I felt mortified by the butter wedged under my girlfriends fingernails during that pricey Sunday brunch… until I realised the man in the flawless suit across from us couldnt even pay for his own avocado toast.
The place was one of those trendy cafés, the sort where prices arent marked in pounds and you see more leafy plants on the walls than there are chairs. The whole space seemed to breathe around us. It was Sunday. The one day when we all pretend lifes as simple as it looks on the outside.
Id spent two hours getting ready. Make-up, hair, a dress that neither fit my body nor my wallet. Just so I wouldnt stand out. Especially not in front of Emily and her new fiancé.
James was precisely the sort of man social media parades about as “successful.” Pressed suit. Confident grin. Expensive cologne that hung in the air like ambition. He worked in “finance and tech”said it like that explained everything. He spoke loudly, commandeering the table before our coffees even arrived.
Then William showed up.
He was twenty minutes late, straight from a call-out. He smelled not of aftershave, but of oil, cold metal, and a long, gritty day. He still wore his steel-toe boots, and his hi-vis jacket hung over his shoulder as if it was part of him. His jeans were stained at the cuff. When he sat beside me, I saw the black grease ground under his nailsdeep, stubborn, the sort only time, not soap, can budge.
When he pulled out his chair it screeched through the café music, turning a few heads.
I spotted the look Emily shot his boots, then up at Jamess suit, and lastly back at me, her smile twisting with an unspoken something that stung and irked me at the same time.
I shrank in my seat.
You couldnt have at least washed your hands, Will? I whispered under my breath.
William met my gaze, tired but not offended. It wasnt the exhaustion of a bad nights sleepbut a weariness that sat in his bones.
Sorry, love, he said quietly. Burst water main in the city centre. Had to hold things together until the next crew got in. Barely had time for a rinse.
He just ordered a black coffee and two rashers of bacon. No cocktails, no artisan toast. Just what got him through the day.
For the next hour, James held court as if he were on stage. He talked about “freedom,” “passive income,” how some people “still trade their time for money” because they “dont get how the system works. He laughed at those who slog hard, as if honest work was a personal failing.
He eventually turned to Williamwith the sort of condescending kindness that has its own aftertaste.
Look, Will, I could sort you out. Get you away from those tools. Someone like you shouldnt be breaking his back at your age. Use your head, not your hands.
I held my breath.
Will sipped his coffee.
I like my job, he said quietly. Someone needs to keep the city running. When the power goes out, you cant fix it with talk. Someones got to get dirty and put it right.
James flashed a patronising smile.
Thats noble and all. But dont you want more? Travel, shopping without checking the price tags, living large?
That jab landed close. Because I did want “more”I wanted spotless Sundays, clean hands, a life that didnt reek of fatigue. I hated myself for having that thought, but it had crossed my mind. Why did my life feel so heavy when Emilys seemed to float?
Thats when the bill arrived.
A ridiculous sum. The kind that drags you back to reality with a thud.
My treat, James said, grabbing the bill folder like a prize. He dropped a heavy bank card onto the table with a flourish, his eyes waiting for applause. Lets celebrate.
We waited.
The waitress returned, looking sheepish.
Im sorry, sir your cards declined.
Silence fell.
James laughed a bit too quickly.
That cant be right. Try again.
She did.
Im really sorry insufficient funds.
His face blushed, then drained. He started frantically poking at his phone, muttering about “errors” and “pending transfers.” I glimpsed his screenno error, just a dry message: limit nearly maxed, payment overdue.
Uh Ive not got any cash, he mumbled. Could one of you cover it? Ill pay you right back.
Emily stared at her hands.
I glanced in my purse. Not a chance.
William didnt smirk. He didnt lecture. He didnt shame.
He reached into his worn jeans pocket and pulled out a wad of banknotesreal money, earned by the hour. Calmly, he counted out the bills and slid them to the waitress.
Keep the change, he said softly.
As he stood, I heard his back creaka body that remembered the day. He put a hand on Jamess shouldernot to gloat, but to steady him.
Dont worry, Will said. We all get bad months.
We left.
In the car park, James and Emily walked toward their brand-new electric cargleaming, silent, immaculate. James tugged at the handle. Nothing. Again. Still locked.
He glanced at his phone, and his face collapsed.
Its been blocked missed the payment
Will led me to his battered old pickup. A dent in the bumper, mud on the tyres. Insidetools, helmet, blueprints, crumpled receipts. Nothing for show. Just for work.
He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life without a hitch. No drama. It was his.
I watched his hands on the wheel. The oil under his nails, the fresh burn on his thumb. Suddenly, they didnt look dirty to me.
They looked honest.
You alright? Will asked. I know I turned up in a state Ill get a good wash when were home.
I took his handrough, warm, steady.
Dont apologise, I said. I think youre the only real thing in this city.
Were taught to worship the image of success, and to look down on the work that keeps the world turning. To believe a suit means strength, and work clothes mean trouble.
But that Sunday, I learned something simple:
Value isnt shown at the table.
Its revealed when the bill comes due.
When the mask slips.
When someone settles up, quietly and kindlyand doesnt need to make anyone else feel small.
And if youve got someone coming home tired, hands holding up the world
thats all the shine youll ever need.
Its proof something still works somewhere
because of him.
So what do you think real success isshow or substance?
