It was Remembrance Day, 11th November. Lorna was wearing her poppy with pride in honour of the men and women who had fought for the freedom she enjoyed. It had seemed a strange date for a concert when she’d booked the tickets months before, but she’d shrugged her shoulders and bought them anyway. The group they were going to see had been off the radar for 20 or more years, yet their music had been a huge source of comfort and inspiration to Lorna when she had been going through a difficult time in her life.
Determined not to dwell on the past, Lorna and her husband drove into Birmingham City late in the afternoon so that they could enjoy a meal by the canal side near Symphony Hall. She was still using a stick, having only had hip replacement surgery a few weeks previously. They strolled from the car park to one of their favourite restaurants and asked the maître D to give them comfortable seats in the warm. They were ushered to a long red leather banquette and a table for 4 where she was able to shrug off her winter coat, scarf and gloves and rest her stick at her side.
They chatted a while, pleased to be out of the house and enjoying the warm, convivial atmosphere of the restaurant. They had given themselves plenty of time before the concert, so decided to order drinks and some olives before ordering a starter. They were nibbling some olives when a waiter ushered an elderly gentleman to the table for two which was next to them. “I’m sorry we don’t have your usual table. Will this table be alright for you tonight?” the waiter asked. “Yes, yes it’s fine thank you” the old man replied as he took off his winter coat and hung it on the back of a chair before settling himself on the banquette just a little way from Lorna.
Her husband was checking his phone for the latest news headlines, so Lorna indulged herself in some people watching. She noticed how the old man had hung his coat very carefully on the back of the chair so that the hem didn’t trail on the floor. He was wearing beige trousers, a cream shirt and beige checked jacket with a checked tie. His shoes were caramel coloured and even his socks were cream, co-ordinating with his outfit. Lorna looked up into bright blue eyes and silver hair which was neatly brushed back. She couldn’t help but notice how thin the old man was. He didn’t seem to have a scrap of spare flesh on him, yet he didn’t seem frail at all. On the contrary, his eyes showed an alert intelligence, his movements precise and measured.
Lorna was fascinated. Who was he? Someone’s husband, father, grandfather? Perhaps he was meeting someone for dinner? The waiter returned and the old man ordered a glass of merlot and “just a starter today, I’ll have the pate.” He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place where she might have seen him before.
She returned to their conversation, her husband sharing with her the latest political news about the forthcoming election. They chatted idly about the concert and what the Lighthouse Family had been doing in their 20 year absence, for this was the group they were going to see. The starters arrived and for a while Lorna was absorbed in enjoying her food. When the waiter cleared the plates they told him they would order a main course shortly.
No longer distracted by eating, Lorna saw that the old man’s pate and wine had been brought to him. How delicately he sipped his wine before starting to eat the pate. A tiny amount of butter was spread on the toasted bread and an equally small amount of pate. Then a tiny bite of the toast, before it was returned to the plate and the old man opened his newspaper, spreading it out across his table before he began to read.
The main course was ordered and was served in almost record time. Beef Bourguignon for her husband and Poulet Breton for Lorna. She began to eat and out of the corner of her eye saw the old man repeat his actions of earlier. A tiny amount of butter on the toasted bread, a tiny amount of pate and tiny bites. She began to feel rather greedy as she hungrily ate her meal. “No wonder he’s so thin” she thought “if he can make a meal of a starter.” And yet she began to feel sorry for him, perhaps he couldn’t afford more than a starter, perhaps he had a medical condition where he could only eat small meals, but he didn’t look ill, far from it.
The old man seemed oblivious to her interest, turning the pages of his paper, quietly reading. It was only when she returned her own reading glasses to her bag after studying the dessert menu that she realized he wasn’t wearing glasses although he seemed to be reading the paper with ease.
Lorna’s interest in him was piqued. The waiters left him alone although they clearly knew him. Was he a military veteran? Was he alone in life with no family to care about him? His dress and demeanor were of a bygone age. He looked up and caught her eye, they exchanged smiles and he returned to his newspaper.
Here was a man who, although sitting in this restaurant and eating on his own maintained standards. Again, she noticed how thin he was, by comparison she felt huge, though most would say she was slim. She felt an urge to do something for him, his military bearing reminded her of all those who had lost their lives fighting for their country, including her own son. Determined not to spoil the evening, she turned back to her husband and smiled, a shadow of sadness on her face.
When it came time to pay their bill the old man was still slowly nibbling his toast and pate, sipping his wine. The manager brought the bill and Lorna remembered that she had a voucher to redeem. It was on her phone, so she handed it over to the manager who took it with him to the cash desk.
