‘Do you think I could do this FacePhoto thing?’
‘Facebook,’ Rachel corrected. ‘First, you need to get yourself a smartphone. Then I’ll create a profile for you.’
‘Okay, thanks. I’ll try to get a phone during the week. Could you come over and help to set it up for me?’
‘Sure. Only problem is how to give you my phone number. You don’t have a mobile to save it on and I don’t have pen and paper to write it down.’
‘Oh, how technology seems to hamper you from the simplest tasks,’ he teased, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a Parker pen and leather-bound mini notepad. ‘Are you implying my old memory can’t remember your phone number?’
‘Perhaps when phone numbers were only six digits long, that would have been possible, but now they’re ten digits long and your memory is ten decades old,’ she teased back writing her number down and giving the notepad and pen back to him.
He placed it neatly back in his pocket and shot her a mock shocked expression. Laughing, they stood up and began walking to the next stall.
Rachel enjoyed his company. There was something calm and serene about him, as if life had weathered down the rough shards that usually poke out from so many people’s personalities. He was content just being in her company, and the conversation seemed to flow easily as they walked around aimlessly.
She stopped at one of the artisan soap stalls to buy handmade soap. They stood and listened to the lady explain how she cured the soap for six weeks and makes it with one hundred per cent natural ingredients. Rachel watched Mr Lemon show intense interest in the soap making process and pushed the lady for more information. It was a stark contrast to most people she knew, who never spent time indulging in a moment.
The soap maker, wrapped up the soaps Rachel picked out as a memento of their first date. She chose a mint and eucalyptus glycerine soap for herself, and for Mr Lemon she bought a kalahari melon and lemongrass soap, despite his insistence to pay for it himself.
They walked from stall to stall and soon Rachel heard the familiar sounds of Will and his band warming up for their live session starting at eleven.
‘So, I forgot to mention that my boyfriend Will is in a band called Heartbeat. They perform here every second week. That’s one of the reasons I come, to support him.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely, dear. I presume the sound coming through the speakers is his band setting up?’ he asked, pointing his index finger into the air.
‘Yes,’ Rachel said. ‘They’re mostly an AfroPop band. If it’s okay with you, perhaps we can grab something to eat and make our way to where they’re performing and watch?’
‘Couldn’t think of anything better. Lead the way,’ he said, making room for her to start walking in the right direction.
They moved on to the food section of the market. There was an array of food to choose from. Greek dishes, like moussaka or lamb souvlaki. Traditional South African dishes like pap and boerewors or biltong salad, as well as Italian dishes like lasagne or pizza. But in the end, she settled for a biltong quiche with a cappuccino while Mr Lemon ordered a spinach and pomegranate salad with a pressed carrot, ginger and apple juice.
Finding a table under a wild pear tree, (which Mr Lemon informed her was actually called a Dombeya rotundifolia tree), they sat to eat their brunch. Rachel filled one of the market’s doggie bowls with water and put it beside Max and Snuggles, giving them both their favourite yogurt covered dog biscuit.
Will winked at her from the stage, as he prepared to start.
‘So, I’m guessing that’s Will?’ Mr Lemon said, seeing the wink.
‘Yip, that’s him all right.’ Rachel giggled, suddenly feeling like a giddied fan getting noticed by the lead singer of a band.
‘Well, I hope you’ve found the one you want to spend your life with, my dear. It’s something I longed for, but for some reason the women who were available never felt like Mrs Right, and the one woman who did feel like my soul mate, I let get away.’
Rachel noticed the regret in his eyes. ‘Where is she now? Your soul mate, that is?’
‘Aah, she lives not too far from me actually,’
‘And?’
‘She’s a widow now. We are close again, but sixty years are between then and now. We can’t get sixty years back. Take some advice from me, seize each glorious moment that presents itself. Don’t waste time on people who add no value. Make memories that count.’
Rachel pondered his words watching Will. Eleven years they’d spent building their relationship. It seemed they made fewer glorious moments together. What would their lives be like at eighty years old, if they carried on with their busy lives avoiding meaningful time together?
Will began to sing, and Rachel’s heart leapt. His voice was raspy with contrasting soft, gentle tones. She watched as it managed to hush the crowd and draw everyone’s eyes to only him. His thick, pitch-black hair matched his dark eyes. It was untidy and long, just missing his shoulders where it curled at the ends. When he sang, he seemed more romantic and in tune with her. His eyes were mostly on her, and it felt like her own private concert. Yet in reality, he seemed more self-consumed. It had worked perfectly for her in the beginning, when she was focussed on her studies. She enjoyed having her own identity apart from him.
But sitting here next to Mr Lemon, his presence somehow seemed to capture the perspective of how an all-consuming love seemed more meaningful. The kind of love where you felt as if your partner was the end to your beginning. The type where you were so in tune that as you aged, you wanted nothing more than quiet days with your best and longest friend. How awesome it would be for that friend to be the man you married?
Rachel watched as a little girl holding an opened glass bottle move through the crowd. She looked as if she were trying to catch something as she swung it merrily from side to side in the air. Smiling sweetly, she came past Rachel, reaching to pet Snuggles and Max who were taking their nap at her feet.
‘Are you collecting something?’ Rachel asked.
‘Yes,’ the little girl answered. ‘My brother is in hospital, and my mother said I can catch the sound of the market in my magical glass jar and take it to him.’ Her two ponytails shaking as she spoke.
Her mother, seeing her talking to Rachel, came over and apologised for the interruption sending her on her way back to her father who sat not far off.
‘Sorry again,’ she said quickly turning to walk away.
‘She said her brother was in hospital?’ Rachel asked, before she could leave.
‘Yes,’ she said warily. ‘He has a drug addiction. They’re really close, and it’s affected her not being with him. She doesn’t want to go anywhere and have fun without him. So, I made up this story that she can capture all the happy sounds of the market in her magical glass jar and take it to him. It’s working, and he goes along, acting like he can hear it when we visit.’
Rachel nodded, seeing the strain on her face as she walked away. A strain she’d seen too often in parents of drug addicts. She watched as the little girl continued to fill her glass jar with all the joy she could muster up for her brother.
Will’s band took a break, and they sat waiting for his next set to begin.
‘Is he coming to say hi?’ Mr Lemon asked, in a sort of fatherly way.