A Fractured Echo

Chapter 21

As was usually the case whenever I arranged to go somewhere, I was habitually early for my meeting with Jackson. And by early, I mean turned up over an hour ahead of when we'd arranged. Excitement fizzed inside at finally having all the details for my idea to solve Jackson's office quandary, to the point I'd been unable to sit around at home a second longer. Armed with a neat presentation folder containing the carefully crafted proposal, I'd not paid attention to the time, only realising my folly when glancing at the clock coming out of Old Street station to walk the rest of the way to Factory. In my head, a kindly voice that reminded me of jam tarts and licking cake batter from the bowl whispered, 'better late than never, but never late is better', words I could recall being repeated to me at a time when my nose barely touched the faded wooden table top.

Ducking into a café just around the corner, I figured having a drink would be a good way to kill time. Plus, I'd taken to scoping out the inside of buildings in the area to get ideas for the centre. Constance and I agreed it made sense to play to the industrial heritage of the structure and local area, but it didn't hurt to look for extra inspiration. Once I'd placed my order at the vast stainless-steel counter, I glanced around, absorbing the interior which followed a more vintage vibe, lots of teak table tops and mismatched chairs offset against the stark metal of the serving area. Something I did love though, was the stripped wooden flooring, and the old-style orange filament lightbulbs hanging from the high ceiling. It reminded me of the familiar interior of Factory.

Taking the tray offered by the disinterested looking server, I glanced down in disappointment at the ridiculous glass teapot containing insipid looking artisan tea, brewing in some fancy muslin net suspended from the rim. I wondered if a simple cup of tea was something that escaped the 'modernity of the locale'-. The accompanying milk suffered a similar treatment, served in a miniature conical flask that would have been more at home in a science lab.

Grabbing a seat at one of the high wall mounted tables near the door, I poured my tea into the ridiculous cup, and by 'cup' I mean a glass jar. The kind you'd find in a country kitchen being filled with fresh homemade strawberry jam to be sold at the local farmer's market. Then again, that was probably made with hemp and a whole raft of other out of context ingredients. I'd been naïve in thinking it was safe to order a chocolate brownie from the vast menu suspended behind the serving station. The 'brownie' turned out to be a strange, vegan raw cocoa monstrosity, which bore no resemblance to the taste of one at all.

I couldn't help thinking the place was all style over substance. I could never understand places that tried to be part of the 'in crowd' whilst not actually having a clear identity. Pick an audience and cater to it, rather than trying to be all things to everyone. Made me wish I'd opted for the simplicity of the huge Victoria sponge cake I'd spotted on the board after I'd been served.

The only other strong positive for this particular café, was the unit being wider than it was deep, and fronted by a huge expanse of glass, which made it perfect for watching the world go by. Hoxton was a vibrant enclave of the city, brimming with trendy bars and restaurants which were a huge draw for the professionals in the area and neighbouring Shoreditch. It was that proximity, and the trend for tech firms settling there that helped to cement my proposal for Jackson.

Whilst the skies were painted soft blue with only the faintest wisps of cloud, the temperature bitterly reminded everyone that it was still only February. Edgy 'smart casual' attired locals tempered their wardrobe choices with more functional outerwear to keep the chill from their bones. It was the reason my eyes were drawn to a statuesque blonde teetering across the cobbled courtyard in a pair of knee high boots with the thinnest spike heels I'd ever seen. As I watched her attempt to navigate the dips in the pavement surface towards the door of the café, I took in the rest of her outfit. Pristine white jeans started where the boots ended, while a soft grey fur coat cloaked her upper body. She was immaculate. We're talking 'just stepped out of a salon' perfect. Her glossy blonde hair bouncing behind her as she moved as gracefully as possible, framing her delicate face which she partially hid behind a pair of black oversized cat eye sunglasses. She was a walking contradiction amidst all other passers-by. As she breezed through the door, full of triumph at having made it safely across the uneven surface, I refocussed my attention on the faux chocolate atrocity, daring myself to take a bite. It truly was an abomination for the senses, but I wasn't going to waste the experience...even if there was a faint after aftertaste of what was possibly avocado. Taking a large gulp of the tasteless liquid in the jar in the hopes of washing away the residual flavour, the gentle hum of chatter was punctuated by a well-heeled, American accent.