Corner Table

My calculation did not prove correct. I saw him enter the cafeteria, pick up a tray and collect his food. He headed straight for my table. I was determined to put stop to this.

"D-d-do you m-mind if I s-s-sit here again?

"Yes I do. You're own people are over there so why don't you join them, and stop bothering me."

"S-s-s-sorry I didn't mean t-t-to..."

He looked devastated, and suddenly I heard myself and felt as desolate as he looked.

"My God, Laura, what have you come to; a blazing feminist harridan?"

He started to move away, but in so doing he had to pass me. Impulsively I reached out and touched his sleeve.

"I'm sorry, that was very rude of me, please sit with me."

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a brief smile and said, "W-well, w-w-we all have those sorts of d-days."

"What sort of days?"

"Oh, w-when you d-don't feel too well or things s-s-seem to keep going wrong and..."

"You take it out on other people," I added.

"I w-wasn't going to s-s-say that."

"What then?"

"I w-was g-going to say, you feel as it y-you w-want to be l-l-left alone."

"Those sorts of days," I thought; "My God, I seemed to have had those sorts of days perpetually since Glen left me."

I thought a little more fence mending was in order, so in what would normally have been against my better judgement I said, "My name is Laura, what's yours?"

"John," he replied.

"Not Saint John?" I asked flippantly.

"What? S-sorry I don't..."

"It's all right John, I was just being silly. I used to live near a mountain called Mount Saint John."

"Really, I know that, I used to go skiing there with my parents. Which town did you live in?"

"Windabri."

"Ah, we lived over the other side of the mountain, just at the foot of the Bungle Bungles, Moorimba."

"We couldn't see the Bungle Bungles from Windabri; they were on the other side of St. John."

He talked on animatedly about skiing, Moorimba and his parents. His unusually grey eyes seemed to be alight with enthusiasm, and not having been enthusiastic about anything for a long time I found myself getting caught up in it. I also noticed that his stammer had gone.

The cafeteria was emptying and glancing at my watch I saw it was time to start work.

"Better get moving," I said, "it's been nice talking to you."

He looked up and smiled saying, "I've enjoyed it, perhaps we could..."

I didn't hear the rest of it because I was on the move.

I had to admit it had been a pleasant lunch, and that afternoon things seem to go better than usual, and the patients didn't seem to wince so much as the needle approached.

Even the weather seemed to fit my mood. As I left the building the sun was shining and I decided to walk to North Terrace rather than wait for the bus in Victoria Square. When I boarded the bus on the Terrace I actually got a seat.

My somewhat euphoric mood lasted until I got home. On entering the house the feeling of loneliness took over. Out there people were arriving home, to be greeted cheerfully or angrily, with good or bad news, by children, wives, husbands and lovers; but I...and what of those like me who came home to an empty house and a solitary meal?

Chapter 6. The Restaurant.

I had to do something, to act. I took a hasty shower and did what I had thought of the other night; I went to a restaurant. There would be people, eating drinking, talking and laughing. I would not be alone.

Certainly there were people eating, drinking, talking and laughing. They were all around me in the restaurant, couples and groups. They were with each other, but they were not with me, or I with them.

I was shown to a table that like my table in the cafeteria had seats for two. The waiter dutifully welcomed me, presenting the wine list and menu. At a table near me sat a young couple speaking quietly, looking into each others eyes. For an instant the light caught the flash of a diamond in the girl's engagement ring.

At another table what seemed like a family group were talking loudly and laughing, and at yet another table several people with serious faces were talking earnestly; business people negotiating a deal perhaps over food and wine?

All around were people. I knew that not all were happy; probably none were without problems, but they were together, sharing if only for this one meal something of their lives.

I tried to shrug off my mood of depression and sense of isolation, telling myself that I had managed my life since Glen. I hadn't needed anyone one, I hadn't sought intimacy. I had been safe behind the walls of my fortress, but now, since...since today's lunch with John...bloody John, shy stammering John, the new boy in the building, he had found a weak spot in my citadel walls. I hardly knew him, yet he had sneeked through.

Wine was brought; I had ordered wine without knowing why since I hardly ever drank it, but now, as I drank the first glass and then another, it did not do what many people said it did and lighten my mood; no, it deepened the darkness.

