23. When is a Date a Date?

A WIDOW WOMAN Part 23

  She was well into her fifties when Jane fell in love for a second time in her life.

He was the deputy librarian at Brumpton Public Library (children’s section in a separate building from the main library) and he shared her birthday, quite by accident.

She was fed up with the way time was passing her by with precious little in the way of personal thrills to show for it.

Betty had gone off to college, bless her, and Roger was anxiously waiting to be old enough to start learning to drive so that he could take a council van out on his own and consequently receive a pay rise. He’d also completed an evening course on some aspects of plumbing, which helped. And so it was that she was on her own when she wandered into the children’s section of the borough library to see what it was like. She’d encouraged Betty and Roger to use the library when they’d been younger, and Betty had taken full advantage of it. But she’d always gone on her own for her fix of Enid Blyton adventures, not needing the guidance of her busy mother or the company of her younger brother.

The man behind the stamp pads and ticket trays looked up at her, and smiled when he saw the sticker she had placed on her jacket lapel because he was sporting an identical one. Both were announcing that it was their birthday as if they were youngsters wanting the world to know that another year of their young lives was starting that day.

“Touché,” she said with a smile.

“And happy birthday to you, madam,” he said very properly, “what can I do for you?”

She felt an almost romantic tingle start in the pit of her stomach when she looked at his smile. What can you do to me? flashed through her mind, and was, thankfully, left unsaid.

“I wanted to look around,” she said, trying to sound more distant tan she felt. “My daughter spent quite a lot of time coming here a few years ago and I’ve never had a proper look around myself. I think it’s so important for our children to enjoy a good book, don’t you? Though Roger, a year or so younger than Betty, was never interested. He’s more practical, I suppose, though he can play the guitar…”

There I go, saying too much, babbling on about my family, and he won’t be remotely interested… he probably meets hundreds like me every week, little old ladies who just want to be part of a bigger world than their kitchens and parlours…

“My son does that,” murmured the librarian, “doesn’t read much, though, and hardly ever comes to see his old man at work… I’m a widower, you know, living in disharmony with my sister, who cares for the two of us.”

He’s as bad as me, letting all of his cats out of the bag straight away…

“She died when Barry, that’s my lad, was born,” continued the man, his face suddenly a mask of sadness. “I still love her… or should it be I still love her memory. I’ve kept Barry, though, I couldn’t have borne the idea of losing him too… Edna, that’s my sister, has been an angel.”

“It sounds like a very sad story to be telling a total stranger,” pointed out Jane.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking about things before you came in, and you can see there aren’t any kids in at the moment to distract me… I get a bit maudlin, I suppose you might say… and he’s left school now, and got a girl and everything. Sorry. Tell me about yourself.”

“A widow, looking for a man…” It came out involuntarily. Maybe it was in her mind, looking at the stranger behind his counter and with that teasing little twirl in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe she needed to admit to herself that’s what she wanted.

Last year there had been that awful quarrel with the Reverend and retired copper, both obviously after her, wanting to court her, wanting to spend some private time with her, maybe even intimate time, and the scene had, if anything, put her off the whole idea of having a man in her life. But she was a woman and although she’d passed uncomfortably through the change, she still had a need deep inside to find a someone who would somehow complete her.

“It’s never easy,” she said, not quite sure what she meant. “Being alone, I mean, though you’ve got a sister. I’ve got a friend, Gwennie, who pops round occasionally. But it’s not the same, and occasionally has become even more occasional now that we’re both out of our childhoods!”

“You sound like fun,” he said. “There aren’t so many ladies who’d be so open with a stranger like you are. I find it honest, refreshing.”

“I sometimes think I need someone to open up to,” she sighed, “but it never crossed my mind that it should be the first man I meet who happens to share my birthday!”

“This afternoon, after work, the library, at least this section, closes at five today… are you free? There’s a coffee shop in the main section and because I’m a cheapskate I go there for the odd cup after work. It’s open to the public and it would be really nice if we could have a cup of nice hot coffee and wish each other happy birthday … you don’t think I’m being too forwards, do you?”

“Of course you are!” she smiled, “and I’d love to have a cup of something hot with you! But can you make it tea? I’ve never taken to coffee…”

“They do tea too,” he smiled, “though these days it’s coffee that the youngsters go for. The good thing though is there isn’t a jukebox, it being part of a library where shush is the mantra! I couldn’t bear the idea of exchanging life experiences with a lovely lady under the wiggling gaze of Elvis Presley!”

“Then I’ll share a pot of something hot with you,” she smiled, and her twirling stomach wouldn’t stop twirling. “After all, it isn’t what you’d call a date, is it?”

“You can if you want,” he said quietly, “I mean, when is a date not a date?”

“When it’s a birthday,” she smiled, “seer you later, then.”

Two teachers led a trail of children, hand-in-hand and two by two, into the library as she left. Young children, like hers had been. Keen to set out in life and with hopefully lots of birthdays in front of them.

© Peter Rogerson 12.07.21

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