Work In Progress

Charlie Barton entered the coffee shop and headed for the counter. The place was full of people, each of them seemed different and quirky in their own way. Manchester’s Northern Quarter attracted a different type of person than other parts of the city. This lot were cooler and more hip than visitors to the rest of the city. Charlie was here to start work. He approached the counter with a smile. 

He explained that he was to start work today as a barista and general dogsbody. The woman behind the counter scratched her buzz-cut short hair at the sides of her head while she listened. The centre of her hair was a bleach blonde streak that culminated in a platted ponytail. Charlie had never see anyone rock a hairstyle like that. He was reminded of photos he’d seen of the original punk rockers back in the 1970s.

‘Charles, yeah.’ She nodded. ‘Welcome to the firm. I’m Anna.’

She lifted the hatch and ushered him through. The aroma of coffee was so strong back here it hurt his eyes. Anna handed him a light brown apron and, as Charlie knotted it around his waist, she pointed to the guy fiddling with the coffee machine. 

‘That’s Brendan.’

The guy had shoulder-length brown hair and a wispy goatee beard. Like Anna and himself, he was somewhere in his twenties. Brendan waved and asked Charlie how he was doing.

Charlie was shown the ropes. Despite the owners hoping for an alternative vibe to the place, the actual coffee products and machines were the same as all the other coffee shops he’d worked in.

He was soon thrown in at the deep-end, serving customers, making coffee, clearing and cleaning up. A lot of the customers seemed to have this creative, arty vibe going. As he passed by collecting empty cups and saucers, he noticed one woman was sketching a pencil drawing on a pad. The drawing was a striking picture of Manchester’s central library. A guy in his fifties with thinning hair was busily composing poetry in a spiral-bound notebook. 

There was a nice feel to the place and everyone seemed really laid back. Even when the coffee machine stopped working for the best part of an hour, the customer, a guy in a trilby hat, simply not him not to sweat it. 

When he wasn’t busy working, he made chit-chat with Anna and Brendan. They hoped he was enjoying his first day. They were nice people but did have the same artsy vibe as the shop’s clientele. As their shift was coming to an end, the three of them set about cleaning and tidying the shop. Tables were wiped, floors were mopped, rubbish taken out. As they untied their aprons, Anna asked what they were up to that evening. 

Brendan explained that he would be attending rehearsals of the amateur dramatics play he was not only starring in, but also producing. He was very excited about it and couldn’t wait for opening night. 

‘You’ll have to come along, Charles. I’ll add your name to the guest list.’

Charlie nodded, nice one.  

‘Tonight,’ Anna said.’ I’m playing with my ukulele group. We play in a pub in Eccles. Draft ale and a strum on the uke, a perfect night.’ 

Anna and Brendan turned to Charlie, expectantly. They were eager to hear what he was up to that evening.

‘I’m actually going home to work on my novel.’

‘Oh, how cool.’ said Anna.

‘What’s your book about?’ Brendan asked.

‘It’s a crime thriller, but it’s very early days. I’m not exactly sure how it’s all going to pan out, to be honest.’ Charlie said.

‘I’m sure you’ll get there.’ said Anna.

‘Thanks. I hope you’re right. I think I’ll just have to keep going, and stick with it.’

‘They say,’ Brendan added. ‘that writing is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent inspiration.’

Charlie nodded, thanks.

In the few weeks that followed, Charlie, or Charles as they insisted on calling him, really settled in amongst the Northern Quarter’s cool set. Brendan and Anna spoke about his amateur dramatics and her ukulele group with such passion. Brendan’s play would be coming out soon, and Anna had managed to talk Chorlton arts festival into giving their group a slot. 

When they asked Charlie how his novel was coming on, he simply sighed. 

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure about it at all. It’s not as much fun as I thought it would be.’

‘You’ll have to stick with it, man.’ Brendan said.

‘Anything worth doing takes patience and hard-work. Just keep going, take it one paragraph at a time.’

‘One paragraph at a time.’ Charlie repeated. 

On the week of Brendan’s play the excitement in the coffee shop was electrifying. You couldn’t pop in for a skinny plattucino without being handed a flyer. Every time Brendan handed a customer their change he handed them a leaflet, saying he hoped to see them there. 

Anna was buzzing that week too. Her ukulele group had recently been kicked out of the pub they’d played in for years. The new pub landlord, a guy called Lloyd, whose ego was almost as big as the pub itself, had decided that he wanted to use that area of the pub for something else. The ukes were no longer welcome, even though the pub was pretty much empty during the week and the uke group put a way a fair few pints during the session.

After lots of searching, the uke group had finally found a new home. Anna hoped this would be a new start for the group and that it would go from strength to strength after this hiccup. 

‘So, Charles, what about you? How’s the novel coming?’

‘I’m actually hoping to finish it tonight.’

‘Charles, that’s amazing. I knew you’d get there if you just stuck with it. Didn’t we tell you?’

‘Yes,’ Charlie admitted.  ‘you were right. There’s a lot of loose ends that need tying up, but I will have to see how much I can get through tonight.’  

‘Good for you.’

That evening, Charlie arrived home. He didn’t switch on the television, he wanted to focus on the novel. Chuckling to himself, he picked up the paperback book by a well-known American author.

Maybe tomorrow he would tell Anna and Brendan that he wasn’t writing a novel, but reading one. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom