The Liquid Girl

“ See the amazing Liquid Girl!” Shouted the man in a faded velvet jacket. “Watch her slowly melt before your eyes!”

Lights up.

The threadbare curtains are pulled back to reveal a girl in a blue woollen bathing suit, covered with white pearls. She is sitting on a stool in the centre of the stage. The stage is sloped at the front, and has a funnel that runs from below the girls feet to a trough at the front of the stage. Her skin is shining with droplets.

The crowd gapes as the droplets thicken and run down her body, dripping off her skin. Soon there is enough to form a puddle at her feet. The puddle grows until gravity takes over and it runs down the funnel in front of her.

The ringmaster of the freak show sells small vials of the liquid as the elixir of life. Again he takes up his spiel. “ Before you sits the Liquid Girl. She was once the centre of a spring the the vast deserts of Arabia. It was said that the water from this spring could cure all manner of ailments. People came from miles around to dip a finger in this sweet water and gain new wealth and well-being. Water is the source of all life, but she has given up her old existence to travel the world and so, aid all humanity in its suffering.”

The crowd claps and the girl drips. In her hands is a needle, bright under the spotlights. It flashes in and out of a greeny fabric and the droplets from her hands make wet splotches on the cloth. The ringmaster points this out to the crowd. “ This cloth has the ability to cure even the most seriously ill. One touch of this fabric can bring a dying man back to life, cure blindness or hearing loss.”

A man pushes through the crowd. It is the ringmasters assistant, Merrick. His mouth appears to be swollen with toothache. He speaks with difficulty. “ Can you cure me?” The Liquid Girl hides a grimace and smiles at him. She holds the cloth to his cheek, dabbing at it. He swallows the lump of potato in his mouth and shouts “ Amazing!” There is a sudden clamour to get to the stage and purchase the vials.

Lights go down.

The girl, whose real name is Emma, steps down from the stage drying herself with a towel. She sighs, it has been a long night. She looks Arabian, with dense black hair and tilted eyes, but she is really French, with a smattering of Gypsy, as her mother used to say, a mother who was blonde and blue eyed, nothing like her daughter. She had always been able to produce the liquid from her skin. This liquid was unlike sweat, more like a sweet water that seemed to exude from some hidden interior resource. She could induce it through nervousness or pain, but occasionally it happened spontaneously of it's own accord. It was a physical affliction that had caused her to lead a very sheltered life. In her town, the other children had avoided her, as if she was diseased. Their taunts had left her untrustful, timid and alone.

As she was seated inside one day, she had heard the sounds of the carnival. She waited until it was getting dark, and then had hid her face with a black cloth. She was amazed by all the colour, the lights and the tricks of the performers. However, during the freak show, one of the local boys had recognised her and pulled the cloth from her head. The surprise gave her such a shock, that the liquid began to drench her clothing. She ran from the tent, leaving a trail behind her.

The ringmaster jumped down and ran after her. Her called out to her, “ Where are you going my beauty??” She was so surprised to hear someone calling her beautiful, that she stopped in her tracks. He caught up with her and flattered her greatly. He caught her hand, and held it, rubbing his thumb over her soft palm. Having never been touched by a stranger, she felt elated and dizzy.

The ringmaster asked her how she came to be so wet, as the night was so dry. She explained the nature of her affliction, and her pushed up her sleeve to wonder at the droplets forming on her skin.

Being a man of business, he could see at once that he could market her as ' The Amazing Liquid Girl'. He asked her to come, and she began to nod her head in consent, but then caught a strange glint in his eye. She felt an wariness, that had been pushed back by the pleasurable sensations of the touch of another, not being to take hold of her. He was persistent, and she asked to leave using the need to get permission from her mother as an excuse. However he saw through her and he signalled to his assistant waiting in the shadows, who grabbed her and locked her up in a caravan. The cheerful exterior of the caravan, was unmatched by the interior, which was only a hard pile of straw and a broken mirror resting on a dressing table covered with all manner of perfumes and cosmetics. The sound of the carnival outside continued, and so her cries were not heard, and the circus left town the next day with her as their prize.

For her first few shows, she was shackled like an animal, but as she got further and further away from her home town, she realised she had no choice but to remain with the circus.

