One Spare Coffee (2/7)
Title: One Spare Coffee ("Tuesday")
Category: Original fic
Characters: Alfie, Bernard the Street Dog, and others.
Word Count: 1,335
Summary: Alfie makes a friend and Bernard gets a meal. Part 2. (Part 1 is here.)
One Spare Coffee
-- Tuesday --
It was slightly colder on the second day of the week, but Alfie felt as though he was still absorbing the warmth the coffee had provided the day before. It was a wonderful feeling, and even Bernard seemed to have appreciated it. He wasn’t a fussy dog by nature, which was lucky, and the liquid had been warm; he’d lapped up the dregs with gratitude.
It was lunch time again and they sat huddled in their usual city-centre spot. They had been moved on last night, but that was to be expected. The police only did it out of necessity − “you know the drill, Alf!” − and wouldn’t be surprised to see him back here tonight. Alfie was the sort of sober, mild-mannered homeless man most of them got along with.
He watched calmly as people began to emerge for their lunch hour. Alfie let his mind wander, following them about their (imaginary) business even when they had passed out of sight. There were a few people he recognised, some of whom had been coming to the same place long enough to feel as though Alfie was part of the street furniture. Those that did offered a small donation into his woolly hat.
One woman − Mrs. Barnes, who was not a commuter but a shopper who passed him every Tuesday − stopped as she always did to give Bernard a treat. Alfie always knew she was coming when Bernard’s nose started working; he would sit up, tongue lolling expectantly out of a grinning mouth as his tail thumped a beat against the pavement.
“How’s my favourite street dog, then?” cooed the dotty woman, bending over to scratch Bernard affectionately behind the ears. The mutt stretched his long neck, eyes closing in pleasure.
Alfie smiled. “Oh, he’s doing just fine, thanks, Mrs. B.”
“Good,” said Mrs. B, straightening up again with satisfaction. Then she reached into her pocket a pulled out a small sandwich bag of bitesized treats. Bernard barked loudly in his excitement, causing several people to turn, startled. Alfie looked around at them and gave them a little ‘ah, what can you do?’ shrug.
As his eyes wandered, they happened upon the bench opposite. Formerly empty, it was now occupied by a certain Young Man: it was, of course, Pete.
Eventually Mrs. Barnes had finished her fussing, and went on with her shopping without another word to Alfie. Bernard was busy wolfing down the treats the woman had tipped out onto the rug; sighing about the crumbs, Alfie nudged Bernard’s muzzle out of the way and gathered up what was left of the treats. They were always useful to hang on to, just in case one night there was only enough food for one of them. And, Alfie regretted to admit, his own hunger had to come first.
He stuffed the treats into his pocket. “You’ll get ’em, lad,” he told the deploring Bernard, who had just watched his meal disappear. “When you really need ’em, you’ll get ’em.”
He looked up in time to see Pete gathering up his lunch. An elderly lady had assumed the seat next to him with a heavy sigh. Her husband was standing beside her, leaning on his stick as they chatted. Every other bench was full. Pete stood, juggling his lunch and his coffee (just the one, this time) in his grasp as he stepped aside. He said something to the elderly man, who smiled and nodded in gratitude.
Pete wandered a few paces away from the bench as the man sat down. He glanced around uneasily, seeing nowhere suitable to set up camp. Alfie felt the young man’s eyes skim him a couple of times before he was able to catch his gaze; he beckoned the displaced luncher over, and Pete (though a little reluctant) seemed to feel it would be rude to refuse.
“You look a little lost, my friend,” Alfie told him with a kind smile. “You can share my little bit of pavement, if you like.”
Pete considered this with another quick glance around.
“Alright,” he said at last, mostly to himself: “why not?”
Bernard, meanwhile, had smelt something interesting in Pete’s lunch box and was clearly wondering if he was about to get offered food by a stranger twice in one day. As Pete sat down, however, Alfie placed a secure arm around the dog’s neck. Bernard looked at him, whined softly, then settled back down on the rug.
“Don’t mind him,” Alfie said to Pete; “he’s a greedy old thing.”
Pete thought he just looked like an undernourished old thing, but chose not to point that out. “That’s alright,” he said. “My sister has a dog, he’s always wanting food, too.” He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded towards Alfie’s pet. “What’s his name?”
“Bernard,” said Alfie with a faint, but nevertheless doting, smile. “Been with me through thick ’n’ thin, haven’t you, boy?”
Bernard opened one eye, apparently aware he was being talked about. When no food was offered, however, he went back to sleep. “Where did you get him?” Pete asked. He could make conversation about pets. The same questions always applied to pets.
