| Three
times lucky
by Lesley McLaren
It all began with a
chance remark from an old lady. She and I were just alighting at Spenser
Street from the number 33 bus at the time, which, though I had not noticed
then, had left the depot in town at precisely 3 pm. Just before the bus
stopped at Spenser Street, I had begun to make my way downstairs –
I like to sit on the upper deck because you get such an unusual view of
people from up there; the tops of their heads, mainly of course, but at
least you can’t see any scowling faces – anyway, there I was
about three steps from the bottom, when I was startled by the driver yelling
a string of rude expletives as someone pulled out in front of him, and
at the same time he must have stamped hard on the brakes, because I suddenly
lost my balance and fell heavily to the floor, dragging a poor unsuspecting
man down with me.
‘Oooh, are you all right dearie?’ the old lady had asked anxiously.
‘My shopping!’ I wailed, stretching out an ineffectually grasping
hand as a net of oranges bounced its way out the open door and into the
road.
The bus had set off again by now, being still short of the stop, the sudden
lurch forward making the scramble to regain both footing and composure
a tad undignified to say the least. It certainly did not help that the
little old lady, in reaching out a hand to help me up, lost what was left
of her own balance and fell over me, dumping her shopping bag in the lap
of the startled fallen man as she did so.
Embarrassment burned my cheeks so red I thought they would burst into
flame. I had grit on the palms of my hands from grovelling on the floor,
and the tangy smell of tomato juice that pervaded the air appeared to
be coming from a large, darkly stained area on my shopping bag. Being
unable to get up at that point due to the weight of the old lady still
lying across the back of my legs, I took the opportunity to gather up
my fallen belongings and shove them away in my holdall.
From behind me came a babble of sound – some of it questions of
concern about the fate of the little old lady, some offers of help for
her and the squashed man; one an aggrieved ‘Can you get out of the
aisle – there are some of us trying to get off at this stop you
know!’ – but above all this could clearly be heard the helpless,
gurgling laughter of the little old lady as she lay with her legs across
mine and her head tucked under the fallen man’s armpit. In fact,
she was laughing so hard that one of the passengers suggested she might
be having some sort of seizure.
It seemed an age before we were able to calm her down, and someone passed
her a tissue to wipe the tears from her eyes. ‘Oh dear!’ she
said. ‘Oh dear, oh dear! I can’t remember when I laughed quite
so much!’ With a final shudder that shook through her whole body
like the ripple of a wave, she sighed and allowed someone to help her
to her feet.
It seemed the three of us were getting off at the same stop, so between
us, the fallen man and I saw her safely to the pavement and I readjusted
her little grey hat and straightened its netting, while the fallen man
brushed at his dusty trousers with a slapping sound. The doors of the
bus shut with a hiss and, with a snort of smelly diesel fumes from its
exhaust, began to move away from the kerb, taking the stares of its curious
passengers with it.
‘Well, since three of us fell, I suppose that means all will be
well!’ announced the little old woman gaily. She had the bluest
eyes I had ever seen, and they sparked with mischief.
The fallen man eyed her from beneath curiously arched eyebrows and asked
‘What do you mean – “all will be well”?’
‘Three fell, so all’s well!’ she parroted happily.
‘You mean like, bad things come in threes?’ I asked as I adjusted
my coat. I noticed that one of the buttons was missing; I must have caught
it on something as I fell.
‘That’s right dearie!’ she grinned. ‘Three strikes
and you’re out!’
‘Superstitious nonsense!’ scoffed the man, and he turned to
go. Clearly it was not his lucky day because he turned smack into the
bus stop sign. The old lady began to giggle again, which was hardly appropriate
in the circumstances. I passed him a tissue to stem the blood that had
begun to drip from his nose.
‘Told you so!’ she trilled. ‘Bad things happen in threes.’
The man glared back at her and stalked off down the street, muttering
something under his breath about all being quite obviously far from well.
