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the direction of Sydney Gardens opposite. I don’t know
what possessed me at that moment, but
before I knew what I was doing, I
snatched up my coat and keys, ran downstairs and out through the door.
    I picked up the
wet object and it unfurled in my hand like a fortune-telling, cellophane fish from a Christmas
cracker. It was a man’s glove with
long fingers made of fine, white kid. Neatly stitched, clearly hand-made and soft to the touch,
I was immediately
reminded of a glove I’d seen before. Captain Wentworth’s glove. There’s a scene at the end of my
favourite Persuasion film
where Captain Wentworth takes Anne Elliot’s hand. It’s the most romantic gesture that unites
them finally, at the end. The
kiss that takes place afterwards has nothing on the way he covers her small fingers in his large ones, and it
was this image that immediately
jumped into my mind. I looked up but could see nothing of the mysterious Josh. Clutching the glove
in my hand, I dashed between
the cars and headed for the gardens. It seemed strange that anyone should wish to go walking under
dripping trees on a dismal
afternoon, but I couldn’t think where else he might have gone. I walked up the tarmac paths, under tall
pines and horse chestnut trees,
but I couldn’t see him. Just past a stone bridge I thought I’d found him, but it turned out to be a
man fast asleep on a bench in a
Roman temple, cradling a tin of lager, oblivious to the world. His dog, tied by a string to the belt on his
coat, slept across his feet as they
both sheltered from the rain.
    Then I saw Josh
in the distance disappearing between white railings. I called out, but he didn’t hear me,
which was just as well because
it came out as a really pathetic whelp. And, I know it will sound vain, but there was a part of me that didn’t
want him to turn round and see
me. My hair, always a problem in damp weather, I knew was now hanging limply round my face in frizzy
curls. The sleek, straight
look I preferred having vanished with that first spot of rain and that first hint of damp in the air. I
nearly turned back, especially as
the rain was bouncing off the path and gurgling in the gutters. Yet, I’d come this far and I wanted to see
where he was going in such a
hurry. I followed the path to the white railings, which turned out to be a bridge over the railway
line. Onward and upward I hurried
keeping him just in sight before he finally disappeared. The only way he could possibly have
gone seemed to be screened by
hedges but, as I approached, I saw a white cast-iron gate hidden in the greenery. I must admit to
feeling a little uneasy at this
point. The gardens were deathly quiet and felt more than a little eerie. I was totally and utterly alone. All
my Mum’s advice about never
going into parks by myself came back with a flash. I could easily be murdered and no one would know
anything about it. I looked
behind me, but there was not a soul around so I pushed the gate open and stepped down onto to the canal
path. I didn’t want to go any
further, I couldn’t see my neighbour anywhere and there was something very melancholy about the
place. Under a beautiful
cast-iron bridge, studded with moss jewels upon its stone façade, a ribbon of jade water snaked slowly along
to the echoes of dripping water
as two seagulls swooped in a race to the end of a long, dark tunnel.
    I was getting
soaked through; it was time to go home. I turned, walked up the steps and put my hand on the gate. It
opened with a rasping scrape
and as I placed my foot to step through the entrance back into the gardens, I thought at first I’d been
hit so hard that I reeled and
clutched at the gate to steady myself. The world went black and then so dazzlingly bright that I was
blinded. I instinctively
closed my eyes and how I managed to stay upright I couldn’t later figure out, but the greatest shock
came when I opened my eyes again.
From my place, half hidden behind green bushes, I saw a scene that made no