As her performances continued, she began to get used to the stares and the lights, which had brought the liquid on at once. The amount of liquid began to lessen each night, until it was just a single droplet, beading on her skin. The ringmaster was very angry with her, and as she had no place in the outside world, she was forced to tell him how she could continue. Pain. But it could not be self inflicted, as it did not produce such good results. Also she could not be whipped or cut in any way, as her blood would mix with the liquid, tainting it, so that it could not be sold. Finally the ringmaster called the tattooed woman to him, and asked her to prick the flesh of the liquid girl. At once the liquid began to flow steadily. As only a small part of her skin was being worked on at a time, the tattooed woman could wipe away the liquid and any other contamination from her skin. Thus it was decided. The show was now changed to incorporate the tattooed woman, who the ringmaster claimed was drawing a map on the skin of the liquid girl, so that she would be able to find her way back home to the spring.

As the circus passed through the towns, as the curtain lifted or swung shut, the tattoo continued to grow. The Liquid Girl produced even more liquid than before, and soon the tattoo covered her entire body. The design was intricate, all in blue, like the interior of a seashell, and so delicate that it seemed part of her, without being overwhelming.

Once it was complete, it seemed that it had become a shell, a second skin, and she was able to produce the liquid on command, without need for pain any more. She became famous and the healing powers of the liquid were known throughout the world. People began to clamour for it as soon as the circus arrived in town, and so the ringmaster pushed her into more performances to collect more of it. He started to 'milk' her off the stage twice daily, the precious liquid 'like gold' he said.

Finally during one performance, the liquid stopped. The reservoir was dry. The ringmaster was angry, he closed the curtains on the crowd and ordered to have her whipped. But even the strokes on her back could not restart what was now dry.

She began to feel thirsty, the like of which she had never felt before. The thirst consumed her, yet no amount of water was enough. Her skin began to crack and peel, it became like scales, flaking off when she moved. The ringmaster now exhibited her as the “ Famous Lizard Woman, who had fallen under a curse when she kissed a man, other than her husband. The cheering crowds were now replaced with boos and hisses, and young wives were brought before her as a warning of their own marriages. As she lay on-stage, she would become surrounded by little flakes of a light blue, as her skin took on the colour from her tattoo. At night she would wake thirstily, her throat dry and parched, and all over her bed would be the flakes, like a powder of blue.

One day she failed to rise from her caravan. The ringmaster was sent for and he banged loudly at her door, but no sound came from within. Finally he got the strong man to break down the door. Inside there was blue powder everywhere. It covered the floor, the bed still made of straw, the dressing table and the floor. But the girl was nowhere to be seen. But how could she disapear? The ringmaster was unsure whether she could have become just a pile of powder. He sat on the stoop and pondered, feeling angry to loose so great an attraction. He put his chin in his hand and looked about him.

Suddenly he noticed a soft blue trail leading away from the caravan. With a roar, he leapt up and followed it away from the circus, and into the forest at the edge of the field. He was already thinking of the beating she was going to receive for escaping, and he vowed to shackle her down at night from now on. As the trees became thicker, the trail seemed almost luminous against the dark ground, but he had no time to wonder about such things. Instead he half stumbled, half ran along beside the trail.

It led deeper and deeper into the forest, the trees above seemed to press their leafy tops against one another to form a seamless whole, blocking out the light. Still the little flakes were enough to guide the ringmaster, and so he followed, gleefully, curiously, angrily, greedily, winding around tree trunks, over moss, under thick branches, hunting, hunting.

The trail led to a dark little spring, and there, at the top was a little pile of salt. The Ringmaster pounced on this and looked around wildly. Sure enough, the trail continued, now following the path that the little spring had made. Soon the spring became an stream, then the stream became a river, and the river gained strength and rushed over rocks, or stole backwards in backwaters with little dancing insects. Still the ringmaster was not interested in observing such intricacies and delicacies of nature, as his thought were only bent on recapture and punishment.

All at once the river widened into a series of deep pools, connected by little waterfalls. The trail stopped. The ringmaster was beside himself with anger, her kicked stones at the waters edge and thrashed the tree branches. He did not notice the gentle splashing behind him, until it was accompanied by a shower of water. There in the centre of the pool was the liquid girl. She looked younger, shining and new like a baby, like a stone under clear water. But instead of legs, she had a beautiful glistening tail. It was this tail that she had used to splash the ringmaster. She did so again as she saw him drop to his knees with an imploring look in his eye. However this time she knew that behind that look, he was calculating how he could market her, how her could make money out of her new radiance.

