– Please jog my memory, she said, giving his elbow another litte rub. Where did we meet?
And he wrapped her shawl around her and said, with a crispy edge to his voice:
– We should think about going inside. It's getting cold.
She spread her arms wide, dropping the shawl on the ground, laughing:
– I can't feel the cold! Tell me now. I know I've met you before. Were we lovers? Friends? Colleagues, perhaps?
He looked briefly at his knuckles, feeling a shiver pass up his spine. It was painful every time, every bloody Saturday he came to visit her. He grabbed her hand.
– Let's go inside and play a game! Wouldn't it be nice to have a game of draughts?
She still played very well but now she just shook her head.
– I want to talk. Just sit and talk. You see, nobody visits me and the girls here are so busy.
So they talked. Nonsensically to him but she seemed to flourish. When it was time to part, he impressed her forehead with a dry kiss and said, under his breath:
– Goodnight, Mum.
She grabbed him and held him at arm's length, scrutinizing his face, as if to ward off her bewilderment.
– My dear, my dear, she said, accepted the scarf from his hand and retreated indoors.
(Utmaning: skriv om att jogga)