The Things We Notice

Margaret Hollis was seven minutes late.

In the last ten years, she had never been more than three.

Perhaps she was stuck in traffic, so I started her order; earl grey tea, and a lavender scone. Her order for the last decade, served at 1pm, every Thursday. I set it aside behind the counter, turning to welcome in the newest customers.

“Hi! What can I get started for you?”

Two women stepped up to the counter, sisters I would wager to guess. “Yes hi, two London fogs. Oatmilk.” She was blunt, but not rude.

“Oh, and a lemon cake slice please,” said the younger of the two women.

Her sister looked at the pastries under the counter, and added, “make that two, if you will.”

“Coming right up,” I said as I punched the order into the register, directing the older woman to pay using the pin pad. “Feel free to take a seat and I will bring your order over shortly.”

I watched them seat themselves at table five, my eyes stopping on the empty table seven, the one right by the window. The table reserved for Margaret every Thursday afternoon. Shaking off the thought again, I refocused on the task at hand.

Making my way around the counter, I bring the order to the sisters, now in a heated yet hushed discussion. I gently placed their food and drinks down, not trying to interrupt. Stepping back, I turn to see who else might need my attention. This is when I notice a young man who seems nervous.

He ordered a rose hip tea, a little old fashioned for a man of his age, but I was happy to provide it. Looking at him now, he doesn’t seem to have touched it.

“Everything tasting okay?” I ask quietly, though I startle him nonetheless.

Looking down at his cup, he reflexively pulls it towards him. “Yes, yes. Sorry, a lot on my mind.” He offers a smile, but it quivers at the corners.

“Let me know if you change your mind. I have a few orange scones left, and they pair wonderfully with rose hip.”

His eyes light up, as though I had reminded him of something. “Yes, oh yes please. She told me to order the orange scone.” The last part was more to himself, so I didn’t inquire, instead excusing myself to make good on the offer.

Dropping the orange scone at table nine, I busy myself with cleaning table seven again, just in case. Unintentionally catching the conversation being held at table five.

“You can’t just give everything to the youngest because he visits more.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s exactly what you said.”

“I said he deserves something.”

Working in a tea shop means overhearing things people never intended you to know. It was time to move on, returning to the counter I gave it a quick wipe.

Making myself a cup of chamomile tea, I settled against the counter and observed the grey day. It was nothing more than a light drizzle, but there were small rainbows sprouting from the puddles. The best part of these dreary days in my opinion.

The next person into the shop was a well dressed older man on the phone. He was a regular, though I had yet to catch his name. He seemed to enjoy taking meetings in the back corner of the shop, always with a water and raspberry scone. More recently, Margaret had started joining him from time to time. As long as he kept the volume down, I had no reason to stop him.

He waved, and I gestured him to his table. He was lucky today; I had a single raspberry scone left.

As I rounded the counter again, I noticed that the nervous young man had finally started to drink his tea, but I have a guess it might be cold.

The older man, who I want to say is likely a lawyer, mouths a thank you, as I drop his order off, handing me a $10 bill as he always does. It took me a while to get used to it, but he means for the change to be a tip, and I bow my head in thanks.

“Can I get you another cup of tea?” I ask the nervous man.

He looks down at his cup, then sighs. “No, it’s alright.” Looking longingly at the seat across from him. I almost ask if he is waiting for someone. Then again, so was I.

My heart goes out to him. “Come on, let me get you another cup. Scones pair much better with a warm cup.”

I get a lopsided smile for my efforts and he relents, passing me the almost full cup.

I can’t help but stare at the now-cold cup of tea that was waiting for Margaret. I dump the contents down the sink before starting another pot. I want it to be nice and warm for her when she arrives. After all, a decade of Thursday has taught me that Margaret Hollis always arrived eventually.

A sharp bang draws my attention to the older man, mine along with everyone else. He holds up a hand, sheepish at having such an outburst in public. The whole shop seems to hold its breath, but he returns to his conversation, and everyone returns to what they were doing.

The nervous man raises his hand to get my attention, and I am at his table in seconds. “Need anything else?”

“No. Well, I had a question actually. Do you know Margaret?”

“I do,” I say simply.

