The story so far: There’s weeping in the chair, but Dan wants to go for a walk.
THE woman’s shoulders jerk. Her sobs morph into gasps of despair.
Boy, if she could see her mascara mapping her misery.
Dan thinks it’s a sorry sight, and the waiter does too.
He’s got chamomile tea on a tray, and a bottle of water.
The woman looks up and gives an almighty trumpet sound of a nose blow on the tear-soaked serviette..
She dabs her eyes, smudges the mascara and folds herself into one last quivering cry.
Thank you Isaac, Dan says. Just leave the tray on the table please.
Issac, as discreet as ever, lowers his eyes and places the tray on the round rattan table.
It’s seen better days, has that table, but then, so has Isaac.
He remembers the new furniture, the carpets wall to wall.
But he’s never seen anyone cry like that.
Dan pours the tea while twirling a spiral of honey into the cup.
Sally, yes, her name’s Sally, Sally Thompson, is checking her phone.
Bitch, she says.
Dan see’s the woman’s neck veins throb, pulse.
Here, have some tea, she says, looking into Sally’s face.
I’ve put a few drops of rescue remedy in it too. Sip on it. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Sally smiles. Sort of.
Dan sees her lips tremble, a little, then iron out to show some teeth.
It’s awful how the woman’s chin quakes, and bubbles and breaks.
Through it all.
(to be continued)