I come back

Down on the dark pavement, hunched into a telecoms box, a young women sat, heads between her knees, shaking with sobs. Next to her an older woman, tear-streaked, also sat on the pavement, stroking the young woman’s arm.

The people coming out of the theatre walked past. The young woman’s body continued to convulse. A line of tears slowly fell down the older woman’s face.

****

A young man walked up to the older woman with a brown paper bag and offered it to her.

She looked up from the pavement, ‘You’re so kind, but really we’re OK.

‘I bring for you.’

The woman struggled up. ‘Thank you but no, honestly it’s very kind but we’re not hungry.’

‘I see you when I walk past. I come back. Sometimes chocolate is good for when you are sad.’

The woman looked at him then slowly held out her hands and took the bag from him. ‘You are very kind. I will take it for my daughter.’

‘I am sorry for my English.’ He bowed his head a little.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Italy.’

‘From Italy. From the world.’ She smiled at him.

‘Yes.’ He smiled back.

‘Molte grazie.’ she said.

He looked startled. ‘You know!’

And he turned and left.

The older woman turned to kneel by her daughter, took the crisp chocolate-filled pastry from the bag and gave it to her. The daughter’s round wet eyes looked up into hers. She took a bite then offered it to her mother. The mother took a bite and handed it back. Slowly she ate.

The mother stood again and stretched out a hand to her daughter. The daughter lifted her own hand till it clasped her mother’s and the mother pulled her up.

Slowly, fingers entwined, they walked down the street.