As he cleared his eyes of the water, he saw she had come closer. She was now close enough for him to lunge out and grab her, and as his brain calculated how he could carry her back, she caught his eyes with hers. “ I have known pain and suffering, the like which you could never bear” those eyes seemed to say. " You have taken me away from my home, my one place of peace and shelter in a world full of hate. I have broken through misery and I curse you to your lonely existance. I know more now than ever before and I am free." And she turned and dived, swimming away from him, and then diving gracefully over the waterfall and away. The last he saw of her was a glint of her green tail. A tail so green, greener than emeralds, greener than the leaves when the light turns yellow before a storm, greener than the eyes of the wife he had lost. That green seemed to shine so deeply, that all the foliage of the forest paled in comparison.

The ringmaster sat and contemplated that green for a long time. Then he sighed and turned to go back, but he had lost the trail, having not paid much attention to it in the first place. He wandered around the forest for several days, his head full of green moons and shining drops. He was finally found by a stroke of luck by the fortune teller, who was off collecting juniper to brew the drink she took to induce herself before each performance. The ringmaster tried to go back to work, but he would find himself trailing off mid spiel with details he saw in the distance. The glint of the firelight in the eyes of a stranger, the movement of the trees in a light breeze, the sound of the rain on the circus tent. Eventually the circus had to choose a new leader, and he spent the rest of his days mucking out the elephant stable.

The liquid girl was lost, freed to the water, healed and whole. No-one ever saw her again.

P.s: No-one?

Well it is said that on certain nights when the sea glows green at sunset, you can catch a flash of her magnificent tail. And if you're very lucky, perhaps if you walk down the beach early the following day, it might be possible to find some treasure that she has left for you. Some greeny stone or scale that will shine out of the sand to remind you that she is there.

Dishes

There once was a girl called Rosie, she had a boyfriend called Josh and they seemed to get on very well. Rosie loved to cook, in her professional life she worked as a film caterer, creating delicious spreads for all manner of film directors and celebrities. She could whip up a vast range of dishes in a minute flat and could make even the most picky film stars swoon over her low calorie, fat free, soy, antioxidant delicacies, or vegan raw foodist delights.

Josh had a most peculiar quality. He LOVED to clean, and he was very good at it. His day job was managing a smallish bookstore that specialised in first additions and classics. His days were spent enfolded in the smell of old Dickens, Chaucer, Elliot, Austen and the Brontes. He loved books and talking about books and he was luckier than the rest of us who completely salivate over such opportunities for work. However, in his first week, his boss came in unexpectedly one day and found Josh in a corner with a broom, trying to clear away a large cobweb.

“No!” his boss yelled across the room, luckily it was a slow day, hence Josh's opportunity to get to the cobweb, so there were no customers to be alarmed. Except Josh of course, he was quite alarmed, what exactly was he doing wrong?

His boss explained. “ The shop is meant to have cobwebs, that's what gives it such a great book shop atmosphere. You may sweep and mop the floor each night before you leave the store, but that's it! NO major cleaning.” So although Josh loved his job, the cleaning ban there only exacerbated his need to clean outside his job.

Rosie was happy. She often had to make a large number of different dishes quite quickly, leaving her exhausted with no energy for cleaning. When Josh saw the mess, his eyes would sparkle with delight and he would hurriedly roll up his sleeves and get to work. Rosie often marvelled at how well he could clean, it was like a gift. The dishes would look as if they had just been purchased, they were so clean. So, like Jack Spratt and his unnamed wife, they completed each other and continued to be happy.

One night Rosie and Josh went to visit a friend of Rosie's, Monica. Monica and Rosie had been friends since high school, but because of their separate lives, Monica worked as a fitness instructor, they weren't able to spend much time together. On this night in question, Rosie and Josh went over to Monica's for dinner, along with another old friend from Rosie's high school, Bonnie. After they had pushed away their dessert plates feeling full and content, Josh rose and offered to make coffee. It had been a very successful dinner. Monica was quite strict about her diet, and had made a vegetarian meal of a salad of baby spinach, rocket, radish, black toasted sesame seeds, blue cheese and parsley with steamed broccoli and teriyaki tofu. Rosie had brought dessert, mint and lime sorbet with caramel shards.

Once in the kitchen with the coffee pot going, Josh looked at the large pile of dishes just waiting to be sparkling clean again. His fingers itched. Monica had been quite insistent when he had offered earlier to help as she ferried the plates from the table to the sink. Still, he was just a hindrance on the other three, who had plenty to catch up on. He picked up the first dish and placed it under the running water, how blissfully warm it was, how nice to scrub away at the plate and see it so clean, so new again.

