DILUTED CAPPUCCINO By Andrew Campbell-Kearsey
As I stand up I feel the
need for some sign of closure. I reach out my hand to shake
his. He stands too and clasps my hand with both of his.
"What about your present?"
He obviously reads the
confusion on my face.
"It's an anniversary
present. We met three weeks ago, don't tell me you forgot. I
made it specially."
"That's very kind of you,
Robert, but under the circumstances I don't think…”
"You could come and
collect it now if you'd like. I only live round the corner
from you. You pass my flat on the way home to yours. I'd
like you to have it, even though…"
I see this, at least, as
an opportunity to escape. I live ten minutes' walk away.
I can be safely at home
with this whole business over and done with.
I set the pace.
Conversation is non-existent. As we approach the street
where he lives I see a 'Just Let' board outside a large
converted house. I am not surprised when he stops at this
one.
I pre-empt an invitation
to come in, "I'll wait here, Robert, I'm in a bit of a
hurry."
"Just come in for a
minute, Rach. I want your opinion about something. Come in.
You'll have to excuse the mess. I've only just moved in."
His flat is on the ground
floor. I decline the offer of another coffee, explaining
that my sister is expecting me for lunch, which is a lie.
She's useful for something, I suppose. He goes off into
another room, but I wait in the hallway next to a collection
of half-emptied boxes. I keep the front door open. He is in
a room at the end of the corridor which is presumably his
bedroom. He is taking a while. There is a door opposite me
which is ajar. I push it open and see a white dress on a
hanger. It appears to be my size. He chooses this moment to
emerge with my present. From the back it seems like a giant
card. He approaches me with a huge grin on his face and
turns it around as he presents it to me.
It is a giant collage all
about me. There are random pieces of information about me in
a variety of fonts and colours, including names of friends
and family members. The names of the schools I attended are
featured as well as swatches of my school uniforms. There
are photographs of places I have visited and I notice tom
out pictures from magazines of my favourite foods.
He stands facing me like a
young child with his first picture. He is clearly expecting
a reaction. I am unable to speak. I turn and leave. He calls
after me but I ignore him.
My phone rings in my bag.
I panic. Can't he just leave me alone? I look at the screen
and for once am relieved that my sister is calling me. I
answer.
She doesn't give me much
time to talk.
"So, when were you going
to tell us about him, Rachel? And why the rush, you're not
knocked up are you?", as she tries to suppress a laugh.
"What are you talking
about?"
"The invitation. I thought
you could have told me face to…"
"What invitation?"
"To your wedding, to a man
I've never heard of let alone met. He must be pretty
special."
I tell her that there's
been a misunderstanding and that I'll call her later to
explain. As I replace the mobile into my handbag, I realise
where my address book has gone.
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