Downpour

I’d been caught in one of those monumental East Anglian downpours. My feet were two blocks of ice. I sat hunched over my hot chocolate making puddles on the floor. I was only just starting to feel warm again when they said the café was closing but I wasn’t ready to leave. I couldn’t face my cold empty flat.

Bouncers from the Slug & Lettuce arrived. They weren’t going to shift me either, not without violence.

Next, this woman turned up. Older – about my age. Kind warm eyes. Street pastor apparently.

I don’t do church but she got me talking. About my Sue; how the cancer took her.

After a while the woman said, ‘It’s stopped – the rain. Shall we go for a walk?’

Streetlights made patterns in the puddles. She put her arm through mine. As long as someone cares I can see colours. There were reds, greens and blues in the puddles. Moonlight made kind of rainbows in the clouds. We sat on a bench for a while.

‘What was your best ever day together?’ she asked.

‘That would be January, walking up near Holt. We were as far as we could have been from shelter when the heavens opened. We huddled together drenched but how we laughed! Maybe I’ll be able to summon up her laughter again when I get home. I’ll put the fire on, and some music, and she’ll be there.’

The woman smiled. ‘God bless,’ she said putting her hand on my arm.