Chapter 53

To B or not to B ..................

One of the first people I got to know in Phuket when I arrived here some four years ago was khun B.
Readers of previous chapters will recognise her as the (almost) only Thai girl who has ever bought me anything. (Breakfast actually because I was helping her move equipment to her hairdressing salon).

We have always got on well and enjoy each other's company.

Despite, or perhaps because of, a couple of brief amatory skirmishes, we are still good friends.

It has been my pleasure over the last few weeks to help her brother with his English.
He wants to work in Australia but has failed to be accepted because his English language is just not good enough.
It has not only been a pleasure but has improved my Thai considerably.

It has also meant that I have seen a lot more of B.

Never slow to jump to false conclusions I had rather felt that our friendship was blooming.

Indeed, the other evening, in the bar, after a long language session with the two of them khun B presented me with a single red rose.

Now to be fair I should point out that red roses do not have quite the symbolism here in Thailand as they do back in England.

But I was touched and warmed by the gesture anyway.

Two nights ago whilst having a couple of drinks with khun B at a local wayside bar I jokingly suggested that next year when I come here I should stay with her.

I wish I hadn't.

The reply was a bit too direct for my comfort.

"Oh no " she said "that's far to far away - and anyway - I might have a boy friend."

To suggest that I cried myself to sleep that night would be a gross exaggeration.
But, oh dear, I felt very firmly put into my place.

And that a place where I did not wish to be.

Yesterday morning, still, metaphorically, licking my wounds, I went to B's hairdressing shop for a pre-Christmas haircut.
The shop is now run by her sister who speaks little English but cuts hair very well.
B has moved on to greater things such as creating a car hire company which is doing well.

Whilst my hair was being cut we indulged in attempts at communicating in a sort of half English, half Thai sort of way.
It was fun and pleasing that both of us were improving.

She pointed to her necklace, a rather nice item in white gold. "B give this me.
It nice mak mak. You give it to she yes." Followed by a happy smile.

It stopped being fun.

It is, I suppose, to my credit that I continued the conversation with, I hope, no sign of the dread dull ache in my heart.

It was only a week or so ago that I was reading Erich Fromm on "The Art of Loving" and congratulating myself on my mature attitude to such matters.

I think I had better read it again.