[Late October 2017]
“Good morning Ray. Shall I prepare your usual?” I said to the latest customer who had ventured into my coffee shop that morning. It was blowing a bit of a hoolie out there. A strong south-westerly wind that was predicted to become a full-on gale before midday was dragging rain squalls along with it. Not a nice day to be out and about.

"Thanks, Alex and yes, my normal order would be great, when you have time.”

Because of the weather, Ray was my only customer at the moment. Every day, Ray and I went through this ritual, so I wasn’t offended by his comment about ‘having time’. It was his way of not wanting to put me out of kilter with what I was doing at that moment. On this particular day, I had completed all my usual duties well before he arrived. If I had been behind the bar when the shop was still a public house, I'd probably be polishing the glasses when he arrived.

I began to prepare Ray’s Americano which was to be served in a glass. When that was done, I poured some milk into a small jug and put them both on a tray.

Ray Thompson wasn’t a big spender by any means but he was a regular six days a week. I didn’t open the former pub and now the ‘Nags Head’ Coffee Shop on a Sunday but my guess would be that if I did, he’d be here then as well.

I took the tray over to where he was sitting. The table was not quite in the middle of the window but next to it. That’s where he sat every day unless someone got there before him. If they did, he didn’t make a fuss. That wasn’t Ray’s nature in my experience. He would glare at them for a couple of seconds before turning away and finding somewhere else to sit. I’d soon learned that Ray was not someone to make a fuss over something as silly as a place to sit. While he was a creature of habit, and he liked them he wasn’t a man to go overboard when things didn’t quite work out as planned.

Ray was already engrossed in his daily paper. He would study the racing columns avidly. The horse of his choice would be marked with a red pen. Before he left, he would copy the details down into a notebook.

As far as I knew, Ray never placed a bet and that it was all for his own amusement. If anyone asked him for a tip, he’d gladly give the questioner one or two tips for that day with the proviso that if any of them placed a bet and it came in, then the recipient of the tip would put the original stake into the staff ‘Tip Jar’ that sat on the counter. No one quibbled with this condition. If they did then as he called it ‘pony up’, they didn’t get any more tips from him. Very few of the regulars were on this list.

By the time Christmas came around, there was always a sizeable sum of money in the jar. Last year, it had been almost £2200.00. Other people would put small change into the jar but it was the racing tips that filled it. I shared the contents of the ‘tip jar’ amongst my staff and didn’t take a penny for myself. The bonus had made their last Christmas and New Year very enjoyable for them and this year was already looking to be as good if not better than last.

"Thanks, Alex."

“Blowing up a bit out there now,” I said.
“The horses won’t like running in this weather.”

“It is that lass. You’ll be quiet today. Most sane folk won’t want to venture out in a gale, like this. As for the racing, the card at Kelso is looking pretty good and their weather forecast is a lot better than down here.”

“What you say about the weather and customers is very true Ray, but here you are aren’t you?”

“True but there again, I’m a senile old fart, ain’t I?”

“Ray, you are not senile. You are sharper than many people half your age.”

"That is as maybe Alex but my family…"

He didn’t need to say much more. I’d been a witness to more than one row between him and his children, Phillip and Elizabeth. They wanted Ray to move into a care home so that they could get their hands on his property and sell it. Ray had been clear that his home was going to be gifted to a charity in his will and he was in no position to sell it without the charity being in on the act. How true that was, only he knew, but his answer had visibly angered his children on more than one occasion.

"Your family are money-grabbing turds if you ask me."

“Turds is about right given that my daughter Elizabeth’s married name is Brown,” joked Ray.

“What about you? Found Mr Right yet?”

I knew that Ray was using that sad state of my love life to change the subject.

“I’m done with men for the foreseeable future. That last one nearly had me over a barrel. It was only thanks to you Ray, that I’m not out on the streets.”

Ray looked up from his paper and smiled.
“All part of the service. I couldn’t let you get wed and then thrown out of this great emporium on your lughole now, could I? Where else am I going to get such a nice brew to start the day eh?”

I smiled.
“You could always take the bus into Horsham or Shoreham and take your pick of coffee emporia?”

Ray laughed.
"Why should I? I like your homebrew… especially compared to the lukewarm dishwater that those places serve."

To have my coffee called homebrew was actually a compliment. At least it didn't get you drunk. A mild Caffeine high possibly, but certainly not drunk plus, I roasted and ground the beans in the back room, so the 'home' part of ‘homebrew’ was very applicable.

[January 2018]

“Has anyone seen Ray this week?” I asked my two assistants. I refused to call them Baristas. The ‘Nags Head’ was not some pretend coffee shop that was part of a mega-chain. I liked my independence. I make sure that we only serve beans that I buy direct from the importer. Those beans come from ‘Fairtrade’ suppliers in Costa Rica and Ecuador. We roast and blend them on the premises. Our food is almost all made within 15 miles, and does not come wrapped in plastic or frozen for nuking in a microwave. Joanne and Frances have been with me since I opened the place almost four years ago and are more like partners than employees. Calling them Baristas was, in their eyes an insult.