Seeing her opportunity Lorna quickly followed, ostensibly to retrieve her phone and asked the manager “The old man at the table next to us. Does he come here often, you seem to know him?” “Oh yes” replied the manager “he comes quite often, he likes to have a glass of wine and relax while he reads the paper. Why? Is there a problem?” he asked with a concerned expression on his face. “No, not at all, I’d like to pay his bill. Please don’t tell him it was me, just say it’s an early Christmas present. Don’t tell him until we have left. I’ll pay my bill while I’m here.”
And so it was done, she’d felt teary eyed when she said she wanted to pay his bill but then there was a warm glow inside. Lorna went to the toilet and returned to her table, sliding alongside the old man as she returned to her seat. She couldn’t help but notice that he’d removed his shoes and his stockinged feet were resting on them. Her husband got up to use the toilet before they left and she turned to the old man. “It’s so nice to find somewhere where you can sit and relax for a while isn’t it?”
“Oh yes” he replied “I like it here. It’s warm and there’s a good light to read my paper by. Do you come here often yourself?”
“We do when we’re in Birmingham, we’ve driven over from Coventry to see a concert at Symphony Hall.”
“That’s nice, it’ll be good when the trams are running in a couple of months, it will make it much easier to get here from the station.”
They chatted for a minute or two more and she began to pull her scarf and coat on ready to leave. He helped her with her coat and as she left she turned and said “enjoy the rest of your evening.”
As they were walking out of the restaurant the manager gave her a beaming smile “you’ve made my day, that was really sweet of you.” Her husband asked what she had done and she told him. “That was nice, he can come again and have a glass of wine and a starter another day.”
Lorna lay in bed later that night and thought about the old man. Had he been pleased that his bill had been paid? She would never know and somehow it didn’t matter.
………………………………………………………………
David looked in the mirror in the hall, before reaching for his keys and his coat. He pulled his shoulders back and stood straight as he checked that his tie had been knotted correctly and his hair was combed. He wasn’t a vain man, even though at 80 he could still be considered good looking with his bright blue eyes and silver hair. Standards had to be maintained.
He smiled as he remembered how Alice used to tease him. “You’re not in the army now you know, I won’t walk 10 paces behind you if you’re not wearing a tie.” But no, standards had to be maintained. It was a hard habit to break, even if he’d wanted to. He certainly wasn’t going to dress like the youth of today with their baggy, ripped jeans and hoodies. He sighed as he remembered the rigours of army life, the uniform inspections and the drill sergeant shouting his orders on the parade ground. “A couple of years in the army would sort some of these youths out, pity they scrapped National Service” he thought as he carefully locked the door behind him and left the house.
It was Remembrance Day and as David walked into town many people were wearing poppies. In New Street station there was an Armed Forces band and singers and he stopped and listened to them for a while. His gaze wandered around the faces of the servicemen and women, seeing how young they were and he was reminded of his former comrades.
He’d been a major when the Falklands war had started. It had been a brief but bloody conflict and he’d lost many men. He could remember their faces still and sometimes in the dead of night he would think about them. He especially remembered one young man’s heroism, it seemed so pointless now, what difference had his death made? All those people wearing poppies, it was easy for them to remember one day a year, for him it was every day. So many lives lost, families left without a husband, a father, a son. He knew he’d been lucky to make it home uninjured.
David shook his head and walked briskly on. “No good brooding about the past, can’t bring them back” he told himself, though how he wished he could bring Alice back. Even after 5 years he could see her face clearly and sometimes he caught sight of someone in the crowds who looked just like her. They say that time is a great healer, but for David the pain was as acute as the day Alice had died in his arms. They hadn’t been lucky enough to have children, it had just been him and Alice. It hadn’t mattered whilst she was alive, but now, he was so lonely.
There were neighbours who kept an eye out for him but there was no-one who genuinely cared about him. No-one who would miss him when he was dead. What was he waiting for when he could be re-united with Alice? Funnily enough the staff at the restaurant were almost like friends. They always greeted him warmly when he went in and sat him at his favourite table, it was the one that he and Alice always shared.
It was almost a ritual now, going to the restaurant reminded him of Alice and in a strange way it felt as though she were near. He bought a copy of the evening newspaper and walked briskly through the streets of Birmingham toward the restaurant. David was dismayed to see a couple sitting at “his” table. “We’re sorry sir, will this table be allright tonight?” asked the waiter as he led him to the next table along the banquette. “Yes, yes, it’s fine” he said as he shrugged off his coat. He carefully hung the coat on the back of the chair facing him and sat down. Glancing sideways he could see a woman in her sixties, a walking stick rested at her side. Hmm, he supposed he could let her have his table for tonight.
