I arranged to meet C in Victoria Embankment Gardens by the bandstand at 2pm. I suppose I sort of assumed that the gardens would be fairly quiet (and that it would therefore be almost impossible for us to miss each other) so I was rather taken aback at how busy it was.
Solitary sunbathers; picnic parties of four or five; and larger groups in cross-legged campfire circles. All the benches were occupied and the pathways were busy too. The whole place buzzed,
albeit in a mellow mode. The grass was brown-parched in parts, green and speckled with daisies in others; the flower border sprinklers had been on and there was a smell of wetted earth, richly fragrant, like patchouli oil.
I wandered, I drifted, I criss-crossed, always circling back to the bandstand; and the musicians seemed to be on a loop too, playing a sort of Parisian style jazz, I think, with an accordion slinking sensuously. Somewhere not far away, but out of sight, I could hear the distinctive voicings of a Punch and Judy show.
As time ticked by, I was visited by a dreadful premonition, as if someone had died.
I had a vague notion that C planned to arrive by train into Charing Cross… so, after searching fruitlessly in the gardens for more than half an hour, I went up to the concourse of the station (cooler, echoey, glassy, but somehow not at all like a swimming baths for all that), and stood for what seemed like an eternity, scanning the faces of passengers coming through the barrier.
Then I went back to the bandstand.
By now, the band were playing the Mr Memory theme tune from the first Music Hall scene in the film...
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