“He was in on Saturday. Bobby George put a fiver in the tip jar and bought Ray his second coffee. Ray’s tip for the previous day had come in at 66/1,” said Frances.

“I’ve not been on duty since Thursday. He was in then”, said Joanne.

"It is not like him to miss a Monday," I said, feeling a bit worried.

“Why don’t you go around and see if he’s ok? We can hold the fort here,” suggested Frances.

Frances was old enough to be my mother, but I knew that what she was saying was right on the nail. He didn’t have anyone to keep an eye on him since his nearest friendly neighbour, Joyce Marshall went into a care home at the end of last September.

With a feeling of foreboding, I knocked on the door to Ray's cottage. There was silence from inside. Nothing moved. I'd never been there before, so I had no frame of reference to work from, but it didn't sound right.

I looked through the letterbox but could not see anything wrong. I could not hear the sounds of a TV or Radio. I knew from conversations that I and others had had with Ray over the months that he kept himself both informed and educated by listening to the Radio and watching some programmes on TV. For an instant, I wondered if he watched the racing on TV, but I forced that Idea to the back of my mind.

I looked through the front window, but all I could see was a dining room that looked perfectly normal. There was nothing for it, I had to go around to the rear of the cottage.

I didn’t need to look beyond the floor near the patio doors in his living room to see the problem. Ray lay there motionless. I strained my eyes and thought that I could see his chest rise and fall. Feeling both deeply worried and relieved, I pulled out my phone and dialled ‘999’.

"Police and Ambulance, please," I said to the operator when she answered.

“A friend of mine has fallen at home and is unconscious. I can’t get into his house.”

“My name is Alex Turner. My friend is Ray Stewart. He lives at 12 Church View in Ashurst.”

“Yes. I’ll wait on the scene. Please hurry. He may have been lying there for more than a day. I can see that he is breathing but...”

I hung up the phone feeling better about myself but even more deeply worried about Ray.

Then it struck me… I had not tried the back door.

It was locked. Good for Ray, but bad for me. I had to wait for the emergency services to arrive. My last job was to call the Coffee Shop, and give them the bad news.

“Frances, Ray is lying on the floor of his back room. I can’t get it. I have called the Police and Ambulance.”

"He seems to be breathing, but god only knows how long he had been there."

“Oh. Yes… I get you. Let me see,” I said to a suggestion from Frances.

I went over to the vent from Ray's central heating boiler. Gingerly, I put my hand over the outlet. Nothing was coming out of it. I touched the metal hoping that it was at least warm. It was cold, icy cold.

“His heating is off.”

“Yes, Frances, the vent is cold to touch.”

“Of, course I'm worried. He could be dying of hypothermia right before my eyes, and short of breaking in, I can so SFA[1] about it."

“Can you run the show for the rest of the day? I may be some time dealing with this. Knowing the PLOD like I do I’ll have to give them a statement. That may mean going into Horsham or even worse, Brighton.”

“Yes, Frances. The moment I have any news, I’ll let you know. Then you can spread the word.”

“Yes, Frances. No embellishments, understand? This is very serious ,and the last thing the village needs is this to be blown up out of all proportion. Ok?”

I hung up before Frances could argue. She was a great person but… she was a gossip that would beat the hind legs of most other gossipers in the area. Like all good story spreaders, she had this knack of slightly enhancing the story every time she told it.

The sounds of an approaching Ambulance made me put those worries to the back of my mind. The short time that I'd had to wait was surprising. I knew from a previous experience that Ambulances often had to travel from Brighton or even farther afield to get to our little slice of heaven in the middle of the Sussex countryside.

I went around to the front of the cottage to greet the crew of the Ambulance. I smiled briefly, when I recognised the two members of the crew from their visits to my shop.

“He’s visible through the patio doors. Everything is locked down tight.”

We all went around to the rear of the cottage. Ray was still there. His chest was moving slightly.

“We can’t wait for the Police. I’m going to kick the back door in,” said the driver of the Ambulance.

Neither, of us, disagreed.

The door flew open after the third kick, his heavy work boots had done the trick. I stood aside and let the paramedics get on with their work. Ray’s house was stone cold. The heating wasn’t on. I checked the thermostat in the hall. It was set to 5 degrees. I turned the dial ,and almost immediately I could hear the heating system start up.

After a moment's thought, I turned it off again. If Ray was suffering from concussion or hypothermia then he'd be taken off to the hospital, and the house didn't need heating if there was going to be no one living there.

The two paramedics were busy with Ray, so I went outside to await the arrival of the Police.

Two Police cars arrived together about ten minutes later. This time their sirens brought out all the neighbours. One of the Officers kept the more nosey-parker of the neighbours away while the other one went inside to get an update from the Paramedics.

