Friendship doesn't age
I’ve just fallen totally in love with two middle-aged ladies on my train.
They’d boarded the 7:15 train with us at King’s Cross, and settled themselves down at a table seat with their husbands. It was either a happy coincidence to have met on the train, or they hadn’t booked their seats at the same time, as their reservations were not together. The ladies looked very concerned that someone would come along and claim the seats that they were sitting in and that one of the couples would have to move. When they spotted that the two seats opposite us were available, they quickly moved across and promised to switch back if nobody came along.
They weren’t bothered about sitting with their husbands. Oh no. They just wanted to be together, these two glamorous fifty-somethings, with their fancy blow-dries and pearls.
“This is nice!” One lady said, stroking her friend’s arm and revelling in the apparent novelty of it all.
I know that feeling. I love that feeling. The glorious joy of spending time with your best friend, particularly when it’s rare, or it takes you by surprise. ‘Bonus time’ I call it, when the occasion is unplanned, even if the time spent is as simple as sitting together on a train. The thrill of her company is enough.
These two ladies looked at each other with love in their eyes. They huddled close, they took their friend’s hand, they laughed and joked and basked in each other’s radiance. Their husbands were sidelined for the rest of the journey. They only had eyes for each other.
“This is nice!” The lady said again, beaming, and I know what that translates to:
Time with you, my friend, is golden. I don’t want this to end.