I ate without tasting and drank more than I should have. I must repel John; I must drive him out of my fortress and mend the breach. I would not have him or anyone else occupying my life. Alone, the mouse crouching behind its defences, was safe.

I left the restaurant somewhat inebriated and drove home praying no police were in the vicinity. Back in the house I thought I could almost smell its emptiness, and bewildered by alcohol and emotional turmoil I went to bed and wept.

Chapter 7. Failed Defence.

At lunchtime the next day I was prepared to repel John like an old time warship's crew preparing to repulse boarders. As it turned out, no foe attempted to board me.

My book at the ready, and the carefully rehearsed obnoxious comments on standby, I awaited the invasion of my space.

The Whibly crowd arrived in the cafeteria, more noisy and jovial than ever, and with them came John. He looked across at me, smiled and waved. I let him see that I had noticed him, and with what I hoped was a sneering look of rejection I bent over my book.

I awaited his assault on my table; it didn't come. Surreptitiously I looked over the top of the book to see John still romping with the Whibly people, and seemingly enjoying it.

There was uproarious laughter coming from the group and what looked like parcel opening accompanied by a female voice crying out, "Oh thank you, its lovely." This was followed by a discordant rendition of "Happy birthday," and then hugs and kisses.

Throughout this performance John showed no further signs that he knew of my existence. Towards the end of the lunch break the Whiblyites drifted out of the cafeteria; John leaving with them.

I looked down at my plate of shepherd's pie, hardly touched and now cold and unappetising. I had in one sense gained what I wanted, John's absence from my table. Yet I felt offended that John had been so careless as to have given me no opportunity to use my carefully prepared rebuffing tactics.

Irrationally I thought, "How dare he desert me for that Whibly lot, and before my very eyes kiss and hug that girl. He had not even come across to explain, to apologise...to...to excuse himself." This was an insult not to be born.

Outside the air-conditioned environment of my glass cage it was high summer. The sun was beating down on the Adelaide CBD. Girls and men were moving through the streets dressed in the minimum clothing the law would allow in public, but it was winter in my heart again.

Thwarted in my plans I had a terrible afternoon and evening. John's carelessness in not joining me at lunch and thereby not allowing me to launch my missiles, a satanic mood seemed to settle on me. It may be written in the Bible, "'Vengeance is mine,' says the Lord," but in John's case I intended to get in ahead of the Lord.

I once more wrote the script in my head, more virulent than the one I had been prevented from using. "When he approaches my table tomorrow," I thought, "he will receive such a broadside that he'll never come anywhere near boarding."

"When he approaches...? Suppose he doesn't approach...suppose he stays with the Whiblyites...suppose...?"

I had a dream that night. I was sitting in the cafeteria; it was empty except for me and John. John was sitting at a table farthest way from me, grinning at me derisively while I ate cold shepherds pie.

Chapter 8. The Fortress Stormed.

I saw him enter the cafeteria; the question was, would he sit with the Whiblyites or not.

I didn't hide behind my book this time, but looked at him openly. He picked up his tray, glanced in my direction, smiled and raised his hand. I smiled back, a sweet crocodile smile; that was my lure.

He collected his food and came towards me looking very cheerful.

"Good," I thought, "he's completely unprepared."

He went to sit down saying "Hello, I..."

Still smiling sweetly I said, "Would you mind, there are empty seats over there." I pointed at the Whiblyite tables, "I don't see why you need to disturb my lunch."

Half way between standing and sitting he froze, his face turning red, his eyes registering confusion.

"I-I-I thought w-w-we..."

The stammer was back, "Great," I thought, "I've completely wrong footed him."

Still with the needle smile on my face I said, "Then you shouldn't think, should you?"

"B-b-but I d-d-didn't w-w-want to d-dist..."

"So go away. What's the matter, have you got a fixation about this table or don't the Whiblyites want you."

"It's n-n-not that L-L-Laura...I...I..."

"Don't 'Laura' me," I snapped, dropping the smile. If for any reason you need to address me in future, I'm Miss Gordon, got it?"

"Y-y-yes, I d-d-didn't think..."

"My God, you must be sick; first you think and then you don't think, you'd better get some treatment."

I put the smile back on and said, "You didn't have any trouble sitting with the Whiblyites yesterday, so go and sit with them now."

