To the New Year

As was his habit, Derek strolled the length of the park and back before stopping to rest at his favourite bench opposite the emus’ enclosure (third on the right when facing north). This particular bench was one of the very few scattered about the park which bore commemorative plaques; in this case, a small brass rectangle with the name Jessica Swinfen engraved upon it. Beneath the name were the words Fruitstock organiser. Extraordinary woman. Very curly hair. Derek thought it an unusual tribute, but liked the pragmatism of the two descriptions and felt that they somehow lent weight to the single compliment sandwiched between them. He wondered if this too were Ms Swinfen’s favourite bench (surmising that Ms was probably the most appropriate title for the deceased, whose inscription gave no clue to her marital status). Perhaps it was the bench’s vantage point of the zoo that had drawn her to it - as it had him. Derek was fond of London zoo, and always enjoyed his walks through Regents Park, particularly on quiet days like today. Most of all, he liked the emus. It was certainly a chilly afternoon however, and he wondered if the poor creatures felt the cold as they rustled back and forth along the perimeter fence of their small compound, tussling their feathered skirts like bedraggled cheerleaders. January the first, just another day he reasoned. Still, he could taste that faint tang of potential in the air, even in this perennially constant place. Derek felt he knew a thing or two about potential. Potential was a constant companion to many men - and women, of course. It was potential’s bedfellow, fruition, which proved to be the more elusive – in Derek’s experience at least.

One thing that could be counted on was the passage of time. It would be dark soon. Derek did not mind this eager stealth of the sun in the winter months; in fact it was sometimes convenient. “The shortening of a day is not always a bad thing,” he muttered aloud, thinking of his home in Camden Square and those late summer evenings that lured children out onto the street, yelping and cursing outside his window till all hours of the night.

Derek took a small chrome flask from the side pocket of his overcoat and, using its cap as a cup, poured himself some tea laced with rum – a favourite tipple of his father’s, God rest his soul. The flask had been a complimentary gift with a stationary order he had placed at work. No one else had wanted it (he’d been sure to enquire, thinking it only fair, as the flask was, after all, rightfully company property) and so Derek had taken it home with him, knowing it would be of use on just this type of occasion.

A couple strolled past him, each with a floppy arm encircling the other’s waist - the way young lovers seemed to do these days. What ever happened to holding hands? He wondered. Far more dignified than dangling from each other, limbs entwined like capuchin monkeys. He caught snatches of their conversation as they passed: the young chap’s confessions of drunkenness the night before and her New Year resolutions. (Something to do with chocolate and a treadmill at the gym with her name on it.) Derek imagined that the majority of Britain would be doing the same right now: spilling over with hazy regret and empty promises whilst nursing the remains of the hangover they have earned from their bacchanalian exploits the night before.

There were several people scattered about the field behind him. Two teenagers playing football and another young couple with a little girl in tow, trailing after their dogs, their weary calls to heel ignored by both dogs and child. Unlike the toddler’s spiteful rebellion, it appeared to Derek that the animals were simply lost in their own world, intent on tracing each other’s scents and play fighting with other errant pets. The diversity of breeds never ceased to amaze Derek, who was baffled by the pocket size variety of miniature canines peering out of women’s shoulder bags in those glossy magazines he scanned whilst waiting for the dentist. What on earth possessed these women to carry animals around likes dolls, stuffing the poor creatures into a pouch beside their mobile phone? Derek didn’t understand the young women of today - nor the lads for that matter. The girls with their androgynous frames and the boys, well; he simply couldn’t understand why they chose to wear their denim jeans unbelted and barely covering the hem of their boxer shorts – or indeed those sombre hoods that gave them the same odious facade as the grim reaper. Actually, the hooded youths’ resemblance to Franciscan monks had occurred to him first, but Derek simply could not marry the image of men of the cloth shoving each other boisterously whilst barking expletives. Then again, nor could he envisage the grim reaper escorting some unfortunate soul into the afterlife with the words “Gotta admit it man, you well deserved that ‘cos you’re a wanker, innit?”

