Tablecloth

Zarah wanted to look around the shops before returning to Ms Roberts. In the haste of her departure she had forgotten to buy Ms Roberts a gift as a token of her appreciation for letting her stay with her. A tablecloth or linen might do. She knew there was a higher likelihood to find them in Camden Market but did not have the energy to combat the masses, so she continued down Chalk Farm Road. Busy, but a bit calmer.

Walking past tourist shops, she mentally kept thinking of a simple, flowery tablecloth. It’s a little trick she learnt when she was little. Whenever she needed something, she would visualise it and channel her desire or urgency into the image. Three out of five times it worked.

Ahh, and there it was!

Zarah smiled satisfied and approached the street vendor who displayed small towers of fabrics.

“Hello pretty lady! You like? Have a look, no buy, no problem!”

Zarah was drawn to an off-white cloth with delicate red wildflowers along the borders. She stretched her hand to touch the soft fabric.

“You like? For you, special price. Normally 60, but 50 ok”

She hated bargaining but the cloth was really pretty. “How about 30?” She pretended to look at the others when she caught sight of a middle-aged homeless man out of the corner of her right eye. He was sitting on carboard boxes that had been flattened and a black sleeping back. Zarah’s head started rumbling, a big, loud headache avalanching. Grabbing the stand with her hand, she turned to face him. The face of the man sharpened, every line, vein coming to focus. Zarah could not look away, his deep-set eyes cradled in dark circles radiated with intensity. Time slowed down. Like a siren’s calling, Zarah was pulled to the man’s very existence. Her head pulsating, she felt a vibrating humm, humm. Growing louder, it rippled through her body, quivering like a tide against her skin.