People, shivering inside thick coats, bunched in couples and small groups around red formica high tables. The train station café was cold. Cold enough that Melly could see the wetness of her breath. Cold enough that Lou curled her fingers inside her gloves, letting the knitted fingers flap free. She lifted her paper coffee cup with her fists. Melly wore her scarf wrapped three or four times anaconda-like round her neck. Her woollen cap was pulled down over her forehead. Only her eyes and flushed red cheeks were visible to Lou. The rest of the space between Melly’s cap and scarf was filled with frenzied red hair.
Melly watched bursts of steam gather around Lou’s chapped lips as Lou sipped the coffee. Lou didn’t own a hat. She kept her hood up. The hood framed her face with a ring of fake fur.
‘This cold is hellish,’ Lou said, breaking the ice.
‘I wish I were dead,’ Melly said, re-freezing the space between them.
