byword

I love my coffee. I started drinking it, white with one sugar, at university. One of the bad habits I picked up there. When I returned to university some years later, as a part time student, my coffee habit was firmly entrenched but I had ditched the sugar. By the time I finally finished my course I had forsaken the milk and my coffee drinking had become a serious, reflective occupation rather than a socially interactive one. 

Struggling with a decade of ‘bad things’ happening, and with the meagre funds I had left, I launched into my last business venture. A coffee shop. It seemed appropriate that coffee was my partner of preference in this journey. 

After a few false starts I unearthed the shop. It was vacant, bleak and expensive but I took out the lease anyway. Then I began the search for a shop fitter who would realise my vision. Timber shelves, for books and quirky other pieces, and a long broad counter so the coffee machine would be up front and centre, in full view. After many conversations, and quotes, I settled on a local builder who promised me a modern, clean but welcoming design.

Although I have drunk coffee forever I could not drive a coffee machine. I needed a barista. Unexpectedly though, before I even began to tackle that daunting task, in she walked. We knew each other because her coffee was what I treated myself too, sitting there with it as I do, letting my noise stop while I sip. There is no hiding a lack of skill when you make a long black for me. She needed a new job and I needed her so it was a done deal.

My handsome coffee machine arrived and we put in long hours sampling coffee beans and making every coffee imaginable. My builder suffered all our experimentations while he finished off my cabinetry. I learnt, I wrote down our menu; only coffee, treats to go with coffee, books to read with coffee and music to listen to while drinking coffee.

We opened for our first day. We had our own celebratory cup of brew beforehand, hugged each other, turned all the lights on and nervously unlocked the door. My builder brought his crew in on their way to another job and staff from the Bakery next door checked us out. Others appeared in dribs and drabs. Curiosity seemed high. Some sat at the counter happy to chat, others content to sit at a table with a book. The machine chortled away, the smell of coffee ebbed out and down the arcade mixing with the smell of fresh bread. An irresistible combination I hoped.

The high school kids turned up after school. They came in quietly, four young women and a particularly brave young man. They sought out a table in the back and considered the menu, delighted that our various styles of coffee are explained. We saw them every Wednesday afternoon from then on; always they took time to linger over the menu.

I expected the coffee shop to be mainly filled with women, but it wasn’t. Seems everyone wants the option of quiet time or a friendly inconsequential chat. Books and music were often discussed and inexplicably a proper bookstore, rather than the casual version I’d envisioned, flourished and demanded its own sacred space. People came for the coffee and left with a book or came for a book and sat down with a coffee. 

The coffee shop, with its’ exemplary coffee, fast became synonymous with kindness to self. 

We did not bother with food. We fussed only with small treats and minimal decisions. Pick a book; read it, you don’t have to buy it. Listen to our music; ask about it if you wish, enjoy something different next time you come in. 

Some customers we knew all about and others we knew not even their name. It is seductive trying to place a person depending on how they drink their coffee, or how they order it. A naughty thing for us to do but so hard to resist. A long black ordered hesitantly and left unfinished suggests someone who wants to be a purest but isn’t. A long black ordered quietly and drunk slowly hints at someone uncompromising and considered. A ‘hot’ skinny latte with two sugars ordered loud and gulped down hurriedly is a nightmare. Regardless, all were welcome to a breather offered over virtuous coffee. 

As usual my barista and I had our morning cuppa together before we opened and, as usual, the early morning starters catch us. They sneak in begging for a takeaway coffee. We relent, as it is not really only the coffee they need to get their day started well. We joked together about whether we should accept the inevitable and just officially open earlier. If I had only known I would have said there and then that we would start earlier, beginning from the next day. 

The next day I opened the shop on my own, it happened occasionally but by mid morning I was concerned that I had not heard from her. I took a moment to call her but as I lifted the phone the coffee machine steamed itself to a complete stop. I knew that there would be no more coffee made today. An hour later, as I was closing the shop, I found out that my precious barista had been in a road accident on her way in. She had died on her way to hospital.

In disbelief I turned to the unresponsive coffee machine and I knew exactly what time that morning she had left us. If only we had opened earlier was all I could think.

I opened the shop again some days later, served coffee for no charge and sobbed every time I stood in front of our coffee machine. I knew that in a short time I would no longer have my coffee shop in the arcade. 

I did not want to sell my coffee shop as a going concern; I couldn’t bear the thought of a poor cup of coffee ever being made there. I found a buyer interested in continuing with it as a bookshop and that helped some. After finalising the sale, having tolerated only tea during the process, I went again in search of a decent cup of coffee. It took me some time to find a worthy barista but I did. 

I found him tucked away in a busy café, where coffee was not the priority. The best finds are unexpected and I cling to his coffee like a promise, as our customers once did with ours. We are on a first name basis only but we appreciate each other enormously. I go there regularly, probably far to often, because coffee does make everything better.

Coffee, smelling it, anticipating it, drinking it, is undeniably a ritual for me and a byword that welcomely conjures up expectations of quiet pleasure and saner thoughts – expectations I shared with her, expectations that our coffee shop nurtured in others, expectations that I now share with him.