{"id":331,"date":"2020-07-24T15:30:54","date_gmt":"2020-07-24T15:30:54","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/?page_id=331"},"modified":"2020-07-24T15:30:54","modified_gmt":"2020-07-24T15:30:54","slug":"i-saw-her-again","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/i-saw-her-again\/","title":{"rendered":"I Saw Her Again"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The first time she looked vaguely familiar, someone I had seen in the past but couldn\u2019t place in my mind. It had been as I turned onto the path towards my apartment block, glancing at a woman on the other side of the road, walking slowly and looking in my direction. For a moment I scratched at my memory, then let it go. It was hours later that I realised that she looked like Elaine. Or how Elaine would look if she hadn\u2019t died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The thought lingered over a few days, creeping into quiet moments and there when I woke in the night. It was with me as I sat in the caf\u00e9 near the office, my attention wandering from the book, when Fiona appeared. She greeted me with that hesitant smile, suggesting she was keen for my company but didn\u2019t want to intrude. I asked how she was doing, the sign that she was welcome to share the table. We chatted for a while \u2013 \u201cWhat\u2019s the book?\u201d \u201cDid you see \u2026?\u201d \u201cAre you going to \u2026?\u201d \u2013 with her usual hints, and my usual polite deflections. I liked he; she was friendly, interesting, pretty and just a few years younger than me. But I had come to accept what I was; a widower for twenty-seven years with enough friends, particular tastes and living alone without feeling lonely. I would probably have enjoyed a night out with her, if not for the feeling that she was looking for a lot more. We parted as usual, with a smile and knowing we would see each other in the caf\u00e9 soon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The following day I saw the other woman\nagain. I was almost home, about to turn from the pavement to the building\u2019s\ngarden path, when I noticed her coming towards me. This time I stopped. She\nlooked in her mid-fifties, the same height as Elaine with the narrow chin,\ndelicate lips, and grey hair in a bob with a streak died black and hanging over\nan eyebrow. I couldn\u2019t remember Elaine with a style like that but could imagine\nher choosing it as she grew older. She noticed me and I immediately looked away\nand hurried along the path, embarrassed and opening the door to the building\nwithout looking behind. I couldn\u2019t help thinking that she had stopped to watch\nme. That evening I couldn\u2019t enjoy my book, TV or any music, and although I slept\nit was unsettled. I woke up in the night with an idea that if someone dies\nyoung they go to an afterlife and carry on ageing. At dawn I went out for a\nfive-mile run.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Over the next couple of weeks I pressed\nfriends for nights out \u2013 a movie, a pizza with a bottle of red, a blues band in\na club with a line of craft ales \u2013 and thoughts of the woman subsided. I ran\ninto Fiona in the caf\u00e9 again and noticed she seemed under a cloud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnything wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing serious. Had a blind date set for\nyesterday, but he didn\u2019t turn up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo he\u2019s an idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I realised it was a clumsy comment, with\nan implication of something I didn\u2019t mean, and an awkward moment hung between\nus. Then she did me a favour and changed the subject. Afterwards I felt annoyed\nat myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The following day I lingered at an\nafter-work drink, left the pub slightly sozzled and felt in danger of dozing on\nthe bus. Someone boarded, I looked up and saw Elaine. She seemed to recognise\nme, pausing beside a seat as if waiting for me to speak or wave, and I turned\nmy head to look out of the window. I felt tense, wondered if I was more drunk\nthan I had thought, and waited almost a minute before looking to see she had\nsat three rows in front and was looking straight ahead. The bus was approaching\na stop, and I rang the bell and hurried to the door. As it pulled away I saw\nher looking at me through the window, surprised, knowing that I had got off the\nbus early.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked home and collapsed into memories,\nnot so much of Elaine but of the grief addled time after she had died. We had\nbeen in love for five years, three of them married, planned for a family, then\ncame the illness that killed her in weeks. For two years I survived in misery\nthen took another two to recover a life. After that there had been a handful of\nwomen, odd dates and half-hearted efforts to find something special, but after\na while I chose a life without all that. I was more comfortable as the guy who\nnever got over his wife\u2019s death but had friends and was good company. That had\nbeen me for a long time. But now I sat on the floor and tumbled in a wild idea\nthat someone could come back, not as the person you remembered but the one they\nwould have become, and want you to \u2026.. I didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stayed home for the weekend, barely\ntried to read or watch TV, but allowed my mind to drift in and out of the\nthought that Elaine was watching me, waiting for the chance to approach. I\ndidn\u2019t know if I should be excited or scared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the Monday I went to work, frazzled\nfrom the lack of sleep and eager to get clear of the office at lunchtime. I walked\nto the caf\u00e9, saw Fiona through the window, and walked on. