unseen
by martin bradley
S
tarbucks IOI Mall, Puchong, Selangor, Malaysia. The Saturday afternoon was traditionally hot and humid for an equatorial city. The heat and the humidity were rising again, indicating times of rain to come, soon. This day, there were no obvious clouds in the sky, only blue.
'You are Andrew Goodchild. You used to host 'Perak People', the readings sessions, right? I am right, aren't I? I know it was, ooh what, ten years ago but…'
Grey bearded and overweight, Andrew Goodchild, wearing a Marks & Spencer combination of blue cotton shirt and black Marks & Spencer (Active Waistband Flat Front Crease Resistant) Trousers, lifted his venti cappuccino in the American coffee-house and was wondering why the staff had decided to write Andrew with a ‘Y’ at the end instead of a double-u on his decidedly hot,white, disposable paper cup. He was about to return to his seat when...
Weight. That was it, weight. She was a little older now and certainly still very good looking. Now he remembered her.
She stopped, waiting for Andrew's interjection. When none came, she continued. 'I've lost a bit of weight since then.'
'I don't think that I ever knew your name, but yes. You always had such lovely sarees, I seem to remember. 'Thank you. I thought that was you. How are you? How's life treating you? What are you doing in Puchong? You lived in Kampar didn't you?'
'Andrew. Andrew Goodchild. It is, isn't it?' Someone 'Well, I could ask you the very same question.' said, next to him. 'No, you first. I'm curious. You're married to a Chinese 'Hmm, yes', Andrew was a bit cautious, puzzled. artist, isn't it? You left Perak. I know because you closed Perak People. We were all a bit disappointed. Did he know this woman? Missed those monthly meetings, that lovely old black and white venue too. Heavenly.' 'Haven't seen you for ages.' Have I ever seen you, thought sceptical Andrew. 'I've a seat over there, join me.' 'Preeti. Preeti Kaur.' Preeti, letting her long black hair, ever so slightly threaded with silver, as if in a fashion statement, drape her shoulders and fall to her waist,\. She was wearing a small sized men's orange Fabindia cotton ‘Dobby Long Kurta’ and a pair of tight fitting slacks, both of which suited her new found figure. Still Andrew looked on, now mystified. 42
'K' They squeezed through the slim isle left by Mac book, Lenovo ThinkPad, HP Spectre et al interneters, pushchairs containing miniature human beings and chairs with lounging business people too arrogant to shift their legs. Andrew plonked himself down, a little ungraciously as it happened. He took a sip of his very hot beverage
