Bells

Barefoot and bra-less. That's how I remember her. Funny, really, the
things that stick in your mind. We used to work for the local council,
both clerical assistants. She
floated around the office in a swirling, patterned Indian cotton skirt
and sleeveless
black vest, an array of glittering bangles adorning each arm like
golden snakes, her
long crimped hair falling down her back like some dark waterfall. Her
feet were
usually bare and she wore a silver ankle bracelet on her left foot.
Attached to its
delicate chain were three bells which jangled as she walked. That was
over twenty
years ago, when she was just eighteen.

Looking at her now, sipping a cappuchino at the table opposite, I want
to believe that
beneath the tailored suit, the sensible court shoes, the geometric
bobbed hairstyle, the
girl I once knew is still there. Somewhere.
"So, David, tell me you of all people haven't fallen into the married
with children trap
yet?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Just making polite conversation. Only most of my friends are part of a
couple now.
And you always swore you'd never marry, remember? I'm the odd one out,
not
having succumbed to the biological clock that I'm told is ticking away
like a time
bomb."
"Are you married?" I asked, conscious that I had not answered her
question. She
seemed not to have noticed.
"Not me," she replied firmly. "No way." She paused, studying the froth
that had
accumulated on the neck of her teaspoon. "I have a good career now. I'm
not giving
that up for anyone."
"What happened to your dream of joining Greenpeace and saving the
whales?" I
reminded her.
She laughed. "I grew out of that. I grew up."
For a fleeting moment I thought I detected a hint of sadness in her
voice. But only
briefly.
"I run one of the biggest Advertising Agencies in Europe. I bet you'd
never have
imagined that."
"You're right," I agreed. "Never in my wildest dreams."

It seemed like only yesterday that we were lying on the grass together,
hand in hand,
enjoying the summer sun. Her sweet face so close I could almost breathe
her into me,
her smile dissolving when I told her it was over. Tears falling.
She glanced at her watch.
"I have to get back to the conference. Thanks for the coffee. It was
nice, bumping
into you after all this time."

I didn't tell her I'd planned to see her, that as soon as I knew she'd
be speaking at the
conference I'd jumped on the tube and waited outside the venue until
the lunch break.

As she walked away I wanted to reach out and stop her, and for a moment
I thought I
heard the jangle of bells. Then she was gone. I paid the bill, put on
my coat and went
home. If I hurried I'd get back in time to help Angie get the tea ready
while our two
kids watched the teletubbies.

ENDS