This short piece was published first in Byline, an anthology produced by Tauranga Writers. Enjoy.
THE EMPTY CHAIR
The café is packed, but I find a table for two, barely a hand-width from its neighbour. With a small shove it could be a table for four, but it’s all that is free. I flash an apologetic smile at the couple beside me and sit facing the door to wait for Alison.
The couple next to me lean together, foreheads almost touching, murmuring their conversation and I study my phone, trying not to overhear.
“Oh God, here’s my husband.” I can’t miss her exclamation. I look up to see a man pause at the doorway, allowing an old lady to exit. “Quick! You’ll have to move.”
He stands, takes a step sideways and sits on Alison’s empty chair. He graces me with a smile. Now he’s dining with me, not the lady next to me.
Moments later the husband arrives, obviously surprised to find his wife in the café. Loverboy and I listen to her waffly explanations of the morning’s activities and how she just happened upon this place: what a coincidence, and does he come here often?
Loverboy continues to smile, holding my gaze, and I wonder where this farce is going. He leans in and enquires, “So, how’s your day been?”
“It started off quite dull,” I say, joining the game, “but it’s becoming more interesting by the minute.”
Before I can say more, the waiter arrives at the next table with two plates of food.
Loverboy raises his arm and says, “Wrong table. Over here.” He gestures to our table.
The waiter glares at the order number sitting on its pole between the husband and wife but, not having a free finger to point with, he gives up and circles to our table. “Big Breakfast? Kumara cakes with salsa?”
Loverboy takes the loaded plate, and I am presented with the kumara cakes. Not what I would have ordered, but this is all method acting as far as I’m concerned, so I play along.
“Eat up.” Loverboy points with his fork. “It looks tasty – and it’s paid for.” He cuts a piece of sausage and dips it in the runny yolk of an egg. He balances a piece of bacon on the sausage and opens his mouth. It all slides past a set of beautiful white teeth – his own it seems – and I watch him chew.
I slice pieces off my kumara cakes, stab one with my fork, dress it with salsa, and wait for his next move. His arrogance and duplicity are annoying and my ire rises. I hold my thoughts and wait. It’s his move, I feel.
“Tell me, what are your plans for this afternoon?” He speaks loud enough for his ladylove and her husband to hear.
It’s time to take control of this situation. I swallow the desire to scoff, think for a moment, then plunge into my side of this imaginary relationship.
“This morning, I listened to a lecture on relationships. The speaker was very big on investing in partnerships. Not just turning up but really investing … like spending time and money. Especially money.” He nods, his mouth full of hash brown. “I don’t think you do this, Nigel.” He looks like a Nigel to me. His eyebrows rise. Undaunted, I continue, “This is our anniversary, and I expected a candle-lit meal, soft music, a waiter hovering with a white napkin over his arm. And what do I get?” I raise my voice. “Kumara cakes in a jam-packed café.” I pause for effect. “You are not investing enough in our relationship.”
His eyes widen and his fork stops mid-way to his mouth. A thread of fear tightens his eyes and creases his fake-tanned complexion.
“How long have we been together? Five years, and you can’t seem to remember that I hate kumara!” I’m into the swing of this role and project my voice to include the diners around us. Loverboy is chewing furiously but hasn’t interrupted. I hurry on. “This afternoon, I think I’ll go and see Jim Butterworth of Fenning and Fitch. Remember him?”
He shakes his head and pushes the remaining egg around his plate. It looks like a flying saucer abandoned on an ice-flow.
“He’s their divorce specialist and I want out! Out of our relationship … but with benefits.”
His chest rises and he inhales through his nose, then swallows as if a piece of hash brown is stuck in his throat – as well it might be.
I smile, touching a conciliatory note. “It won’t be cheap, but you’ll be free to find comfort elsewhere, which I suspect you have been doing.”
I look around, and the other diners’ stares slide away as my gaze meets theirs. Alison walks in and waves from the queue at the counter. I raise my fork in salute, then put my cutlery together and stand. I toss my handbag strap over my shoulder and pause. Loverboy is frozen in place, his big breakfast congealing. The husband and wife beside us are trying their best to be deaf or somewhere else. The wife’s lips are pursed, either not amused or restraining a smile.
I deliver my coup de grace. “I don’t know if your previous wives have told you this, Nigel, but you need to up your game. You’re a lousy lover and boring in bed.”
I thread my way through the tables and meet Alison at the doorway.
“What was all that about? Who’s that man you were berating?”
“No idea, but I haven’t had so much fun since the impromptu dialogue exercises in drama school. Whoever he is, I don’t expect he’ll ever again pinch an empty chair in a café.”
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Look out for news of my latest novel - ‘ON THE WIND’ to be released by Range Road Press early in 2024. A contemporary slice of rural New Zealand - a farm-stay with a difference!
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Brilliant! She missed an opportunity to hit Nigel up for a few bucks to get her nails done.🤣
Great story Deryn. Love it!