Went to my favorite public hideaway today. Sainsburys. I don't know anyone who shops there, its fairly far away from where we live, and neither me nor my friends nor former colleagues can afford to shop there. I find the cafe does a reasonable fish and chips, and if I need the odd item, I put it in a hand basket and pay the extra pound. No worries. Its a good place for times when the lonerness aspect of depression is kicking in, but I've got the will and energy to get out of the house. I can be in public, but don't have to face the intensity of conversation. Oddly enough, talking with the cafe staff or at the checkout is less intense and more bearable than chatting with someone I know and like. So, its a bit like a mini rehab. On a day following a good Sainsburys day, I can generally talk to friends again, calm restored.
I adopted my usual therapeutic routine. Parked at the far end of the carpark, thus providing the health benefit of exercise and the exposure to sunlight preventing rickets. Bought a newspaper from the kiosk. Today, a Mirror, not too challenging. Ordered fish and chips, collected the supplies to go with it, paper sachets of salt, one plastic sachet of vinegar, four plastic sachets of tartare sauce (I know its too much, but I'm partial to it). Got a table by the window. Started on the cup of tea and the paper featuring a commemorative pullout of the Hillsborough tragedy. It ought to have been enough to put my small troubles into perspective. My eyes teared when I thought about the confusion, the panic and the enduring loss.
I glanced up when the meal arrived and felt the first stomach clenches of anxiety. Three tables along and facing me, I saw a figure that seemed familiar. She was mostly obscured by the girl she was with. I looked back at the paper and started to eat. Then I began to hear the woman's voice. I was beginning to place who it was, but hoping I was mistaken. I glanced up again then took a mouthful of food. My heart started to beat faster, I was feeling too hot. Should I wave and say hello? I had kidded myself I didn't know this person, but I recognised her for sure. The rational me buried deep told me I only had to look up, make eye contact, smile and say hello. This woman probably wouldn't want to talk for long. Too late, by now I was overheated, giddy, could feel my own heartbeat. I needed to be outside in the cool, but if I stood up, I might faint. Headache beside my eyes and across my forehead. Flashes of blackness.
I waited, sipping tea and moving the food around my plate, my head low over the newspaper. Thinking about each breath. Finally, the woman and the girl were gone. I had cooled down, but felt clammy with sweat. I stood up and tidied the table, not out of any concern for the waitress but to see if I could now keep my feet. No sign of black spots before the eyes, no nausea. Relief.
I only made it to the first aisle before I was alongside her. I spoke first. She had seen me, but I think may not have spoken, I suspect my body language was screaming 'nutter'. She is the sister of my former best friend, we had met a few times at bar-b -q's, Christmas parties and Sunday lunches. I had stayed over at her house in London once, over a decade ago when she worked as a model, and in a boutique. In those days she was gracious, urbane, chic. I was career driven, fat, boring. She was kind, I had a lovely time.
In by the chiller cabinet, we had a chat about the children, our families, and skirted vaguely over work. She is doing an NVQ in child development and I think felt bad that she didn't have a career to talk about, she got less awkward when I said I didn't have a job at all. She is still willowy and well dressed, I think she is using hair dye now, nicely done. She said three times how young I look. If looking young matters to her, ironically it has never meant anything to me, in my twenties I always looked a good five older than my real age. Now, my fat face pads out the wrinkles.
The conversation was quite alright in the end. Panic over.
No comments:
Post a Comment