Time After Time

When Grandma had finished, I looked at myself in the hall mirror. "God, I can't go out like this," I moaned, "I look like Norman Bates's mother."

Berry

I was going to have to stop this shadowing business, it was sneaky and it was getting me nowhere. I knew no more about the girl than I had when I first saw her. The next time I would approach her directly to establish contact. I was pretty sure I knew why I felt this strange connection so maybe talking with her would help confirm the attraction. I looked up at the house again but it just stared back silently at me.

I suppose she was visiting friends or relatives in there. Whatever, it appeared that she wouldn't be coming out of the house for some time, bit pointless me just hanging around for much longer. As far as I could see, there was only one other person on the road at the moment, a really weird-looking old woman in outsized sun-glasses standing under a lime tree a couple of corners along, seemed to have popped up from nowhere. I wondered if the poor old dear was a dementia case—her clothing looked like she frequented a down-market charity shop, her hairstyle a badly-done home-dye job, while her make-up was early ventriloquist's dummy with glaring red lipstick and sort of maroon cheeks.

I set off back towards the town centre. On the way I passed a small newsagent's shop and decided I needed a sugar rush so I went in and bought a dark chocolate Bounty bar. I left the shop and stood for a few seconds to unwrap the chocolate when a voice snapped in my ear: "Right! What the hell do you think you're playing at, following me around everywhere?"

I spun round to see the weird old woman a few yards away. "I'm not following you," I protested.

She reached up and snatched off the sun-glasses and the horrible hairstyle, now obviously a cheap and nasty wig, to reveal a short, boyish haircut with a quiff. An attractive freckled face was marred by the dreadful make-up, if anything looking even stranger now that the wig was off. "Look familiar?" she demanded.

"Oh..."

"Yes, oh..."

Caught out. I tried to make the best of it. Holding out my hand I said: "My name's Berry."

"Is that 'bury' as in what I'm likely to do to you if you keep following me?" she retorted, disregarding my hand. "I'm waiting for an explanation."

I ignored the sarcasm, saying: "This is going to sound a bit odd but I know you, I was trying to find out more about you."

"No, you don't know me—I've never seen you before in my life."

"That's what's so odd," I agreed, "We're total strangers to each other and yet I know you."

"You're not making sense," she told me, "Anyway, a young kid like you could get yourself into real trouble following total strangers around."

Here we go again. Silently cursing my youthful looks and with as much dignity as possible I said: "This young kid happens to be twenty-five."

She raised an eyebrow. "If that's the truth, you're a year older than I am. So you ought to have more sense—for all you know, I might be a very nasty type given to violence. Whatever, this following me around stops now! Understand?"

I nodded. "Okay, I promise that I won't follow you around any more."

"Good! See you stick to it." She turned and stomped off.

A mischievous imp must have muttered in my ear. "Hey!" I called.

"What?" she shouted, half-turning.

I grinned at her. "Did anyone ever tell you you look like Norman Bates's mother?"

Hal

Being at a loose end one evening, I decided to go to The Deep Velvet Bar for a drink. I didn't go there often as I preferred pubs but some of my friends were regulars. It was after nine midweek, the place was fairly quiet and I couldn't see any of the gang so I slipped into a booth seat by myself. They didn't sell bitter so I asked a waitress for a bottle of Lowenbräu Export as an acceptable alternative. Sipping my beer, I glanced around and suddenly I felt a surge of anger. There, sitting at the bar, was my stalker. Despite what had been said between us, she was still following me around. I got up from my seat and stormed over to her.

"What the hell are you up to?" I hissed.

She turned. "Oh, hello."

"I said, what the hell are you up to?"

She looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath. "I mean you'd agreed to stop following me and now you're still at it."

"Oh, is that what you think?" She shook her head. "I'm not following you. How long have you been here?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Please..."

I shrugged. "About ten minutes or so."

She waved to the barperson, a tall—well over six-foot—butch, good-looking and sporting a Fifties-style flat-top haircut. "Tina, what time did I get here?"

"Eight, eight-ten, something like that," Tina said.

"And I've been here the whole time?"

"Yeah. Why, you havin' trouble, Berry?" Tina turned a suspicious look on me, a look that said if needs be she'd love to throw me out.

"No, no..." Berry hastened to reassure her, "My friend here thought she saw me in the supermarket twenty minutes ago."

