‘Yes, just one ticket,’ I reply. I can’t find anyone to go with me.’
‘I’ll give you a nice seat then,’ the kindly woman replied.
And she did.
I arrived, on the night of the concert, alone and early.
There was time for a pre-concert drink and a chance for a relaxed sit down in which to shed the tension of the motorway journey.
I could observe the others that shared a love for Irish Celtic music that was sung in Gaelic.
‘Is this seat taken?’ somebody asked.
‘No,’ I replied brightly.
He sat down and immediately turned his back to me, as did his wife when she arrived later with drinks in hand.
I wondered if the table had been set out in a hot steaming desert with nothing visible for miles if I would have been treated the same.
I felt the loneliness of the alone.
When the auditorium doors opened I experienced the novelty of being the first to find my seat. I wondered who would sit beside me as the audience drifted in. A couple joined me on my right hand side laden with coats and bags. The woman’s coat, awkward to fold, was rammed against my knee for the entire performance.
There was one seat empty next to me on my left hand side, and I wondered if the kindly lady in the box office was attempting some social engineering of her own: some benign matchmaking.
He was tall and bald but he gave me a weak friendly smile before he averted his eyes and sat down.
I glanced at his hands, short and stubby, and I wondered what work they did. The lights went down and the music started.
‘We hope to have you all dancing at the end,’ the lead singer explained in her soft Donegal accent.
‘I wondered if the short stubby hands next to me would grasp mine and spin me in a reel.
The band beat out fiery jigs that my new companion applauded enthusiastically. I remained still. It was the lyrical songs that I applauded: the songs from yesteryears that told of unknown lives.
Perhaps he would turn me in the interval and say, ‘So you like the ballads best?’ And we would fall into an easy conversation.
‘And you are like me you don’t like wearing glasses until the lights go down?’ I'd say and we would both would laugh. And he’d say, ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
I yearned for the interval. Who was he? A gardener? A reporter? Perhaps he worked for the university? I imagined his house was it large surrounded by green fields? Did he brew coffee just for its aroma in the kitchen. Did he live in a cramped flat with a cat named Biggles?
The music faded into the distance. Another set of jigs had been played and people were applauding wildly. Whoever was behind me was now catching my hair with each clap of his hand. Perhaps he was reprimanding my stillness.
I checked my watch as the music started again. Just a few more moments and I would be able to really meet the person by my side. Who was he? Why was he here alone? I’d glanced at his profile trying to read his character. He seemed nice but perhaps axe murderers also seem nice at first. At this moment the soft lilting voice of the beautiful singer announced an interval and the house lights turn up.
I sat waiting.
Was he an axe murderer?
Those around us sat still too.
We were trapped.
I waited for him to speak.
It would have been easy for me to speak, but this time I wanted someone else to take the lead, someone else to take that first brave step.
He didn’t.
There was a terrible sense of tension.
Eventually, the row on my right hand side filed out.
I stood up, a little too quickly, released like a coiled spring.
My chair sharing the same tension bounced back to its upright position with an alarming noise, as I skittered away crablike along the aisle of seats. On the steps, frightened that he was watching my every move, I wobbled like a drunk. Embarrassed, I dove between people seeking oblivion.
‘Perhaps he will seek me out as I buy a hot chocolate and I can then demonstrate that I am not a drunk’ I thought at the kiosk. Perhaps as I wander around the CDs on sale he will seek me out and say, ‘So you like the ballads best?’
I am trembling with the thoughts of this anticipated meeting. I am nervously eating a Kit Kat and there is melted chocolate around my mouth. People are giving me a wide berth and their backs are turned against me like those of conspirators’.
I find my way back and he is sitting waiting, and as I sit down again he again smiles weakly at me. And I smile back weakly too.
The lights go down and the music begins again. The beautiful singer’s daughter is dancing around the chairs. Her mother is trying hard not to be distracted by her but the audience is pointing out the young girl and is delighted by her dancing and antics.
I wonder if the man next to me likes children.
The couples in front of me are laying their heads on each other’s shoulders. There are rosy colours lighting the stage. There are melodies encircling us. I wonder if he was married before.
I am back-filling his life.
Perhaps his wife died and his friends urged him to go out again, and this was the first time ever that he’d dared to step into a place without her.
He laughs softly at some of the jokes that the band make.
He has a sense of humour. Perhaps at the end he will speak this time. He will turn to me and say, ‘Did you enjoy the concert?’ We will speak to others about how we met. ‘It was at a concert.’ We’d say and laugh. 'Irish music and there was a little girl who danced and then crawled onto the stage.'
I am front-filling his life.
It would happen in films.
The music finally ends. The house lights go on. The rows of seats empty more rapidly this time. We are left an island in the centre of the theatre. A couple for just an infinitesimal moment. This time we will speak. I will speak.
He suddenly stands and follows his line out without even a backward glance in my direction.
Slowly, I stand, turn and follow the other line out.
Even the lady in the booking office averts her eyes as I pass by.
I toy with possibilities. ‘Could I leave a message for the person who was seating in seat CE10 at the Altan concert?’They will have his name and his telephone number.
The thought vaporises. I do nothing.
I return to my car and turn on the hard rock music.
Loud!
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