"S-s-sorry, it w-w-was j-just that...a b-b-birthday p-party for..."

Without realising it my voice had increased in volume throughout this confrontation and the next words I spoke were close to being a screech.

"For God's sake piss off and leave me alone."

John looked at as if I'd struck him in the face. The buzz of conversation and the clatter of knives and forks stopped, every eye in the canteen was turned in our direction. John slowly backed off, he turned and made his way to the Whiblyite table and sat.

For several seconds the only sound came from the kitchen staff that had apparently not heard the fracas; then, as if someone had pressed a button the buzz of conversation began again. I sat as if paralysed. I had spat my venom and it seemed to have turned on me. I had humiliated John publicly and shamed my self in the process.

In a state of turmoil, and hardly knowing what I was doing, I rose and made my way blindly to the exit. As I left the cafeteria everything went quiet again, and passing the table where Margaret and Pam sat I heard them snigger. Once outside I heard the talk start up again, interspersed with laughter – laughter I had no doubt, at my expense.

Confused and feeling sick inside I went to the toilets and hid myself in a cubicle.

"What have I done?" I mentally wailed, "I've hurt a perfectly nice young man who's only offence had been to sit at my table, and in the process degraded my self. He'll never forgive me and I'll never forgive myself."

I broke down, weeping, hating myself for striking out at someone who had done nothing to defend himself – had not traded abuse...had...had...turned the other cheek and in so doing had punished me more than if he had struck me. Some might think that was the weapon of the weak, but as I sat on the toilet bowl I knew it was the very reverse; it was the weapon of the strong.

I sat for a long time, hearing people come and go as I hid in my temporary fortress. Then my lunch time was ended and I had to leave the security of my hiding place. I wished myself invisible as I entered our suite, but Margaret and Pam were at the reception desk and as I entered my room I heard them giggle.

Patients came and went and despite my attempts to concentrate they seemed to pass in a blur. I had to do something – something to repair the damage I'd done to John and my self. Several times I decided to telephone the Whibly suite and then backed off.

Finally I steeled my self and pressed in the number. The musical but somehow sterile voice of the receptionist sang; "Whibly and Associates, can I help you?"

"Could I speak to John, please?"

"John who, we have two Johns working here."

"Oh...er...I don't know...er...the new John."

"Ah, you mean John Raven, whose calling please?"

"Tell him Laura."

I heard a whispered conversation at the other end of the line and a titter of laughter. There as a pause while the connection was made, then John's voice.

"L-L-Laura, I-I-I'm sorry I-I-"

"Listen John," I cut in, "You haven't anything to be sorry for..."

"B-b-but if I upset you I..."

"John, please just listen. I don't expect you to forgive me for my appalling behaviour but I..."

"It's okay, L-Laura, you have every..."

"Will you shut up and listen John. I want to say that even if you could forgive me I shan't ever be able to forgive myself. I behaved outrageously and you'd done nothing to deserve that, so I just want to say I'm deeply sorry."

All was quiet at the other end of the line and I thought he might have cut me off.

"Are you there, John?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Say something John, I feel so wretched...and don't say your sorry."

"Er...well...you see I w-w-wanted t-to ask...c-c-could you s-s-spare the t-t-time to m-m-meet me after w-w-work for a c-c-cup of c-c-coffee?"

"Yes, I suppose..."

"I c-c-can't talk properly h-h-here."

I realised that colleagues must have been working nearby, and could overhear what he was saying.

"All right John, shall we meet in Jim's Café in Grote Street, say ten minutes past five."

"Yes, f-f-fine."

"See you then."

"Yes, and thanks, L-Laura."

I rang off and I wondered if, having had time to digest what had happened in the cafeteria he was out for revenge. It hadn't sounded like it over the telephone but if others were around he might not have been able to sound off as he wanted to. I began to regret my agreement to meet him.

Several times I thought about standing him up, but instead I worked on several possible scenarios for what he might have to say, and worked out what my riposte would be in each case.

When I finished work I made my way to the café. There was a churning sensation in the pit of my stomach. The place was just round the corner in Grote Street and I walked very slowly.

It's odd how when you've got something unpleasant to face, like going to the dentist, no matter how slowly you make your way to whatever it is, you always seem to cover the distance twice as fast as normal.