"Well, she's wrong." Throwing another glare my way, Tina moved off to serve another customer.

Berry turned to me. "Well?"

"Okay, so I made a mistake." I resented having to make the admission and it showed in my voice.

"And..."

"And what?"

"Don't you think I deserve an apology?"

"Sorry," I grunted. I knew I sounded grudging and insincere but... Well, you can take it or leave it, lady, that's all you're getting from me. I made to go.

"Wait." Berry reached out to touch my arm. "There's no need for us to be like this when we could be friends. Can we sit down somewhere and talk?"

I studied her face for a few seconds and realised that she looked and sounded genuine. I jerked my head towards the booth where I had left my glass of beer when my temper went off. "Over there. But don't take this as meaning I want to be friends."

When we were settled she said: "You know my first name. I'm Berry Osborne." She put out a hand to shake.

"Hal Mercer." This time I took her hand and when I did so I felt a tingling between us, almost electric in its strength. I think Berry felt it too for her eyes widened a little. That unexpected jolt said to me that maybe, just maybe, there could be something between us after all.

Suddenly I felt tongue-tied, uncertain as to what, if anything, I could say. That whatever-it-was that hit me when I took Berry's had hand thrown me. Finally I muttered: "Nice t-shirt." Pretty feeble, I agree, but Berry's t-shirt was great. It was illustrated with a cartoon of two bikini-clad females in a rainbow-hued dinghy and bore the caption Sorry, Guys! Only Girls Float MY Boat.

"So, are you the Mercer in Hurst & Mercer?" Berry asked.

"Yes."

"That's brilliant, being a partner in your own business. I'm an electronics and engineering designer, been thinking of going freelance but it's a big step into a tough market. The only way I'll get to the top in my company is if all the male managers and directors have a collective heart attack."

"Guess you could always make dozens of wax images and stick pins in all of them," I suggested.

"Good idea. Look, Hal, about us..."

"Yes, about us... You've really got me baffled with this idea that you know me so well when we've never met before."

Berry looked uncertain for a moment and then blurted out: "I think we've been together in a previous life." I laughed so she added: "I'm serious, Hal. We've known each other in a previous life, perhaps more than once."

I stopped laughing—she obviously meant it. "You mean like reincarnation?"

"Yes."

"You believe in that crap?"

"Yes—but I don't think it's crap."

Over the years I'd read quite a number of newspaper stories about people under hypnosis being regressed to so-called previous lives. The point that always made me laugh was they were almost invariably reincarnations of famous people. As far as I could tell, nobody ever admitted to having driven a medieval shit-cart or having been a ditch-digger in Ancient Rome. I don't know why I reacted as badly as I did, maybe I was still smarting over the stalking incident. "I suppose you were Cleopatra," I sneered, "And who was I? Mark fucking Antony? Or was I the serpent that bit your arse?"

Berry looked hurt. "Please don't mock me, Hal."

"Don't mock you? I don't even want to talk to you any more." Berry's eyes filled with tears but I was getting unreasonably riled up and stood to leave. "I was just starting to like you but you're fucking crazy. You can fuck off, Berry, fuck off and stay away from me!"

At the door I turned to have a last look. Berry was still sitting there, dejected and crying full on. My conscience pricked me briefly and for a moment I thought about going back to her. Then common sense kicked in. Why the hell should I waste my sympathy on an eccentric little twit like her?

* * * * *

I had a really weird dream that night. Not frightening, not even mildly scary. Just weird.

I was old, that much I was aware of, and I was lying in a deep, soft bed. I could see the flickering of a roaring fire in the grate and the room was stiflingly hot. The room itself was dark-panelled and lit only by two or three old-fashioned oil lamps. There were two other persons in the room, of that I'm sure, for one of them, I think a young man, lifted a hand to feel my pulse. "Well, the old boy can't last much longer," he said, "Surprised he's lasted this long." He dropped my hand back as if it was something repulsive...

I woke up before the dream went any further. For some odd reason it seemed to be vaguely familiar but I couldn't figure out why. Did the person who spoke really say 'the old boy'? I wasn't sure. My bedside clock read 3:47 so I turned over to resume my sleep. The remainder of the night was dreamless, or if I had dreams I didn't remember them.

