An Unexpected Reunion.

He only had one photo of her. It was taken last year, in Trafalgar Square. She looked miserable. But then again, she always looked miserable. Even when she was happy she had that rare skill of looking as though she was contemplating suicide.

He gulped down his white wine and stared at the empty glass opposite him. She was late. He looked up at the clock on the wall behind the bar. He did the calculation in his head. Maths was always his strong suit.

It was six months, two weeks, three days, four hours and twelve minutes since he last saw her. How could he be so exact?  Easy. It was the day before his 32nd birthday. They’d had a stupid row about him buying a pair of white shoes. She said he’d look ridiculous. So, obviously he just had to have them. While he was paying at the counter, he turned round and she was gone.

She called him the next day and said that she thought it best if they split up. He agreed and that was it. All over. No big deal really. They’d only been going out for three months so it wasn’t as though they were an “item”.

Then yesterday his phone rang. He was surprised to see her name come up on his mobile screen. She asked if they could meet up and try to work things out. Perhaps try again. He agreed. Why wouldn’t he? Okay she had a face that looked like a volcano about to erupt, but she was amazing in bed. She was up for anything. On just their second date she asked him to stay over at her flat. That night she did something to him that he’d only ever seen in a Russian porn film. Afterwards he fell asleep. At two in the morning she woke him up and asked if he’d like to do the same thing to her. He did. It still gave him a stirring down below whenever he thought about it!

They’d met at a house party in Lewisham. He still couldn’t remember why he was there or who he went with, but he did remember sharing a cab home with her and having a quick fumble on the back seat. She lived about six miles from him. Not the best of areas. Certainly not the kind of place where you’d want to walk after dark.

He took another mouthful of wine. At this rate he’d finish the whole bloody bottle before she turned up. He felt out of place sitting at a table for two with a bottle of Pinot Grigio in front of him. This was her choice of venue, not his. “Let’s meet in the little Wine Bar in Shoreditch” she’d said. “It’ll be nice and cosy in there and we can chat.”

He knew it would be full of bearded lefties and he was right! Most of the blokes in there either looked like old King George or Rasputin.

He suddenly felt a cold draught around his ankles. He knew the door must have opened, but he had his back to it so he couldn’t be sure if was her that had just walked in. But then he heard a familiar voice.

“Hello you!”

He turned and was about to smile and say something nice. But then he saw it. The enormous plump and swollen belly.

“Oh fuck.” Were the words he actually said…