Today a man asked me if I had a much younger lover.
‘You look fantastic Violet,’ he said. ‘There has to be a very young man on the scene.’
I didn’t answer him, mostly because we were in a cemetery at the time and the spirit of Becky Levine was looming large over us, but I blushed wildly and smiled at him.
‘You don’t have to answer me,’ he said, ‘I can see from the colour of your cheeks that the answer is yes.’
I was delighted that he thought I was sleeping with someone young and hot. And suddenly, I had sex on my mind. Even while the Rabbi was giving blessings to God and we were shovelling sand over the casket.
Even though we were surrounded by wailing mourners.
I thought about having sex with the man who was flirting with me, right there and then, against one of the trees, surrounded by dead people, graves and tombstones.
Only when everyone had left, of course. And maybe where dear sweet departed Becky couldn’t see us.
I think he was thinking about it too as he kept looking at me, looking right through me. Secretly, as I wiped a tear and forced myself to look appropriately sad, I was delighted I’d worn my little black dress and my sexy dark glasses.
We walked out together. He flirted. I flirted back. And then we got lost in a sea of people who were kissing, hugging and wishing one another long life.
He waved goodbye to me as I was making small talk with the Rabbi.
Meet me here tomorrow, he said unashamedly, and slipped me his number.
Why not, I thought. The cemetery could be pretty cool.
And he is about ten years younger than me.