Thread by @RossGordonJ, A love story for our times?“Excuse me. Is your name Gordon?”It was [...]

A love story for our times?

“Excuse me. Is your name Gordon?”
It was a question that I had expected every time I visited town since I came back home after many years away, but certainly not from two unknown teenage girls.
“Possibly. Depends whether I owe you any money or not.”/1

“Oh, it definitely is, isn’t it?”, the older woman behind them laughed, “Always were the joker. You probably won’t recognise me but…”
“Katriona?” I interrupted. She looked surprised. “Wow. Good to see you again. It’s been a while.” /2

Although I was alone, I was sitting at a table for four, fortuitously the only vacant table left in the café.
“Please, sit.” I gestured. “I can’t get over this. How are you? What have you been up to…for the last forty years?” /3

As they settled down Katriona introduced us, explaining to her granddaughter Charlie and friend Donna, that we had been in the same crowd for a few months when we were a little older than they were now. “You moved away didn’t you? Are you back living here now?” she asked. /4

I told a quick history – the sanitised version with precisely no personal details.
Katriona replied in a similar vein.
“I’m surprised you recognised me. The years have been good to you though.” I remarked.
“All the lads fancied your grandma back then” I divulged to the girls. /5

“Did you?” asked Charlie directly, with a grin.
I reasoned that the best response was a retreat into total honesty so confessed. “Aye. Big style.” I did a mock stage whisper thing with my hand to my mouth and said, “Still do.” Playing to the gallery. /6

“Your grandma was dating The Monk though, and he was a mate, so… Anyway, I think we played in different leagues.”
I remembered her laugh. She was beautiful and it seemed to me that she had just accepted it without pomposity or pretentiousness like I accepted I had red hair. /7

We continued reminiscing and I caught up with who had moved away, who was still around.
My face ached with the constant grinning I was doing.
I was hoping that the girls were not too bored with all this, but they didn’t seem to be or were maybe too polite to say. /8

Too soon, Katriona’s daughter, Charlie’s mother, arrived to pick them up.
I couldn’t ask for her number then as I had no idea whether she was married, separated, anything. I told myself I didn’t want to embarrass Katriona in front of her family. /9

I had thought about Katriona over the years. The time when we had first met was one of those moments in life that you remember vividly, but of the ten minutes either side, you have no recollection at all. They remain part of life’s general irrelevance. /10

The Monk’s dad was a minister - our nicknames weren’t necessarily imaginative - and he had been persuaded to let some of the girls organise a Christmas disco in the church hall. There wasn’t a lot of night life in town, so anything was a bonus. /11

We had been among the first of our crowd to arrive. We had talked, even had a dance if I remember. Maybe it was just my imagination but I had felt there was some kind of connection. A spark of attraction? Definitely, but I wasn’t sure it was mutual. Then The Monk arrived. /12

Over the next few weeks we were in the same company many times. Good times. Good laughs. Our group gradually reformed with different characters when Monk and Katriona split, and I only ever saw Katriona once more after that, a chance encounter on the street. /13

In reality, what could I offer? When I say we played in different leagues, we did. Katriona had attended the private fee-paying school, I had gone to the school. Her mum and dad were seriously loaded. Mine, well, weren’t. /14

She lived in the expensive, aye and I mean expensive, part of town. We lived in a tied cottage on a farm miles away. The physical distance wasn’t necessarily an issue, we used to regularly walk inordinate distances back then. But the physical distance wasn’t the only distance /15

Was I supposed to just roll up at her door? I couldn’t face the inevitability of a knock-back either from her or from her folks. It was easier to just stay and play in my own bit. Inferiority complex? My own personal version of The Cringe? Probably. /16

You could choose to believe that I regularly visited town every Saturday and that’s why I was back at the café a week later at the same time. Or not.
Katriona came in a few minutes after I was served, no granddaughter this time. /17

She saw me right away and came over asking if she could join me. As if I was going to refuse.
I did the how are you, how are the family, and we did a few more remember-whens.
Katriona asked me if I had family. My brothers and sister still lived in the area, but I live alone. /18

I’ve been told I’m part of the odd couple more often than Walter Matthau, so do recognise that there is a common denominator.
“What about yourself?” I asked, skating around the direct question.
“You remember Ruthven?” she asked. /19

We had known each other vaguely but if the truth be known what I did know of him, I didn’t like. Loud, never slow to remind you of all his qualities, aspiring professional golfer, would have been voted the man most likely to, if we had been into that sort of thing. /20

