25. Many mugs

Thursday morning’s run was difficult.

“Jesus H!” exclaimed Ann, as the cold bit her on the nose.

“Christ!” she said, taking a second breath.

Frost crunched on the grass, cars were ghostly shapes, their windows covered in ice, and her breath was a white flag of surrender as she turned to go back inside.

Maybe tomorrow. She didn’t have to go for a run every single day, now did she?

Grace understood. The small black cat, elegant in looks, clumsy in action, looked up at her with adoring bright copper eyes. “Early breakfast!” she seemed to say, as she tangled in Ann’s ankles.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Ann warned the little cat. “Coffee first!”

Ann’s espresso machine spluttered cheerfully as she unwrapped The Canberra Times. The dew had beaded the plastic wrapping. And then frozen solid. This didn’t happen in Sydney. Or San Francisco.

“At least you’ve got a fur coat, little one,” she told Grace, who was sitting alert beside the heating vent.

Ann added milk, stirred a teaspoon of sweetener in, and took that first wonderful sip. Nothing quite like freshly ground coffee, best thing in the morning. The day didn’t start until that caffeine hit chased away the last wisps of sleep.

“All right, little Miss Hungry!” Ann tore open a sachet of cat food, dumped it out onto a saucer, and sprinkled kibble on top. Grace sauntered between Ann’s feet, sniffed the offering, and began to eat.

Ann did the same. Half a grapefruit and a glass of tomato juice. Part of the trim-Ann-down-for-romance plan.

The Times had changed their Sudoku source. Once upon a time she could get the puzzles out in ten productive minutes, but nowadays, the difficulty ratings merely referred to the number of start digits – all but impossible to complete before the next one arrived, and then only with tiny numbers in the squares, pencilled-in guesses – crossed out, erased and rewritten – and marginal notes spreading out over the page between the comics and the crosswords.

She was still working on the puzzle four hours later and the strain was beginning to tell. She’d gone through all her usual strategies, filled in a dozen easy numbers, and it just wouldn’t go.

Sighing, she set it aside and reached for her mug. Still half full. Of cold instant coffee.

She grimaced. Not her day today. Quint, entering her shop, caught her brow wrinkling and for a moment his expression mirrored hers, though Ann didn’t have a bandaid on one cheek. Then he began unloading his suitcase onto the counter.

“Good morning, Ann,” he said. “Cold today.”

“Good to see you, William!” Ann said, brightening up. “Would you be a darling for me, please, and fetch me a coffee from Heartbake?”

She counted out the money. “Cappuccino, large, no sugar. And one for yourself, if you want to keep me company.”

Quint wouldn’t buy a drink for himself without prompting, she knew, but he liked to be thought of as social. And she could use a drink. And company.

Quint took the coins. “Here’s the list,” he said, handing over the spreadsheet printout.

Ann nodded and waved him out the door. “Quick as you can.”

Three minutes later, busy checking off Quint’s latest batch, the first of the Violet Campbell booty, the door opened and the fragrance of fresh coffee filled her nostrils.

She looked up to see two mugs of coffee, a nervous smile and a bandaid on one cheek. Not Quint. A taxidriver and occasional customer. He had an odd name, she remembered.

“Cappuccino, large, one sugar,” Harley said, setting it down on the counter. “They told me your usual.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I thought you might like to have a coffee with me while I tell you about how I started off in BookCrossing.”

“You’re a BookCrosser!” Ann reached for the mug. BookCrossers were the finest people in the world.

“I joined BookCrossing a few days ago,” he confirmed. “You got me going!”

Ann was responsible for a lot of BookCrossers. Dozens, she supposed. Some people joined the site when she told them about how much fun it was. Some people picked up a book she’d released into the wild and when they journalled it she was automatically listed as their source. Either way, it was always a buzz to have someone share in the silly thrill of it all.

“I’ve been reading some of your books from the café,” Harley said, responding to her smile with one of his own, “and just reading them and putting them back on the shelf, or forcing them on my passengers if they misbehaved.”

“Aha!” Ann twinkled. “That explains a journal entry that turned up in my email two weeks ago. The finder said they’d been given it by a stand-up cabedian. Now it makes sense!”

“Yeah, have to remember that. Anyway, I started registering my own books. Mostly thrillers and mysteries. Big hardbacks taking up too much space in my little flat. Like this one.”

Harley held out a book. 01-01-00 by R J Pineiro. It had a cover design in ominous black and red. He had attached handmade labels to the outside: “Free Book! Look Inside!”

“I didn’t have any official BookCrossing labels, not yet, anyway. So I made my own.”

“They look just fine,” Ann said. “If you want, I can give you some of mine.”

“I’d like that. Just until mine arrive.” He went on, holding the book carefully. “I left a few books around Canberra, writing down where I left them so I could make release notes on the computer later on.”

“You should do the release notes first,” Ann said, “if you have time. Otherwise someone might find a book and not know that it’s meant to be there.”

“Yeah. Well, I didn’t know that, and besides, I didn’t know where I’d leave them. I could go anywhere in Canberra. I just ducked out of the cab and left them anywhere that looked good.”

“That’s okay. Sometimes you just see a place that looks right. I left a copy of Jaws outside a dentist’s surgery once.”

Harley smiled. “Love it!”

The door behind him opened, letting in a draught of winter, another man with a bandaid on his cheek, and two more steaming mugs. With an apologetic glance at Harley, Ann quickly moved her existing mug out of sight.

Copyright © 2009 Peter Mackay