It was a beautiful summer day (British summer, I must add), so my husband and I took a lovely stroll through the park. Okay, I cut out the cliché. We actually intended to take a shortcut through the park, when I started to complain about lack of caffeine (I skipped breakfast that day) and took refuge on the bench. We ended up sitting on the bench for a while; him admiring the greenery, and me debating, out loud to myself, whether to eat ice cream for breakfast or go and grab some tea.
I didn’t notice the old man on the scooter as he went past us, until he put his ride in reverse and stopped in front of us. He stared for a moment. I assumed that he was taking in the sight of a veiled woman babbling on about breakfast, sat comfortably with a bearded man, but I was not expecting the words he said next.
“Do you even know what she looks like?” He said in a thick Jamaican accent, hands still holding onto the handlebars of his scooter.
I spluttered and coughed, in an attempt to hide my laughter. His words took me by surprise, but definitely amused me.
“Yes yes, course he does.” I replied.
“Yeah, I see her all the time.” My husband chimes in.
“Okay, that’s good. Because you both look so happy. I just wanted to know if you seen her face.”
“Awww. Don’t worry. I do show him my face.”
“Okay, that’s what I wanted to know. You both have a good day now. Bye.”
And he sped off on his scooter. Just like that.