The party was in full swing with several dozen people.
They were all drinking, nibbling finger food, laughing and talking… all at once. It seemed hot in the room. Although nobody else seemed to notice. He wasn’t really much of a party-goer. The guy in despatch at work invited him. He wasn’t sure why. He knew some of them from the work place. Not many. He had spoken to a couple of people in the half hour he’d been there. He looked at the time. He began thinking about slipping away. He could probably do it without anybody noticing.
That’s when the woman rushed over to him extending her hand. “Fancy meeting you here. Are you with the company?”
He went to answer.
“Of course you are. Our host tells me you’re in records. Most of these,” she looks around, “most of these are in the city. I’m not of course, still out there in the country.” She laughed. “Same old, same old. Quite busy though.”
He was beginning to wonder who she was.
“What’s it been, three, four years?”
He went to open is mouth.
She said, “I was just saying to my friends over there, time just slips away doesn’t it? Don’t you find that? Time just slips away. I’m sure you do. We all do.”
She stops to look around again.
“Are you still painting? Wonderful hobby. My ex used to paint. That’s before he had his trouble.”
She flapped her hand.
“Some sort of intestinal obstruction apparently, poor dear. Of course, it went untreated for ages before we figured out what it was. Even then, we had absolutely no idea that it was going to be life-threatening. It turned out that his blood supply was being cut off… somewhere.”
She paused to sip at her wine.
“Anyway, he wasn’t very good. Even he used to say he wasn’t very good.”
He was sure he didn’t know her. He had never even thought of painting.
She started to snivel and took a tissue from her bag.
“You must think me a fool.”
He shook his head.
“He was actually a wonderful man you know. You met him didn’t you, at the gallery that time? Of course you did.”
His eyebrows raised.
“Of course you did,” she repeated, “you were discussing Jan van Eyck’s thing about painting with oils on wood.” She scrunched her face into a smile. “I remember how enthusiastic you both were.” She touched his arm. “Thank you for that. I’m sure that little chat meant a lot to him.”
At this point, he was preparing to say something, when she threw up her arm, almost spilling her drink. “Oh! Look!” she cried. “They made it. I wasn’t sure if they’d be here. I must say a quick hello. I hope you don’t mind. I’ll be right back. Promise!”
She rushed across the room into the crowd.
He slipped away.