M NINA

NINA

The narrow pathway leading down to the lake was overgrown with late
summer nettles and bracken. But Mark was oblivious to the stings and
scratches on his bare legs as he stumbled blindly through the tangled
undergrowth to the rocky lakeside, which was his sanctuary. Only when
he crouched there, hidden by the large, lichen covered boulders, did he
spill the tears that he had bottled up for so long.
Great, racking sobs convulsed his little body, as he mourned the death
of his beloved dog, Bella. Big, mad, brave Bella, who had been his
companion and guardian for as long as he had been on earth. Bella, who
had been seven years old when Mark had been born, and who had loved and
protected him as though he had been her own offspring. Bella, who had
been his loyal, trusted friend when everyone else had fallen out with
him. Bella, who had listened with sympathy to his heartfelt confidences
about everything and everyone. How could he ever live without that
special, unselfish love? That pure, unconditional love which knew no
pride, nor vanity - and which had now been extinguished with the twist
of a veterinary surgeon's knife. He wanted to scream at the unfairness
of it all. How was he ever going to exist in a life without her? Here,
in his safe, protected place, at least, he could give in to his anguish
in private. He could cry here in this place where he and Bella had come
so many times - and no one could touch him, or offer him useless
advice. Like the grown-ups, who had tried to make him feel better. He
thought scornfully of their stupid clich?s.
"Bella had had a good life," they said.
"Bella had had a good innings," (whatever that meant!) His parents had
promised him another dog. Another dog? He buried his face in his arms
and sobbed loudly and uncontrollably, lost in his
agony&;#8230;.
Minutes - or hours passed, and then Mark felt a light touch on his
shoulder. Startled, he looked up into a pair of kindly, green eyes.
Through a blur, he registered a thick mop of bright, copper curls
tumbling over a green T-shirt. It was a girl, about the same age as
himself. She didn't speak at all as she crouched down beside him and
wound her thin, little arms around his neck. She expected nothing from
him as she pressed him close to her chest and patted his head. She
smelled of peaches and Imperial Leather soap and she was kind. Mark
never cried in front of anyone. It was embarrassing to blubber, like a
baby. But it was, oddly, all right to cry in the arms of this girl. In
fact, at that moment, it was the most natural thing in the world.
At last, the tears stopped, and she gently pulled away. Mark bowed his
head a little sheepishly as he gratefully took the little pink
handkerchief that she offered him. When he looked up, he saw that her
own green eyes were now bright with sympathetic tears and her voice was
husky with compassion when she finally spoke.
"Do you feel better now?" She searched his face, anxiously.
"Y-y-yes, thank-you," gulped Mark, blowing his nose and mopping his
face with her handkerchief. He was grateful that she hadn't asked him
what was wrong, although he felt that he would now be able to tell her.
However, she rose abruptly.
"I have to go now," she said, turning away. She began to run into the
undergrowth, twigs snapping under her small feet. He suddenly felt
strangely bereft - as though something of great importance had been
snatched away. A second important thing that day was disappearing from
his life. A sense of panic engulfed him, and he called out,
"Wait! What's your name?" His voice was pleading.
"Nina," she called back over her shoulder. He shouted again.
"Where do you live?" She pointed to the far side of the lake, past a
rough stone wall separating the shore from a small campsite, where a
few holidaymakers came each year to enjoy the solitary beauty of the
lake and surrounding hills.
"See that orange tent? That's where I'm staying! 'Bye now!" And she
was gone. Mark waited until he saw her red curls reappear on the
opposite shore. Then, with a flash of copper and green, she disappeared
over the wall.
As he slowly walked home, he felt sad, but calmer. He knew that his
darling Bella was at rest after the weeks of the pain that she had
endured. At the very end she had not suffered. Her death had been
peaceful&;#8230;..He would wash and iron the little handkerchief and
tomorrow he would return it to the kindly girl with the copper
hair.
The next morning, he raced down to the lake, his eyes searching the
opposite shore and his heart filled with excited anticipation at the
thought of seeing her again. But then his heart sank. The orange tent
had gone.

