I also had gotten a weekend job at a local shop, a general grocers and newsagents on a nearby local estate, owned by two Asian brothers, the family coming from Bangladesh originally I think.The youngest of the two was in his late 40s and was somewhat of a sleeping partner, rarely seen in the store, leaving his wife and daughter to often serve in the store.The eldest was a widower, in his late 50s or early 60s at the time. I would have put him at a good 15 stone as well, a round, balding man, but a kind man.I had been working on a Saturday morning in the store, to earn some pocket money. Nothing too strenuous, just some shelf stacking, food pricing and a bit of moving stock around in the back room etc...Occasionally I was asked to work extra hours on a Sunday or on a Friday night after school.On one such Friday night I had gone straight to the shop after school and was working in the back pricing up some new stock etc.There was only me, 16 at the time, and the elder brother (Mr R). I sink to my knees in the middle of the leaf-strewn path because my legs won’t support me any longer and I can’t go on. There’s nowhere to go. I am fighting against an advancing army of possibilities. I turn my face to the sky and let the rain hit me full on, my eyes shut tight, trying to breathe. Her hands steady my shaking shoulders. She stays silent and motionless behind me, holding onto me. After a time I stand unsteadily and turn to her. We are both soaked to the skin. I can’t look at her, or rather I won’t. She puts a hand to my face and makes me. The rainwater is flowing down her nose and cheeks in little rivulets, her short dark hair plastered to her head. She is so very beautiful – that’s part of the problem. Her hazel eyes are full of tears, all her earlier bravado left far behind with the car. This is the real woman, here and now: the lonely lover, the scared little girl. She is giving me her vulnerability to touch. She tells me she still loves me without a word. I put my.
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