This customer was clearly troubled. Mika watched him fumble with the door and get one of the capacious pockets of his raincoat caught on the handle. He tugged at the coat in frustration, freeing himself just short of actually ripping the pocket off. He shrugged the coat back into position and walked over to the counter, dripping water all over the floor.
“Hello,” Mika greeted him cheerily.
“Uh, hi,” he replied, eyes scanning the menu card propped on the counter. One eyebrow raised. Compared to the wide variety of delicious-looking cakes, cookies and pastries on display in the case to the right of the counter, the drinks offering was pretty sparse.
We make the drink you need. Choose a base and leave the rest to us:
- Black tea
- Green tea
- Herbal tea
- Coffee
He looked at Mika, his dark, wet hair plastered to his pale forehead. There were grey bags under his eyes which were red, and tired.
“What does it mean, we make the drink you need?” He said. Mika softened her smile a little. He was clearly not in the mood for her usual bubbly self.
“We are a specialist cafe,” she said, beginning the well-rehearsed speech she gave to every new customer. “We have a wide variety of tea and coffee blends. You can ask for something specific, but if you trust me, I will make you the drink that I think you most need right now.” She paused, watching him take this in. “If you don’t like your drink,” she continued, “it’s on the house, and you can order something else.”
Mild frustration was playing on his face. He was clearly expecting to just order something normal so he could sit and brood over it. She had interrupted his plan and he wasn’t happy about it. He puffed his cheeks out, thinking for a moment. But it had been a long day, and thinking was too much effort.
“Fine,” he said, tersely. “I’ll have a coffee.”
“Ok, Mika said, studying him for a moment. “Any allergies or any particular things you don’t like?”
“Like what?”
“Like mint, or nutmeg for example?”
“Oh…um…” his head was starting to hurt. “I’m not a big fan of aniseed.”
“Ok,” she said, making a mental note. “Take a seat and I’ll bring it over.”
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Magnus tried to give the waitress a smile, but it came out as more of a sneer. He looked out over the tables, spotted a free one between a mother and son sharing a piece of chocolate cake and a business type in loosened tie and rolled up sleeves tapping away at a laptop. The tables were fairly tightly packed together, and he mumbled an apology to the business type as he shuffled himself between their tables to sit down on the bench against the wall.
This was a strange little cafe. He had only come because one of the nurses had recommended it. From the outside it seemed perfectly normal, if a little twee, but that menu. How do people stay in business like that? Surely most people wanted to just order the drink they wanted? The place seemed busy though.
He shrugged off his coat and placed it on the bench next to him, trying not to flick water on the business type as he did so. Finally comfortable, he rested his back against the wall and closed his eyes, sighing deeply. It had been a hell of a day. He had just left Jason in the hospital with Anna, who had relieved him for a while. He didn’t like leaving Jason but hospitals exhausted him.
There was a buzzing in his pocket and his heart rate instantly spiked. He unlocked the screen to see yet another message from his boss and three from their company’s new hire. He held the phone for a moment, contemplating it like some foreign object, but couldn’t find the energy to read the messages let alone respond to them. He locked the phone and put it back in his pocket. The new guy seemed to need his hand-holding for every little thing, and as the assigned mentor he was expected to help him with it all. He was finding it exhausting, and nothing like the last guy he had mentored. He had been able to take basic instruction and work out everything else for himself, this new one seemed to need even the basics spelled out for him, several times, in large print. Lately it was taking intense effort not to reply to each message with “Just fucking Google it!”
He tried to steady his heart rate. Anna had told him how to do this thing called box breathing. Breathe in for four, hold for four, breathe out for four, hold for four. He had only got round two and half boxes before giving up, opting instead for simple deep breaths. None of it was helping. He tried to remind himself that ultimately the only thing that mattered was Jason, but he couldn’t help letting the small things get to him. It was as if the more stress that piled on, the thinner his skin got, until everything penetrated it, and everything hurt.
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Mika had got a good read from the customer. He was clearly stressed, but she didn’t need to be a witch to figure that out. She could see that there was something bothering him at work, which was very common, one of the most common issues people came in with in fact, but he was also dealing with something else. She got flashes of a hospital room, the smell of disinfectant and the sound of beeping, and a small boy tangled in thin sheets. That was all she got, but it was enough to make him something good.
She scurried to the coffee machine, selected a blend of Columbian and Ethiopian beans and set it going to make an espresso. This case called for something milky and spiced. She left the machine to do its thing while she went into the back room to browse the shelves. This room was what marked her café out as being different from other cafés. Like the other places, there were many different jars and canisters containing various tea blends and coffee beans, but beside here there were also jars with labels like Spikenard, Echinacea, and St Johns wort. Jars that would have looked more at home in an apothecary or being touted by a homeopathic practitioner. Mika held the latter in particularly low regard. They knew the right ingredients, but had no idea how to use them properly. Most of them were only really effective when paired with the right incantation.
She scanned the shelves, selecting what she needed with a speed that came from years of practice incongruent with her young features. She took down three jars, balancing them on top of each other. Blue vervain, Catnip, and Raspberry leaves. Carefully, she measured what she needed of each one into her large stone mortar, a gift from her mother, and ground them to a fine powder before tipping them into a delicate blue porcelain bowl with angular white symbols painted around its middle. Taking the bowl reverently in both hands, she closed her eyes and raised it so that its lip gently touched her forehead. Under her breath she muttered an incantation. The symbols on the bowl slowly started to glow with a soft blue light. The light grew brighter and brighter until it seemed to be pulled through the porcelain and into the herbs, stirring them up and then disappearing in a puff of shimmering smoke.