After a while, Rosie began to suspect what her lover was up to. She went to the kitchen and found Josh scrubbing away at a large pot that had been left over from Monica's pasta lunch, and all the rest of the dishes were draining on the side board. The coffee was boiling furiously and Josh seemed totally ignorant of it.

“Oh God, the coffee!” Rosie rushed to turn off the stove, but it was too late, it had already been spoiled. Monica came running in, “Oh my God!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry” said Josh, feeling a little meek for forgetting about the coffee. “No, no that's ok” soothed Monica. “Wow, it's all done, can I borrow him sometime??”

They all laughed and Rosie crossed to Josh and rubbed the back of his head. “ He really can't help it, he's totally manic about cleaning”.

The weeks passed and Josh and Rosie's lives continued. But Rosie started to feel a certain resentment to Josh's manic cleaning. She would be draining her coffee cup and he would whisk it away, humming happily to himself. And while washing dishes, he seemed to fall into a trance so that all her questions or attempt at conversation as he was washing fell on deaf ears. In those moments he was totally lost to her, like a human dishwasher, just occasionally whistling as he chugged along. Only when everything was clean and the kitchen shined like the after picture for some household cleaner advertisement would he revert back to his normal self.

So she decided to test him. Her birthday was coming up and so she threw the most amazing dinner party. It was an eighties themed party, with matching food. To start with there were asparagus rolls, devilled eggs and cucumber sandwiches. To follow gazpacho soup with a garnish of green grapes or vichyssoise. The main was a towering torte of jellied fish, egg, pasta and tomato. There was also cheese souflee and three kinds of salad, a coslaw with red and green cabbage, carrot, onion, parsley and chives, a pasta salad with quails eggs, aioli and oregano and a large green salad with five different types of lettuce, cucumber, mint, cherry tomatoes, button mushrooms, orange segments and fromage frais. In between each course she served a different sorbet. There was lime and frangelico, ruby grapefruit and pickled ginger, green tea and pineapple and champagne and strawberry. For dessert, Rosie outdid herself, she made chocolate mousse with kalua, a giant five layer black forest chocolate cake filled with raspberries, white, dark and milk chocolate and layers and layers of cream. The top of the cake was decorated with cherries and almonds and in the centre she had put three fluffy birds with lopsided eyes. There was a grand concoction of blue jelly and chocolate fingers to look like a swimming pool, complete with swimming dolls, fish lollies and chocolate deckchairs. She made a giant fruit platter with mango, grapes, lemonades, boysenberries, lychees, mandarins and bananas, with caramel and chocolate fondue for dipping. She used every available dish in the house, all the best china, crystal and silverware. Thinking, as she enjoyed herself baking, cooking and serving, surely this will be too much for him. But Josh merely watched her, with a twinkle in his eye.

The party was a grand success, everyone came dressed up, you couldn't move for the shoulder pads and big hair. At the end of the night Rosie was quite drunk. After she waved goodbye to her final departing guest, she grabbed Josh and headed to the bedroom. He had been a model boyfriend all night and had resisted the urge to sneak off to the dishes, despite his slightly shy tendencies.

After a wonderful orgasm, Rosie was spiralling down to sleep when she felt Josh slip out of the bed. Thinking he would be off to the bathroom, she turned over and prepared herself to sleep. But then she heard the clatter of dishes and knew what he was really up to. Feeling a surge of rejection, Rosie stormed naked to the kitchen. Josh saw her angry face and guiltily put down the dish.

“WHAT do you think you're doing???” she screamed “ It's 5 am, now leave that and come to bed. NOW!”

“Just a few and then I'll come ok?” Josh tried to pacify her, it was only dishes.

“ NO!” Rosie yelled” JUST LEAVE IT FOR TOMORROW”

“ I'm GOING TO DO JUST A FEW!” Josh yelled back.

“ Jesus!” said Rosie “ It's like you're an addict! Dishes are your drug!”

“Well so what?” countered Josh “ I LIKE doing them ok? It helps me to relax”

“You're soo not normal” Rosie exclaimed “ I just can't win!” And with that she stormed out of the room. Josh assumed she was going to sleep, and so he continued with the dishes, humming quietly to himself.

Rosie tried to sleep, but the noise of each dish scraping against the last one was getting on her nerves. Eventually she got up and started throwing Josh's stuff in a bag.

