Becoming Strangers by Louise Dean Page A

Lovely. She was a dancer. Not professional but she loved to dance. She said to me one time, "George, come dancing with me, do a few lessons and get yourself up to scratch, will you?" And I says no. I sat home thinking well, if she likes me enough, she'll come round, give up the dancing. Me old mum told me she would. Never happened. Five years later or more I got this letter from her, she got my address through an old friend. She went to some trouble to get it because this friend of mine, Arthur, his family had moved twice on account of the bombing. "You don't fancy having another go at the dancing do you?" she asked. "I'll stand you the lessons." It blew me away. 'Course I was hitched then. Kids too. It was after the war. I've often thought about that. I used to think, well if she still thought of me after five years, then it would be all right to write after five years, ten years. Even now, I sometimes think of writing to her and it's more than fifty years later.'
    He touched the bridge of his spectacles lightly. 'Probably dead now. I never did write back. No point. But I've often thought about her. I won't say every day. Some days you wake up with misery on you and I never thought about her like that, not to make things worse for myself, but I'd daydream, us in Europe, drinking beers out of mugs. That sort of thing.'
    Jan smiled. This is nothing to give yourself a hard time about, George.'
    'No, no, I know. I mean, I did right by Dorothy and the girls. There was a woman in the village I had a bit of a thing with. She was a widow. We saw each other on and off, for the fun and games really. Such as they was. She was a bit grim, on account of raising three kids on a widow's pension I suppose. Would never take her top off. I used to say, what you got, three of them? I can't say I ever thought much of her, truthfully.'
    Bill Moloney stood on the other side of the bar, with a towel round his neck. He raised a full glass in their direction briefly before turning towards a Chinese woman who stood a foot or two back from the bar going through her wallet.

12
    F INGERTIPS THAT SMELT OF SUN LOTION placed themselves over George's eyes.
    'Well, it ain't the missus,' he said, 'but I can feel a ring tapping on my specs. It's someone's missus. Is it yours, Jan?'
    'Yes,' said Annemieke, making a face at Jan, 'that's me.'
    'Hello,'Jan said, feeling slightly dazed after sitting in the sun through three beers and his share of two bottles of wine.
    'Join us for a drink then,' said George, signalling to
the barman who raised an eyebrow and wordlessly attended them. Despite George's best efforts, he remained distant.
    'Haven't you had enough?' asked Annemieke, and George winced visibly and looked at Jan.
    'Well, yes and no,' he replied with a cheeky smile. His eyes were brimming with the alcohol, plump and viscous.
    Annemieke spoke to Jan in her own language and George closed one eye and swayed slightly on his bar stool, wondering if he would have to get acquainted with someone else at the bar, in order to carry on drinking, or whether he should go up to the room. Dorothy would be wondering what had happened to him. He'd best see if she'd had some lunch.
    The young fellow, Adam, passed by the bar and stopped to tap George on the shoulder, lightly but nearly causing the old man to fall off his stool. George regained his balance wildly, holding on to the bar counter with two hands and putting his feet out in front of him.
    'Easy,' he said.
    'Bloody hell, George, have you been here all this time?'
    George turned to his assailant, 'I've been shanghaied by this here gentleman. How's the tiling going? Need a hand?'
    'No thanks. You all right?'
    'Marvellous.'
    'All right then, take it easy. I'm off for a siesta.
    Cheers.' And raising one arm in a salute that lasted until he was out of sight, Adam dipped down below the terrace towards the seashore.
    'Who was that?' said Annemieke, accepting a glass of wine.
    'A young man working here, doing some tiling.