An Ordinary Friday

The new cups were standing under the bar. Vera hadn't opened the box yet when the supplier turned his device towards her. She read the description and asked whether he might have brought the wrong delivery. Glassware was displayed on his screen.

He bent down, gave the box a quarter-turn and read the label. Cups, he said. That was on the other line. She wrote it down on her copy and signed for the one unopened box. Then she helped him pull his handcart over the threshold. The wheel got stuck in exactly the same spot as always.

‘That strip,’ he said.

‘I know that one.’

She held the door open while he left. Her business folder was thicker than before and barely fit on the shelf. She slid the order form to the front and went back to the bar.

It was after three. Yasmin had her coat on and left the next day’s quantities at the till. She asked if the order had been sent on time. Vera showed the confirmation.

‘Great. Then I won’t lose sleep over that anymore.’

‘Do you do that?’

‘No. But you sometimes do for me.’

Vera smiled and thanked her. Yasmin pulled the door shut and returned after two seconds for her bicycle key. It lay next to the numbers. She held it up and left again.

Three tables were occupied. By the window sat two men, each reading a different newspaper. One pushed his cup aside after every page; the other held it between his knees. Vera had already wanted to warn him twice that it was about to fall over. He hadn’t dropped it a single time yet.

At the middle table, a scarf lay draped over a chair. The woman who had sat there had gone to the toilet. A man by the door pointed at it and asked if it had been handed in. He thought his wife had left it there last week.

‘That chair is still occupied,’ said Vera.

He drew his hand back. ‘Oh. Looks exactly like it.’

She asked him what colour his wife’s scarf was. He looked at the scarf, saw his own mistake, and had to laugh. He wasn't sure. Vera pointed to the lost-property box of gloves and umbrellas. They could look together as soon as she had brought the two orders.

The woman returned and wrapped her scarf around her neck while she paid. The man looked outside with her, as if his wife might be coming after her now after all. He ordered coffee and sat down by the door. He didn't have to get up to let her open the lost-property box.

Under two black umbrellas, Vera pulled a stray child's glove from the corner. There were three scarves lying there. The man couldn't tell whether his wife's was among them. He took photos so she could check for herself. Vera held up the scarves one by one.

When he was back at the table, someone else came to the bar with a charging cable. It was lying by his chair and wasn't his. Vera took it and placed it with the lost property. She couldn't tell from the plug who had sat there yesterday. The man did know that a boy had worked on a laptop a little while earlier. He described the boy. Vera asked if he had perhaps seen the cable still in the socket, but the man didn't know.

She hung a small note at the spot where it had been found and continued with the coffee. The boy could come back; the cable didn't need to be in a photo among the café’s other posts. She almost thought she would have done that earlier. Maybe not. She couldn’t turn her entire working life into a catalogue of mistakes just because a few now stood out so sharply.

A train arrived. On the other side of the glass, travellers took the new route, away from her door. A few walked back because they wanted something to eat. Vera put the pan on low heat and cut bread. The phone rang for one of the two men at the window. He tried to hold his newspaper open with his elbow and dropped it. The cup remained upright between his knees.

‘See,’ he said when he caught her eye.

Vera nodded. Yes, she could see.

At five o'clock, a woman asked if the photos were still available to view. She had seen the old post on someone's phone. Vera explained that a small selection was in De Werf and that the information had been corrected. The woman asked if they weren't beautiful photos, then.

‘They are,’ said Vera. ‘The provenance was incorrectly described.’

She gave her the address of the correct page. The woman looked at the six images on her screen, lingered on the door photo, and said that her son would like a place like that. She did not ask for the whole story that Vera had ready. When she had left, Vera noticed that she had not yet used the cloth in her hand. She wiped down the table where the cup had left a ring.

There were two appointments in the calendar for early evening. One table for four and a delivery that had already arrived. The party of four arrived as five. She pointed out the empty chair and asked if they wanted to add it themselves. Then she brought the menu. The conversation was about the train they wanted to catch and about someone who was still at work. Not everything had to fit into her schedule right now.

