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By Root 533 0

Another of these developments was the removal of the expensive newspaper rack. In its place she had installed a small table, which she had acquired from a saleroom on Leith Walk. On this table she stacked copies of the day’s papers and any magazines which were left behind by customers, provided, of course, Big Lou approved of them. The Scots Magazine was always there, and was popular, curiously enough, with some of the most intellectual customers, who read it with what seemed suspiciously close to a condescending smile. Why they should affect this expression was not clear to her. The Scots Magazine was popular in Arbroath, Big Lou’s home town, and she saw no reason why it should not be equally popular in Edinburgh. Or did Edinburgh, for some unfathomable reason, feel itself superior to Arbroath?

98

At Big Lou’s

A further development was an important change in the midmorning coffee regulars. Matthew still came every morning, of course, and stayed longer than anybody else, but the two furniture restorers had disappeared entirely. It was almost as if they had been written out of a story, thought Lou; simply no longer on the page. They had disappeared, and had taken their world with them. But just as they had gone, others had arrived. Mrs Constance, for instance, with her curious unkempt hair, had appeared one morning and had announced herself as “the woman from upstairs” – her flat being more or less immediately above the coffee bar. She was silent, for the most part, but occasionally joined in the conversation with observations that were remarkably acute.

Then there was Angus Lordie, the portrait painter from Drummond Place, and occasional poet. He had ventured into the coffee bar one morning and had found Matthew, whom he knew, engaged in conversation with Big Lou. Big Lou had been unsure about Angus Lordie to begin with, but had accepted his presence after she had taken to Cyril, his dog.

“There’s something strange about that creature,” she had remarked to Matthew. “He keeps looking at me and I could swear that he winks from time to time.”

“Yes, he does wink,” said Matthew. “Pat says that he winks at her all the time – as if they were sharing a secret. And he has a gold tooth, you know. It’s most peculiar. But then Angus is peculiar too. They suit one another.”

“Aye, well, he gives Cyril coffee,” Big Lou went on. “He thinks I don’t notice, but I do. He slips a saucer under the table and Cyril drinks it. The other day he ordered two cups of cappuccino. He assumed I would think they were both for him, but one was for Cyril. I saw him drink it – from the cup. He had the foam from the milk all around his jaws afterwards.”

Matthew nodded. “Cyril drinks beer too,” he said. “He’s a regular at the Cumberland Bar. Quite an intelligent dog, I think. And a good friend to Angus.”

She had thought about that over the following days. Big Lou was a sympathetic person and aware of loneliness. She had been At Big Lou’s

99

by herself since she had come down to live in Edinburgh. Her solution had been to immerse herself in the books which she had inherited from the bookshop which had previously occupied the coffee-bar premises. These books were on a wide range of subjects – philosophy, topography, literature, and even dogs

– and Big Lou was patiently making her way through all of these, one by one, completing an education which had been cut short at the age of sixteen.

That morning, nobody had come in before Matthew, and for a few minutes he and Big Lou were alone together.

“Are your parents alive, Lou?” Matthew suddenly asked.

“You’ve never mentioned them, you know.”

Big Lou shook her head. “My father left us when I was eleven,” she said. “He died a bit later. Drink, I was told. My mother died when I was nineteen.”

“I’m sorry,” said Matthew.

Big Lou said nothing. She looked down at the counter. What was there to be said about the loss of parents? She could barely remember her father now, and her mother’s memory was fading. All she could recall was kindness, and love, like a surrounding mist.

“And you?” she asked. “You’ve