Lost Love (standard:romance, 2404 words)
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: Feb 17 2010	Views/Reads: 3628/2282	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A story inspired by a sixties pop song. I'll let you guess which one and who sang it. Some strong language.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

myself, I was in love with her. 

Two cups on the table in the corner of the room rattled as, nearby, a
railway train trundled past, and then, somewhere more distant, brakes 
screeched and a car horn sounded.   'Breakfast?' said Madra, as though 
prompted by the noise. 

'Oranges.'  I reached into the shoulder bag that lay on the mattress
beside me and produced three oranges that I had appropriated while 
Madra slept.  'Two for you, and one for me.' 

She smiled that smile again - a smile that could launch a thousand
ships, or break a thousand hearts – then shook her head, her 
short-cropped, jet-black hair reflecting the sunlight that filtered 
through the crack in the ceiling.  'We share.  We always share...  
Where did you steal them from?  The market?' 

I looked affronted as I handed her one of the oranges and began to peel
another.  'They fell from a cart as it passed.  I just happened to be 
there.  I'm lucky like that.' 

I did steal them, of course.  I stole lots of things, as did Madra. 

After sharing the the last of the three oranges, we made our way out of
our hideaway, carefully concealing the entrance with a section of 
corrugated iron roofing, before slipping through a gap in a fence and 
then heading into the noise and heat of the city.   As we skirted the 
edge of the busy open-air market, some of stallholders followed us with 
their eyes, suspicious, and then, further on, a patrolling police car 
slowed a little, prompting us to turn down a side street that led to 
the plaza. 

'Hey, Renaldo!  Madra!'  Our friend Sebastian was  sitting outside the
old Catholic Church; his usual begging spot.  'Where you fuckers been 
lately?' 

'Around,' I replied as we strolled over.  'How's business?' 

'Not so fucking good.'  Sebastian got to his feet and rubbed his
backside with the flat of his hand.  'This Goddam, fucking step don't 
get any fucking softer.  Hi Madra.  You want to come and sit with me 
for a while?' 

'Not today, Seb.' Madra smiled at Sebastian and then looked around the
plaza.  It was only a little after 8am, but beginning to throng with 
people.  'You seen anything of Carla?' 

'Na,' he replied.  'I think maybe she got some work with her sister. 
You wanna try for that?' 

'In one of Alonso's sweatshops?   Working inside for eighteen hours a
day, seven days a week, for meals and a mattress full of fleas?  No 
fucking way, man.' 

Sebastian ginned.  'Yeah, the great outdoors is a much better fucking
life...  Hey, nice lady, can you spare some change for an orphan?' 

We left Sebastian to his begging.  It was something Madra and I had both
done in the past, usually working each side of a street; but, for 
Madra, it was becoming an unsafe thing to do, as sometimes she was 
approached by men who clearly wanted something in exchange for their 
money. 

One guy, one time, wouldn't leave her alone.  He had hold of Madra's arm
and was trying to make her go with him, so I ran up behind him and 
kicked him as hard as I could.  He let go of Madra and chased me for 
three blocks.  Soon after that, Madra said she didn't want to beg any 
more, so we looked for others ways to survive. 

'Where are we going?' I asked as I followed Madra across a busy
intersection.  She had taken the lead and seemed to be steering me 
towards a newer part of the city, where shop windows were filled with 
goods that we could only dream of owning. 

'I need a new pair of jeans.'  She tugged at her waistband as we walked.
 'These are getting too tight.  And I need a bra.'  She was right; her 
jeans were very tight and, although she always made me turn away when 
she washed, I had stolen a glance more than once and knew why she 
wanted the bra. 

'We could try the Sisters of Charity.'  They were a semi-religious group
who handed out food and clothes to the homeless. 

'Their stuff is all shit.'  Smiling, Madra turned to look at me as we
walked.  'You could do with some new clothes too.  Maybe I'll find you 
something.'  She headed straight for a large shop window, where 
manikins displayed the latest fashions.' 

'Here? You're crazy.  These places have security guards.  Look at us:
two scruffy kids;  we'd never get through the doors.'  I was nervous 
and kept looking over my shoulder; though none of the people on the 
street seemed to be taking any notice of us; most were hurrying to work 
or window-shopping. 

'Not this one.  This way.'  Madra turned and, after waiting for the
traffic to ease, she ran across the street. 

