‘I’m thinking about sending her a Facebook message.’
‘Yeah, but what would be the point?’
I was sitting in a little Turkish café on King St. I’d been cruising the op shops and vintage stores of South King St and stopped for a refuel.
It’s a cosy space. Beautiful Turkish tiles on the walls, cushions on the benches. Cutest little coffee cups with dancing men lids.
Love Turkish coffee. The thick mud at the bottom.
Two women sitting next to me and the guy looking after the café. That’s it. I couldn’t help but hear.
‘Well, I just don’t get how she could have done that? She knew he had a wife. And that I was pregnant. She took away my magic moments. My first times. She stole them and she doesn’t give a shit.’ She was distressed. Angry.
‘Yeah, but you’re better off without him, you know that. He was a liar and a cheat. He deceived so many people, so many women. You wouldn’t want him around your daughter. Imagine that. Imagine her growing up with him as her role model. Thank god he’s gone.’
She stirred her coffee. I glanced over and the distressed woman was chewing her nails, looking at the wall. Thinking. Stewing.
I bite into my Turkish delight. Oh my god. Perfection. Not too sweet, right amount of pistachios. Icing sugar everywhere. Everywhere.
‘Yeah, ok, we all know he’s a creep. That’s not what gets to me. It’s her.’
She took a sip. ‘She pursued him. She didn’t care about me. I know now he didn’t give a shit. He’s not capable of compassion. But her?’
She looked out at King Street. A woman with green hair and horns walked by. Horns.
‘I don’t get how a woman can do that to another woman.’
Her friend sighed. ‘Yeah, I know. I hear you. But that’s just people for you. They’re selfish.’
‘Yeah. I heard she’s pregnant now. She’s met some lovely man and they got married and she’s having a baby…’
‘So I wonder how she’d feel if the love of her life walked out and met up with a 20 something ex and fucked her…’
‘I’d love it if she sat at home, terrified, wondering if she was going to have to do it on her own. Sitting in the dark. Alone. Feeding. Wondering if her dream had just been smashed. Ripped out from under her. Wondering how she will survive with a new born and no job and no support. I wonder…’
Her friend leaned over and took her hand. ‘I know, hon, I know. It’s infuriating. The injustice of it. He’s fucked. She’s fucked.’
‘I just want to ask her… I want her to think about it. I want her to feel that fear. I want her to feel shame. I want her to know.’
She finished her coffee.
I got to the bottom of mine. Scooped out the mud with my finger.
She’s right. She should write that letter.
Maybe I should write mine, too.