Wednesday lunchtime, and a little group gathered to eat in the canteen. I made my excuses, deliberately vague. Going out. Didn’t say where.
They probably knew, but they didn’t know. I didn’t, not really.
A rendez-vous. Meeting a new lover. Or, if you prefer, a meal with an old friend. Both. Neither. More.
I know a place. Secluded, set apart up a few broad stone steps. The door closed, and noise of the traffic melted away. A siren pierced the quiet, but it didn’t disturb us.
Half an hour, that’s all we had. And then I left. (Leaving, but not parting, not alone, you come with me, you are part of me, I am part of you). The traffic stopped for me. How could it do otherwise? Dashing back across the road, trailing sparks behind me. Sneaking in through the foyer, both relieved and disappointed that the receptionist failed to look up and see my shining face. For in that moment I felt luminous.
Kathleen Jowitt 