Chimma ran into the caff and threw her rucksack behind the counter. She grabbed an apron, hastily tying it behind her as her first customer approached the till.

  “I’ll have a soup and a drink, thanks.”

  There wasn’t really much choice besides that. Soup, or a sammich, and a glass of water. The water could be hot, for a price. But the soup was already hot, so it was cheaper to have soup and water and end up with a warm stomach than a cold sammich and hot water.

  The caff was old – older than even her gramps could remember. The faded sign outside suggested that there had once been a much wider menu, with such delicacies as chips and salad, but what they were, she could only guess.

  She served up the cup of hot soup – Chimma wondered what was floating in there as the ladle disturbed the depths – and the water – colour looked good – and moved on to the next customer.

  As the days grew longer Chimma’s heart grew lighter. The new City-Fest decorations beginning to go up. And in their faded world, City-Fest meant bright colours, good food, people laughing!

  Normal life was dull – in more ways than she could count. Food was almost enough. Rarely pleasant. And her stomach would often growl in the night. But ‘The City Survives and The City Thrives’, so it was all good, even though smiles were rare, and laughter even rarer.

  The caff’s City-Fest decorations had been up since last year, so the colours had long since faded. Sort of like the old sign above the door. They had new ones every year, and because they were the only thing that dressed up the deteriorating wallpaper, the manager usually decided to keep them up all year round. And as it was the caff nearest to the Fest-Park, where City-Fest was held, the neighbourhood referred to it as the Fest-Caff, to distinguish it from the caff at virtually every other major crossroads in The City.

  It was annoying to have to work while preparing for the Zam. She was so tired most nights that it was hard keep her eyes on her books. But Chimma had dreams, so it was worth it.

  Those who passed the Zam got to move Over the Hill. The jobs were better. The houses were nicer. And eventually she might even be able to move her family from their squalid partment stack to live with her there, and finally give them enough to eat.

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  Not that she didn’t enjoy working in the Fest-Caff. She got to meet most everyone in the neighbourhood. And it meant she could have a bowl of soup when it was cold in the Winner, or a sammich in the heat of Sunner. And enough time – just – to carry on studying.

  “Good afternoon Chimma, dear!” called old Mrs. Dea. Chimma greeted her with a smile. Mrs. Dea always made sure to find her at the busy counter.

  “Good afternoon back at you, Mrs. Dea!” she returned. “How are you today? Haven’t seen you for a while.”

  “Yeah, I had the Sick the other week, so had to stay home. Health visitor today gave me the green light, so I’m out to bug you again. Oops,” she gave a cheeky grin, “bug-free now, actually!”

  She passed a bowl of steaming soup over to Mrs. Dea, a bit fuller than usual – Mrs. Dea often didn’t eat if she wasn’t in the Fest-Caff – and glanced out the window. The weather had changed, and the second suddenly of the day was attacking the windowpanes with pelting rain.

  “Look at that, you got here just in time, Mrs. Dea,” she told her. “There’s a nice table over there for you.”

  As she pointed to a table near the window, she noticed a man walking through the rain, head bowed, hands in his pockets, fighting the wind.

  This time of day, most people their age were at their jobs, and the caffs were full of the people Mrs. Dea’s age, who were too old to work.

  A few more customers served – Mr. Jay, Mr. Jopper, Mrs. Lark – and then she saw him again. And again.

  Was he doing laps around the block? In this rain?

  Interesting.

  Most people didn’t come out in a suddenly unless they had to. In high Sunner, it was usually much too hot to wear anything to protect yourself from the wind and rain. And since it usually lasted an hour at most, if you didn’t have to get to work, you would usually wait it out.

  But shouldn’t he be working? He looked too old for studying. Then again, she was, too.

  There was a lull in customers, as usual once the rain started.

  He went past the window again!

  Something pushed her out from behind the counter to the door. What was it? Compassion? Stupidity? She should take the minutes she had spare to open her tablet.

  But instead, she stood at the door and shouted, “Hey, you! It’s awful wet out there! Do you want to come inside?”

  The bedraggled figure stopped and turned, shocked out of whatever thoughts had been going through his mind.

  “Oh, uh, no, thanks ….” But he didn’t look convinced.

  “C’mon, the soup looks good today. You look like you could use some.”

  He shrugged, walked back to the door, and splashed his way into the Fest-Caff.

  Chimma didn’t recognise him. Maybe he looked different dry. But then she often didn’t work at letting-out time so didn’t see the pre-Curfew crowd.

  He was dripping into a growing puddle near the door. She motioned toward the nearest table and told him to sit down.

  “Are you sure you want me in here? I’m making a mess of your floor. Maybe I should just go…”

  “No, I’ll bring a mop over in a minute, once I get you something to eat.” And off Chimma went to dish up another cup of soup and a drink.