It was this scarf that started it all. If truth be told, I didn’t like Ted
one little bit when I first saw him, standing in the centre of that group of lads
outside the coffee bar. With his scruffy duffle coat and long hair — well it
seemed long to me then, although it was probably only down to his collar — he
didn’t look at all the sort of boy I wanted to get to know. And this was just
as well, really, since he didn’t even notice me. He seemed to be telling jokes;
at least all his mates were falling about laughing over something. They were taking up so much room, I had to
step off the pavement to get past.
After that first evening, I saw him all over the place: in the newsagents
when I picked up Gran’s mints on the way home; outside the Youth Club where we
all played table tennis once a week; coming out of the chippie when Mum and I
went to fetch supper on Friday nights. We never spoke; although he would
sometimes give me a stiff nod if he caught my eye in passing.
As the weather improved, his duffle coat disappeared, replaced by a leather
jacket or a light raincoat. But he always wore his scarf. It was royal blue and
maroon stripes, made of heavy cotton material. Some people might
think it had military connections, others that it belonged to a university
graduate; although neither image fitted this young man. But I knew better. I had
its pair sitting in my drawer at home. And I really wanted to know why he
always wore a scarf from St Teresa’s Grammar School for Girls. [To be continued]
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