Under My Nose
July 8, 2011 § 36 Comments
Even she, Mary, said to me she wasn’t looking and there Simon was right under her nose.
He was the father of her daughter’s best friend. She and Simon had always been friendly in that our-children-are-friends sort of way, but it had never crossed her mind. They were at a party together. Naturally enough – such a cliche – one she had really had to steel herself to go to. She jolly nearly didn’t, she was absolutely dreading it and concocting in her mind her excuses, still in the throes of misery following the recent walk-out by her twenty-year-three-children husband. But in the end she made herself. And hey ho. Well, of course, these stories are ten-a-penny. He kissed her on the cheek in the taxi on the way home and the kiss lingered a millisecond longer than the usual. She got out of the cab and stepped into her house and in the dull light of her kitchen knew a line had been crossed. In the heat of the moment, she sent him a text; beautifully composed, pretty unambiguous, but not so much so that had she read the signals completely wrongly she could never look him in the face again.
And so their relationship flashed into life. It’s still going strong.
“There he was, right under my nose,” she says, smiling. “I am sure the next man in your life is right under your nose.”
Well, boy have I been looking. There is no stone under my nose unturned, no corner of the whole vista that is under my nose into which a super-strong torch has not been shone.
Nope. Nothing but a protruding stomach, a couple of bunions and a stretch of tasteful carpet under my nose. Not a man to be seen.