I followed.  Ahead was a store with a wide entrance and a few items of
clothing on racks that were half in, and half out, of the doorway.  
Madra stopped and pretended to look at the goods on display in the 
window, but she was eyeing the garments on one of the racks.  As I came 
to stand beside her, she waved me on and, knowing what was about to 
happen, I hurried along without looking back. 

Within a minute, Madra was beside me with a grin on her face and a bulge
under her old yellow T-shirt.  'Easy as fuck.  Bet they won't even miss 
it.  Come on!'  We ran on as far as the next street corner, and then 
turned to look back, and I was relieved to see that there was no 
pursuit. 

'What did you get?' I asked as Madra removed the bundle from where she
had hastily concealed it. 

'T-shirt.'  Madra held it out to show me.  It was was pale green and
looked to be maybe one or two sizes too big for her. 

'I thought you wanted jeans,' I said. 

'I do, but I need to look like I'm a shopper, don't I?'  She slipped the
green T-shirt over her dirty one and then straightened her hair with 
her fingers.  'Lend me your bag.'  With the new T-shirt and my leather 
bag hung from her shoulder, she suddenly looked less like a street kid. 
'Come on.' 

We turned back, crossed the road again and kept walking until Madra
found what she was looking for: a store that sold jeans.  'Wait here, 
Renaldo.' 

I waited, while Madra went inside and disappeared amongst the clothing
racks.  I expected her to be no more than a minute, but she was taking 
far longer, and I began to worry.  Both the street, and the store, were 
now busy with shoppers.  I stood to one side as people came and went, 
but there was still no sign of Madra. 

Then suddenly she was beside me again and handing me back my bag which
was noticeably heavier than before.  'Take these, I'll just be a 
minute.' 

'You can't go back in!' I protested.  But in she went, walking calmly
towards the rear of the shop.  My heart was pounding, but I was 
relieved to see her heading back out again moments later, with a 
leather handbag tucked under her arm; until all hell broke loose. 

I heard a female vice shout something from the back of the store and,
without turning, Madra began to run.  But a tall, middle-aged man in a 
suit appeared from nowhere and grabbed Madra's arm before she reached 
the door.  'Get off, you pervert!' she screamed. 

All the people in the shop were now staring, watching Madra struggling
to get away from the man who was trying to push her towards the rear of 
the building.  I ran inside and kicked him hard behind the left kneecap 
and grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling him backwards but, though 
he went down with Madra on top of him, he managed keep hold of her 
wrist, until she bit his hand.  The man screamed like a woman and 
loosened his grip enough for Madra to pull free, but a big fat woman, 
who had followed Madra from the back of the store, lunged at her and 
made a grab for her ankle. 

I came to Madra's rescue, tugging her away from the woman and almost
flinging her towards the door.  'Run!' I shouted, 'Run!'  But now the 
man wrapped his arms around my legs and brought me down.   Madra 
hesitated in the doorway but, as I kicked myself free of the man, she 
turned and fled into the street while I tried to get to my feet and 
follow.  But suddenly the wind was knocked out of me as something heavy 
fell on top of me and slammed me into the floor. 

It was the woman; I've no idea what she weighed but I felt like I had an
elephant on my back.  I struggled, but both the woman, and the man, had 
hold of me, and soon others came to help and the police were summoned. 

Next came the worst twenty-four hours of my life.  I was beaten
senseless by one police officer, while another screamed questions at 
me.  Whether I gave them Madra's name, I can't remember; but something 
made them stop and I was left alone in a cell for days until, to my 
surprise, they let me go; just took me out into the street and shoved 
me into the gutter. 

I made my way through the city, half starved, and holding onto my ribs
as I feared that at least one of them was cracked.  The street noise 
seemed strange after the quiet of the police cell, and people seemed to 
stare at me as though they knew exactly why I was bruised and battered. 
 But that didn't matter: I was free, and all I had to do was return to 
the old air-raid shelter, where Madra would be waiting for me. 

*** 

But she wasn't there.  And although I spent days searching for her, even
going back to the orphanage, I never found her, never saw her again, 
until now.  She smiled at me; that same smile that I knew so well, and 
then one of the blazers stepped between us and she was whisked inside 
the hotel. 

I've seen all of her movies now; some of them several times.  And often,
as I lay in bed, I think of the time we were together.  And always I 
wonder if ever she lies awake and thinks of me. 


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