I got to the café almost before I realised it, and after pausing outside for a few moments, taking deep breathes, I entered. Looking round I could see that John had not arrived. I sat at a table and the waitress came to me, but I indicated that I was waiting for someone.

I looked at my watch, it was five minutes past five. Perhaps he'd changed his mind and wouldn't turn up. In my nervous state I had forgotten we had agreed ten minutes past five, so as I sat there waiting I felt a mixture of relief that he hadn't arrived and anger that he had stood me up.

He came in at ten minutes past on the dot. Looking round he saw me and I thought a trifle warily he came towards me and sat.

The waitress came over and we ordered coffee. Not inclined to start a conversation only to be interrupted by the arrival of coffee, the only words spoken were, "Thanks f-f-for c-coming, L-Laura.

"That's all right, John."

The coffee arrived but still nothing was said, so I finally asked, "You wanted to say something to me."

"Y-y-yes."

"Well what is it?"

"Ah...yes...you s-s-see, at l-l-lunchtime I'd intended to ask if...I'll understand i-i-if you s-say n-n-no...but..."

"What do you want to ask me, John?"

"Well...er...you know Her M-Majesties Theatre?"

Dear God, I thought, "what has the theatre got to do with it?" But I said, "Yes, John, I know it."

"Er...they're putting on a p-p-play b-by Oscar W-Wilde, "L-Lady W-W-Windermere's F-Fan."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me, John?"

"Yes...no...no...I w-wanted t-t-to ask y-you if you'd g-go w-with me to s-see it?"

I nearly choked on my coffee. He was asking me to go with him after the way I'd treated him!

I pulled myself together and said, "John, that was what you intended to ask me at lunchtime; now let me get this right, you're asking me now?"

"Er...yes."

"After the way I spoke to you in the cafeteria?"

"Oh well, y-you j-j-just wanted to b-be on your own and we all..."

"Have those sorts of days; yes you've said that before but I was vile, so why do you want me to go with you?"

"Y-yes L-Laura, you where v-vile, but you're n-not a vile p-person."

"How do you know that? Do you know I've sat at that table for over a year at lunchtime on my own."

"R-really?"

"And do you know why?"

"N-n-no."

I paused for a moment and for some reason – God knows why – I told the truth.

"Because I'm not a nice person John, as you should know, so why the hell do you want me to go to the theatre with you, I might spoil your evening."

"D-do you m-m-mind if I s-say something t-to you...it's...er... r-rather personal."

"After what I said to you I suppose you've got some right to get personal."

"I think y-y-our hurt and l-lonely."

I didn't know what to answer. Unerringly he had found the weak spot and I wanted to cry.

"I'm lonely too," he went on. "I don't really know anyone and..."

That sent me on the defensive – or was it offensive? "So you ask me to go out with you because you can't find anyone else, is that it."

I was glaring at him as I said this, and for the first time saw the gleam of battle in his eyes – no, not quite that, it was more like a faint glimmer.

Still speaking quietly he said, "Laura, I don't know why you have to be so negative and offensive. If you don't like me or don't want to go to the theatre with me, you only have to say 'no'. I asked you because I wanted to, that's all, not because I couldn't have asked anyone else; there are girls working at Whibly's you know."

I was amazed. For John that had been a relatively long speech, and there hadn't been a trace of his stammer. But I wasn't finished.

"You said you don't know anyone else."

"If you bothered to let me finish, what I was going on to say was that I don't know anyone else as well as I know you. All right, it's only been three days, and for most of that time I've annoyed you, and you've been a bit offensive..."

"My God," I thought, "'a bit offensive', what would it take for this guy to find me really offensive?" I decided it was time to give up trying to find out.

He was looking at me intently and looking back I said, "I don't understand why you've asked me, John, but since you have and want a yes or no, then yes, I would like to go to the theatre with you. But you must understand that I don't want anything heavy. We're going to the theatre together, and that's all. "

"That's all I asked, Laura," he said. "Thank you. When would you like to go?"

"Friday," I replied, "I'm not on the roster for Saturday morning so if it's late before I get home it won't matter."

"Wonderful," he replied eagerly, "I'll go round to the theatre tomorrow at lunchtime and book seats."

"I'll come with you," I said.

"There's no need," he replied.

"Yes there is...unless you let me know how much my ticket is."

"Why?"

"So I can pay for it of course."