Happenstance

three

I knock at the door and a few moments later this opens revealing an old man, the typical image of a grandfather. White and perfectly combed hair, thick white moustache, trousers perfectly ironed, braces, a white shirt, bowtie and an argyle cardigan. He’s shorter than me and every time I see him I think of Geppetto but instead of having Pinocchio, he has cats. He’s a willower, like the Mister Fredricksen in Up and I’m sure Mister McDean suffered as much as the character of the film when his wife died. Luckily for Mr McDean, they had children. They might not visit him often or at all, but he has students he marked that are almost as his grandchildren. I come visit him at least once a month since he retired. I help him and we talk a bit and I always invite him to our performances. He’s always helpful.

“Harold, Archibald,” he greets us merrily. He’s probably the only person who calls us for our names without making it sound like a scold, as it happens when your parents call your name. “What a lovely surprise. Please, come in,” he adds opening the door wider for us.

I notice at his feet Desdemona, the coloured cat that rubs herself against everyone’s legs when she wants love. I grab her and bring her to my chest to start petting her and, as usual, she starts purring. So with the cat in my arms, I walk inside with Archie close behind.

“Would you like a cuppa?” Mr McDean asks politely.

“That’d be lovely, Mr McDean. Thank you very much,” Archie replies and I nod in agreement, very busy giving love to the cat. She’s just so cute.

As we normally do when we visit Mr McDean, or at least like I do because out of all the students he’s had, I’m the one who pays him visits the most often, we go to the living room and wait. He’s seventy-one but he’s as active and spry as if he were fifty. He likes to do things on his own and even if he enjoys our company, he doesn’t like youngsters to pity him for being old. “It’s just making tea. Even as a wee lad I could do it and I won’t stop now,” is what he usually says when I try to tell him I can prepare the tea.

Mr McDean arrives with a tray with a teapot, three cups and some biscuits and puts it on the coffee table in the middle. Archie reaches for a biscuit and I’m still petting Desdemona, but I manage to get hold of my cup. As usual, it’s delicious. Mr McDean really knows how to prepare tea.

“Well, my dear boys, what brings you here?” he asks casually. “You Harold already came last week. Is something wrong?” he questions next.

“I’m sorry if I’m being rude but I came here to ask for a favour,” I say stop petting Desdemona, but she stays sleeping on my lap. “It’s for something really, really special.”

He looks at me for a couple of seconds like when he’s reading a passage of any Shakespearean play, in utter concentration, reading every line and every meaning in between. Then a little smile comes to his lips and his eyes show amusement.

“Is it about that girl you were telling me about?” he asks and I now Archie is watching this very carefully, an amused grin on his lips, as well.

Yes, I’ve told Mr McDean about Maca, especially when I wasn’t sure if meeting her would be a wise idea, even if I was dying to.

“You said she’s a very, very special girl,” he continues and from the corner of my eye I see Archie eating his biscuit slowly, almost cockily. I know that attitude, that look: he’s waiting for me to say out loud what I feel for Maca but even if he’s my best mate, I won’t say it because I know how creepy it is. Furthermore, I know it’s a bit weird and unconventional to have feelings for someone I haven’t met yet. So it’s more complicated than saying I fancy her or not.