“He was a stray,” Alfie replied, stroking his loyal friend’s fur as he spoke. “Just wandered up to me one day, wantin’ food. Just so happened some of those churchy folks’d been distributing food that morning. Harvest for the Homeless, it was called.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pete said, eyes alight with recognition. “My mum used to do that.”
“Ar? Tell her thanks from old Alfie.”
“I will,” Pete smiled. The smile faded as his gaze fell upon the meal he was eating. He realised how insensitive he was being and could have kicked himself. “Fancy a sarnie?” he asked.
Alfie chuckled. “What sort of a question’s that, lad?”
Pete hazarded a grin and held out half of his ham salad sandwich. Alfie took it with a grateful word, lay it out on his lap and extracted the thin slice of meat. He tore it in half, placed half of it back in the sandwich, and dropped the rest on the pavement in front of Bernard’s nose. The dog immediately awoke from his doze, stretched his neck forwards and gobbled up the ham, tail wagging.
“So how long have you had him?” It seemed a safe enough subject to continue with.
Alfie took a large bite out of the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s hard to keep track o’ time, but… six years? Maybe seven.”
Pete took a sip of water, looked at the bottle and offered it to Alfie, who took a deep swig. “And you’ve been on the street all that time?”
“’Fraid so,” Alfie replied, handing the bottle back. “I’m alright though. It’s those kids you should worry about. You know, the ones runnin’ away from home.” He nodded in sage agreement with himself and took another bite of sandwich. Bernard, who was sitting up by now, was staring at it hopefully.
“Yeah,” Pete sighed, looking at the last bite of his own sandwich and deciding he wasn’t that hungry after all. He tossed it, bread and all, to Bernard, who tried to catch it in mid-air, missed, and devoured it from the pavement instead.
“You’ve made a friend fer life, there,” Alfie chuckled, seeing the look of adoration enter the dog’s eyes as he trotted in a wide semi-circle around them and settled down next to Pete. Pete smiled and petted him gingerly.
“Looks like it,” he said, but he wasn’t really thinking about the dog, loveable as he was. He was thinking about lunch time the next day, and whether he could really pass Alfie on by now he had actually shared lunch with him. The answer was no, of course he couldn’t; but could he really afford to keep on sharing his food with this man and his street-dog?
The answer came with mixed feelings, but the fact of the matter remained: yes, he probably could.
End.
Category: Original fic
Characters: Alfie, Bernard the Street Dog, and others.
Word Count: 1,335
Summary: Alfie makes a friend and Bernard gets a meal. Part 2. (Part 1 is here.)
One Spare Coffee
-- Tuesday --
It was slightly colder on the second day of the week, but Alfie felt as though he was still absorbing the warmth the coffee had provided the day before. It was a wonderful feeling, and even Bernard seemed to have appreciated it. He wasn’t a fussy dog by nature, which was lucky, and the liquid had been warm; he’d lapped up the dregs with gratitude.
It was lunch time again and they sat huddled in their usual city-centre spot. They had been moved on last night, but that was to be expected. The police only did it out of necessity − “you know the drill, Alf!” − and wouldn’t be surprised to see him back here tonight. Alfie was the sort of sober, mild-mannered homeless man most of them got along with.
He watched calmly as people began to emerge for their lunch hour. Alfie let his mind wander, following them about their (imaginary) business even when they had passed out of sight. There were a few people he recognised, some of whom had been coming to the same place long enough to feel as though Alfie was part of the street furniture. Those that did offered a small donation into his woolly hat.
One woman − Mrs. Barnes, who was not a commuter but a shopper who passed him every Tuesday − stopped as she always did to give Bernard a treat. Alfie always knew she was coming when Bernard’s nose started working; he would sit up, tongue lolling expectantly out of a grinning mouth as his tail thumped a beat against the pavement.
“How’s my favourite street dog, then?” cooed the dotty woman, bending over to scratch Bernard affectionately behind the ears. The mutt stretched his long neck, eyes closing in pleasure.
Alfie smiled. “Oh, he’s doing just fine, thanks, Mrs. B.”
“Good,” said Mrs. B, straightening up again with satisfaction. Then she reached into her pocket a pulled out a small sandwich bag of bitesized treats. Bernard barked loudly in his excitement, causing several people to turn, startled. Alfie looked around at them and gave them a little ‘ah, what can you do?’ shrug.
As his eyes wandered, they happened upon the bench opposite. Formerly empty, it was now occupied by a certain Young Man: it was, of course, Pete.
