In the Eye of the beholder

In the Eye of the Beholder

A Short Story
By
Johnnie Atherton

The woman on the riverbank had red hair, tied back in a bun. Her fade
grey jeans and sloppy, button-up cardigan hid her figure, which was so
slight that at a distance she could have been taken for a man. Closer,
it was clear that she was no more than twenty-five, smooth complexioned
and above all, beautiful. It was therefore all the more sad that she
should have a look of complete dejection.
She leaned against an old willow, toying with her hands. Intertwining
her fingers, inspecting her palms, and making a concerted effort to
hold back the stinging tears becoming ever more insistent at the corner
of her eyes. Why did he do it today, of all days? Why on my birthday?
She moved her head with a quick jerk and stared across the river
through a sea mist of salty water. Her body shuddered and her tears now
flowed unchecked, tracking a wavering line of mascara down her cheek.
She took out a tissue, and with a hurried glance around to see if
anyone could see her, she wiped away the offending goo as best she
could. She felt wretched.
The day had started so well. Simon had picked her up at her parents and
together they had taken lunch at the roof restaurant in the park. There
had been no hint in his voice, no betraying sign that he was going to
say what he did. It happened after the dessert. I'm sorry, Sarah, but
it's all over.
At least he had not dragged it out, but after nearly two years
together, she did feel she was entitled to a little more consideration.
He had left quickly, obviously not wanting to get embroiled in any
recriminations, or a scene. She had not been able to do a thing. It had
come as too much of a shock.
That had been over two hours ago, and since then, time had dripped away
ceaselessly, eroding her resolve to remain calm. When she thought back,
she realised she should have seen it coming from afar. His extra days
with the boys, the long weekend walks, sometimes overnight in Wales.
And of course, Lisa had always been around when a walking companion was
required. Her best friend?. Her best enemy!
Sarah had long realised she was a beautiful woman. She had never
flaunted it, and indeed, more often than not, she tried to disguise
herself by putting her hair into a severe bun and wearing old,
shapeless clothes. It had come as a shock when Simon had said that was
one of the reasons he was leaving her. He felt she never did justice to
herself. She had done it for him, to ward off the creeping snakes who
used to love to paw and maul without invitation. You really hurt me
when you said that, you bastard! Good looks don't automatically come
with a heart of Brass, you know.
Her troubled meanderings had taken her unknowingly to the suspension
bridge by the old boathouse, now a coffee shop. Her mouth felt dry.
Probably wept most of my body fluids away --- pools of dissolved,
distraught Sarah bestrewing the park? She smiled at the notion in spite
of herself. She paid for the tea and sat at a table on the edge of the
river. I suppose I asked for it in a way. I never did pay much
attention to him when he'd hint at me getting a dress instead of a pair
of jeans. Blow him!
She glanced around at the other patrons. A middle-aged couple were in
the middle of what appeared to be a very tight-lipped domestic
argument. Neither wishing to reveal their matrimonial disharmony in
public. A young boy was dribbling his ice cream over the head of the
house cat. His parents were unaware. She smiled at the picture and
turned her attention back to her drink.
"May I sit here?" It was the voice of a man about thirty, proffering
his cup and saucer and hesitantly moving towards her table.
"Please do." She nodded, gave him a tight smile and looked back at her
drink as he seated himself. She looked back. He smiled. Oh no! Don't
start a conversation. That's the last thing I want. He seemed to be on
the verge of wanting to say something, leaning towards her. He seemed
embarrassed.
That's his problem?God, Sarah, stop feeling so bloody sorry for
yourself, and don't take it out on some other poor sod!
"Nice Day," she said.
"Yes, isn't it just." He stopped, then rubbing his nose, "Er, aren't
you Sarah Brown?" He rushed on, "I only ask because someone said you
dropped in here a lot and you had red hair. Not much of a description,
I know."
She inclined her head slightly; genuinely amused at his halting attempt
to ask what in reality was a simple question. She moistened her
lips.
"Yes, I am. Who's asking?"
"Brian. Brian Dempsey. I make furniture and have a little place on the
Harbin Lane industrial estate. I believe you upholster. I need someone
to do work for me. Can we talk?"
Sarah relaxed. This was business. This she could handle.

Sarah Dempsey stretched out on the sun lounger and smiled across at
Brian. He had never mastered the art of the barbecue. He was already on
the second pack of firelighters and the fluid was just about gone. She
would have to help him out shortly. He might be fifty-two, but he still
quite a catch, even in his silly, ''Billy Bull'' pinafore. Her mind
went back fondly to their first meeting, when she on the rebound, had
been made an offer she had been unable to refuse - cover my furniture.
It had been exactly what she had needed. She had thrown herself into
the work and the weeks had flown by. In fact a whole year went by
before she realised she had fallen in love with her boss. It took him a
little longer, but she convinced him of it eventually.
There was one aspect of those early days that always amused her, and
she smiled at the recollection. That day, in the coffee shop, she knew
she looked a sight. Another day, she might have been considered at her
best, or at least presentable. It had made no difference to Brian. He
was partially sighted, and the only way he had been able to distinguish
her, as she sat at the table, was as a figure with a reddish top. And
her real attractiveness??.. She could upholster chairs.