MirrorMirror

10 / The Lunch Date

Cassidy gave up.

He couldn't see how it was done. The mirror was a mirror. It held no secrets. He pursed his lips and sucked air in, expelling it noisily through his nostrils. It was meant as an insult to whoever was trying to make him think he was losing his mind and, whether they'd realise that or not, it made him feel a little better.

Well, 'Amy' wasn't being very talkative, so he'd leave her to it. He had a life and, he saw, checking his watch, he needed to go live it. He had to shower, get dressed and go, or he'd be late.

He didn't see his brother very often. Busy lives, jobs and relationships made it difficult to meet up, though they regularly spoke. His brother, Ethan, liked to send memes and most of them Cassidy found funny. The odd one fell a bit flat or stepped a touch over the line of acceptability, but they were all meant in jest, so Cass accepted them and smiled either way.

The pair were very close when they were in contact. There'd been a couple of times, mainly due to the partners they had at the time having intense dislikes for each other over things the brothers found incidental, that they hadn't spoken for a time. When they did get back in touch, both picked up their relationship as if nothing happened.

Considering Cassidy's life had been upended, he was pleased he and Ethan were not presently estranged. The lunch and a pint they had planned had been welcomed, anyway. After the events of the last day or two, it was more so.

It was often said the town they lived in consisted mainly of eating places and so called 'pound shops,' the type of retail outlet where everything was cheap in price and quality. There were masses of takeaways, especially those selling kebabs and pizzas, and a good supply of pubs, too. Once upon a time, a pub was a place you went to for a drink and to watch the latest football game on a massive television. He wasn't a fan of any sport, really, so he'd go for the drink and to socialise, with the game something he'd watch but not take any notice of. Nowadays, eighty percent of pubs sold food too. There were few 'drinkers' establishments anymore.

Cassidy and Ethan, when they met, would choose a different place each time. As it could sometimes be weeks or months between, they'd yet to repeat an option. At 1pm, they were trying out The Wheatsheaf, once a haven for students attending the college up the road, and now a more upmarket eatery whose salted caramel profiteroles were apparently a must eat dessert. And there was always room for pudding.

The Wheatsheaf, sitting at the junction between two very busy main roads, was rarely quiet. They'd been serving breakfast for three years, a necessity when most others were too, so there was a steady stream of customers throughout most of the day. At 1pm, the lunchtime rush was petering off as people returned to work, but there were still plenty of tables taken.

"I'll get the drinks in while you grab a table," Ethan said when they entered. "What do you want?"

"I'll have a Peroni," Cassidy replied, looking around the upper of two levels for a spare table.

Spying one, he hurried over. There was no sign of anyone else aiming for it themselves, but he didn't want to risk it being stolen from under his nose. Once seated, he took a menu and started looking it over. For some reason, with menus, it took him a few reads for the contents to sink in. He'd be talking to the person he was with or perusing whilst scrolling through his phone. When Ethan arrived, a pint in each hand, Cass had yet to decide.

"What you having?" Ethan asked.

"No idea. You got any ideas?"

"Give me chance!" Ethan laughed.

He handed his brother one of the glasses of lager and sat down. Picking up a menu himself, he glanced through it.

Small talk is a suitor at the hand of the bigger subjects. It pads around time, filling it with insubstantial words of meagre meaning, waiting to be invited to the more important conversations. It holds out for an opening that would allow it to slip in and take its place with the real matters at hand. Until that opportunity presents itself, small talk remains the warm-up act.