A lateevening drizzle painted the windowpanes of a little corner café in Manchester. The walls were a warm ochre, and the rain slipped down the glass in lazy ribbons. Three coats hung on hooks by the door a light tan one, a grey one, and a third with a striped lining. Inside it was dry and cosy, the air scented with fresh scones and tea. A waitress moved between tables almost unnoticed. At the window table sat three men: Ian, Sam and Andy.
Ian arrived first he never liked being late. He slipped off his coat, folded his scarf neatly and immediately pulled out his phone to glance at work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows planning meeting. His fingertips were still cool from the street, while the café grew warm and the windows fogged from the temperature contrast. He ordered a pot of green tea for everyone the usual way their gatherings began.
Sam slipped in almost silently: tall, a little hunched, eyes weary yet a lively smile. He tossed his jacket on the neighbouring hook, sat opposite Ian and gave a brief nod.
Hows it going? Sam asked.
Slow and steady, Ian replied, his tone measured.
Sam ordered a coffee for himself he always took it in the evening, even though he knew it would keep him up later.
Andy was the last to come, breathing a little hard after a quick walk from the tram stop. His hair was damp from the drizzle, the hood of his coat still wet. He grinned at his friends so broadly it seemed everything was fine. Yet his eyes lingered on the menu longer than usual; instead of his usual slice of cake he chose only water.
They met here once a month sometimes missing a session because of work or the illnesses of Sams two sons but the tradition had endured for thirty years, ever since theyd studied together on the physics degree at university. Now each led a different life: Ian was a senior manager at a tech firm, Sam taught at a furthereducation college and tutored on the side, and Andy had only recently closed his small electronicsrepair business.
The evening unfolded as it always did: they swapped news about work trips, childrens school projects, books or TV series theyd been watching, and the odd amusing incident at home or the office. Andy listened more than he spoke, laughing less; now and then he stared out at the rainsplattered street so long that the others exchanged glances.
Ian was the first to notice a shift. Andy no longer laughed at the old university anecdotes; when the conversation drifted to new smartphones or a foreign holiday, Andy would change the subject or give a halfhearted smile.
Sam saw it too. When the waitress slid the bill for tea and coffee across the table and asked, Split it? Andy fumbled with his phone and said the app was glitching, insisting hed pay his share later a change from his usual habit of covering the whole tab.
At one point Sam tried to lighten the mood with a joke.
Whats got you so serious? Taxes got you down again?
Andy shrugged.
Just a lot piling up.
Ian added, Maybe you could upskill? There are plenty of online courses you could take.
Andy forced a smile. Thanks for the tip
A heavy silence settled; none knew how to move forward.
The café lights grew harsher as dusk fell, the street disappearing behind the fogged glass, only the occasional silhouette of a passerby passing the lantern outside.
Trying to recapture the easy chatter, they talked about sport (which bored Ian), debated a new law (which Andy barely joined in). The tension between them thickened.
Finally Sam could not hold back.
Andy if you need money, just tell us straight away. Were your mates.
Andy stared up sharply.
You think its that simple? You think asking makes the problem vanish?
His voice trembled; it was the first time hed raised it in the evening.
Ian intervened. We just want to help. Whats the problem?
Andy glanced at both of them. Help with advice? Or with a debt that will hang over us forever? You dont get it!
He leapt from his seat, the chair screeching across the floor. The waitress watched warily from behind the bar.
For a few moments nothing moved; the air grew stale, as if the tea were cooling faster. Andy snatched his coat from the hook and threw the door shut with more force than necessary.
Ian and Sam were left at the table, each feeling a pang of guilt but unsure who should speak first.
The door slammed and a brief gust cooled the window seat. Sam stared at the cloudy glass, where the streetlamps glow reflected, while Ian idly twirled a spoon in his cup, hesitant to break the silence. The tension lingered, now oddly essential, as if it were the only thing that could bring clarity.
Sam was the first to speak again. I may have overreacted Im not sure what the right thing is. He sighed, looking at Ian. What would you say?
Ian shrugged, his voice unusually firm. If I knew how to fix it, Id already have. Were all adults Sometimes its easier to step back than to say the wrong thing.
They fell silent. The waitress returned to slicing a fresh scone, and the warm aroma of baked goods filled the room again. A shadow moved outside Andy stood under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling his phone.
Ian stood, resolve in his stride. Im going to get him. I dont want him to walk away like that.
He stepped into the hallway where the cool, damp air mingled with the lingering rain. Andy stood with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Andy Ian stopped beside him, not touching. Sorry if we overstepped. We were just worried.
Andy turned slowly.
I get it. But you dont tell me everything either, do you? I just wanted to manage it myself. It didnt work out, and now Im left with shame and anger.
Ian considered the words, then after a pause said, Lets go back to the table. No one is forcing you into anything. We can talk or stay quiet whatever you need. But lets agree: if you need help with something concrete, say it straight away. As for money I could help in a specific way, just not create an awkward debt between us.
Andy looked relieved, fatigue in his eyes. Thanks. I just want to be with you guys normally, without pity or extra questions.
They all returned together. Their table already held a plate of warm scone slices and a small bowl of jam. Sam offered an uneasy grin. I grabbed the scones for everyone. Figured I could do something useful today.
Andy settled back and thanked them quietly. For a while they ate in silence; someone stirred sugar into tea, crumbs gathered near the napkins. Gradually the conversation softened they spoke of weekend plans, new childrens books Sam wanted to read, rather than of problems.
Later Sam asked gently, If you ever need a hand with work or want to explore options, Im happy to help with advice or contacts. Money you decide when youre ready to talk about it.
Andy nodded gratefully. Lets keep things as they are for now. I dont want to feel indebted or out of place among you.
The pause no longer felt oppressive; each of them seemed to have adopted an unspoken rule of honest openness. They agreed to meet again next month in the same spot, whoever shows up with whatever news they bring.
When it was time to leave, each pulled out a phone: Ian checked a message about tomorrows board meeting, Sam replied briefly to his wife with All good, Andy lingered a moment longer over his screen before slipping it into his pocket without fanfare.
Only two coats now hung on the hooks Ians grey and Sams light tan. Andy had slipped his coat back on after returning from the hallway; now they dressed slowly, helping each other find a scarf or fasten a button with one hand, as if restoring the easy camaraderie through simple acts of care.
Outside the drizzle thickened; the streetlamp reflected in a puddle right by the cafés doorway. The friends stepped out together under the awning, the cold wind rushing across their faces.
Sam was the first to move forward. Next month, then? If anything comes up, give me a ring, even at night!
Ian clapped Andy on the shoulder. Were here, even when we act a bit foolish.
Andy smiled, a little embarrassed. Thanks, both of you really.
No grand promises were needed now; each understood the limits of their involvement and the true value of the nights words.
They went their separate ways from the entrance some hurrying to the tram in the wet glow of streetlights, others turning toward the quiet alleys near their homes. Their monthly reunion survived, now demanding greater honesty and sensitivity to each others pain and that honesty is what keeps the tradition alive.
