Contrasts

Perhaps we shouldn't have gone to the Gallery opening. The smart, shiny people glanced unseeingly at us as we slipped through the door, so absorbed were they in all the other smart, shiny people they had known for years. Strangely, nobody else seemed to be looking at the stunning pictures. More people drifted in and were greeted with shrieks of recognition, air kisses, as we bounced off them like billiard balls, unable to penetrate the invisible shield.

She used to be a neighbour of his, in and out of each other's houses, their children playmates, but they hadn't seen each other for years.

'I can't quite place you ...’ she said, puzzled, as he greeted her and congratulated her on her work. 'Oh yes, didn't you used to be married to ...’

'Things change', he replied awkwardly as my smile slipped.

Not the right woman. Not the right place. Not my fault.

The next day, the thin Autumn sunshine breaking through the misty morning drew us out onto the water. We spent the day sailing up the river, the water like spun silk, dropping anchor in a quiet creek, listening to the silence, soaking up the late sun. Later, as the light drained away, we headed back to port under the bright, almost full moon, shivering in the damp, cold, river air.