Eventually Mrs. Barnes had finished her fussing, and went on with her shopping without another word to Alfie. Bernard was busy wolfing down the treats the woman had tipped out onto the rug; sighing about the crumbs, Alfie nudged Bernard’s muzzle out of the way and gathered up what was left of the treats. They were always useful to hang on to, just in case one night there was only enough food for one of them. And, Alfie regretted to admit, his own hunger had to come first.
He stuffed the treats into his pocket. “You’ll get ’em, lad,” he told the deploring Bernard, who had just watched his meal disappear. “When you really need ’em, you’ll get ’em.”
He looked up in time to see Pete gathering up his lunch. An elderly lady had assumed the seat next to him with a heavy sigh. Her husband was standing beside her, leaning on his stick as they chatted. Every other bench was full. Pete stood, juggling his lunch and his coffee (just the one, this time) in his grasp as he stepped aside. He said something to the elderly man, who smiled and nodded in gratitude.
Pete wandered a few paces away from the bench as the man sat down. He glanced around uneasily, seeing nowhere suitable to set up camp. Alfie felt the young man’s eyes skim him a couple of times before he was able to catch his gaze; he beckoned the displaced luncher over, and Pete (though a little reluctant) seemed to feel it would be rude to refuse.
“You look a little lost, my friend,” Alfie told him with a kind smile. “You can share my little bit of pavement, if you like.”
Pete considered this with another quick glance around.
“Alright,” he said at last, mostly to himself: “why not?”
Bernard, meanwhile, had smelt something interesting in Pete’s lunch box and was clearly wondering if he was about to get offered food by a stranger twice in one day. As Pete sat down, however, Alfie placed a secure arm around the dog’s neck. Bernard looked at him, whined softly, then settled back down on the rug.
“Don’t mind him,” Alfie said to Pete; “he’s a greedy old thing.”
Pete thought he just looked like an undernourished old thing, but chose not to point that out. “That’s alright,” he said. “My sister has a dog, he’s always wanting food, too.” He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded towards Alfie’s pet. “What’s his name?”
“Bernard,” said Alfie with a faint, but nevertheless doting, smile. “Been with me through thick ’n’ thin, haven’t you, boy?”
Bernard opened one eye, apparently aware he was being talked about. When no food was offered, however, he went back to sleep. “Where did you get him?” Pete asked. He could make conversation about pets. The same questions always applied to pets.
“He was a stray,” Alfie replied, stroking his loyal friend’s fur as he spoke. “Just wandered up to me one day, wantin’ food. Just so happened some of those churchy folks’d been distributing food that morning. Harvest for the Homeless, it was called.”
“Oh, yeah,” Pete said, eyes alight with recognition. “My mum used to do that.”
“Ar? Tell her thanks from old Alfie.”
“I will,” Pete smiled. The smile faded as his gaze fell upon the meal he was eating. He realised how insensitive he was being and could have kicked himself. “Fancy a sarnie?” he asked.
Alfie chuckled. “What sort of a question’s that, lad?”
Pete hazarded a grin and held out half of his ham salad sandwich. Alfie took it with a grateful word, lay it out on his lap and extracted the thin slice of meat. He tore it in half, placed half of it back in the sandwich, and dropped the rest on the pavement in front of Bernard’s nose. The dog immediately awoke from his doze, stretched his neck forwards and gobbled up the ham, tail wagging.
“So how long have you had him?” It seemed a safe enough subject to continue with.
Alfie took a large bite out of the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s hard to keep track o’ time, but… six years? Maybe seven.”
Pete took a sip of water, looked at the bottle and offered it to Alfie, who took a deep swig. “And you’ve been on the street all that time?”
“’Fraid so,” Alfie replied, handing the bottle back. “I’m alright though. It’s those kids you should worry about. You know, the ones runnin’ away from home.” He nodded in sage agreement with himself and took another bite of sandwich. Bernard, who was sitting up by now, was staring at it hopefully.
“Yeah,” Pete sighed, looking at the last bite of his own sandwich and deciding he wasn’t that hungry after all. He tossed it, bread and all, to Bernard, who tried to catch it in mid-air, missed, and devoured it from the pavement instead.
“You’ve made a friend fer life, there,” Alfie chuckled, seeing the look of adoration enter the dog’s eyes as he trotted in a wide semi-circle around them and settled down next to Pete. Pete smiled and petted him gingerly.
“Looks like it,” he said, but he wasn’t really thinking about the dog, loveable as he was. He was thinking about lunch time the next day, and whether he could really pass Alfie on by now he had actually shared lunch with him. The answer was no, of course he couldn’t; but could he really afford to keep on sharing his food with this man and his street-dog?
The answer came with mixed feelings, but the fact of the matter remained: yes, he probably could.
End.