Between orders, she checked her phone. There was a message from Bas. He had asked for her number as they said goodbye yesterday, and she had given it to him. His name was now listed among the delivery drivers and other contacts.

He had watched the video again. He remembered the gloves by the radiator grille with their fingers pointing upwards, he wrote. He had added a small image from the video showing the empty grille. Vera enlarged it. The blurry square spot of the old calendar was in the corner; the rest of the wall was crooked in the image. Ria had moved the phone.

She wrote that from now on she would picture the gloves with their fingers pointing up. A short reply came later, with greetings for the café. No request for a new piece of footage. She put her phone away and took the soup off the hob before it got too thick.

When Milan arrived at seven o'clock, he had a sandwich in his hand. He finished the last piece before going to stand behind the bar. Vera told him which table was still waiting for someone, where the new cups were, and that the cable was with the lost property.

‘And tomorrow?’ he asked.

She looked at the rota. His Saturday ran until three, as usual. There was no extra afternoon listed.

‘Your usual day. I’ll cover your break.’

‘Good. I have to leave after that.’

Vera wanted to ask where he was going. Instead, she asked a question about the stock in the fridge, noticed it, and laughed at herself.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked after all.

‘To my classmate. He thinks we can understand the electrical engineering assignment in twenty minutes.’

‘That sounds like more than twenty minutes.’

‘That’s why we agreed on two hours.’

He took the next order, and she sat down at the small table by the kitchen. She needed half an hour to finish her paperwork. The summary showed all the extra hours of cover. Six afternoons, twenty-four hours in total. The costs came to five hundred and twenty-eight. She did not add them to a debt of Dorus's or an advance for Anouk. They were hours she had agreed upon herself and had to pay for.

One hundred and seventy-two remained of the amount she had set aside for it. That might cover getting the threshold strip looked at; she would ask what it cost first. She noted it under her regular maintenance items. Bente's next three instalments were not on this sheet. That was another business with its own agreement. She only knew that they had not yet been paid.

A customer asked Milan if Vera could come over for a moment. He looked into the kitchen. She raised her hand and walked to the bar. It was a table for a group in December: nothing elaborate, just hot drinks after a walk. Vera asked how many people. The woman did not know yet.

‘Just put down something like twelve,’ she said. ‘Maybe eighteen.’

Vera looked at the space between the tables. She really wanted them to come. Since the new tunnel, she could really use a group like that. She picked up her diary and explained which table arrangement worked for twelve and what needed to be changed for eighteen.

‘Could you keep it free until Monday?’ the woman asked.

‘I can pencil it in until Monday afternoon. Then I’ll need to know how many and what time.’

The woman asked if Vera couldn't just quote for eighteen and work it out afterwards. Vera shook her head, thought for a moment and explained what she could offer for now. An estimated price per person for drinks, not a full order yet. They agreed to speak on Monday. When the woman left, Vera had a name, a number, and a clear question for that conversation. She didn't know yet if the booking was going ahead.

Milan asked if she was going to eat. Vera looked at the kitchen. There was soup left over, and bread too. She could stay here and put the bowl down on the table where her papers were still lying. Her bag was underneath it. She slipped the paperwork into her bag and put on her coat.

‘I'm going to get something on the way,’ she said.

At the door, she took her phone out of the bag. The film she wanted to see on Sunday was still showing, but the early screening had disappeared. She checked the later time, thought of her Sunday off and bought one ticket. The confirmation arrived as a customer pushed the door open past her. She stepped aside, put the phone away, and called out goodbye to Milan.

Outside, it was dry. The lamps above the barrier at the old bridge were lit. Further on, a family was walking into the tunnel. Vera was not going that way. The little restaurant across the road still had a table for one by the window. She placed her bag next to the chair, hung her coat over the back of the chair, and asked what they were serving today.