* * * * *

I spread a thick layer of my favourite apricot jam on a slice of toast and chomped with pleasure. When I'd woken up that morning, I'd felt a tiny twinge of guilt over my treatment of Berry but dismissed it quickly. It was still buried. Having slurped a mouthful of coffee I said to Grandma: "By the way, I saw that girl again last evening."

"Which girl, dear? Not that Amber, I hope."

"No, no, my stalker. Although it's difficult to choose between them, they're both weird in different ways. In fact, she's a nutcase—I don't mean Amber, even if she is—no, I mean my stalker."

"Oh? In what way is she a nutcase?"

"She was in The Deep Velvet Bar when I went for a drink. She suggested we try starting again, so we were having a normal conversation and I was even beginning to think possibly we could become friends. Then she came out with it—she believes in reincarnation." I shook my head as if baffled by human foibles.

"And what's so nutty about that?" Grandma asked.

"Well, it's not exactly reasonable thinking, is it? You live then you die and you're dead. She's got this daft idea that she and I were together in previous lives."

Grandma poured herself another cup of tea. "And what did you say to her?" she asked, her voice becoming a little waspish.

"Well, I told her she was mad, didn't I? No, tell the truth, I told her she was effing crazy and to eff off and stay away from me."

Grandma's lips pursed into a thin line of disapproval. "Hal Mercer, for the first time in your life I'm ashamed of you."

"What have I done?" I demanded, astonished.

"Didn't it occur to you that she may be a Buddhist or some other religion that believes in reincarnation? Or that she may be a believer but not of any particular religion?" Grandma put her cup down into the saucer with a clatter, a sure sign she was annoyed. "And you can't dismiss her as a nut just because her beliefs are different to yours. Who's to say that she's wrong? Millions of people all over the world believe in rebirth. Hal, you've been a victim of bigotry and intolerance yourself because you're a lesbian. Yet now you're displaying the same kind of intolerance towards someone else, you've treated her badly simply because you don't agree with her beliefs. Don't you think you're being a bit unfair to the girl?"

Suddenly my breakfast didn't taste all that good and, chastened, I put down my toast, looking at the table because I couldn't meet Grandma's eyes. She was right and I knew it—I'd been damned nasty when I could have expressed doubt far more pleasantly or even simply kept quiet. I thought about an unhappy-looking girl shedding tears, thought about how I could have made amends at the time but didn't. I swallowed my pride. "Guess I'd better go to see her again," I mumbled, "try to apologise."

"That's a very good idea, Hal," Grandma agreed.

There were a few more people in the Deep Velvet that night although it wasn't exactly overcrowded. I could see Berry sitting at the bar again and I approached slowly, knowing that I was doing the right thing but almost afraid to. I could see the tall butch, Tina, serving a customer at the far end of the bar and she spotted me at the same time. The look on her face said that she'd be pleased to kick my arse out through the door and watch me bounce off each step before I hit the pavement. Nervously, I touched Berry's shoulder and said: "Could we talk, please?"

Berry turned to face me and I really noticed for the first time how attractive she was and what startling blue eyes she had. She regarded me with an expression of distaste and contempt.

Berry

I noticed Tina glaring at somebody behind me and then felt a light touch on my arm. It was Hal with an odd look on her face—it seemed to be a mixture of shame and contrition mingled with a touch of defiance. Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as she spoke. "Could we talk, please?"

I didn't feel kindly disposed towards her. "Why should you want to talk to me?" I snarled, "I'm too fucking crazy to talk to, remember?"

"Please—I've come to apologise. Please..."

"You mean that?"

She nodded.

From the corner of my eye I could see Tina approaching, probably to let Hal know how unwelcome she was. In the toughest possible way. I held up a hand to stop her, saying: "It's okay, Tina, just a girl thing." To Hal I said : "Okay, we'll talk in one of the booths. But be warned, I'm in no mood to take any shit from you tonight." Reckless way to talk to someone much taller and tougher-looking than you but I'd no doubt that Tina would leap in if necessary.

"Thank you," Hal muttered.

As soon as we settled, I snapped: "Right, let's have it!"

"I am so sorry for the way I spoke to you last night," she said, "I had no right to mock your beliefs and I was so wrong in the way I acted. I hurt you and made you cry and that was unforgivable. I had a good telling off for it this morning from someone I love and respect very much. She said she was ashamed of me and I was already feeling ashamed of myself. So here I am..."