“Get out of my life” she screamed and Josh looked startled, but then his face darkened. “ As you wish” he said and left slamming the door. Rosie looked around her now spotless kitchen and screamed. She wrenched open the cupboards threw their contents of fresh dishes on the ground. She cut her hand and screamed again, then stormed out of the room.

The next day Rosie woke with a terrible hangover. It wasn't just the alcohol, but as she surveyed her ruined kitchen and bloody sheets, she felt a second type of hangover take hold.

It took all day for her to clean up the broken dishes, the blood on the floor and on her sheets. She made herself a snack halfway through and then groaned as she realised she would have to clean up that too. Suddenly everything seemed so pointless. What was the point of cleaning if things would just get dirty again.

So over the next two weeks, she gave up on cleaning. If she needed a cup, she would rinse it and then use it and leave it dirty again. The floor got dirty and her kitchen was filthy. She stopped having people over as she didn't want them to have to see her messy house.

She got fired from her current catering job as the male lead had got food poisoning from a chicken tartlet and could find no energy to go out and find another job. The messiness of her house was dragging her down.

One day as she lay on the couch flicking through the various daytime soaps and talk shows, Josh came by. He had realised that she hadn't packed his electric razor. It had been his grandfathers, and was the only remembrance he had of him. It was so old that he only used it now and then, so it had taken a while for him to notice that it was missing.

“ I've just come to get my....” Josh trailed off. He couldn't believe the state of the house.

“ Oh” said Rosie “ Ok” He looked thinner and she was embarrassed by the mess both of the house and of herself.

Josh struggled through to the bathroom. It was also in a severe state of disarray. There were towels on the floor, make-up spilt along the sink and soap stains everywhere. He picked up the nearest towel and opened the cupboard gingerly. After finding his razor, he closed the cupboard and noticed that the knob was now shining brightly next to the other stained ones. He rubbed it a bit more until it lit up like a miniature sun. Then he realised that it now looked out of place next to the other dirty ones, so he gave them a polish. In doing so, he wiped away some of the soap scum on the cupboard door, then he wiped away a little more, and suddenly the cleaning frenzy took hold of him. Rosie heard some weird noises coming from the bathroom and so went to investigate. There was Josh, in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up scrubbing away at the toilet.

He paused and looked up at her tilting his head on one side. Then he crossed the floor so he was right in front of her. She had forgotten that clean smell that he had, and his nearness, his familiarity, yet now distance was strange and confusing. He lent down to her and she closed her eyes, ready for his kiss. But instead of kissing her, he appraised her face and said “ Bath, now”. She was so dumbfounded by this bluntness that she obeyed. She lay in the bath and he washed her hair, which she guiltily realised hadn't seen shampoo in a while. Then he washed her body, soaping between her toes and the backs of her knees. He applied a scrub to her face and then bid her raise her arms so he could shave her armpits, then he lifted her legs to shave away the hairs there as well.

Afterwards she felt brand new and he carried her to the bedroom and dried her softly with a towel. Then she got kiss after kiss and they were on the bed, all over each other like rabid mice.

He back spooned her and she feel into a deep sleep, feeling relaxed and happy.

She woke alone later and wrapping herself in a duvet, she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was sparkling. The bathroom was spotless and when she got to the kitchen she felt as if she was snow blinded. Through the blaze of light she heard the familiar scrape of one dish against another. Josh was putting the final dish to dry on the sideboard and he turned to her smiling.

“Sorry, I couldn't help myself” She went to him. “ Missed me?”

“Actually yes” He replied. “ I've been living on two minute noodles, I can't do the cooking thing”

“ I guess that's it then” She said and they both lived happily until he overdosed on washing up liquid.

A woman scorned

When a woman is in love, she looses all judgement. It can happen anywhere, perhaps after a one night stand when she keeps seeing the her most recent conquest, perhaps someone who sticks out in class, who calls her attention to him in some subtle way, she doesn't go for show-offs. Perhaps a chance meeting will set off a buzz in her stomach, perhaps a friend of a friend at a party. At work, at play, anywhere.

And if, after a little bit of conversation and a little more action she discovers that the new object of her affection is younger than her, well it seems to matter less, once things are started that is. Even if there are ten years between them one is always hearing about long-standing relationships with just such a separation and anyway it can be an act of defiance against the more tradition older man syndrome that the world is so obsessed with.

Still, on the odd occasion when discussing such popular topics as books and movies and she realises that when she was discovering that new thing, book or movie or some such thing, she was also discovering boys and alcohol whilst he was still most concerned with trucks and superheroes. On those occasions, she feels a weird twinge. It's a kind of guilty feeling, even if he is not so innocent any more.

