Decisions

In the café, I find an empty booth, slot the last of my change into the oxygen metre and take a seat as the glass door slides shut behind me. I remove my oxygen kit and place it carefully in the empty chair to my left. I tap my order into the tablet embedded in the table; reconsider, and add a double chocolate chip muffin to go with my latte. I make my music choice: slow jazz. I adjust the temperature, turn the heating up a little. I needn’t worry about the expense – Kane will take care of it when he gets here. I give the digital timer a quick, unnecessary glance. There’s still fifty-nine minutes of oxygen left in the tank.

            My skinny latte and muffin arrive as Kane does. The barista takes his order while hurrying him into the booth. An order taken by a person – it’s a rarity nowadays.

            Kane orders a raspberry tea and no, no pastries. He takes off his oxygen kit and gives me a knowing look before sitting down. Like he’s read my mind and discarded it on a seat on the tube. He takes off the trench coat I bought him a long time ago, which he keeps at his office – throws it casually over the back of the chair opposite mine. “So, how much do you need, Lorna?”