Childhood merged into adolescence and then to adulthood. But not one
day passed without the image of Nina entering his mind. Each summer, he
would wander down to the lakeside with his dog, Bonnie, and he would
tell her all about the little girl who had been so kind to him. Only to
Bonnie did he confess his true feelings for Nina. Time and time again
he would fantasise times and places where they would meet, talk - and
then fall in love, get married and live happily ever after. He could
still feel her little arms around his neck and he could smell the peach
scent of her hair. Girlfriends came and disappeared without leaving any
lasting impressions on his emotions. He would, he knew, never be at
peace until he found her, his love. His Nina. Always, he carried her
little pink handkerchief around with him, and whenever he felt sad or
moody, his hand would creep into his pocket, where his fingers would
caress the fabric. And his anxieties would evaporate. His tensions
would be eased. But, though he searched streets and crowds, he never
saw her again.
To celebrate his twenty-second birthday and his successful graduation
from Veterinary College, his parents decided to throw a large party.
For weeks, the preparations had been underway! Food and drink were
ordered, the reception hall booked, the entertainment organised and
overnight accommodation for guests arranged. The list was endless and
Mark began to feel sorry that he had agreed to it all in the first
place.
But, as is the nature of these things, all went exactly as planned -
and the evening (when it arrived) promised to be a great success. Mark
stood, dutifully at the door of the hall, welcoming the guests and
receiving with thanks, the many cards and presents which they brought.
His mind drifted to Nina from time to time, and he found himself
fantasising about what would happen if she were to turn up at the
party&;#8230;.But he exercised the usual self-control and somehow
managed to channel his thoughts on the reality of the evening. He would
save his dreams for later on, when he was alone.
And then&;#8230;.from nowhere, she was there! She had arrived with
a distant relative from Norwich, with whom he had had no contact since
childhood. Mark took one look at his companion and everyone else in the
room seemed to evaporate. All he could see was a mop of bright, copper
curls, which tumbled over a vivid, green blouse. And her face. With
those same beautiful clear green eyes, now looking at him expectantly.
Waiting for a response to her subdued greeting. An excitement bubbled
up in his throat, constricting his speech so that the words that he had
so carefully rehearsed became an unintelligible mixture of
consonants.
"N-n-n-y-n!"
No-one appeared to notice, however, and the young woman held out her
hand, a slightly distant expression in her green eyes. Clearly, she had
not recognised him at all. Then Mark's heart sank. Her name, it seemed,
was 'Georgie.' It wasn't his Nina after all. But he had been so
sure&;#8230;. A raw pain cut through his chest and his hand
automatically sought the handkerchief in his pocket. What a fool he
was! Of course it wasn't Nina. How would he ever recognise her after
all these years? He had to pull himself together and get on with living
in the present, instead of hankering after an image of a ten-year-old
girl! His hand crept to his pocket, seeking comfort.
The handkerchief soothed him - but the evening was ruined as far as he
was concerned. He found himself unable to concentrate on small talk,
for his eyes were constantly drawn to the copper curls of the girl
sitting quietly in a corner of the room. Some hours later, he slipped
outside into the car-park for a breath of much-needed fresh air. He had
drunk a little too much beer, he knew - but the shock of thinking that
he had found his dream - and then having his hopes dashed - had been
almost too much to bear. Standing alone in the car-park, a wave of
sadness engulfed him and hot tears welled up in his eyes. Tomorrow he
would throw away the handkerchief. He would push Nina to some far
distant place in his memory and he would not think of her again. She
was ruining his whole life. He felt a sense of relief that he had
finally made the decision to let go. Just as she had helped him to make
the decision to let go of Bella all those years before. He sighed. She
would not want him to spend the rest of his life being
unhappy&;#8230;.
Suddenly, something attracted his eye and he looked up sharply. He was
not alone. The car-park lights caught the glint of copper curls as they
trembled and danced above the wall at the far end. Unmistakably, it was
Georgie - and she was alone and crying&;#8230;.sobbing loudly and
uncontrollably. Without a second's hesitation, Mark covered the short
distance between them and, bending down until his face was level with
hers, he put his arms around her shuddering shoulders. She leaned,
gratefully against his chest and he smelled the peaches in her hair. He
didn't speak for some time, giving her chance to cry. Just as she had
given him that chance by the lake. Finally, she seemed to calm down a
little and he found that he had been crying too. He managed to speak,
at last.
"Nina&;#8230;" he whispered. She looked up into his compassionate,
anxious face, her green eyes puzzled. She shook her copper curls,
"No-one has called me that for years," she said quietly. "Not since I
grew up and managed to get my tongue round 'Georgina.' Do I know you?"
She had stopped crying now.
Then, Mark reached into his pocket and drew out the little pink
handkerchief. He offered it to her and she took it with a muffled
'thanks,' and mopped her face. As she stared down at it, she seemed to
recognise it and her green eyes began to light up with dawning
realisation&;#8230;&;#8230;.
The End.

1,880 words