I DON’T REMEMBER HER NAME

Walking out of the flats she came towards me in the rain. She carried in each hand a bag full of shopping seemed to pull her down. No umbrella, no hat.
‘Not much of a day,’ I was going to say as we passed but she kept her head down and made no attempt to catch my eye.
Near me as I drank a double expresso a man, feeding a baby from a bottle, sat opposite a woman who said, ‘Going back to work’s going to be the real test,’ to a man’d stopped and said, ‘Hello.’
He stood at the bottom of the stairs he’d just come down and I wished he’d go away, say, ‘Goodbye.’ Go. I was feeling uncomfortable too close to beyond my tolerance.
‘When are you going back?’ he said to her.
‘December.’
‘Reception?’
I couldn’t listen anymore and distracted myself but when he did make to leave the woman said, ‘Say “hello” to your wife...I’m sorry, I don’t remember her name.’