Familiar

A familiar figure comes into focus from the blur of periphery vision on the steps to the escalator at London Bridge. A small woman with a black coat and a rucksack, short fine hair. She used to travel on the same train as I did when I was working in Lewisham. I'm suddenly struck by an urge to know how she is doing.

"How are your dreadful children?" I could ask, "Still attending City of London Girls?" Terribly posh, blond girls, with knotted hair that she would try to tame into some semblance of a ponytail despite their wails of protest. Awful attitude they had to their mother, even when they were under 10. "Any more settled in your household?"

Instead I watch her walk ahead of me and disappear up a different escalator. She seemed so quiet and orderly by comparison to my memory.