His rumination was abruptly cut short by the rasping pant of a muddy pawed but otherwise white Scottish terrier sniffing at his shoes. Derek regarded the little dog for a moment as it attempted to polish his stiff brown lace ups with a lipstick pink tongue. Suddenly Derek heard the name Peggy being called, each shrill syllable a separate note ringing through the still air. Further along the path stood a woman holding a leash, looking frantically about her. Derek noted the plumpness of her body beneath the taut woollen coat, and the way her chestnut coloured hair lifted away from her forehead, twisting back onto its self in loose curls that framed a wide pleasant face with flushed cheeks. As if feeling his stare, she turned, catching sight of both Derek and the dog. Spreading her arms in mock exasperation, she strode hurriedly towards him. Derek nodded in understanding and leant down to take hold of the inquisitive animal’s collar. The dog, realising instinctively that its liberty was about to be curtailed, scurried away from him, circling his would be captor warily. By now, the woman was just a few feet away.
“You bad dog! Honestly,” she huffed, throwing an apologetic smile in Derek’s direction. “Peggy can be awfully nosey. She picks up the scent of something and she’s off!” Derek nodded awkwardly.
“Do you have a dog?”
“Sorry? Uh, no.” As Derek ‘s eyes now met hers fully for the first time he was struck dumb for a second by the depth of her gaze. Her sapphire stare was illuminated further by the wide ingenuous smile she proffered. Derek found himself mumbling inanely.
“Don’t mind me!” she piped brightly as she plonked her pneumatic frame down on the bench. “I’ve been running around after this naughty girl for half an hour!” She gestured towards the terrier, which came towards her with its head bowed humbly. The woman leant forward and rubbed the animal’s ears briskly with both hands. “What are you? Yes, you’re a cheeky girl!”
Derek sat uncomfortably beside her; not knowing whether it would be better to get up and leave or guide the woman’s ramblings into some semblance of a conversation. He decided the most appropriate thing would be to wait to see if she addressed him once more.
“Funny that. She must smell something on you.” The woman turned her whole body towards him quickly, declaring her deduction triumphantly. “Aha, a cat!”
“Uh, no, I’m afraid not.”
The woman slumped at hearing Derek’s response, seemingly crestfallen.
“Oh. Thought I had it there.”
“No. Sorry.”
“Never mind,” she shrugged, “Looks like we’ll never know.” And then she peeled off an ancient blue suede glove and held out her hand for Derek to shake. “My name is Mae.”
Derek offered his hand in turn and the two of them laughed self-consciously, giving the encounter a sudden sense of formality. As she smiled again, Derek noticed how one of her front teeth stood just slightly askew of the other, considering it to be quite a charming imperfection.
“Just how long do you think that path is?” She gestured vaguely over her shoulder towards the park’s main promenade. “It seems to go on forever!”
Derek smiled at her blitheness.
“I believe you mean the Broad Walk. It is seven hundred metres start to finish.” He replied. “Though of course that’s not an exact figure.”
At this, the painted lines that fashioned Mae’s eyebrows shot up, forming two perfect arches. Like bridge supports, thought Derek.
“Ooh, a man of numbers!” she exclaimed with delight. “I respect a man who knows his figures.”
Derek acknowledged the compliment with an embarrassed nod.
Unabashed by his taciturn manner, Mae persisted. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t give it - sorry. My name is Derek”
He felt himself squirming a little beneath her gaze. Oblivious to her new acquaintance’s discomfort, Mae continued to regard him as if she were sizing up a cut of beef for Sunday roast.
“A doctor?” She ventured, and then shook her head emphatically. “No, no. You’ve none of the airs and graces those lot carry with them.” Mae placed a small pink hand on his arm. “I mean that in a good way.”
Not wanting to interrupt her, Derek said nothing. He liked her inquisitiveness, her liveliness.
“Hmm, good with sums. A stockbroker!”
Derek hated to disappoint her, but he knew he must. “Nothing quite so adventurous. Just an accountant I’m afraid.”
“Well fancy that!” She shrilled. “My uncle Harry was an accountant. Good man my uncle Harry - very clever.”
“I haven’t seen you in the park before. Do you come here often?” He’d spoken without thinking. As the words fell from his mouth, Derek cringed at the banality of the question they shaped. Mae didn’t seen to mind.
“Have only been in the area for a week.” She replied brightly. “Until recently I had a house in St John’s Wood.” She paused, her gaze shifting to the middle distance. “Downsizing I think they call it.”
And Derek thought he saw her soft features melt into sadness for just a second as she scanned the undergrowth of the compound opposite for signs of life. He felt it time to assert himself.
“I’m afraid you’ve missed the Emus; they’ve have long since bedded down for the evening. I don’t think they are too fond of the dark.” He watched his own voice pull her back to earth.
“What? Oh.” It took her a second to process his words. “Are there Emus? How marvellous.” Mae caught sight of the flask and the cup Derek had been holding. “Ooh, that isn’t tea is it?”
Derek nodded, “Would you like some? I must warn you that it has a little rum in it.”
“All the better.” Mae took the small cup between her palms, relishing the heat of the metal as he poured out more of the pungent milky brew.
Bringing it to her lips, she drained the vessel in one long draft then let out an appreciative sigh. “That was lovely.” She said, handing back the cup. “Looks like I picked the right bench.” And with that, she laughed, her eyes ablaze once more, warming Derek’s body in a manner he had not experienced for years.