Eves'

There was a small cemetery in the back yard of the shop. One part of the cemetery was fenced off, with a small sign attached to the fence. The sign said "NHS".
Inside there were some tombstones, made of nice polished granite, each with a photograph and a small inscription.
The first tombstone had a picture of a woman in hospital. This one was shown with a drip in her arm and it was clear the woman in the bed was dead.
The sign underneath said "Air bubble of death and nurses on break."

Another showed a baby, and a coffin. "Mother and child died in childbirth because the doctor had worked a 40-hour shift with no break."


The next tombstone showed a woman clearly post-anaesthetic, choking to death. I remembered that one clearly; Pete ran to fetch a nurse and she had given me an oxygen mask, which helped.

Other stones nearby, in various shades of pink or grey granite, carried similar inscriptions and photos.

On the other side of the fence, but still in the graveyard, was one with a picture of a large, heavy dustbin lorry bearing down on a scared young couple on a crescent-shaped road. Pete had dragged us both out of the way when it became clear that the driver had not seen us as he came around the bend. To be fair, we might not have been there if not for him. Clearly, at least one had not made it out of the way.

Another showed simply a plaque, with the inscription "Extreme Anaphylaxis Reaction". No picture.

Another close by, "mucous plug" - a woman in bed, clearly gasping for breath and not succeeding.

Another showed simply "Liver damaged beyond repair by erroneously prescribed meds."

Tired of looking at these, I wandered into the coffee shop proper. A Barista stood at the counter, waved me to a seat and brought me a beautiful Skinny Flat White, with a leaf pattern worked on the top. "I know you like these."

It was quite busy in the shop. Those with aprons were serving drinks, wiping down the coffee machine, loading the dishwasher, clearing tables and pausing to chat. In the kitchen, the door open, one was baking fresh, well-risen pizzas, laden with cheese, tomatoes, olives and chorizo sausage. Another was making some kind of cookies, a white cook's hat trying to hold in her thin brown hair. Apple tarts stood cooling.

She looked up at me. "I'm making some gluten-free ones this afternoon."
"These look great."
"They always were our favourite. And there are some pieces of Millionaire's Shortbread on the counter. Help yourself!"

I settled at a table to watch the activity in the store. I've always enjoyed people-watching, and I was still working on getting my head around the tombstones.

Several of the shop's patrons were overweight,though  some were slim and fit, one looked as if she were a weight trainer. She came over to talk to me, and I discovered that she was the only one of us who had NOT fallen out of the kitchen door one New Year's Day and cracked her collar-bone, but had gone on to win "Best Lifter" at several local contests and then had indeed worked for years as a trainer in her local gym. She certainly looked fit, and wore loose, soft scarlet trousers and a red T-shirt. Nearby a woman in a wheelchair sipped coffee.

"I didn't like to ask..."
"Lupus."
"I'm sorry."

"I can live with it. How do you like the shop?"
"It's amazing. Who does it belong to?"
"Well, me, and a few of the others - all of us who could put money into it, some did decorating and so on. You haven't been here before?"
"No, only just discovered it. I found out about it through - the librarian." Of course, she didn't have a name, or at least, nothing different. But SOMEONE had been leaving tiny printed cards in my library books, carrying an address, and eventually I had become curious enough to follow up.
From the street it was just another coffee shop, with a Closed for Renovations banner. Inside it was warm, lively, busy, and full of me.