Evette Smith, Contributor

"Remember me?" She smiled as she asked it.

How could he forget so quickly? She was the nurse from inside. They were outside now.

"It's bleak out here isn't it?" She was speaking again.

"I guess it is. It will be a blessing to get home," he answered.

"You sound as if home is beautiful," was her comment.

He turned and looked at her. She was looking at the opposite side of the road. She had a lovely profile. He spoke, "Thank God it is. On evenings like this the wife prepares soup." As he spoke he glanced up the road hoping to see the bus emerging through the evening mist.

She said it softly but clearly, a little ruefully even, "Must be fun to be married."

As he turned to analyse her, he caught her full view this time. "You aren't married are you?"

"Who me, I could never be married to a man."

"Are you."

"No, no, oh no, not that. I had a bad experience."

"Oh, Sorry."

"That's OK I'm over it now."

The evening had taken on that rheumy look that foreshadows a storm. No bus was in sight and he really wanted to be home before the rain or storm, whichever it would be.

She spoke again, "My place is two blocks away. I ride the bus when I am lazy. It's an easy walk. You could come shelter on my porch. A bus terminus is right across the street. You could run across when your bus stops."

He contemplated. The rain had started. A fine drizzle - what his wife called a 'frizzle'. A stroke of lightning sealed his decision. What did he have to fear from a nurse? The invitation clearly said she recognised him as a gentleman. "OK"

They walked the two blocks briskly. The rain was coming harder now. No bus was yet in sight.

He was thankful when she indicated her gate. It was this sort of kindness that made him regret any hurt he had done anyone. For one fleeting moment the thought came back. It was a memory he had long buried. He was looking into the terrified eyes of 15 years ago. With a jolt he realised that they were hazel like the nurse's. He had wanted so badly to be a part of the 'gully massive'. His initiation was to lure the fat girl from Princess Street into the old house. He was the last of six, the one to present the underwear to Clivie the leader.

He shook his head remembering where he was as he ran up the steps to her veranda. She had gone inside for a clean towel and an umbrella. It was 6:20, the next scheduled bus was 10 minutes away and then, happily, he would be on his way home.

He had changed immensely since that girl, 15 years ago. So had she. She was slim now with peroxide blond hair. She had also fixed her nose which the last one had broken. She had trusted him. Seeing him again had been a lifelong passion.

She was filling the syringe with the slow-acting poison - a flu shot, she'd tell him. Two hours later his body would simulate a heart attack - hopefully in the arms of his dear wife.