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mind got back on track, marshalled by\nroutine and an important project, and by the following weekend I was somewhere\nnear normal. I left on time on the Friday, got home quickly, and resolved to\nget out of the flat over the next couple of days. I had been home fifteen\nminutes when the doorbell rang, I answered, and found myself staring at Elaine.\nShe said hullo, smiled, then must have seen the look on my face as hers froze.\nThere was a silence, a hint of anxiety in her eyes, then I spoke without\nthinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cElaine. How can you \u2026. be here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now she looked worried. I spoke again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s been years. Why now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her mouth opened and she took a step back.\nNow she looked a little scared. I pressed a fist to my mouth. Then she spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy name\u2019s Julie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI work for the building\u2019s management\ncompany.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I realised she was carrying a clipboard. My\nlegs weakened but I moved my hand to rest on the doorframe and stayed on my\nfeet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJulie?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She showed me an identity card, with a\nphoto I wouldn\u2019t have mistaken as Elaine. Then I noticed unfamiliar details in\nher face: a slight turn of the nose, a little more flesh on the lips, and her\neyes were brown, not hazel like Elaine\u2019s. I had been looking at a stranger. She\nstared at me, clearly worried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d I said. \u201cYou reminded me of\nsomeone. I think I\u2019ve seen you around.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been checking a maintenance job\nhere. And I live close by.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I shook my head and forced a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ve been daft.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can come back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, let\u2019s do it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pulled myself together, answered a\ncouple of questions and assured her I had seen no signs of leaks or blockages\nin the plumbing. She was satisfied, and we parted as if my wobble was already\nforgotten. Then I went inside, sat on the sofa and burst into tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nwent back to the caf\u00e9 every day the following week, but it was Thursday before\nI found Fiona. She was at a table, reading something on her phone. I hesitated,\nbut she looked up and said hullo as if I was welcome to sit with her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSorry,\u201d she said. \u201cI was reading a film\nreview.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnything worth seeing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe new Coen Brothers. It\u2019s meant to be\ngood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s on my list.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI might see it, if I can find someone to\ndrag along.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I gave it a couple of seconds to reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d be game to see it at the weekend. If\nyou\u2019re up for it we could do that then go for something to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A broad smile appeared on her face, and my heart rose a little.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Image by Keema Keur, CC BY-SA 2.0 <\/a>through flickr<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The first time she looked vaguely familiar, someone I had seen in the past but couldn\u2019t place in my mind. It had been as I turned onto the path towards my apartment block, glancing at a woman on the other side of the road, walking slowly and looking in my direction. For a moment I … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-331","page","type-page","status-publish"],"yoast_head":"\nI Saw Her Again - short story<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Short story about a man who sees his dead wife in the street\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/i-saw-her-again\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"I Saw Her Again - short story\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Short story about a man who sees his dead wife in the street\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/i-saw-her-again\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"MARK SAY\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/07\/Woman-with-blurred-face-by-Kema-Keur-CC-BY-SA-2.0.jpg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Estimated reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"7 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/i-saw-her-again\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/index.php\/i-saw-her-again\/\",\"name\":\"I Saw Her Again - 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