One Fat Lady

ONE FAT LADY

Dear Linda,

It’s been such a long time since we first met but I’ve never forgotten the last time I saw you. I can visualise you now in the school uniform you’d managed to convert into something more your style, throwing back your long wavy hair and laughing as you answered my question. You had no idea how serious I was. Staying on at school wasn’t for me; I longed to see the world and had signed up for the Air Force even before you’d chosen your subjects for sixth form. There was only one thing I regretted leaving behind, and that was you. Do you remember me asking what you wanted to do when you finally finished studying? I’ve never forgotten your reply.

         “I want to live in sin with the richest man I can find.” Quite a bold statement for that era, but so typically you. I’d have married you then if I’d have had the courage to ask but I promised myself I’d come back one day and tempt you one way or another. We’d had such a wonderful relationship; I loved your fun-loving nature but was never quite sure if you felt as much for me as I did for you. I regretted not asking you if we could write while I was away, but I had your telephone number inscribed on my heart and felt confident you’d still be free, single and hopefully prepared to pick up where we left off, once I’d finished my training.

         I worked hard during those intervening years, travelled widely and gained a lot of prestige but you were never far from my thoughts. On returning home, my first call was to you; I wanted to hear your voice once more, to impress you with my achievements and tell you I was well on the way to being able to help with your ambition. But fate had other plans. The number I dialled no longer existed and despite every effort I couldn’t get in touch with you. Enquiries revealed your parents had moved house and were now ex-directory. I had no idea where they lived and could find no one to ask. I tried for so long to find you but to no avail so I threw my energies into my business. But I never forgot you or that telephone number. Forty years later I still wonder what might have been if things had panned out differently.

         I bumped into your sister the other week. She recognised me instantly, said she’d find my face hard to forget after you’d carried my photo around with you for years. Told me you were really upset when I didn’t call you.

         “But I did, many times. Your parents had moved and changed their number,” I told her

         “They moved yes,” she looked confused. “But they kept the same number. I don’t understand why you couldn’t get through.”

         “I know I had the right number, I never forgot it. 79668.”

         She thought for a minute. “Oh, I know what happened. As more lines were taken, they added another digit. It changed to 789668. What a shame, she thought the world of you, my little sister. Even now she talks about you.”

         So it seems just one little number 8 was responsible for us missing out on what could have been a lifetime of happiness. Your sister told me you married. I did too but my ex-wife will remain as nameless as she is brainless. Now, I’m retired, very rich and able to enjoy all the pleasures money can buy. But I still think of you; if you’re ever in a position to rethink your life I hope you’ll get in touch. I’m not sure I’d want to marry again at my age but we could always live in sin!

Much Love, Neil.