A few minutes later, the officer who went into the house returned.

“How is Ray?” I asked.

“Who are you exactly?”

"I'm the one who made the call to 999. I run the 'Nags Head' Coffee shop. Ray is a regular, and he missed two days, so we got worried. I saw him on the floor and called you lot right away."

“He’s in a bad way. Hypothermia and a bad concussion from the fall. Do you know if he has a history of falling?”

I shook my head.
“As far as I know, he’s a good one. He does not walk funny if you know what I mean. No sticks or Zimmer frames. That tells me that he's not one for falling. I've never even seen a cut on his face from shaving, and his hands are as steady as mine."

“You sound as if you know him very well?”

"I know him because he comes into the coffee shop every day it is open. He is a regular, and we chat about a few things like the weather and his racing tip of the day. I might add that Ray never bets on a horse, but he says that it helps keep his mind active. Other than that, this is the first time I've been to his house."

“Thanks for being frank with me. Ms ???”

“Alex Turner. Alex is short for Alexandra. It was fine until bloody Amazon released their bloody stupid assistant.”

The officer smiled.
“I get you on that on. If we need to contact you, we’ll catch you at the Coffee Shop. The Paramedics told me that they kicked the door in. I’ll make sure that someone comes out to repair the damage later.”

“They are taking him to Hospital then?”

The officer nodded his head.
“They need to get him stable first.”

“Thanks.”

I made a move to walk away. Then I stopped.

"There is one thing. Ray's central heating was turned right down. I turned up the thermostat, and I heard the boiler come on."

The office smiled.
“I wondered why the place was so cold.”

“If you want my opinion, he was getting ready to go out when he fell. I could see that he was wearing his outdoor shoes and his coat was on the floor. His house slippers were by the kitchen door.”

“You are very observant Ms Turner.”

"I people-watch for a business. You hear all sorts of tales in a coffee shop but around half of it is… if you excuse my language, total gobshite. You soon learn to read people and their personalities."

“You seem to be an expert?”

I laughed.
“A good number of years ago, I spent six months in a Costa Rican Rainforest studying a family of Monkeys as part of my gap year. We aren’t so different from them in many respects. You’d be surprised at how many human characteristics they exhibit when you observe them for a while.”

“You seem to be putting that to good use now?” joked the officer.

"Hardly, but some things sort of stuck."

He nodded his head.

“If you could let me know which hospital he’s being taken to, I’ll make sure that he gets some visitors.”

“Do you know about his family?”

"He has a son and a daughter. The son lives in Coventry, and the daughter is up in Leeds or fairly close by. He does not talk about them much. From the little he says, they want him to go into a care home so that they can sell his home and pocket the money. They don't seem to know that if he does go into a home, the home will be used to pay for his care."

“How do you know all this?”

“Gossip in the coffee shop Officer. That was confirmed by another of our customers who works for Social Services.”

“You aren’t far wrong. It is a shame really. Far too many children can only think about how much money their parents are worth dead.”

“Blame society for that. I’ll bet that many of them are up to their ears in debt and can’t see any way out.”

Before he could answer, I said,
"I'll be getting back to the coffee shop. If you need me to make a formal statement, then you know where I am six days a week."

"Thanks, Ms Turner."

As soon as I opened the door to the coffee shop, the place fell silent. It seemed that Ray’s accident was already widespread knowledge; no doubt thanks to Frances.

I headed into the relative safety of my office at the rear of the shop and took off my coat. Then I closed my eyes and counted to ten… twice… backwards before heading back into the shop.

For once, I was glad that the planning department had refused our application to remove the long bar from the place. We've gotten used to it now, but it did give us a place to hide when we needed it.

“I’ll say this just the once.”

There were a few titters from the customers. That made me think. For an instant, I felt foolish because I’d used a catchline from an old BBC TV comedy series.[1]

“Ray is being taken to Hospital. I don't know which one yet, so don't ask. What we do know is that he suffered a fall in his kitchen. He may well be suffering from hypothermia as well as other things. The house was stone cold when the Paramedics broke the door down. He's alive but in a bad way. That's all I know, so don't bother asking me any more questions.”

There was a stony silence in the room. Two people hurried out the front door probably to start spreading gossip. I only hoped that it wasn’t embellished too much.

Others chatted amongst themselves in hushed tones. There were occasional furtive glances in my direction.

I can only take so much of that so I exited into the workroom at the back of the shop and got on with roasting the next batch of Guatemalan coffee beans.

God knows I tried to stop worrying about Ray, but I failed miserably. I liked the old bugger. He brought me down to earth regularly. For that, I would be eternally thankful.

Then I kicked myself for even starting to think about him in the past tense. He wasn't dead yet, and if I was any sort of judge of character, he would fight this.

[to be continued]

[1] The TV series was ‘Allo Allo’.
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086659/