BERTHE 1994
It's 1994, I am 45. She and her husband are members of the Resident's Association in Kensington that I am Treasurer of. After an AGM we chatted and she told me of her eye problems with thyroid disease. She talked continuously and was very lively; petite with glorious hair. Her husband said nothing. They lived in a sweet little house directly opposite me.
2? years later I ran into her crossing the road nearby and she told me her husband had divorced her and she was on her own with their adopted son. She invited me to accompany her to a meeting with a couple in a local wine bar, to make up the foursome. So I did, and we had a nice evening – as we parted I squeezed her hand.
I was due to visit an interesting underground site in Campden Town, so I suggested she come with me (actually it was a test), which she did – though she did look a bit incongruous teetering through dusty vaults. Afterwards we sat on a bench on the canal towpath, and kissed.
Two days later I took the bull by the horns and knocked on her door, it was answered by her son. “Is your mother in?” I said, and she was. Her son tactfully disappeared up stairs and she made me coffee in the living room. She was very bitter about her husband – he had made love to her one night, and then told her he was divorcing her for irreconcilable incompatibility the next morning -
Not exactly “No”, so I persisted and she was . . . .