So intent I was on catching it that I almost failed to see him coming out of the newspaper kiosk near the top of the escalator. He was opening a newly bought newspaper and… it wasn’t an English one! I didn’t have time to be sure of what its title was, but I thought the headline looked like Italian or Spanish as all the words seemed to end in vowels. Ummm…. Very interesting.
I was so stunned at this revelation that I stopped hurrying and consequently, missed my connecting train. I couldn’t digest this momentous discovery and run. My legs just gave up when the master that gave them their orders was so preoccupied. This meant that I would have to wait another fifteen minutes before there would be another train.
Normally, I would have immediately phoned the school secretary to tell her that I would be late, though this seldom happened. In fact I don’t think I had been late more than once in the last 13 years, or for that matter, more than a handful of times in my entire career. I was very reliable, totally dependable.
So, it was decidedly out of character that I dismissed this course of action for the moment at least, and legged it back through the station, running up the escalator to where I had last seen him. I was almost sure that he hadn’t been aware of me at all that morning, hadn’t even caught a glimpse of me hurrying on my way. In any case, he would not know that I had missed my train. If I could locate his whereabouts I could spy on him, and maybe find out some more about who he was and what he did.
I realised as I reached the square in front of the station that this was something of a long shot. Hundreds of busy commuters were milling about there, and I had no idea where his place of work was. But I did wonder whether maybe he was in the habit of going for breakfast, or at least a coffee before work. That newspaper might be an indication of that. Coffee, croissant and reading the paper would be a good start to anyone’s day if they could afford the time. I wish! Might mean he wasn’t married, too! Where would he be likely to go? I hurriedly considered the options. There were far too many. At least seven places in the vicinity served breakfast and there was a vast choice if all one wanted was a quick coffee.
I also didn’t want to be seen, so I sneakily began with the one that was easiest to see into from an oblique vantage point. This was one where you climbed up many steep steps onto one of the station platforms, and from there you had a good view into a popular restaurant, which was built down at ground level. It was still difficult to make out the faces of the people inside, firstly because of the steep angle of the view and secondly, due to the dirty windows on this side. Probably it was virtually impossible to clean them because of the nearness to the steps that had brought me up there. I tried to peer in without attracting attention. I saw no-one that looked in the least bit like my target. Was this a ridiculous idea? Should I give up and go and wait patiently on the platform for my next train like a good girl?
I could ring the school with a story about late trains causing missed connections etc. They would definitely believe me. After all it was true to some extent and my aberration need never be known. There were advantages to be gained now from my years of boring, grinding reliability. In fact, it slowly dawned on me, there was nothing stopping me from going even later, after all I wouldn’t make it to my first class now even if I went on the next train, and there was a big gap in my timetable after that until my next one was due to begin.
My super ego was trying to make itself heard in my excited, erratic brain. You shouldn’t be doing this! But today, unusually, it didn’t stand a chance. No, I wasn’t going to be sensible, do the right thing, just for once in my middle-aged life I was going to do something unpredictable, something silly even!
It occurred to me that it was a good thing I hadn’t yet phoned the school. I could be caught on a broken-down train, couldn’t I? Why hadn’t I called on my mobile? I’d left it at home? The battery was flat? No, better - we were stuck in a tunnel! There was no signal there. It was awful. I felt claustrophobic, the lights had gone out. A power failure. I was terrified.
No, don’t overdo it. Remember - the lady doth protest too much.
Having failed in my quest to find his whereabouts at the first try I felt weary. The excitement went out of me, but I still didn’t feel like giving up and just returning to the status quo. Why don’t I go for a coffee anyway? I dared myself - regroup my thoughts. Settle myself for the inevitable return to the norm.
I chose to go to a quiet, rather dark and select place down a side street. It was one of my favourites because of the beautiful decor, something undervalued generally in this neck of the woods. It flashed through my brain that he might be there, but this thought was immediately slapped down by my more sensible, adult side. Not likely, given the number of other venues available and anyway, not very many people frequented this hidden gem. Nevertheless, I did look round carefully as I entered and a mingled feeling of relief and disappointment passed through me. Ah well! It would have been most unlikely.
I ordered a capuccino and sat in the corner furthest from the door. I needed something to do and, as I had given up smoking and had no cigarettes (I would certainly have succumbed had I had some with me. Oh bugger. Why had I given up? Why had I become so sensible?)
I thought of getting one of the newspapers or magazines the café thoughtfully provided for their well-heeled customers. This would have involved crossing the room again and my legs felt slightly paralysed, so I dismissed this option. No, I must start getting back to reality. I took out my timetable and began considering what I would be doing at school that day when I finally arrived. It was like treading heavy water to interest myself in this now seemingly distant part of my existence, but with a great effort I managed to involve myself, thinking of a difficult class I would have to cope with that afternoon. Should I change my lesson plan to something the disruptive element would take to more easily?
Having succeeded in re-entering my teaching mode of thinking, I was not prepared for something invading my periphery vision on the far right. I slowly became aware that someone was staring at me. As I started to focus on the spot in question a newspaper was raised to hide the face of whoever it was. Instantaneously, I took in the man’s hands. Neat, small, brown hands, then I more consciously took in the newspaper. It was Italian. No!
In panic I grabbed my things and left the place, aware that the newspaper had shifted and that I was being observed as I hurried out. He must have come in after me. Why had I fled? Hadn’t I been looking for him shortly before? Hadn’t I wanted desperately to find him? Yes, but only on my terms. My heart was overdoing its thing and I felt slightly sick. Suddenly I was depressed, and found myself returning to the station and my platform like a beaten dog, although I did keep looking back to see if he had followed me. He hadn’t. Again, relief and disappointment. Well, what did you want? What did you expect? Self-hatred crept in again as two parts of myself upbraided me for my stupidity. One was saying, ‘Why did you run when you had such a golden opportunity?’, the other, ‘What are you doing behaving in this juvenile manner?’ Neither of them liked me very much.
‘Whatever!’, as the kids would say. Back to reality. Sadly, and guiltily I boarded my train. It had all been for nothing, and now I would have the task of lying, with nothing at all to show for it. Sod it.
Needless to say they believed me, no questions asked (how sad) and I returned to my original lesson plan, the difficult one, to punish myself for my irresponsible behaviour.
As I went to bed that night I resolved to forget this whole sorry business, accept my age and stage in life, and not to be so silly ever again. The cage door was closing on me as before… with my help. Maybe it would have been better if I’d let it.
III
The next morning I reprimanded myself for considering my wardrobe yet again from his point of view, as I had become accustomed to doing of late. New habits, it seems, die hard too. I forced myself to put on the old brown felted sweater that it had been a dubious pleasure to own, even from the very beginning. It was awful. Where, and even more importantly, why, had I bought