Time to Pay the Bill

A gentle breeze played counterpoint to the warm six o’clock sun as Thomas sat enjoying his final coffee amidst the early evening bustle of the Grote Markt Square. Antwerp had always been a favourite place for him. It seemed fitting that this was where it would all end. The breeze was cool yet gave him a warmth as he sat and listened to the Brabo Fountain. School children took photos alongside tourists and Thomas sipped his coffee quietly. He had already spotted the glint of the end across the other side of the square and if he’d wanted to he could have tricked himself into believing that it was just the reflection of the sun jumping off the golden figures on top of the buildings. But he knew very well what it was. He smiled to himself. A good place, he thought. The figures that stood watch over the square for so many years had seen all that time could throw at it and Thomas wondered to himself if they would evening notice what was about to happen or whether it would pass them by, lost to the echos of the square. 

To others it might have appeared almost morbid for one to choose their ending; to be allowed to say when and where. For Thomas it was a reward. He had grown up wanting to make a difference to the world, and as the waiter nonchalantly placed a bowl of lasagne on the table, Thomas felt that he had. Not that anyone would know, of course, but that was part of the deal. Another glint. Thomas thought about waving. No. That would be unfair. The person behind the gold figure might not be able to go through with it. He began to eat his final meal. It wasn’t the best lasagne in the world. He would have gone somewhere else for that. He was here for the coffee and to simply listen. He loved to hear the languages bouncing around the square’s stoic buildings. German, Dutch, Flemish, English, Pakistani, Mandarin. Each one delivering a memory almost as nonchalantly as the waiter delivered his food. The breeze picked up slightly and as he took a mouthful Thomas’ napkin flew off the table, almost out of reach. He would have stood up, but that was a signal; a very specific signal. He stretched across the arm of his chair and managed to grab the napkin, but waited just long enough to know that he had worried the person behind the gold statue. He smiled to himself before bringing himself back up to his lasagne. He had spent his entire life, as far as he could remember, looking over his shoulder and preparing for the worst. This was the first time he could think of that he had simply sat and enjoyed a meal without the fear of the next phone call, or the telltale sign of an impending altercation with a worthy yet expendable foe. The cool breeze still kept him warm and he smiled. Two bikes rattled across the stone square, the cathedral bells chimed the half hour and an accordion played a tune he had not heard before. He listened. The scream of a young girl who had dared to run under the flowing water of Brabo bounced across the square. First the horror of the cold, then the laughter of her friends. He would wait until they had gone. That was a nice memory and he didn’t want to ruin it for them. 

The lasagne was finished and another coffee arrived. Thomas had never drunk alcohol but thought he might like to try it, just once. After a moment of consideration he decided against it. He knew he liked the coffee and that was a good enough end.

The breeze picked up once more and for the first time Thomas noticed the flagpoles round the square. They fluttered dutifully, advertising the next municipal tourist attraction; a production of Macbeth in a fort near Flanders. He might have gone to see it if he had had the time. He had never seen a production from start to finish. Any time spent in a theatre was generally for nefarious reasons and if no one died on stage they certainly would have done off stage. Death, as a concept had never bothered Thomas. He had always felt sorry for those who could never quite come to terms with the end. “Being here on earth was nothing more than a fluke of nature and how we leave it is just as random.” Those words had always rattled around in his head, from the day that his father, or who had known as his father, had said them. It was simple, but it worked for Thomas. He felt himself lucky to be sat where he was and there was nothing random about his leaving. He had chosen the time and the place. Not many people got to say that about their end. 

The sun started to dip behind the town hall and the radiating warmth was replaced with a much cooler shadow. Outdoor terrace tables started to empty and other people’s friends and family, that he was surrounded by, drifted away or inside. Perfect timing, he thought. Fewer people. He had, on occasion, wondered what a family might have felt like. Not enough to regret not having one, but just enough for him to have been curious once or twice. As he finished his final coffee he was content that he had made the right choice. He had changed the world, many times over. That was enough. 

The final table cleared and the glint flashed before him once more. Time to pay. He opened his wallet and left enough euros to cover the food as well as a decent tip. It wouldn’t be enough to make up for what the waiter was about to deal with, but it might ease the stress a little. The waiter picked up the leather folder and hurried inside. Thomas finished his water. He wasn’t thirsty, but he liked things to be tidy. 

It was time for the very specific signal. Thomas stood up and a final glint flashed before him. It had been so quick, it was as if one of the gold figures had come to life to see him on his way. He had paid.