David settled back and perused the menu. He took his time studying it though he knew exactly what he would have, he was a creature of habit. “A glass of Merlot and just a starter today please, I’ll have the pate” he said when the waiter came back to take his order. He opened his newspaper and began to read, pleased that there was enough light to read by. He was quietly pleased that even at 80 he didn’t need to wear reading glasses, though he noticed the woman next to him had to use them to read her menu. He couldn’t help overhearing snatches of the couple’s conversation. They were discussing the forthcoming election and the concert they were going to.
David’s mind drifted back to the many concerts he’d been to with Alice. They favoured classical music and had seen many great concerts in their day. He chuckled to himself as he remembered one time when they’d been to the Royal Albert Hall for a classic spectacular which ended with the 1812 overture. They’d had seats in one of the top tiers and Alice hadn’t noticed the big cannon on the very top level. She’d almost fallen over the balcony she’d jumped so much when the cannon had fired. But then she’d been like an excited child, loving the muskets, cannons and fireworks. It had been worth the trip to London for that concert just to see her pleasure. There wouldn’t be any more concerts for him now, it wasn’t the same to go on your own. He idly wondered who the Lighthouse Family were, “strange name for a group” he thought, “mind the Beatles was a strange name too.”
When his pate arrived he spread a little of the toast with butter and pate. He’d learned over the past few years that small bites, chewed thoroughly made it last longer. That meant longer to sit in the warmth of the restaurant, reading his paper. He kicked off his shoes and settled his stockinged feet on top of them, wiggling his toes. It was colder out than he’d anticipated and it was nice to sit back and relax and let his feet warm up.
The couple next to him had already eaten a starter and were enjoying a main course. David resolutely ate tiny morsels of his toast and pate. He’d perfected the art of chewing very slowly and letting his taste buds enjoy every last bit of his food. There wouldn’t be a main course for him, or a dessert, the budget would only allow for a glass of wine and a starter, but just for once, a Poulet Breton would be nice.
David looked up from time to time and exchanged a brief smile with the woman seated next to him. He noticed a sadness in her smile and her eyes. She reminded him of the woman he’d been to see some 20 years previously. Her son had died saving his comrade but he knew it was of no consolation to her, it would never bring back her beloved son. He guessed she would be about the same age as the woman sitting next to him now.
He was engrossed in his newspaper when he noticed the woman follow the waiter to the cash desk. The waiter had her mobile phone and she followed him to retrieve it. There was some discussion at the cash desk between the woman and the head waiter, who looked across at him before speaking to the woman again. David shrugged his shoulders, it was nothing to do with him.
The woman spent a couple of minutes paying her bill and disappeared in the direction of the toilets. When she came back to the table she told the man with her that she had paid the bill. “Oh, okay, I’ll just go to the toilet before we leave.” The woman turned toward David, fussing with her scarf. “It’s so nice to find somewhere where you can sit and relax for a while isn’t it?” she said to David as he looked up at her. “Oh yes” he replied “I like it here. It’s warm and there’s a good light to read my paper by. Do you come here often yourself?”
“We do when we’re in Birmingham, we’ve driven over from Coventry to see a concert at Symphony Hall” she replied as she began to pull on her coat. David reached across and helped her with the coat, handing the walking stick to her as she stood up to leave. “Enjoy the rest of your evening” she said giving him a warm smile as she walked over to her husband.
David noticed the restaurant manager beaming at her and patting her arm as she joined her husband. “What was that all about?” he wondered idly and then turned back to his newspaper.
David thought about the woman for a moment and wondered why she’d seemed so familiar. She’d had a lovely smile and reminded him of Alice. Alice who had loved him and cared about him every day through their married life. He quickly brushed away a tear, “you can stop that David, no feeling sorry for yourself just because you think no-one cares about you anymore.” He picked up his wineglass and finished the last few drops of wine. “Cheers, here’s to you my love, I miss you so much, but hopefully I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
A few minutes later the head waiter came over. He had a beaming smile on his face, “your bill tonight sir, it’s been paid. An early Christmas present the lady said.” David was taken by surprise “what do you mean, it’s been paid?” “Just that sir, it’s a gift from another customer, your bill is paid. Can I get you anything else?”
David sat back, he didn’t know what to say. Who had paid his bill? Why? Who had cared enough about a lonely old man to pay for his meal? He blinked rapidly, no tears, that would never do. He realized he would never know who had paid the bill and that it didn’t really matter. “I’ll have another glass of wine and I think I’ll have a main course tonight please” he said with smile.