#128

It really couldn't have been more exciting. Large crowds, leather jackets, hot-dogs, a beer tent, arabic pop music blasting from smoke filled tents, Rastafarians, flourescent pink hair bands, candy floss, whining kids, drunk dads, sour faced mums, stalled pensionners. All there, all without a penny to spare, all looking at an inflatable paddling pool full of small battery powered puppies. Camberwell Sunday Market – Welcome

  “Oh, I want one!” I cried, pulling Verity by the hand through the crowds. “That one there. Tipped over and going nowhere with its nose on the floor and its arse in the air. Wrap it!”
The overweight vendor picked up the overturned mechanical puppy, dumped it in a bag and shoved it under my arm.
  “£5. No lifetime guarantee. Cheers!”
As I left beaming with one of what everyone else could only look at, the crowd muttered a few bitter words and gave me a collective look of disgust.

  “Don't mind them, they're poor,” said Verity
  “So am I!” I replied
  “Yes, but they're not stupid!” she laughed. Then I laughed, and for a moment the old world was back and it was just me and a friend strolling around on a Sunday morning with autumn coming in from a distance.

  “He's getting worse you know,” I told Verity “unpredictable and God knows how far he'll go to make a point or hurt me. It's like he only opens his eyes each morning to carry out some nasty plan or annoy me with his presence. Of course, he doesn't annoy me with his presence, but tries, you know...”
  “Aww, Triste, Gosh. I don't know what to say. He was pretty off the other day, hardly even a hello. Do you think he should be out?”
  “Oh, he's not crazy... well, not 'crazy' crazy. He's insane with bitterness and constantly shows it. His insanity is a message. When he's out talking to Brian he's John, I mean it's weird. Sometimes I sit looking at him and I'm crying inside... God, I'll end up with water retention like my bloody mother. Oh, but it's sad.... and hard. Very hard. Because you know, if he'd just give me a sign, even now, I'd still give him the world... I am still Waiting for John.”

Verity held me. She was soft and comfortable and warm like maybe a mother should feel. I smelt the day in her clothes and I don't think I will ever forget that smell. It was like breathing in memories.

I remained for a while like that, my eyes covered and my face warm. I imagined Verity cradling me as she sadly watched the market crowds. It felt like nothing real existed, that when I raised my head the world would somehow be different. But Verity's hand in my hair, the soothing strokes she gave it, somehow said that things were only ever going to get worse... and everybody knew it.