32. Hello!

On Tuesday I met someone I haven’t seen for a long time.  We used to work together.  I was walking along Green Lanes in Palmers Green.  There was constant noise from the traffic and the pavements on both sides of the road were packed with pedestrians.  Above the hubbub, a voice cried out,  “TERRY!”

I stopped and so did everyone else within thirty yards.  I looked around and there, waving at me, on the other side of the road, was Reggie.  I smiled at him and nodded.  I was aware that everyone on my side of the road and on the other side too, was looking at me.  I was a little embarrassed.  He came over and we stood for ten minutes or so catching up on the last twelve years. 

Just now I realised that it brought back a memory of something that happened to me last year in Cayman.

Just before Christmas, Caroline and I went to the cinema at the new business/shopping complex, Camana Bay in George Town.  This mundane event was quite remarkable because we rarely go to the cinema and so remark upon it I will.  What I would like to ask you is why go to the trouble and expense of a visit to the cinema when you can watch the same film on a DVD at home?  

When we watch a DVD, a 135-minute feature usually takes about three hours to watch.  If I need a pee, I wait for an appropriate moment, press ‘Pause’ and go to the bathroom.  Then, when I return, I rewind a minute or so, just to make sure that I am up to speed with the narrative, and off we go again.  Try doing that in a cinema! 

Another good thing about a DVD is that it can be paused while you get something to eat or drink but the best thing about pause/rewind is that you can eventually hear all that is being said.  Do actors mumble more today than they used to, or is it yet another symptom of my advancing years?  Two or three nights ago we watched the same five seconds of “Unthinkable” over and over again because of Samuel L Jackson’s mumble.

At about 9:30 pm, after we had seen the film (The Time Traveler’s Wife) in Cayman, we went to the nearby Haagen Daz store on the complex.  As we entered a girl, whom I RECOGNISED AND KNEW, jumped up from the table that she was sharing with her family, ran over to me and gave me a huge, enthusiastic hug. 

“Hello, Kira.” 

“Hello, Mr Terry. What are you doing here?”

I explained and introduced her to Caroline.  Caroline realised that this must be a pupil I know from the school where I assist and not some random child that I had met in a supermarket.  She told Kira that she would be coming to her school’s Christmas concert on the following Thursday evening and that I would be accompanying her.  This was news to me, but I just accepted it without comment or any expression of surprise, as that’s how I always accept Caroline’s little bombshells.  Kira told us that she was singing, dancing, acting, and playing a flute solo. In fact, she was obviously going to be the star of the show, which didn’t surprise me, as she is clearly able, talented and very self-assured.  

“OK Kira,” I said. “I’ll be there but I don’t want to be blanked by you.  Say hello and smile if you see me.”  I didn’t really need to say that to her because, as I’ve told you before, children are very different in Cayman from children in London.  If I were walking through Muswell Hill on a Saturday morning and saw students I taught, most would either cross the road to avoid having to acknowledge me or else they would just ignore me as they went past.   In Cayman, it couldn’t be more different.  Even the boys go for a big hug.

The concert started at 7:00.  It was scheduled to begin at 6:30 but everything here, as I have also told you before, runs on, “Island Time”. The concert was not in the school hall but in a nearby church.  This church is unlike any English church I have ever been in.  It is octagonal, has a raised stage and an entertainment system and equipment that would be the envy of any West End theatre. There is comfortable, padded seating with lots of legroom in rows for about 800 people.

Caroline, because of her job in the education department, was a ‘guest of honour.’  She was greeted like royalty and a “shepherd” escorted us to our reserved seats on the front row.  She left me sitting on my own while she went off to schmooze with other important people.  I sat there feeling exposed and aware that parents with worse seats than mine were all muttering, “Who’s that nobody with the best seat?”

No one talked to me.  Teachers, whom I had helped when they had problems, ignored me as they walked past looking harassed and worried.  4-year-old children, who had sat on my lap and pulled my hair, tugged at my ear lobes and wiped their snotty noses on my sleeve as I read them a story, were stressed, and treated me as if I were invisible.  At last, the children began to assemble on the stage - the smallest, Year 1, at the front and the tallest, Year 6, at the back.  I looked for Kira to give her a wave but I didn’t see her.

Caroline took her seat next to me.  The audience went quiet, aware that things were about to start.  250 pupils were in their places but no Kira. Then she arrived.  No - she didn’t arrive – she entered.  She swept on to the stage and took her place right at the front in the centre.  She really was the star and was obviously going to sing solo.

The conductor came in and she stood in front of them.

The audience was silent. The conductor raised both hands to begin the music.

At this point, Kira caught my eye.

“Hello Mr Terry,” she bellowed, waving furiously with both hands. “Enjoy it.” 

Surprisingly, despite my huge embarrassment, I did – very much.