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Gemma
I made sure I was ten minutes early for my date with Suzie. I used the extra moments to buy a long-stemmed red rose from the flower stall in the station forecourt and to compose myself before meeting her. I was nervous. It was my first date since the first time I went out with Helen nearly 25 years ago. It had taken me five years to get to this moment years of mourning of agonising loneliness of shattered self-belief slowly rebuilt with the constant love and patience of those who loved me the most. Until now I had been able to distract myself from my nerves with careful preparation shower shave dressing in my favourite smart going out attire of black suit dark blue shirt and contrasting tie with scarlet pattern checking and rechecking the route to our rendezvous. But now there was no way and nowhere to hide from my anxiety. Whatever you do don t mess it up I thought to myself as I checked my watch for the dozen th time.
As the minutes crawled by I got tired of scanning every face for a hint of recognition. I took out my paperback and began to read every now and again looking up to observe the dynamics of all the human movement and activity around me on the station concourse. Other couples met with extravagant flinging of arms and smiling shrieks or a chaste kiss on a demurely proffered cheek or a politely wary shaking of hands depending on the degree of prior familiarity.
As the minutes piled up into a quarter hour and then another quarter hour I was able to observe how the stream of humanity ebbed and flowed as trains disgorged their passengers from one side of the barriers while others arrived to flow through the barriers in the opposite direction to take their places. In all this human flux there were two constants me and standing a few yards away a smartly dressed young woman. Whereas I was standing still as I read she was constantly moving backwards and forwards round in circles shrugging her shoulders folding » Continue Reading