She isn’t a friend. She’s a coffee-shop acquaintance that is all but she weighs heavy on me. Or perhaps I should say that I allow her to. I’ve touched her, that is I’ve held her when she cried. Twice now. I think the first time she cried was genuinely about her erstwhile fiance but this last time I’m not so sure. Not now that we know (and I wish we didn’t) about her misdemeanour. She’d mentioned the happening months ago saying that she’d been falsely accused of taking money from the launderette she often helped to lock up. She was indignant about it, pronouncing her outrage loudly and vociferously to all and sundry. He came back from the cafe yesterday saying he had some ‘gossip’. The FA man had told him that he’d been told that she’d appeared in court and had pleaded guilty. She hadn’t told him but someone else had. Small towns. I ache for her. Is that why her daughter won’t speak to her? She’d asked him to borrow some money. I hope her friends turn to, I hope she is held. And safe.
