Chapter Five

23/08/2015 - Brighton, UK

Not a solitary soul graces the beach. A biblical deluge drums upon the steaming roof of the Oldies Wood-Fired Pizza van, inside which Angie rests her cheek on her hand and succumbs to a quiet hopelessness. From within her vibrantly painted fortress she has a commanding view of the seafront, the pier, and all the potential customers there aren't. Her eyes draw slowly closed, and she mutters in a tight little voice, barely above a whisper:

"Fucking British summer."

She knows the colder months will be a struggle. Already the leaves have begun to fall, and what little business there is will soon dry up and wither alongside them.

"Alright Angie! Gorgeous day for it, eh?"

In an instant, her troubles slip and trickle away like a fistful of fine, sun-warmed sand.

"Reuben! What are you doing out? It's vile!"

The young man shakes like a wet dog beneath the canopy of the van. Angie grimaces as flecks of drizzle spray the counter, the cash till, and her face.

"Thank you for that."

Reuben pushes his hair back from his eyes and grins.

"You are welcome. And to answer your question, I am working." He gestures to the camera case around his neck. "You get this certain kind of light during a storm. I wanted some portfolio shots of the beach huts." Angie smiles.

"You are so fucking Brighton it makes me sick."

"Is that right?" Reuben smirks; "And what if I told you that wasn't the only reason I was out here, on this particular beach, on this particular day?" He reaches into his backpack and retrieves a small plastic takeaway container, peeling back the lid to reveal a single, elegantly iced cupcake. Silently, he picks up a tiny candle from beside it and stands it upright in the cake's centre. Then, he fishes in his pocket for a moment before producing a cigarette lighter, with which he carefully lights the wick. Apparently pleased with his efforts, he leans back and slowly pushes the cupcake across the counter toward Angie, who tries and fails to maintain a stony demeanour.

"You are a muppet." She blows out the candle, still trying her best not to smile. "Thank you."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Meh." She shrugs, "I don't really have enough money to do anything anyway. And I'm supposed to be saving for the thing with mum next year."

"How is she?"

"You know. Ups and downs." Reuben nods.

"It's good you're taking her to see the family."

"Yeah, if I can afford it. At this rate I'll be lucky if I even still have a business by then."

"That bad, is it?"

"It's not great."

"You know," Reuben hesitates, "I could... help, if you like." Angie glances up, mortified.

"God, no. No, don't be silly. I can't have you bailing me out."

"Well then, don't think of it as a bailout;" Reuben quickly responds, "Think of it as an investment. In your business." In the absence of an interruption, he goes on: "Look, I worked a bunch of weddings this summer. I can afford to help out. And I know you're good for the money. You're really good at this. And you work fucking hard. And you should go on the trip. It's important. I want you to be able to go."

The rain hammers down on the canopy. Angie doesn't say anything for a while. She stares at the smoking candle wick on the counter between them, and tries to breathe slowly. She's finally on the cusp of opening her mouth to speak when the silence is interrupted by a high-pitched chirruping sound. Reuben jumps, looking down at his feet.

"Oh, hello! Who's this?"

Angie dabs at her eye with her sleeve and peers over the counter.

"Oh, that's just Kurt. Well, I've been calling him Kurt. He's been hanging out here for days. I reckon he's a stray."

"Kurt? Fucking hell, Ange." Reuben's smirk creeps back across his face. "The nineties are over. You have to let him go."

"Don't ever say that to me. Hey, he likes you," Angie watches the small black cat purr and rub himself against Reuben's legs. He's never even let me touch him." She reaches down, bringing up a pizza box. "Here, give him some of this."

Reuben takes a slice from the box, pulls off a piece from the tip, and bends down to feed it to the cat, who laps hungrily at the slick of grease on the surface.

"And... the rest is for me, right?"

"Yeah. Sure." Angie fixes her eyes on the candle again. "Hey, thanks for coming today, man. Sometimes I'm in this box for so long I forget there's other people out there. You know?" She waits for him to answer. The silence stretches on. "Reuben?"

She looks up to see Reuben leaning against the counter; his face red, his eyes bulging. He drops what's left of the pizza slice to the floor and moves his hand to his throat.

"Reuben!" Angie screams, kicking open the side door of the van. She rounds the corner in time to see him slowly tilt over backwards into the rain. She hauls him from the ground so she can wrap her arms around him, squeezing him from behind with all her strength. She feels him spasm and wretch, but hears no splutter or cough; just the pounding of the rain against the canopy. Even as she squeezes him again and again, his convulsions fade and weaken until finally he softens and lies still.

"No Reuben! Fuck! No, no, come on! Come on! Please, Reuben!" Angie shakes, and squeezes, and cries, but her friend is gone. She pulls him close, in the rain, and lays her head back against the flagstone. Behind her, some twenty feet away, she sees a small black cat stand perfectly still in the pouring rain. The creature watches her for a few moments, and then turns and pads away, into the dark.