Cathie wrapped her long black cardigan tightly around her. A mismatch of autumn leaves and a white plastic bag swirled around her feet. The wind pulled at her royal blue pencil skirt and nylon neck scarf. She shivered as she looked over the city below her, the grey sky merging with the horizon beyond. An aeroplane above gently jolted her from her wandering thoughts. She looked at her watch. 2.33pm.
I really should be going now.
The airline did not react kindly to her turning up late. The last time it had happened she thought that was it, she was going to be fired. If they had smelt the alcohol on her breath, seeping through her pores, she no doubt would have been.
She turned from the dismal view towards the bench on her left. On the floor beside it was a Tesco’s carrier bag. She had only meant to pick up a sandwich and a new toothbrush. But as soon as she walked into the shop she had seen them right in front of her. She didn’t even have to purposefully walk down the specific aisle. It was almost like they had been put there just for her, deliberately, to entice her.
And £3 for a bottle of Shiraz
Cathie slowly walked towards the bench, deliberately stretching her legs in front of her in what she hoped would appear to be a nonchalant stride. She plonked herself down onto the bench, her hands thrust into her cardigan pockets, and looked down at the carrier bag on the ground to her right.
Good job I don’t have a corkscrew on me really.
She leaned forward and stretched towards the bag. She grabbed it and quickly placed it on her knee, hoping no one would notice the urgency with which she did so. Not that anyone was around. She opened up the bag and looked in. It was as she has feared. A screw top. Frustrated and ecstatic at the same time, she crumpled the plastic sheath over her tormentor as though this simple act would make it go away. She could feel the smooth cool glass through the flimsy barrier, teasing her fingers.
A grumble of engines above brought Cathie back to earth with a bump. She looked at her watch again, cradling her contraband with her free arm.
2.35. Oh Shit!
Cathie bit her lip and looked desperately around her, hoping someone would come running up to her shouting NO, to tell her she was stronger than this, that there was more to life than the comfort and warmth she could only find at the bottom of a bottle. But of course no one did. Not even a stranger, a Good Samaritan, to share their wisdom with her. Even a disapproving glance would be better than this, sitting on a park bench with a bottle of wine, nobody knowing or caring that she was there.
Cathie opened up the bag once more.
Just one mouthful and I’ll go.
She hunched over the bottle, unscrewing the top without removing it from the bag in a vain attempt to disguise what she was doing. After a furtive glance around her, she raised the bottle to her lips and tilted the bottle to allow the smooth blood red liquid to slide into her mouth.
As she slowly and carefully screwed the top back onto the bottle, she felt a shift within her, a softening of her muscles, a glow in her stomach, clarity and calm in her mind. She carefully replaced the bottle in the carrier bag, laced her wrist through the handle and stood up confidently. Crossing her arms over her body, she strode down the path with purpose, the carrier bag bumping against her hip rhythmically.
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