A excerpt below
I met Stephanie, the new arts teacher, the week after
I saw Caroline on the plane to England.
"I'd like someone's help to hang my paintings?"
Stephanie said at morning recess after everyone had introduced themselves.
"I'll give you a hand," I
said, attracted by her vivacious pixie face framed by short dark hair so
different to Caroline's cool blondeness. We made a date that evening.
Stephanie's eyes lit up. "Thank
you. Come for dinner."
Nigel, the manual arts teacher, a gangling one
hundred and ninety centimetres, leered at us in his usual inane way.
I knew what he thought. Caroline has been gone
a week and you're already on to another.
Stephanie's front door was open when I arrived
at her unit on the second floor of a three-story block of flats. Receiving no
answer to my knock and call, I went in.
She sat on the mat in the living
area wearing a pale blue sari, edged with silver and red trimmings, staring
through me as if in some subliminal trance.
I went outside and lit a cigarette, wondering
whether I should go home. I’d finished my second cigarette when she came out.
“Oh, there you are. Do you want to hang the
paintings before or after dinner?”
lighthearted fantasy.
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