“We married. Had two kids. We divorced more than 10 years ago now. Traded me in for a younger model.”
“Yeah, he always struck me as a bit of an idiot,” I tried playing it for laughs, but it fell on stony ground. /21

“Did he make it onto the tour?” I asked about his golf career.
“No. He didn’t make it out of the bar very often either.”
There was a long silence that I eventually broke with “I’m sensing a lot of pain.”
Sharp as a knife, me. Should have been a psychiatrist. /22

“It was a long time ago now. The bruises have healed.” I knew that she meant physical bruises as well as the mental kind. /23

I like to think that my silence was a leaf out of that psychiatrist’s book, but it was really because I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t empty or just male rage and violence. More of that was the last thing needed. /24

The silence seemed to prompt Katriona or maybe it just gave her the space to let her thoughts and words flow. She didn’t have to go into fine details to tell me about the violence, the controlling, the affairs. Her first child was born out of love. The second, wasn’t. /25

She told it matter of factly, not looking for sympathy or even understanding but calmly and dispassionately. No tears. I just listened because I wasn’t equipped to do anything else. I had no words, certainly no solutions. /25

In a tucked away corner of a crowded café she gave me a glimpse into a world that had deteriorated into a quiet horror without an escape but with just enough promise that things might turn around, to keep hope alive. /26

I looked down at the table to discover that I was holding one of her hands in both of mine. Embarrassed at my own presumption I pulled away apologising, but she held onto my thumb and smiled. The smile did reach her eyes, and she shrugged, “It was a long time ago, Gordon.” /27

The waitress stepped in then with the perfect timing of a stage play. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, or maybe hinted, because our coffees were long since finished and we were very obviously not the most economically productive table in the place. /28

We ordered more coffees and I made a mental note to leave an oversize tip.
“What do you think of this new virus thing?” she asked in a total, probably deliberate, switch of mood. “Do you think it will reach Scotland?” /29

“I think it will reach Narnia and Neverland. Inevitable. I’ll have to be careful though, if I get it, I’m toast,” I revealed. We chatted about more everyday things, the mood lighter, the smiles brighter till eventually, our coffees again finished, it was time for her to go. /30

“Do you come here every week she asked?”
“Not exactly. To tell you the truth, I came hoping to meet you again,” I confessed. “Sorry, is that a bit creepy? A bit stalkerish?”
“Hope not.” She said, “Because it’s why I’m here.”
Our eyes met and I was transported back forty years./31

She reached up and touched my jaw, a finger brushing my lips. “Let’s take this slow. Is that ok?”
“Ok? Yeah. I’m just overjoyed that there is a “this”.
“See you next week then?” /31

We met again on the next Saturdays. The café and a wander through town, past the places we used to frequent. We laughed a lot about nothing. It was fun and I pretended that I was young again. We held hands, a few hugs, greeting and goodbye pecks on the cheek, nothing more. /32

On the second Saturday when we parted Katriona explained that she wouldn’t be able to meet for the next couple of Saturdays, but we’d see each other the week after.

The virus and lockdown intervened. /33

I tried the café again when lockdown eased. Outside seating with a view of the main street.
She wasn’t there but I did meet Beetroot. That café was revealing itself as productive ground for catching up with old friends. /34

His complexion hadn’t changed but his chosen career had. He had always said that he was going to join the police in Edinburgh so that he could get into the Hibs matches free. We did some “Do you remember that time?” and “Where did such-and-such end up?” /35

I told him that I had re-met Katriona a few weeks before the lockdown and asked if he ever saw her.
“I did now and again, yes” he said, “That was a tragedy.” He must have seen my questioning look. “You don’t know, do you?” he paused, “Katriona died a couple of weeks ago.” /36

Covid.
He didn’t know any details and I wasn’t really listening by then. I went back to my car and I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried.
I cried for Katriona. I cried for what might have been back then and I cried for what could have been now. /37

So, what is the point of my telling you?
Up to this point in my life the only pieces of useful advice I felt qualified to impart to anyone was the “use sunscreen” one and the “don’t listen to any advice that I’m likely to give” one. /38

The question “So how did that work out for you?” would have been enough to stop me in my patronising tracks. /39

But now I can. It’s not deep or profound or original but you can say it in many ways.
Carpe Diem.
Take your opportunities.
Do it.
You’ve got to play the cards you’re dealt.

And think what you are doing to people when you tell them it’s a hoax. /40

A couple have asked about names in this thread.
Names and situations have been changed. I& #39;m confident that nobody can identify anyone.

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