Late one evening, Im sitting in a little corner café on the high street of Bath. The walls are a warm ochre, and rain taps lazily against the big front window. A few coats are hanging on the peg 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 smelling of fresh scones and tea. The waitress glides between tables so quietly you barely notice her. At the window table three mates are settled: Ian, Sam and Andy.
Ian arrived first he hates being late. He slipped off his coat, folded his scarf neatly, and immediately pulled out his phone to scan through work emails, trying not to think about tomorrows meeting. His hands are still a bit chilly from outside, while the room is getting warm and the glass fogs up from the temperature swing. Ian orders a pot of green tea for everyone thats pretty much how every one of our gettogethers starts.
Sam slips in almost silently: tall, a touch slouched, eyes a little tired but a lively smile. He hangs his jacket on the next peg, sits opposite Ian and gives a short nod.
Alright? he asks.
Ian replies, a little restrained, Yeah, just taking it easy.
Sam orders a coffee for himself he always has one in the evenings, even though he knows itll keep him up later.
Andy is the last to come in, a little out of breath after a brisk walk from the train station. His hair is damp from the drizzle under his hood. He flashes a big grin at his friends, looking like everythings fine, but his eyes linger on the menu longer than usual; instead of the usual slice of cake he just goes for water.
Theyve been meeting here once a month for thirty years, ever since they were all at university studying physics. Sometimes life or a kids illness (Sam has two lads) forces a miss, but the habit has stuck. Now Ian is a senior manager at a tech firm, Sam teaches at a college and does tutoring on the side, and Andy was until recently running a small electronicsrepair business.
The evening rolls on in the usual way: they swap news about work trips, how the kids are getting on, what theyre reading or bingewatching, and the odd funny incident from home or the office. Andy listens more than he talks, jokes less; every now and then he stares out at the rainspattered street for a good minute, and the others glance at each other.
Ian is the first to notice the shift. Andy doesnt laugh at the old university anecdotes; when the chat drifts to the latest smartphones or a holiday abroad, he steers the conversation away or forces a smile.
Sam spots it too: when the waitress brings the bill and asks, Split it or together?, Andy fidgets with his phone and says hell pay later because the apps acting up. Usually hes the one who pays straight away, even offering to cover the whole tab.
At one point Sam tries to break the tension with a joke:
Whats got you so serious? Taxes getting you down again?
Andy shrugs. Just a lots piled up.
Ian jumps in. Maybe you could switch things up? You could do something online, take a course, whatever.
Andy forces a thin smile. Cheers for the tip
Theres an awkward pause, nobody knows how to keep the chat going.
The lights dim a bit as the evening darkens, the street outside becoming a blur behind the glass, only occasional silhouettes of passersby flickering in the lamplight opposite.
They try to bring the banter back, talking about sport (which Ian finds boring), debating a new law (Andy barely joins in). The tension builds, thickening the air.
Soon Sam cant hold back. Andy if you need cash, just say it straight. Were your mates.
Andy looks up sharply. You think its that simple? You think just asking makes everything easier?
His voice cracks; its the first time all evening he actually raises it.
Ian steps in. We just want to help. Whats the problem?
Andy glances at both of them. Help with advice? Or just to remind me I owe you forever? You dont get it!
He jumps up, chair screeching across the floor. The waitress watches from the bar, her expression tight.
For a few seconds nothing moves; the room feels heavy, even the tea seems to cool faster. Andy grabs his coat from the peg and storms out, slamming the door a little harder than needed.
Ian and Sam sit there, both feeling a pang of guilt but not daring to speak first.
The door shuts, a gust of air cools the window table for a beat. Sam looks at the fogged glass, the streetlamp reflected in it, while Ian absentmindedly stirs his spoon in the cup, waiting for the other to break the silence. The tension doesnt fade, but now it feels almost necessary like you need it to get anything clear.
Sam finally speaks. 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 steadier than usual. If I knew how to fix it, Id have already done it. Were all adults but sometimes stepping back is easier than saying too much.
They fall quiet. The waitress is now cutting a fresh slice of cake, and the smell of warm pastry drifts back into the room. Outside, a figure darts past the doorway Andy, standing under the awning, hood pulled up, scrolling his phone slowly. Ian gets up.
Ill go get him. I dont want him to walk off like this.
He steps into the little vestibule where the cool night air mixes with the damp street smell. Andy is standing with his back to the door, shoulders drooped.
Ian he starts, not turning.
Ian stops beside him, not touching. Sorry if we went overboard. We just worry about you.
Andy turns slowly. I get it. But you dont spill everything to each other either, do you? I just wanted to sort it myself. It didnt work, and now Im left with shame and a bit of anger.
Ian thinks a moment, then says, Lets head back to the table. Nobodys forcing you to do anything. We can talk or stay quiet whatever you need. Just promise us, if you ever need real help, say so straight, and about money I could sort something specific, but we dont want awkward debts between mates.
Andy looks relieved and tired at once. Thanks. Id just like to be here with you, no pity, no extra questions.
They head back together. On the table lies a hot slice of cake and a small bowl of jam. Sam gives a nervous smile. I grabbed cake for everyone. Figured I could at least do something useful today.
Andy settles in, thanks quietly. For a while they eat in silence; someone stirs sugar into tea, crumbs gather by the napkins. Gradually the conversation eases they start talking about weekend plans and new books for Sams kids, not the heavy stuff.
Later Sam leans in. If you ever need to bounce work ideas or look at options, Im here. Moneywise you pick the moment youre ready to bring it up.
Andy nods. Lets keep things as they are for now. I dont want to feel like I owe you or be a stranger.
The pause no longer feels like a weight. Its as if theyve all signed an unspoken rule of frankness. They agree to meet again next month, same spot, whatever news each of them brings.
When its time to leave, each pulls out his phone: Ian checks a message about tomorrows office catchup, Sam replies to his wife with a quick all good, Andy lingers a moment longer on his screen before slipping it back into his pocket without any fanfare.
Only two coats remain on the peg now Ians grey one and Sams light one. Andy has put his on after coming back from the vestibule; now they dress slowly, helping each other with scarves or buttoning a cuff, as if reclaiming the easy camaraderie through simple, caring gestures.
Outside the drizzle thickens; the streetlamp glints in a puddle right by the café entrance. The three friends step out together under the awning, the cold wind rushing past their faces through the open door.
Sam leads. Next month, yeah? And if anything comes up, give me a ring, even at night!
Ian gives Andy a friendly pat on the shoulder. Weve got your back, even when we act a bit daft.
Andy manages a shy smile. Thanks, both of you really.
No grand promises needed now; everyone knows their limits and the value of the nights words.
They part ways at the doorway: some head toward the bus stop, shoes splashing in the shallow water, others turn down the quiet lane toward home. The tradition lives on now it demands a bit more honesty and care for each others pain, and thats exactly what keeps it alive.
