An Elderly Customer

     Stana took stock of the room. The tables were clear and relatively clean. The floor, though a little mucky with trampled snow near the entrance, was serviceable. The windows were still fresh from their washing the day before, letting in most of the cold mountain light. In summary, the café appeared to be shipshape. She could afford to take a moment to relax, and perhaps a bite to eat.

     It was then that she heard a noise from a corner table, tucked almost out of sight. Stana looked up with surprise to see an Elderly Krawk sitting on his own, gazing out to the snow. There was a distance behind his eyes, as if he were looking at something, or perhaps someone, that wasn’t there. A spoon lay on the floor beside him, as if it had just fallen from the table.

     “Good morning sir,” said Stana, approaching the Krawk and rescuing the spoon from the floor. He seemed slightly startled by the greeting.

     “Oh, erm, good morning”, he replied politely. Stana could see both of his hands clasped around a cup of tea. She remembered now that she has served this customer more than an hour ago, between a giggling couple and a rushed hotelier. It seemed that he had managed to take only a couple of sips in that time.

     “That tea must be near freezing by now. How about I fetch you a fresh one?” she asked kindly. The Krawk looked down at his cup in apparent surprise, as if he has forgotten its existence.

     “That would be very kind of you,” he replied, “very kind indeed.”

     Stana busied herself with making another pot of tea, keeping an eye on the Elderly Krawk in the corner. He had returned his gaze outside. Stana grabbed a tray, placing two mugs upon it. She included a small jug of milk, together with the pot of tea itself. After pausing for a moment, she resolutely added two scones on separate plates. Balancing the whole assembly on one hand, she made her way back around the counter to the Krawk, who readjusted himself at her approach.

     “Here you are sir,” said Stana, putting the tray down carefully, “would you mind having some company?”

     “Not at all,” enjoined the Krawk, “I would be delighted”.

     The Krawk had now turned his attention to Stana, and she felt him watching as she sat down and arranged the china between the two of them. Stana positioned herself opposite the elder, allowing herself a sigh as she moved a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

     “I hope that you like scones,” she said as she poured a splash of milk in both of the mugs. “These wouldn’t last much past this morning, and Leice won’t miss them.”

     The Krawk gave out a slight chuckle as he reached out for a plate, and broke off a bit of the scone. Stana noticed an almost imperceptible trembling to his arm.

     “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” began Stana, “but I don’t believe that I know your name. Have you come to the café before?”

     “Oh yes. Although it was many years ago,” replied the Krawk clearly. “My name is Oscar”.

     “Well it’s just lovely to meet you Oscar. Have things here changed much since then?”

     “A little,” chuckled the Krawk, “I believe it was called Mrs. Truffles Tea Room at the time. It was said to serve the finest sponge cake in all of Terror Mountain. I don’t know how true that is, but I certainly remember it being very tasty. Almost, in fact, better than these quite delicious scones”

     Stana saw that the Krawk had somehow found time to polish off his plate, before she had even managed to serve the tea. She did so now, carefully filling each mug with steaming tea from the pot.

     Stana had heard of neither Mrs Truffles nor her tea room before, but, as she reminded herself, she was still quite new to the job. Perhaps Leice would remember. He was probably old enough and he had worked at the café for an awfully long time.

     “So what’s brought you back after all this time?” asked Stana. Oscar lowered the mug from his lips, setting it with trembling hands upon the table. He interlinked his fingers and moved his gaze away to the window. A moment or two passed.

     “Memories,” he said finally, “Memories of Valentine’s days long past. Memories of Terror Mountain and memories… memories of my Caroline.”

     Stana could see a misting in his eyes, and maybe a long-felt sorrow for something past. She moved her hand to his.

     “I’m sorry,” she said, giving one hand a squeeze, “I shouldn’t have asked”.

     “No no. It’s quite alright. I’ll be quite fine”. Oscar moved one hand free and softly patted Stana’s own. He cleared his throat and looked back at the waitress. She could see a sparkle in his eye.

