hope he will get the message and leave.
“I don’t want to make you late for work. And Steve’ll not hurt me. Not really. Even if he does come back, that is. Which I don’t think he will. I think he got the message.”
“Ten minutes won’t hurt.”
Christ, what am I supposed to say now, other than something completely rude like, sod off Keith your starting to creep me out .
Hoping he’ll take the hint, I just start to walk, which Keith seemingly takes to mean: Yes, Keith, I’d love you to walk me home. Come in for a coffee if you like , because he falls into step with me. Actually, he’s a full half of a step behind me, which is kind of worse than if he were right by my side. That’s not true though, it turns out, because with a couple of big steps he’s right there in my side vision, and I’m sure his arm comes out as if he’s going to take hold of my hand. It might look obvious, but I don’t care; I pull my hand out of reach and pretend to be adjusting the way my coat is hanging from my bag. He reaches into his coat pocket, and takes out the tissue to blow his nose. Phew, I got it wrong.
“You live round here then?” I ask, fixing my eyes on an imaginary far distant horizon.
“No. I, er. I just go this way sometimes. I catch the bus, part of the way, but I get off earlier than I need to, because I like to walk through the park…”
He stops speaking in a way that makes me think he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. I’m just about to fill the silence with a random comment when he suddenly revs up with a fresh string of words.
“ The way they go up and down when they run reminds me of waves,” he blurts.
What’s he on about? “The way what goes up and down?” Crap, that sounded a bit harsh.
“The squir- r-r. The squir-r-r...”
“Squirrels?”
“Yes. You said you like to w-watch them.”
Now I feel really bad. I read somewhere that stammerers, is that right? People that stammer don’t like you to finish words for them. And it was likely my harsh tone that made him nervous. And I call Kerry a bitch.
“It looks like waves, w-when they run.” Keith makes a wave-like motion with his hand and smiles at me with his crossed teeth, like I’ve nothing at all to feel bad about, which sort of makes me feel ten times worse.
“Yes, I suppose they do look a bit like waves. ” And they do, I think, quite impressed with the observation. “Surprised I’ve not bumped into you before. If you often go through the park, I mean.”
I had thought that was the start of a conversation that would take us less awkwardly to my door, but Keith’s gone silent again.
“Today’s my birthday!” he blurts with sudden enthusiasm, throwing the words at me, as if delivering the answer to a difficult question that he’s been pondering for some time.
“Oh! Right.. . Many happy returns, and all that.” Strangely random. “Do anything special?” I questioningly twist my mouth as though I’m pushing at a toffee stuck on a rear molar. My ugly question face, Steve calls it, quickly followed by, joke , no really I love it, the way your nose scrunches and all. We’re crossing the junction closest to the park’s entrance now, and I deliberately slow my pace.
“Not really, no,” Keith continues, turning and taking a step back towards me. “Started a jigsaw, but I didn’t get much of it completed.”
I turn my head slowly towards him, expecting to see his cheeks spread with an ironic grin. Nothing. Deadpan. He’s serious, and I hope that the pity doesn’t show in my eyes.
“Well, never mind.” I smile, but it’s only a slight smile, the kind of smile I’d give when told someone is really ill but is making the most of the time they have left. “S’pose you’ll go out with friends at the weekend?”
Keith drags his foot through a pile of leaves. I watch them tumble over each other and one gets trapped under the tongue of his right shoe. He inhales deeply, a kind of sigh in
“I don’t want to make you late for work. And Steve’ll not hurt me. Not really. Even if he does come back, that is. Which I don’t think he will. I think he got the message.”
“Ten minutes won’t hurt.”
Christ, what am I supposed to say now, other than something completely rude like, sod off Keith your starting to creep me out .
Hoping he’ll take the hint, I just start to walk, which Keith seemingly takes to mean: Yes, Keith, I’d love you to walk me home. Come in for a coffee if you like , because he falls into step with me. Actually, he’s a full half of a step behind me, which is kind of worse than if he were right by my side. That’s not true though, it turns out, because with a couple of big steps he’s right there in my side vision, and I’m sure his arm comes out as if he’s going to take hold of my hand. It might look obvious, but I don’t care; I pull my hand out of reach and pretend to be adjusting the way my coat is hanging from my bag. He reaches into his coat pocket, and takes out the tissue to blow his nose. Phew, I got it wrong.
“You live round here then?” I ask, fixing my eyes on an imaginary far distant horizon.
“No. I, er. I just go this way sometimes. I catch the bus, part of the way, but I get off earlier than I need to, because I like to walk through the park…”
He stops speaking in a way that makes me think he’s going to say something else, but he doesn’t. I’m just about to fill the silence with a random comment when he suddenly revs up with a fresh string of words.
“ The way they go up and down when they run reminds me of waves,” he blurts.
What’s he on about? “The way what goes up and down?” Crap, that sounded a bit harsh.
“The squir- r-r. The squir-r-r...”
“Squirrels?”
“Yes. You said you like to w-watch them.”
Now I feel really bad. I read somewhere that stammerers, is that right? People that stammer don’t like you to finish words for them. And it was likely my harsh tone that made him nervous. And I call Kerry a bitch.
“It looks like waves, w-when they run.” Keith makes a wave-like motion with his hand and smiles at me with his crossed teeth, like I’ve nothing at all to feel bad about, which sort of makes me feel ten times worse.
“Yes, I suppose they do look a bit like waves. ” And they do, I think, quite impressed with the observation. “Surprised I’ve not bumped into you before. If you often go through the park, I mean.”
I had thought that was the start of a conversation that would take us less awkwardly to my door, but Keith’s gone silent again.
“Today’s my birthday!” he blurts with sudden enthusiasm, throwing the words at me, as if delivering the answer to a difficult question that he’s been pondering for some time.
“Oh! Right.. . Many happy returns, and all that.” Strangely random. “Do anything special?” I questioningly twist my mouth as though I’m pushing at a toffee stuck on a rear molar. My ugly question face, Steve calls it, quickly followed by, joke , no really I love it, the way your nose scrunches and all. We’re crossing the junction closest to the park’s entrance now, and I deliberately slow my pace.
“Not really, no,” Keith continues, turning and taking a step back towards me. “Started a jigsaw, but I didn’t get much of it completed.”
I turn my head slowly towards him, expecting to see his cheeks spread with an ironic grin. Nothing. Deadpan. He’s serious, and I hope that the pity doesn’t show in my eyes.
“Well, never mind.” I smile, but it’s only a slight smile, the kind of smile I’d give when told someone is really ill but is making the most of the time they have left. “S’pose you’ll go out with friends at the weekend?”
Keith drags his foot through a pile of leaves. I watch them tumble over each other and one gets trapped under the tongue of his right shoe. He inhales deeply, a kind of sigh in
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