Intervention

I've had this one on ice for a while, because I couldn't decide if it made me sad or angry.

One Saturday in the summer, I was out shopping and called in to a cafe (it has 'restaurant' in it's title, but it really isn't) for a sneaky sausage and egg concoction.

As I find my table I notice a guy in the corner. He has the 'unwell' look of someone who maybe drinks too much, and doesn't have a permanent residence. His clothes are unkempt and he is unshaven, hair unwashed for a while, but with that suggestion that he's not all that dirty, so not a street drinker or rough sleeper.

He has his head down but his eyes are darting up frequently, scanning everything going on around him. His shoulders are rolled forward and he is repeatedly rearranging the items in front of him. My 'menatalhealth-ometer' pings.

I sit down, eat, drink, read the paper. As I'm finishing, two girls sit down behind me. Giggly teenagers in their best gear, lovely and hopeful for the day.

Second pass. There is a blur in my peripheral vision, a scream and chairs crashing. As I turn, I see two girls, mouths open after the initial scream, hot coffee covering them and their table, they are beginning to shake visibly with the onset of shock.

The man is a few strides away - but he's coming back, shouting.

"Don't look at me. That's what you get for looking at me..." becoming incoherent with rage. I put myself between him and the girls, arms outstretched, facing the girls telling them he won't come near them. Behind me, a man has got up and is restraining the shouter gently, calming him, talking soothingly.

Restraining guy begins to move the man away from the girls, who are now backed up to the window, crying and crouched. I speak to them, try to get them away from the window - a crowd of onlookers is gathering in the street outside, enjoying the morning show.

The manager makes his way over. As I get the girls sat down, the man is ejected.

The police and paramedics are called. They take over - they are good at their job, and after leaving my details, I go outside and take some deep breaths, have a fag, calm down.

I remember it all clearly, which is good, because two months later, the police call me to ask me to give a statement.

And what I remember, above all, is this.

The three big young guys at the table across from me haven't moved. Neither have any of the staff who are only feet away. The group of twentysomethings two tables away haven't moved.

The two people who have are me, five foot nothing and eight stone, and a guy of sixty two.