They’d promised howling gales of winds and rain but I went out for my early walk regardless because it was the night after Halloween and I wanted to see what I would see. I was disappointed. A cluster of revellers stood or slumped at the taxi rank beside the train station, one of whom was shouting while the girl next to him clutched at a lamppost, her head lolling forward. Her skirt was cut in crude jaggs along the hem. Costumes had become damp in the rain and makeup ran. A lad with a tinsel halo fixed to the top of his head crossed the road to join the motley crew. Two young men were pushing an elfin looking girl in black shorts in a shopping trolley past Domino Pizza. Later, coming back along the end of North Road I saw a man in a bear costume, its head hanging over his back. He looked dejected, as indeed did the quasi bear. Poor loves. I then walked up to the hospital and then down towards St David’s Road, noticing a huge leaf (was it a sycamore?) come to rest on the bonnet of one of the parked cars.
She was crying in the coffee shop. Her whole body shaking with the pain of it. What could I do but go over and hold her? She didn’t warm to it, remaining stiff and rigid. She talked about it over and over and over. The next day she sat with her back to us. I went over and asked if she wanted to join us. No, she said and told me that her friend was coming. She’s probably embarrassed, he said when I sat down. You did your best.
He’s such a funny man telling us about his parents’ miniature dachshund and how it overeats when it stays with a neighbour, coming back looking like a barrel. I watched his videos and told him so. I think he was pleased. I’m going through a dry time, he said. Does that happen with your drawing? He wants one of the drawings I made of him for his mum. I’ll pay you, he said.