‘If you’re right,’ I said, ‘he still has one more
bad thing to go before he’s free of the curse.’
‘Quite right, dearie.’ She said.
‘Do you think I ought to warn him?’
‘No dear. What will be will be. It can’t be helped. Nature
must take its course.’ With that she patted me lightly on the sleeve,
smiled warmly, and set off down the street in the opposite direction to
that the man had taken.
I stood there for a minute or two, pondering. I was not in the least superstitious.
That would be silly. It was utter nonsense, of course it was. But then,
what if she was right? Why three things? She had seemed happy enough to
believe that at least her three things had been the three of us falling
in a heap together. But if that were so, I reasoned, why was that not
enough of a ‘three’ for all of us? Clearly the man’s
quota of three had not been fulfilled with that one act, otherwise why
the clash with the bus stop sign? And if he had not had his three accidents,
what about me? Was I safe enough to carry on? And what, if I still had
accidents to come, was I in for?
With these thoughts racing through my mind, I hurried – carefully
– in the direction the man had taken. If nothing else, I was curious
as to what his ‘third’ would be, and resolved to find out.
He was not that hard to follow; in the direction he had taken, there were
no turn-offs on our side of the road until Spenser Street met the junction
of the High Street. Sure enough, I saw his tall, angular figure; topped
with a tousle of blonde hair, stride off to the right towards the shopping
centre. I trotted after him, undoing the remaining two buttons on my coat
as I walked, to prevent an unsightly gape at the chest left by the missing
fastener. As I watched him march purposefully along some way off in front,
I began to wonder if my interest in him was only curiosity as to his fate.
Whether more would come of our association than that seemed destined to
remain a mystery though, as sadly, by the time I reached the junction
he was gone.
I wandered aimlessly for a while, peering in shop windows, hoping to catch
a glimpse of him, though doubtless doing no more than reflecting my own
dishevelled appearance. Really, I was in no fit state to be thinking of
meeting up with anyone, I
thought, as, screwing up my face, I rubbed at a smudge on my cheek with
a tissue, only to find, having rubbed my skin red, that the mark was on
the window, not my face. It was then that I noticed a pair of curious
eyebrows raised in my direction from the other side of the darkened glass.
It washim. And I had just made a fool of myself in front of him for the
second time that day.
The word ‘second’ should have been a warning signal, but I
chose to ignore it, not being the superstitious type.
I hoped my blush was hidden from him by the dark glass of the window,
though I was grateful it was not so dark as to hide his welcoming smile.
He beckoned for me to join him inside. Perhaps the fates were with me
after all.
He was ensconced in the cosy, chocolate coloured, coffee scented lounge
area of Willard’s bookstore, and raised his hand in greeting as
I scanned the room for him.
‘Are you following me?’ he asked suspiciously, laying his
arm across the book he had been reading so that the title was obscured.
‘No.’ I lied, cheeks like cherries. ‘Though I have to
say I was curious to see what your third accident of the day would be.’
‘Oh.’ At least he sounded a little disappointed.
‘So – have you had it yet?’
‘My third? No. You?’
‘No – but I take it you believe it will definitely happen?’
‘Of course not!’ he scoffed, leaning his chair back on two
legs. The chair wobbled, and he made a grab for the table to steady himself,
knocking the book he had been reading to the floor with a thud as he did
so.
We both leaned sideways to retrieve it, and, with certain inevitability,
cracked our heads together with a resounding – and very painful
– thwack. Though my eyes swam with tears, I could just make out
the title on the now torn dust jacket of the book - ‘Superstition
– Fact or Fantasy?’ – and we both began to laugh.
Well, like I said, that was how it all began. Now, a careful three years
down the line, we are planning our wedding day. It will take place on
3rd March. We are having three bridesmaids. And, because three is clearly
our lucky number, there will be three tiers on the wedding cake, hopefully
accompanied by three cheers as we cut it!
Of course, I’m not in the least bit superstitious, but touch wood
it all goes according to plan…
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