“Does she always come in on Thursday?”

“Without fail.”

He smiled, almost to himself. “Good. That’s good. Thank you.”

I step away and to table twelve, realizing that we must be waiting on the same person. Which begged the question once more, where was she? I check the sugar levels at table twelve, more as something to do, than having a real need for it. As a result I overhear snippets of the phone conversation happening at table nine.

“She still hasn’t signed?”

…

“No, that’s not what I was told.”

…

“Fine. Tomorrow then.” He hangs up the phone angrily. I try to not look like I am listening, but I am nosy by nature, and I step up to his table.

“Can I refill your water?” I realize at this moment that I have never actually had a conversation with this man who is here so regularly.

“No, thank you, Marisa.”

I step back, and nod my understanding. I move on the sisters, still deep in their hushed conversation, but both done with their cake.

“Family doesn’t disappear for twenty years and then suddenly become sentimental.”

“People change.”

“Not that much!”

Moving on to table five, I retrieved his empty plate as well.

The older man stands from his table, taking his scone with him. I wave as he heads to the door, but, as expected, I get nothing in return. One of these days that man would surprise me.

I had always found his demeanor odd, given how much time he spent with Margaret over the last few months. Then again, Margaret had never had much interest in judging people the way the rest of us did.

Glancing at the clock I notice it is nearing four. She had never been this late.

My attention is brought back to the counter when the young man approaches me. “Hi, what can I do for you?”

“I was here to meet someone, well, you know. But it doesn’t look like she’ll show. Can you give her this when you see her?” Passing over a folded note.

I take it, placing it under the plate containing Margaret’s lavender scone. “I will be sure to do that.”

Without another word he is gone, and I am left staring at the empty air. The shop is much quieter now, and I think that is what pushes the sisters out the door as well.

“She wanted to see the best in people.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when people take advantage of it.”

I wave, but neither notice me. It’s better that way. Sometimes being unseen allows you to see what others might miss. Pushing off the counter, I grab the broom and set about closing tasks. It was still about an hour to go, but nothing wrong with getting a head start.

As I was finishing up, the door bell chimed again. Turning to welcome them in, I was met with a police officer.

“You’re not closed yet, are you?”

“No, still open for another fifteen minutes. What can I get you?” I ask as I round the counter.

“I’m actually here for a few minutes of your time, actually.”

“Okay.” I clench my fists at my side, nervous.

“I am here investigating the death of Margaret Hollis. I understand she was a regular here?”

My eyes find the cup of tea and the matching scone still on the counter, and I laugh. Not because it was funny.

“No,” I say automatically, “Margaret is late.”

The officer smiled in the way they do when breaking bad news to a family. “Did she ever mention family?”

“No, not that I recall.” I needed to get this out, I needed to help this man. For Margaret.

“Did she seem upset recently? Or did she mention meeting anyone?”

I think back on our Thursday conversations, anything that seemed odd. “She had been having tea with an older gentleman recently. She never mentioned their connection.”

“We believe she was here to meet a relative. An estranged grandson we believe.”

A younger man?

Rose hip tea.

She told him to order an orange scone.

“There was a young man here today, waiting for Margaret.” The note comes to mind, and I turn to grab it. “He actually left a note. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch his name.”

He takes the note, and tucks it into his notebook without looking at it. “Thank you.”

I nod, but now my mind is whirling with previous Thursdays. This young man was new, his first time in the shop, was he a killer? No, she was expecting him, she even told him what to order.

Wait.

“She had been having meetings with an older man, he is a regular too. He is a lawyer, or a businessman. Always pays cash. He was in today, seemed upset about a contract I think?” I wish I could give him more, but I have nothing more to offer.

“But he’s a regular? So, he lives in the area?”

I shrug. “I suppose so, yes.”

Producing a business card, he hands it to me. “Please call me if he comes in again.”

“Of course.” I tuck the card in the register for safe keeping.

The officer leaves without another word, the door chimes loud in the oppressive silence left behind.

I turn to the tea and scone I have set aside, and do the hardest thing I have had to in a long time. I pour the tea into the sink. For the first time in a decade, I don’t pour Margaret another cup.