into his pocket without fanfare.
Only two coats remain on the rack now: Ians grey one and Sams light one. Anthony has already donned his at the exit after his quick return from the vestibule; now they dress slowly, helping each other find a scarf or button a cuff with one hand, as if reclaiming the easy camaraderie through simple, caring gestures.
Outside the drizzle thickens; the streetlamp reflects in a puddle right by the cafés entrance. The friends step out together under the awning; the cold wind rushes past their faces through the open door.
Sam steps forward first:
Next month, then? If anything comes up, give me a ring, even at night!
Ian claps Anthony on the shoulder:
Weve got each others backs, even when we act a bit daft.
Anthony smiles, a touch embarrassed:
Thanks, both of you really.
No grand promises are needed any more; each knows his part in this nights words and their worth.
They part ways at the doorway: some dash for the tube through the wet lantern light, others turn into the courtyard between the houses, heading toward home on foot. The tradition endures now it demands a greater honesty and a gentler handling of each others hurt, and thats what keeps it alive.
