BARTLEBY

As fate would have it

The other day I bumped into someone I hadn’t seen in almost a decade, probably since our daughters left primary school. They had been, not best friends, but birthday-party friends. Which meant this Dad – Justin – and I saw each other occasionally but always in memorable circumstances. One time I was supposed to collect a neighbour’s little boy along with the young Ms B, but, when we were due to leave, the boy retreated to the upper reaches of a vast play structure and refused to come down. He remained up there, defiantly resisting all entreaties, until someone hit on the idea of luring him down with a trail of chocolate raisins.

I’m not sure Justin witnessed that particular episode, but he definitely was there when the river boat hired by an unusually adventurous parent suffered a technical mishap on the way through Netham Lock, and we all had to be rescued.

“Remember that time we were shipwrecked?!” he said when we ran into each other in the park.

“How could I forget!” I responded, as I tried to recall who this beaming stranger was, and where or when we could possibly have been shipwrecked.

“That was definitely taking the whole birthday party thing a bit far,” he said helpfully. Perhaps sensing my continuing bewilderment he introduced himself and reminded me that our daughters had been great pals when they were eight. His daughter had enjoyed my ‘interesting macaroni’ he said. I could picture the child now. She had lent Ms B her Tamagotchi, I seemed to recall.

We compared notes about our families in the traditional, mildly competitive manner, and then I noticed that the dog had wandered off and was, as we talked, sneaking up on a man who was sat on a bench enjoying some kind of slice from Greggs. Indicating the disaster that was about to unfold, I made my excuses.

“That’s the thing about Bristol,” Justin called out as I hurried dog-wards. “The past is never far away!”

He was right, of course. Compared to London, Bristol is so small that we’re always bumping into old acquaintances. It also seems to be the case that when you do run into a character from a previous period, or episode, in your life, you are almost guaranteed to see them again very soon afterwards. No doubt someone of a scientific bent would explain that, actually, you encounter people in this way all the time, but you only remember those you meet twice.

But explain this, Mr or Ms Scientist: how is it that, after I had snatched the questing snout of the slavering hound away from the man with the some-kind-of-slice from Greggs, I gave myself very good odds on seeing Justin again within a couple of days – and did exactly that. Once again I was walking the beast, and once again this Dad from long ago came loping along the path towards us. Once again he greeted us with a smile, although there was a shade less enthusiasm in his voice.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not stalking you!”

The story of the Tamagotchi had not ended well, I remembered vaguely as we parted for the second time, but it was Ms B herself who reminded me exactly what had happened. She had indeed borrowed the Tamagotchi, but someone – let’s just call him ‘the idiot’ – had confiscated the thing in the middle of the night, and somehow (not even the idiot can recall the exact circumstances) dropped it in the loo... Cue distraught daughters. Words exchanged by irate Dads. A planned camping trip cancelled. “They never forgave us!” Ms B cried gaily down the phone.

“Well, he didn’t mention it this time,” I said. “And now I won’t see him again for another ten years.”

“Sorry!” came the cheery response. “Meeting people like that always happens in threes - you wait!” ■

THE BRISTOL

MAGAZINE

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