I wasn’t going to say this…
Stoke Newington sunshine and a hairdryer breeze. Baby moorhens with sealing wax beaks. Empty Sunblest bags tied to pond railings; orderly waste in a park crammed with bins. Toddler and pink pushchair: ‘ello, kwack, g’bye.
Out into Church Street, boy sucking juice from a beaker. Arrogant mother slams pram into our wheels, her brood bob in her wake as she scowls into her phone.
Past the library and peer into shop windows. A man walks alongside and says:
“Your wife get you to look after the baby?”
“Yes, she’s not too well this afternoon. So I took him to the park.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by…”
“No, no. It’s just lovely to be out in the sunshine.”
I pause and look at my new companion. He’s got the dead eyes and walled-up face of the kid who grew up amongst violence, but the smile of a man who draws strength from hope. He’s wearing an England football shirt, his slight stoop making it hang loosely down the central margin of his back.
“I’d like meet someone and start a family some day,” he says.
“Yes, that would be nice. I’m sure it’ll happen at some point.”
“I hope so,” he continues. He’s in his forties. “I need to at my time of life.”
“Well, sometimes wonderful things happen.”
“I’ve had girlfriends before,” he says. Then: “I’ve had a few girlfriends. But…”
A heartbeat of a pause.
“So you’ve been to the park?” he continues.
“Yes”
“My dad used to carry me on his shoulders. I loved that.”
“I carry William, but these days he wants to clamber off and play.”
“I’ve just been to the library. For a course called Learning Direct. Have you heard of it?”
“Sort of. It’s a government-backed learning thing, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It helps you get back into work.”
“So what are you going to be doing?”
“I’ve been a bit lazy, so I’m thinking of doing a course in Maths and English. There were two really nice women. The course is recognised by some employers, but not all - I think it’s about 50 per cent who do.”
“Well, I’m sure the fact you’ve made an effort to improve your skills will go down with any employer.”
“I hope so. What I’d really like, if it goes well - in the future… .” He pauses for a moment. “What I’d really like is to go on, and actually do GCSEs in English and Maths.”
“That would be fantastic. I hope you do.”
“It would help me get a better job. Oh, is that the bus stop?”
“No, that’s just down there, near the cemetery.”
“Should I have gone back that way?”
“No, you’d have had to go round the corner. It’s probably a bit quicker this way.”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a writer. I write things for companies.”
“What sort of things?”
“All sorts. Newsletters, contract bids, websites, marketing materials - anything really. The good thing is that, when I get to know a company, I end up writing all the stuff they want to read nicely.”
We arrived at the bus stop.
“I wasn’t going to say this,” said my companion, reaching in his pocket.
Oh no. Here it comes.
“I just thought it was such a nice day, and I’d talk to you. But… .”
He presses a card into my hands.
“Please take this.”
“Thank you,” I say, thrusting it into my pocket. “Lovely to have met you.”
“Goodbye,” said the man.
I steered the pushchair round the corner and took the card from my pocket.
It read: “NORTH LONDON CHURCH OF CHRIST”, and in spidery writing on the back a name and telephone number. “Children’s classes are provided”.
Published on 7th May, 2008
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