Trent stood behind the woman being served at the post office counter.
"Your name?" asked the assistant.
"Gabriele Cracknel."
Trent froze and felt the blood drain from his face.
"Gabriele?" he said.
The woman turned her head to look at him questioningly.
"Yes?"
There was a pause as they stared at each other then with a smothered cry she said, "Trent, Trent Lawson?"
"Yes, Gabriele Wear that was?"
"Yes."
"Your parcel madam," the assistant said, "sign here please."
With a look of confusion on her face Gabriele turned away, signed the proffered document, and picking up her parcel said to Trent, "I'll wait outside."
Trent stepped up to the counter feeling so confused he forgot what he'd come in for.
"Yes?" the assistant asked with a touch of impatience.
"Er...I'd like...er...six fifty cent stamps please."
The assistant tore off the stamps and said, "That'll be three dollars."
Trent fumbled with his wallet and taking out a five dollar note, placed it on the counter and picking up the stamps started to walk away.
"Your change," the assistant called after him.
"What? Oh yes...er...thanks."
As he left the assistant looked at the next customer and shrugged as if to say, "That guy is lost in space somewhere."
The space Trent was lost in was that of his own memories that stretched back over forty years and more, years suddenly dragged to the surface in that moment of seeing Gabriele.
* * * * * * * *
She stood waiting for him in the shade of the post office entrance. Clearly they did not know how to greet each other. A tentative move to kiss was abandoned before it had hardly begun. This was followed by an attempt to shake hands that was fumbled and also abandoned.
"You...er...what are you doing here?" Gabriele asked in a tremulous voice.
"Passing through."
"Oh, passing through."
"Yes, and you?"
"I live here."
"Ah, so you've moved from..."
"Yes, about four years ago."
"How have you been keeping?"
"Recently?"
"Yes."
"Oh, not so bad, just a touch of arthritis, mustn't grumble. And you?"
"Okay; had a knee reconstruction three years ago, but apart from that...you know. And you're hus..." he couldn't bring himself to say the word so he said, "Stan."
"He died."
"Oh, sorry." He wasn't the least bit sorry since he had wished Stan Cracknel dead for over forty years.
"Thanks; it's been a long time."
"Yes."
"Just passing through then?"
"Yes, I'm taking a retirement trip...seeing the country."
"Ah...your wife with you?"
"I didn't know you knew I got married."
"Oh, word gets around; is she...?"
"No, we split up a long time ago."
"Sorry to hear that."
Trent shrugged, "Everybody is doing it these days."
"Yes, I suppose so. Are you staying here long?"
"Depends on how I feel, I'm a free agent these days."
"It's a nice place...the beach...the hills...and...look we're in the way here, do you fancy a cup of tea?"
"If you've got the time; is there somewhere decent was can..."
"I thought my place, it's quite near here."
"Oh, all right, my vehicle is just over there, we can drive there."
He pointed to a top of the range four wheel drive off-road vehicle.
Gabriele gasped, "My God, you must have done well for yourself."
"Not too bad, but it all comes at a price," he said significantly.
"Yes I suppose so, but we all have to live with the consequences of our decisions and actions."
"Mmm, and the decisions and actions of others," Trent said meaningfully.
Gabriele made no response to this. They went to Trent's vehicle and he handed her into the front seat.
"Still the gentleman," Gabriele commented.
"Not fashionable these days, is it."
"With some it's never been fashionable, Trent."
They drove off to Gabriele's place.
* * * * * * * *
Gabriele's place proved to be a small cottage in a street that ended at the sea front.
"Nice," Trent said.
"Yes, the best place I've ever lived in."
They entered the cottage and Trent noted that although the place was impeccably clean and tidy, most of the furniture looked as if it had seen better days.
They went into the kitchen and Trent seated himself at the table. Beyond the mere fact of recognition he'd hardly taken in any details of Gabriele's appearance; now he said somewhat disingenuously, "You seem to have worn well Gabriele."
She indicated the loose dress she was wearing that extended from neck to mid calf, and smiling ruefully said, "This covers up the battle scars."
"Battle scars?"
"Yes, you know life; the older you get the more you need to cover up."
She looked appraisingly at Trent. He was wearing shorts and a shirt, and apart from his grey hair and the lines round his eyes, he looked good for his sixty years.
"You're looking good Trent, it was easy to recognize you. Do you think I've changed much?"
He looked at her. If she had not spoken her name in the post office he might never have recognized her. She had been a slim and very attractive girl when he had known her all those years ago and he had thought her the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. It was that image he had carried in his memory over all the years.
The dress may have covered up the "battle scars," but it did not hide the fact that she had put on a lot of weight. Her face looked lined and flesh hung loosely under her chin
"You look fine," he lied.
Gabrielle was tea making but she turned and looked at him, "Liar, you know I look terrible."
Trent knew he should protest that she looked good, but it would only compound his first lie, so he changed the subject.
"You said that Stan died; how long ago?"
"Ten years."
"Ten years! A bit young wasn't it, what did he die of?"
"Drink mostly; that and the complications that went with it."
* * * * * * * *
Trent had a vision of that warm summer night and Stan standing outside the pub with a glass of beer in his hand. Trent had just left Gabriele who had said she must "get in early," because she was on night duty at the hospital. That had been happening a lot lately, but now he knew why.
He saw Gabriele approach Stan. They had kissed and then laughed. Whether it was his imagination or not he believed they were laughing at the way she had got rid of him.
He went home feeling humiliated.
He had met Gabriel when she had the seat next to him at a symphony concert. It was difficult to find a girl who shared that sort of thing, and they had got talking. Afterwards he had escorted her to the nurses' home where she lived, and they had made a date to go together to another concert.
Trent thought he was in paradise, dating this lovely girl. For several months they went out together and then came that time; "I'm on night duty," "I've got the afternoon shift," "I can't make it on Sunday afternoon."
Trent wondered why these things had arisen now when they had not been obstacles to their going out before.
On that summer night he knew why.
He'd had one last meeting with Gabriele, grudgingly agreed to on her part. During this meeting he had further humiliated himself by asking her why she was dropping him for Cracknel.
He had known Cracknel at high school, a foul mouthed lout and bully, and that Gabriele had dropped him for Cracknel was to add to his mortification.
It might be assumed that no further humiliation could be heaped on Trent, but Gabriele managed it.
"Because you're so boring," she replied to his question, "Why Cracknel?"
With those words she walked away; these were her last words he remembered.
* * * * * * * *
"There you are, milk and no sugar, that's right isn't it?"
"You remember?"
"Yes, I remember a lot of things about you."
"Do you? I should have thought I'd have been better forgotten."
Gabriele did not pursue this, and said, "So you split up with your wife."
"Yes, about twenty years ago."
"Twenty years! What happened?"
"Don't you know?"
"How should I know I didn't see you again after that time you harassed me about Stan."
"Memory Gabriele...memory; you were my first love and as it happens, my only love. I couldn't give Vivian the love she needed and so..."
"You're blaming me?"
"No, just telling you how it was. You remember our last meeting then?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember the last words you spoke to me?"
"No not in detail, why, do you?"
"Yes."
"Go on then, what were they?"
"Because you're so boring."
Gabriele's pasty face reddened.
