Manhattan, Manchester, and The New York Doll hears a ping...

When it comes to mobiles and wi-fi and satellites and social media, the world is a small damned place.

We’re all just next door to each other. Just through the wall. Only round the corner. A mere stone’s throw away. Sprawled on top of each other. Fighting for space and elbow room.

But when it comes to affairs of the heart, no amount of electronic whispering sweet nothings can lessen the painful reality of 3,346 air miles of cold, hard physical separation.

You can’t reach out and touch somebody’s hand when you’re on the west side of the UK and they’re on the east side of the US.

You can’t hug and squeeze them. Slide skin against skin. Feel their heartbeat against the palm of your hand. Hear it with your ear against their chest. It just ain’t gonna happen.

The New York Doll is in the coffee shop. She was made in Manhattan in 1985. Came to London in 2010. Met the love of her life in Manchester in 2013. Felt the heart wrenched out of her chest in 2014 when he got transferred to New York. She loves it here. He loves it there. So they text their love over the air. Each one knowing that the feelings they have are fading fast. Like breath escaping from a crushed set of lungs.

She’s in the queue in front of me. Trying her best to shuffle and text at the same time. She looks like a young Bette Middler. The Divine Miss M. All voice, curls and kiss-my-ass sass. Little Italy loves everything about her.

The New York Doll’s animated thumbs stop. She looks up. Sees Little Italy looking at her. Hiya honey, she says. Little Italy smiles. Hey Doll, she says. She sees the sadness in The New York Doll’s eyes. You think he’ll come back, she says. Sure. Any day now. A lie to hide the pain. Gimme one of those large Americanos with some dippin’ biscuits honey, she says. Little Italy says sure and nods once.

She turns and puts the stainless steel machine behind her through its paces. Fills a mug with black gold. Picks up a tray. Puts the mug on it, next to a plate with three large dippin’ biscuits. Puts it on the counter and picks up the payment in silver.

The New York Doll picks up the tray, heads for the edge of the galaxy. Upstairs. Far end of the balcony. Where she can just let everything go. Stop pretending. Stop wishing. Stop telling herself the lies. Shed a few tears where nobody else can see.

But downstairs, behind the bar, Little Italy sees. And she sighs, just like she always does whenever the Doll disappears into the shadows. And she looks at the box on the wall, just like she always does whenever she needs a little backup. And the box duly obliges. Upstairs, the Doll sits down. Digs for a tissue. Dabs her eyes. Picks up a biscuit and gets ready to dip.

The box on the wall knows how to turn feeling bad into feeling good. It digs deep. Pulls number 113 from a stack and slides it onto the turntable.

The curtains open. There’s a single light shining on a grand piano on the stage. Sitting at the black and whites is Neil Sedaka. Not the young, smiley, fast singing Neil. The older, slow singing, more soulful Neil. The breaking up is hard to do, Neil.

The New York Doll hears the ping of a text. She looks down at the phone on her table. Sees the screen. Sees his name. Her heart skips a beat. The text says “Look behind you”. She turns. Fast. He smiles.

And 3,346 air miles change to about six feet in the blink of an eye...

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The above is an extract from my book Love & Coffee (available from all good Amazons).

It's about the lives and loves of the customers in a city centre coffee shop.

And it's about the woman who takes care of them.

You'll find Love & Coffee (along with all my other books, Ad Lib, Ad Hoc, Ad Infinitum, and Heaven Help Us) waiting for you to fall in love with, any time of the day or night. Right here...

Love & Coffee: https://amzn.to/28IWaHq

Ad Lib: https://amzn.to/2kd4LKf.

Ad Hoc: https://amzn.to/2Nx8GL8

Ad Infinitum: https://amzn.to/3pof7Uq

Heaven Help Us: https://amzn.to/2nkQ1Jk

So grab a coffee, grab a chair, and grab a sneaky peek.

Then grab a copy as fast as you can...