And if, when they have been together a few weeks and he tells her of his travel plans that are already set in motion, money has been paid to a university, plane tickets have been looked into, well that's a good thing. It takes the pressure off the younger man issue, she can have him as a plaything for a little while and then send him on his way, like a beautiful peacock. And of course he will always remember her and their brief, fleeting moment.

But then when love gets in the way, it becomes tricky. He is leaving and suddenly doesn't want to go. She suddenly doesn't want him to go either, but she remembers that travel flavour, once in your mouth, it is hard to get rid of, and she fears his future self resenting her for keeping him like a caged bird. But then a new tactic, he is begging her to come too, at least for a bit, in a few months, a holiday where they can travel around together. He is insistent and she weakens under the pressure of his resolve.

The travel flavour has caught fire in her mouth and she begins to entertain the wild notion.

And so he leaves with promises and kisses and she is tearful and hopeful.

And so she works and works and works, overtime and weekends and saves everything to go too. She writes him long colourful letters and sends them off in long colourful envelopes, and sends emails and sits on internet communication programmes all night to talk to him. He responds with emails, but not as frequently, but she thinks it's OK, he has to go to internet cafés, and I can survive on less.

But his emails become less frequent. A week goes by and she has heard nothing and she begins to worry about his welfare. Finally she hears from him and he is well, although the latest email seems less expressive than previous ones. She receives a letter and leaps with excitement, but the text is vapid, devoid of any emotion towards her, as if he is writing to a friend or worse still, a parent. It is disappointing, but she thinks that he is better at communicating in person anyway. So she works and stays home not spending her money and sits in her room listening to music that reminds her of him.

The months pass and she thinks about booking a flight, she checks prices and asks him when, when, when should I come? Suddenly he is evasive and changes the subject, and when she is insistent, he is gone, off-line. Three days pass, four and she has heard nothing. On the fifth day is he back explaining he had a problem with the internet when she demands his whereabouts. Huh! She is thinking, and so again she asks when, when, when, where should I come? And again he is evasive and she becomes annoyed and again he is gone.

A week passes. No word. Then comes The Email. He is saying he might have other plans, he is unreliable, he is sorry. He can't travel with her. She is angry, resentful, rejected. And then after a day her head clears. She writes a sweet mail back saying she has decided to travel alone, but she will need to stay with him for just one night.

He is overjoyed that she has taken his news so well and professes enthusiasm to have her stay with him. So she gives him a date, time and flight number and asks him to pick her up at the airport, as she will feel completely lost in the new place. Again he is willing and excited to see her, to have her in his bed one last time, hopefully he can manage to keep her and his new girlfriend apart, as it is only one night. Surely he can get away with that. And he thinks what a wonderful woman, the perfect image of maturity to still wish to come and to travel alone through new and wonderful places.

So the day comes, she packs and heads to the airport. After all the proceedings she is sitting in a little silver bird winging her way across the ocean.

He arrives at the airport early, having carefully chosen his clothes and brushed his hair just so to make it look not brushed at all. He must look different, changed by all the new experiences he has had, but also cool and forgivingly handsome. His heart begins to pound when the loudspeakers announce that the plane has touched down and he strikes a pose near the exit with his head only half turned towards the people who are now flowing out of the gate. He tries to look as if he is so lost in his thoughts, so unaware of her presence. Still after a while, he realises that the people are thinning out and she is nowhere to be seen. He cranes his neck to see over the few stragglers and there is no sign of her. He waits an hour. Still nobody. He checks the flight number on his new fancy phone. Yes this is what she gave him. Two more hours pass and he is frantic. He tries with his limited language to communicate with the desk clerk, but he cannot make himself understood.

Finally he gives up defeated and goes home to check and see if she has sent him a message to say she has been delayed, or involved in some accident. Surely that would be her only reason for not being there. Nothing. A day passes and he has emailed her five times with a variation of moods leaving his number and address and asking over and over what has happened to her.

On the morning of the following day he tries a different tactic and emails a mutual friend, thinking perhaps she is unable to send him a message.

He gets a pretty speedy reply, as the mutual friend is puzzled to why he thinks that she would be coming to see him when she held a huge party before leaving to the tropics for a couple of weeks. He is dumbfounded and sits slumped over his computer and staring out the window beyond where the sky is grey and a light sleet is beginning to fall.

She sits on the warm white sand and drinks champagne. She toasts the empty air. “ To us” she says.