She opened her eyes, took the bowl back to the counter and selected a cup and saucer from the shelf behind her. She tipped the espresso shot into the cup, followed by the herbs and stirred in some steamed milk, topping the whole thing with a dusting of cinnamon. After a moment’s thought, she took down a plate and placed on it one of her famous oatmeal raisin spice cookies. She picked up both drink and cookie and walked over to the customer’s table, placing them gently in front of him before stepping back and folding her hands in front of her apron.
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Magnus had been staring into space and it took a minute for him to realise that the waitress was standing in front of him.
“Oh,” he said, a little startled to find a cup of steaming coffee and a plate with a cookie on the table in front of him. “Um…thanks but I…um…didn’t order a cookie.”
“I know, don’t worry, that’s on the house. You look like you could use a little sugar. Besides,” she added, “If you don’t want it, you can always take it back for Jason. Enjoy!” And before he could reply she had bustled away back to the counter.
“Smells good right?” The business type on his left said, closing his laptop and making ready to leave.
“I’m sorry?” Magnus said.
“The coffee,” business type said, pointing at the cup while pulling on his coat. “Mika’s a genius. I don’t know how she does it, but she always seems to know exactly what I need every time I come in.” Magnus lent forward a little, inhaling the scent of his coffee, which was earthy and slightly sweet,
“Yes, it does smell good,” he agreed. It was bringing up feelings in him that he was struggling to process. His face must have reflected this somehow because the business type was giving him a knowing smile.
“I know right,” he said. “It just does something to you.” He picked up his bag and headed out the door. “Enjoy,” he said to Magnus. “Bye Mika,” he called to the back of the cafe, giving her a small wave.
“See you tomorrow,” she said, waving back. The bell lightly tinkled as the door swung closed behind him.
Magnus’s gaze fell back to his coffee and he slowly reached out a hand to pick it up. The smell was hard to place. There was definitely cinnamon on the top, but there were other things. Fruit? Chocolate? Definitely unlike any cup of coffee he had been served before. He took a tentative sip and immediately something inside him started to melt.
It wasn’t just the taste, which was dark, and rich, and spicy, but there was something underneath it, woven through it. Something that seemed to reach deep inside him and radiate comfort. It was like being hugged from the inside by his grandfather, much loved and long dead. Magnus could almost hear his soft, slightly gravelly voice whispering in his ear. Breathe, breathe, everything else can wait, but right now, all you need to do is be. Magnus closed his eyes and he could almost see the blue twinkling of his grandfather’s eyes that used to disappear into folds of old skin when he smiled.
He opened his eyes, unaware that they had been closed, and set the cup down. The mother at the next table smiled at him before reaching out to wipe cake crumbs off her son’s face. Magnus looked around, as if seeing his surroundings properly for the first time. He took in the shabby-chic decor, the tables and chairs all in wood but from different sets so that nothing quite matched. The shelves of random old books, bookended with plants in decorated pots, and the eclectic artwork and old photos on the walls in scratched gilt frames.
Magnus took a deep breath. One of those breaths that made you think you must never have breathed properly before. He took another sip, and another, sinking into the wonderful warmth. Each mouthful loosening tension he had not known he was carrying until it was no longer there. Before he knew it, the coffee was gone, and he sadly replaced the cup on the saucer, as if relinquishing some cherished possession. Lost for a moment, his gaze fell on the cookie so he picked it up and took a bite. Unlike the coffee, there seemed to be no special quality to the cookie, but it did taste really good, and the sugar somehow seemed to help him come down to earth a little. He finished half of it and was about to have the rest before thinking better of it, wrapping it in a napkin and slipping it carefully into one of his coat pockets. Jason loved oatmeal cookies.
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Mika, watching from behind the counter, saw her spell take effect and smiled to herself. She saw him pocket half of the cookie and sit back in his seat, staring into space again but this time much more contentedly. Not because he couldn’t focus on anything, but simply because he was happy not to. She made her way over to his table and retrieved the cup, saucer and plate.
“How was the coffee?” she asked.
“Oh…I…” he mumbled, trying to focus. “It was…indeed…just what I needed.” He looked up at her, holding her gaze and noticing for the first time that her eyes were different colours. “Thank you,” he smiled.
“Good,” she said, turning to walk back to the counter.
“What…what type of coffee was that?” he asked. “Was there some fruit in it? I definitely tasted some cinnamon.” She paused and looked back at him.
“You’re right about the cinnamon, but as for the rest, I’m afraid it is one of our secret house blends.”
“I see,” he said. “No matter.” His phone buzzed in his pocket again, but this time his heart rate stayed steady. It was Anna, asking when he was coming back to the hospital. He replied that he was coming now and reached for his coat. As he got up from his table he felt lighter, like he had shed some invisible suit that had been weighing him down.
“How much do I owe you?” he asked, as he approached the counter.
“£3.50,” she said, tapping on a screen and presenting him with a card reader. He dutifully tapped his card on the reader.
“Thank you again,” he said. “That really was the best cup of coffee I think I have ever had.”
“You’re welcome,” she grinned. “Come again soon.”
“Oh I definitely will,” he said, shoving a £5 note into the tip jar. It was only as he shut the door behind him, listening to the bell tinkle, that it occurred to him. How did she know his son was called Jason?