Suffusing her image, knowledge of her marital state, a cold husband, sexlessness. Mirror of my own situation. Her heart and mine, beating in lonely unison. Her skin in need of the touch of a caring man. Her neck’s nape waiting for lips’ caresses. My fingers on her shoulders massaging out their tension. Kisses on her spine.
Meeting up with everyone, saying hello, hugs and pecked cheeks all round. No Laura. The day’s excitement deflating. Setting off on the walk, London’s skyline on the grey horizon. Some kites sailing off with the brisk wind, tugging their strings. My friends making amiable conversation. My responses sounding wooden to me, but nobody apparently noticing.
Somebody saying, hey, hurry up, we’re supposed to be meeting the others, we’re running late. My heart lifting. Which others? Unable to ask, don’t want to show too much interest.
Walking into a pub, bumping into a crowd of people coming the other way. Jostling around. Looking sideways by chance. There, three feet away, Laura. Looking at me. Our eyes meeting. An unexpected coincidence.
Smiling at her. Her face smiling back. Somehow, within the smiles, a sense of additional information, a mutual recognition, something beyond words. Her hair darker and shorter than in my memory, just as beautiful. Her figure slightly rounder, I had remembered her as very slender, she’s not. Either way, radiant.
The group of friends chatting. Difficult to know how much to look at Laura. Deciding not to, or not much. But eventually unable to resist. Sneaking a peek. Her eyes looking straight at me, darting away, looking back, a flashed embarrassed smile. My heart melting.
