People Watching.
Today the kids were with Daddy and I was meeting my best (local) friend for a cuppa and aimless wander round the loveliness that is Meadowhall. She wasn’t due til later so I took a notebook and sat with a very large cuppa, sandwich and cake and settled in for some serious people watching. For those of you that don’t know - I write. People watching is great in a large food hall like this. Masses of humanity, all interacting, great for inspiration and I do it whenever I don’t have the kids with me or anything better to do. So today I indulged. Please be aware of some poetic license - this is based on observation with a bit of interpretation but it’s my thoughts, not facts.
There’s a young family sitting at a table in front of me. I am sitting at a high bar like spot so can see over their heads, but they grab my attention. I’ve given up trying to work on book related people watching.
He is wearing a pink shirt. His hands are on the table in front of him. They are pink and clean, nails trimmed and almost look manicured. He’s laughing with his kids. There’s a boy aged about 2 I guess. He’s laughing with his dad as his chubby fingers chase dad’s hands across the table top, trying to catch them.
There’s a girl too. She’s older, nearer 4 I think. She wants to join in, I can see that in her eyes. But the 2 others, man and boy, are so engrossed they don’t realise. So the girl sits quietly, watching and waiting. She has a doll that she clutches to her as she watches her dad and brother play. Mum comes back laden with a tray balanced in each hand. He makes no move to help but he looks up and she won’t meet his gaze as he appraises her choice of food. His mobile rings and I can almost feel the relief as it diverts his attention from her and the food. She carefully makes sure that the children have what they will eat and drink of the junk she has provided. She leaves his meal on a tray.
She picks at her fries and sips at her drink. The make-up is thick on her face making me wonder how her skin can breathe or what it could be hiding. She stays small, tucked into the corner with her daughter. A daughter who is mimicking her mothers body language and eating patterns. Their elbows are tucked in. Dad and son are sprawled across most of the table, dominating the space. They are still loud and laughing while mother and daughter shrink into the edges.
The womans hands tremble just slightly and he nails are bitten to the quick, I am just close enough to see they are sore and scabbed where she has bitten them to bleeding. I wonder why she is afraid. Then I catch myself, I’m not wondering. I can guess. I could be wrong, I certainly hope I’m wrong. Regardless, she isn’t anyone I know. As a stranger I can say and do nothing. It’s not my place and it’s only a guess, a suspicion. If I’m right she will continue to live in fear. The helplessness and outrage are almost palpable in the air.
They get up to leave. Well, the man does, hauling the son away with promises of sweets and toys. The daughter follows him. The woman is left to clear the table and she runs to catch them up. As she does he takes her hand. To me it doesn’t look like an affectionate claiming of a friend or lover, but a possession.
