Long Time...

[Sister Angel Smith]

It was like stepping back into a photograph.
Angel had been pleasantly surprised to find the Square Coffee Shop looking exactly the same as it had seven years ago – she’d expected that even old-fashioned Cardsdale wouldn’t have escaped modernisation, and had had a slight worry that she’d come back to the town to find a Starbucks where she was sitting now.
But it was still a perfect match to the image that lay in her memories. An eclectic mix of old wooden chairs and big, squashy armchairs in a random assortment of fabrics, shelves and shelves of heavy tomes and fluffy paperbacks, glass jars of wildflowers, candles, and of course, that familiar smell of ground coffee. And, wonderfully, her old favourite table was still right there in the corner by the window.
But it wasn’t just the shop. All of Cardsdale village centre was like that – it hadn’t changed. Nothing ever affected it. Not war, not Starbucks, not industrialisation, not the 21st century. It was… it was timeless.
She’d always loved that. Angel was a country girl at heart, and the quaint old world country charm of Cardsdale had captured her when she’d arrived at Orchid Hill, and it still held a special place in her heart. It was miles away from the grey, faceless cities that were scattered everywhere in the country – Cardsdale had a soul.
Although, apparently the coffee shop hadn’t totally escaped Starbucksification, as it turned out. When she’d last been here, you got three types of coffee – black, strong, and milky. Now, the coffee menu resembled something like the Gutenberg Bible. Whatever happened to standard filter coffee?
It made a nice change from the coffee they had in the staff room, though, Angel reflected, sinking down into an oversized armchair at her teenage self’s favourite table with a cup of cinnamon cappuccino. Vending machine coffee was just horrendous.
And in any case, the atmosphere in here was so much nicer than the hospital wing. She’d just come from treating people at the SCR, and this was such a welcome ambience. It was calm; there were villagers there with their children and their newspapers, and students there with their friends and ‘other halves’ –
Okay, now that made her feel ancient.
But at least, for the first time in far too long, Angel was able to meet up with one of her beloved friends in the coffee shop again.

[Prof. Morgan Collins]

Morgan loped his way out of the Orchid area and into Cardsdale.
How many times had he done this walk? So many, too many, in nearly all forms of weather and all kinds of moods and thoughts. He glanced ahead at an all too familiar jutted-out stone over which he had tripped in second year, shaming himself in front of a group of merciless fourth-year spies whilst sprinting to over-take them to get some more supplies for Prof. Wilson. Surely health and safety would have kicked in by now. He began to think about an appropriate earth moving spell but as he got nearer to the blasted thing, he found the memory of catching his foot and seeing the ground approach him at an alarming rate rather amusing. He pictured himself as a fourth-year and watching a geeky little weed of a boy falling flat on his face, arms flailing helplessly... OK it was pretty funny. He walked past the stone leaving it for another comic relief character to make their own memories.
Morgan nodded to … Jane… McCafferty and … Oooh freckled fellow… Rodney Little! McCafferty and Little helped carry boxes of new chemistry equipment to his new classroom for a new term. They passed by in a pair of breezy smiles and a wave.
If you had asked, that’s what Morgan would have told you he missed the most. The simple little things like a smile and a sign of acknowledgement. Not much to ask you’d think but turns out it was too much for the Iceland team.
He grinned bitterly as he dispelled the thought of that place. He was away from all that now.
He walked down to the square and passed a boutique just in time for a young child to dart out as a car pulled round the corner. Morgan froze and his eyes glowed gold. The child sat down on the curb with a ‘plonk’, bewildered as her frantic mother dashed out to grab the pink duffle-coat hood whilst screeching about road-safety. He stepped around the still puzzled child and into the warm coffee shop next door.
His eyes went automatically to Angel’s old table to find her settling contentedly into her favourite seat. She felt good to be home too it seemed.
He loped over, grinning, “This is more like it.” He sighed as he sat on the upright chair opposite his best friend, and taking her in he saw what looked like a menu. “Since when was there a fourth choice?”