"Your mother?"

"Not her, she's an Exclusive of the Redeemer—kicked me out years ago because I'm gay. It was my grandmother who put me straight. Anyway, Berry, I've said what I came for, again I'm very sorry. I won't bother you any more." Hal got up to leave.

"Wait, Hal." I'm not one to hold a grudge—her remorse seemed genuine and I gestured that she should sit down. "I'm taking a chance here but shall we try again, from the word go, like we've never met?" I stuck my hand out and added: "Hello, I'm Berry Osborne."

A moment's uncertainty then: "Hello, Berry, my name's Hal Mercer." She gave me an embarrassed little smile when taking my hand. As she did so, I felt that same electric thrill of something, the very sensation I'd had the previous night when we shook hands. I'm pretty sure that Hal felt it too for her eyes reflected astonishment as they'd done before. Our joined hands lingered as if we were both reluctant to let go.

When we did let go, I hailed a waitress and ordered drinks, red wine for me (my tastes have become more sophisticated since my Campari-soda days) and a bottle of Lowenbräu Export for Hal. For a few moments, both of us seemed uncertain of what to say. In the end I started the conversation. "You said that your mother threw you out. What happened—if it's not too painful for you to talk about."

"No, not too painful." Hal told me about her mother's membership of the most bigoted church in several counties and of Hal being rejected when she was only sixteen. "It didn't hurt too much because she'd always been a cold fish. I thought when I came out to her that it'd go badly and it did. I just hadn't calculated how badly. Had to be done, though. But my grandparents—my mother's parents although you'd hardly believe it, they're so loving and tolerant—they took me in. They were quite happy about my sexuality. I've got my own little flat now, above the shop, but I still keep some clothes at their house and stay overnight with them sometimes. I'm guaranteed a decent breakfast that way. Anyway, I mentioned meeting you last night and what I said and that's when Grandma gave me a good arse-kicking, metaphorically speaking that is."

Hal's story made me grateful that my parents had been so very supportive when I came out. "Well, perhaps we can put that behind us now," I said, "see if we can be friends."

"Yes..." Hal seemed to hesitate, her voice a little nervous: "Berry, would you let me take you out to dinner one evening... if you'd like to that is... if you're free sometime... you don't have to if you don't want..." She was trying hard but obviously ill-at-ease about herself.

"You mean like a date?"

"Let's say I want to make amends for my nastiness."

"Thanks, Hal, I'd like that. Let's forget 'nastiness' shall we, let's call it a date. How about Saturday?"

"Saturday's great, Berry."

* * * * *

What to wear, the eternal question. A bit late in the day I realised I'd no idea of where Hal meant to take me. Mind you, there's nowhere in our little town posh enough to have a demanding dress-code, unless you count The Duke of Ramsey hotel where I'd heard they ask men to wear ties in the dining room. In the end, and keeping my fingers crossed, I opted for a pair of blue jeans and my latest t-shirt. It depicted the rainbow motif and sitting at the highest point of the arc were Glinda the Good Witch with the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. The witches had their arms about each other and were kissing. The fancy-lettered caption, also in rainbow colours, read—what else?—Pride - Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

Hal, when she arrived at my flat, was also wearing jeans, black in her case, with a plain white granddad shirt and a light jacket. Her shoes were flatties which pleased me, they meant that she wouldn't be towering over me quite so much. The first thing she said was: "Wow, another fun t-shirt. I love it."

"Is it okay?" I asked, "I can always change it if it's not suitable."

"Don't you dare, it's brilliant." She added a little anxiously: "I've been a bit worried in case I've booked a table in the wrong place. Do you like Mexican food?"

"You bet! Are we going to La Fuente?"

La Fuente is small and cosy, clean and neat without being too elaborate and is always busy. I guess most people in this town have never been to Mexico and wouldn't know the difference but the food served seems to be authentic—it tastes fabulous anyway. Hal had chosen our date venue well and I told her so. The lighting is subdued and each scrubbed wood table has a chequered cloth with candles in crimson glass holders. I enjoyed a margarita while Hal chose a bottle of Mexican beer call Dos Equis. A pretty waitress came to take our orders—Hal had beef enchiladas while I asked for quesadillas stuffed with mushrooms and chillies.