Thirty years and the changes
It was a late evening in a little corner tearoom on Fleet Street. The walls were painted a warm ochre, rain traced lazy tracks down the windowpanes. 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 brewed tea. The waitress floated between the tables, barely making a sound. At a table by the window sat three men: Ian, Sam and Arthur.
Ian had arrived first he never liked being late. He slipped off his coat, folded his scarf neatly and immediately pulled out his mobile to scan a few work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows planning meeting. His palms were still cool from the street; the room was warm, the glass had fogged where the temperature differed. Ian ordered a pot of green tea for everyone that was almost always how their gatherings began.
Sam slipped in almost silently: tall, a little stooped, eyes weary but a lively smile. He hung his jacket on the next hook, sat opposite Ian and gave a short nod.
How are you? he asked.
Slowly, as ever, Ian replied, restrained.
Sam ordered a coffee for himself he always had one in the evening, even though he knew it would keep him up later.
Arthur was the last to come, breathing a little hard after a brisk walk from the tube. His hair was damp from the drizzle under his hood. He beamed at his friends, as if everything were fine, though his eyes lingered over the menu longer than usual; instead of his usual slice of cake he simply asked for water.
They met here once a month sometimes missed a gathering because of work or because Sams two boys were ill but the tradition had endured for thirty years, ever since they had been physics students together. Now each led a separate life: Ian was a senior manager in a tech firm, Sam taught at a college and tutored on the side, Arthur had only recently closed his small electronicsrepair business.
The evening began as it always did: they swapped news who had travelled for work, how the children were getting on, what they were reading or watching on television, the odd amusing anecdote from home or the office. Arthur listened more than the others, joked less; now and then he stared out at the rainspattered street so long that the others exchanged glances.
Ian was the first to notice the shift. Arthur no longer laughed at the old university stories; when the conversation turned to the newest smartphones or a holiday abroad, he would steer the topic elsewhere or smile uneasily.
Sam saw it too. When the waitress brought the bill for tea and coffee and asked, Split or together?, Arthur fumbled with his phone and said he would pay his share later the app is acting up. Usually hed settle straight away, sometimes even insisted on treating everyone.
At one point Sam tried to draw his friend out with a joke:
You look grim. Did the tax man get you again?
Arthur shrugged.
Just a lot has piled up.
Ian added, Maybe you should think about changing your line of work? You could pick up an online course, anything.
Arthur forced a thin smile.
Thanks for the advice
A silence stretched, nobody knowing how to keep the talk going.
The tearoom grew dimmer as the lights sharpened and the street beyond the misted glass faded, leaving only occasional silhouettes of passersby under the streetlamp opposite.
The friends tried to revive the lightness of their chat: sports news (which bored Ian), a debate about the new dataprotection law (Arthur barely took part). Yet the tension between them grew palpable.
Soon Sam could bear it no longer.
Arthur if you need money, just say it! Were your mates.
Arthur looked up sharply.
Do you think its that simple? Do you think just asking will make everything easier?
His voice trembled; it was the first time that night he spoke loudly.
Ian stepped in.
We just want to help! Whats the problem?
Arthur glanced at both of them.
Help with advice? Or so you can remember a debt forever? You dont understand!
He rose from his seat so abruptly the chair screeched across the floor. The waitress glanced up from the bar with a wary eye.
For a few moments nobody moved; the air grew heavy, as if even the tea were cooling faster. Arthur grabbed his coat from the hook and stormed out, slamming the door louder than needed.
Two remained, each feeling a pang of guilt yet neither willing to be the first to speak.
The door shut behind Arthur, and a brief draught cooled the window seat. Sam stared at the foggy glass, where the streetlamps glow reflected, while Ian idly turned his spoon in his cup, hesitant to break the silence. The tension lingered, now almost a necessary presence without it nothing seemed clear.
Sam finally broke the hush.
Maybe I went too far I dont know the right words. He sighed, looking at Ian. What would you have said?
Ian shrugged, his voice unusually firm.
If I knew how to help, Id have already done it. Were all adults but sometimes its easier to step back than to say something that lands wrong.
They fell silent. At the counter the waitress was slicing a fresh cake, and the scent of warm pastry drifted back into the room. Outside, a shadow moved Arthur lingered under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling slowly on his phone. Determined, Ian rose.
Ill go fetch him. I dont want him to leave like that.
He stepped into the vestibule where the cool air mixed with the lingering damp from the street. Arthur stood with his back to the door, shoulders slumped.
Arthur Ian paused beside him, not touching. Sorry if we overstepped. Were just worried.
Arthur turned slowly.
I get it. But you dont share everything with me either, do you? I wanted to manage on my own. It didnt work, and now Im left with shame and anger.
Ian thought over 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 as you wish. Just promise, if you need help with something concrete, tell us straight away. As for money I could help in a specific way, but I dont want awkward debts between us.
Arthur looked at him, relief and fatigue mixing.
Thank you. I just want to be with you all now, without pity or extra questions.
They returned together. On their table lay a freshly cut slice of cake and a tiny bowl of jam. Sam managed an awkward smile.
I got the cake for everyone. Thought I could do something useful today.
Arthur sat down and thanked him 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 books for Sams children, rather than of problems.
Later Sam asked gently,
If you ever need to discuss work or look at options, Im happy to help with advice or contacts. As for money decide when youre ready to bring it up.
Arthur nodded appreciatively.
Lets keep things as they are for now. I dont want to feel indebted or out of place among you.
The pause no longer weighed heavily; each seemed to have accepted an unspoken rule of new honesty among friends. They agreed to meet again in a month, right here, no matter what news each might bring.
When it was time to part, each pulled out a phone: Ian checked a message about tomorrows office meeting, Sam replied briefly to his wife, All good, and Arthur lingered a moment longer over his screen before slipping it back into his pocket without fanfare.
Only two coats remained on the hooks Ians grey one and Sams light tan. Arthur had slipped his on again after returning from the vestibule; now they dressed slowly, helping each other find a scarf or button a cuff, as if restoring the ease of old friendship through simple, caring gestures.
Outside the drizzle thickened; the streetlamps reflection shone in a puddle right by the cafés entrance. The friends stepped out together under the awning, the cold air rushing past their faces through the open door.
Sam led the way.
Next month, then? If anything comes up, give me a ring, even at night!
Ian clapped Arthur on the shoulder.
Were close, even when we act foolishly.
Arthur smiled, a little embarrassed.
Thanks, both of you truly.
No grand promises were needed any more; each knew his own limits and the worth of the nights words.
They went their separate ways from the doorway: some hurried to the tube through the wet lantern light, others turned down the courtyard between the terraced houses, walking nearer home. The tradition of their meetings endured now it demanded greater honesty and a keener sense of each others pain, and that was what kept it alive.