     “We were both so young then. We didn’t quite realise just how many of the best years of our lives were still to come. You know, that first Valentine’s Day many years ago was where it all started. It’s certainly where my life really started. We both went to the “Break The Ice” midnight ball at the Bruce rink - me with my brother up from Neopia Central and her with some school friends from Happy Valley. I had just taken to the ice when my brother slipped and stumbled into me. I was never fully sure if it on purpose or not. Of course, I was near catapulted across the rink before practically landing in her arms. I’d like to pretend that I said something witty, but it wasn’t like that at all. I looked at her and she looked at me, and we both just knew. That was it. From then till always she was and will remain my Caroline.”

     Oscar pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his eyes. Stana felt a wetness in her own.

     “Oh look at me yammering on,” apologised the Krawk, “it's just that you remind me so much of her. She was a Lutari too, and the only one for me.”

     Stana shook her head: “No need to apologise at all. I’m honoured you felt you could share with me. Please, if you’re comfortable, feel free to finish your story. What brought you to the tea room?”

     “Hunger for the most part,” said Oscar with a crooked smile, “We had spent most of the ball dancing with one another, spinning one another around the ice. Before we knew it, the sun had risen and we found ourselves in the bright Terror Mountain sunlight with empty stomachs. Mrs Truffles Tea Room did a dancer’s special, and we went for it. I’ll never forget the laughter and fun we had here that Valentine’s morning. I can still picture her face when Mrs Truffles brought out that signature cake. She was petrified of what her mother would think of her eating cake at 8 AM. I didn’t care to remind her that she had been up all of the night as well.”

     At this point, both Stana and Oscar had finished their tea. Almost absent-mindedly, but still seated, Stana started clearing up. Oscar pulled a cap onto his head.

     “Oh please don’t think I’m trying to rush you out,” said Stana apologetically. “This is just a force of habit I’m afraid”.

     “Not at all”, repeated the Krawk, as he rose shakily from the chair, “I was supposed to meet my daughter at the Ice Cream cart almost ten minutes ago. I think that she must have inherited her mother’s sweet tooth. My thanks for lending me your ear. It has been good to reminisce with someone who listens.”

     Stana walked with him to the door. She could see the first of the lunchtime crowd ascending the slight rise to the café. With a slight bow of the head, the Krawk left. Stana retired thoughtfully to the kitchen, where she found a stack of clean dishes and a snoring Leice.

     “Leice,” she said, after coughing dryly to rise the Kacheek, “have you ever heard of Mrs Truffles Tea Room?”

     Leice blinked blearily. “Mrs Truffles? Aye… the mind does ring a bell at that. I cannae exactly recall…”. Leice trailed off, then snapped his fingers.

     “O’ course. There’s this dusty old volume in storage, perhaps a recipe book? Must’ve bin there for years now. What makes you ask?”

     “Well, I’ve just been speaking with a customer, and he mentioned a signature cake that might rival your scones.”

     “Not likely,” scoffed Leice, who was justifiably proud of his baking prowess, “Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of variety in the place…”

     At this point, there was a clamour of noise as customers began to come through the door. Stana and Leice nodded at one another. Leice heaved himself upright and righted his cook’s hat, ready to receive any customer’s orders. Stana left him to it, and returned for the lunchtime rush.

     —-

     The next day, when Stana entered the café, the air was filled with the smell of freshly baked cake. Wordlessly, and with a slightly furrowed brow, Leice approached with a slice in hand. He roughly passed it to Stana, before heading back to the kitchen.

     Stana stood at the counter and tried a bite. From the very first mouthful, she could tell that it was almost perfect, perhaps even better than Leice’s scones. That might account for his taciturn greeting, she thought wryly.

     As she continued eating, she could almost see the memory of a young Krawk with a crooked smile sitting opposite a giggling Lutari, both exhausted from a night of dancing and enjoying the flush of a first Valentine’s Day together.

     The End.