The Storm
The trees rocked back and forth. Blossom was scattered on the surface of the wet road. There was a cold bite in the air, despite it being almost May. The sunny beginnings of spring were long gone, and the end of April was showing its true colours of squalid rain and dirty grey clouds.
Penelope walked down the high-street looking for O’Neil’s bakery. She had been told it was the finest artisan bakery and café in Kensington and had long wanted to visit and try it out. The wind was blowing hard and it was one of those awful weekend days, where great puddles collect on the corners of streets, and old sodden newspapers cling to the pavement. It was Saturday and surely things would get better as the weekend wore on, Penelope hoped.
It didn’t take her long to find O’Neil’s place. The windows were a steamy and it looked busy inside. Penelope wondered whether or not to go in – mentally preparing herself for what she would look to order. A double-decker bus went past. She looked at her phone. The high street was busy and because it was busy Penelope felt a drive to be proactive.
“Do, or be left behind,” she reminded herself. She put her phone away.
She stepped into O’Neil’s and as the door shut behind her, so too were the noises of the outside world shut out. She could smell baked bread, chocolate and coffee and all manner of sweet and savoury things. It was warm inside, and there was a pleasant atmosphere of people enjoying the start of their weekend. The indistinct noise of people talking hummed in her ears and she felt part of the world again. It was as if she had stepped into the most wonderful sanctuary.
She ordered an espresso and sat down by the window near the entrance.
“Hello,” said a young man who was sat at the other end of the window table.
Penelope smiled.
The young man returned to the book he was reading and took a sip of his drink.
The espresso arrived and she thanked the young waitress. The young girl, she thought, looked beautiful. Although her skin was pock-marked and showed the sign of acne and spots, the symmetry of her face, her high prominent cheekbones, and her dark eyes, all meant that the condition of her skin paled into insignificance.
“Thank you,” she told the young waitress.
“No problem.” The young waitress smiled and walked back. She was wearing black jeans and white trainers without socks. She could see her ankles and they looked beautiful.
They were right, Penelope thought. O’Neil’s really was a good place to visit on a weekend.