Scrambled

We sip iced teas, wait for our poached eggs on toast,

she gives the waiter a wink.

‘Back in the eighties I stayed on a Greek Island,

the locals met the boats, welcomed us into their homes.

Fed us on fish, fetta, olives. We swam in the ocean. Got

drunk on Ouzo. Didn’t want to leave.’

I am curious about the we. After a short pause, she continues,

‘When I was in Venice, I’d perve on all the gondoliers and . . . . .’

I interrupt, ‘In San-Sebastian I had an eccentric landlady. She

constantly chatted. And there was a bomb blast from a nearby

garage.’

Are we competing? Her khol eyes widen. We squirm as a toddler

torpedoes through the aisles. He gives a piercing scream. Our eggs

on toast arrive. I snatch salt from a nearby table.

She flicks her streaked hair.

‘My nephew is nearly eight. It’s his birthday on Sunday.

All the family will be there, but I can’t stand my sister.’

I nod. Can’t wait to start eating.

‘Years ago I had a fling with Ryan, my brother-in-law. He was

rotten in bed. Sold hats for a living.’ She gives a harsh laugh.

Was Ryan the we referred to earlier?

‘Did your sister ever find out?’

‘Did she ever! Got rid of him. Last I heard he joined a circus.’

I push aside my plate. Dab my lips with a serviette.

‘What did you expect. You broke up their marriage.’

‘Marriage!’ She shrieks. ‘What marriage. It was over anyway.

And why do you care?’ She gives a snort.

I care because . . . . .’

‘Because what?’ She leans forward. ‘You’re such a prude. Always trying to be better.’

‘Oh, go to hell!’ I jump up. Hand over my share of the bill.

‘Yeah, go on run. Back to your cosy life,’ she sneers.

I don’t tell her I saw Ryan recently, holding hands

with a younger man.