A woman reborn

On a cold blustery wet winter morning the British weather was in a particularly spiteful mood. Clara was sat watching the world trying its best to go by with little signs of success from the window of her local coffee shop. A man on the opposite side of the road was busy becoming more irate by the second as the family dog had decided to crouch and do it's business on the pavement. Having turned to try work out why the lead in his hand had pulled taught, the umbrella he was carrying in the other blew inside out with such a force it had probably rendered it instantly useless and clearly irked he'd shouted something which couldn't be made out behind the pane of glass. Whether it had been aimed at the dog, the umbrella or both is anyone's guess but whatever and whoever it was aimed at it had proved the tipping point for the little girl who was with him who was now wailing beside the dog to compound his misery. For a second or two Clara briefly considered putting down the hot mug of coffee which her delicate little hands were wrapped around defrosting from the cold she'd brought in with her, braving the elements once more and helping the poor man out. Then questioning if the roles were reversed and he was the one watching her in the same situation whether he'd come to her rescue surmised that no he wouldn't and so he'll have to learn the lesson the hard way. She also considered filming it on her phone but decided at the age of 27 she should be above such things and besides the best part had already gone when the umbrella had blown inside out. The dog clearly now satisfied that it had gotten every last drop out from its rear end was now desperate to get out of the rain and was pulling tight at the lead which made the man shout again and the girl cry even more. With the umbrella still completely turned inside out and probably now the best part of six foot in length in one hand and the lead in the other he must have considered given one or the other to the little girl and wisely decided that neither was a good option. Either the dog would have been off dragging the poor thing behind it clinging on for dear life or the umbrella would have done her some sort of mischief that would have ended in a hospital visit for which his partner would have had his balls on a plate. Eventually after much toing and froing he picked up the mess, deposited that and the broken umbrella into a bin, scooped the girl into his now free arm and they all went back the way they'd come from probably abandoning whatever the foolish reason they'd left the house for in the first place and so Clara was now left watching the rain roll down the windows like the tears that had rolled down the girls face.

Clara brought the mug up to her lips and partook in a large mouthful which slipped down her throat like a gift of amber nectar from the Gods and with its heat she could feel it slowly making its way down inside her. 

- Oh that's good

She said aloud to no one other than herself because she was the only customer in there and the owner was probably hidden out the back questioning his life choices and why he'd chosen to open a coffee shop which on days like this must have been bleeding his bank balance dry. Taking another mouthful Clara put the mug down on the shelf in front of the window where she was sat and picked her phone up to check the time which read 10:43. From nowhere a thought about her old man popped into her head like a most unwelcome guest perhaps triggered by the sight of the Dad across the road. I wonder what the old bastard would have done in the same situation? She thought to herself for all of two seconds before retorting with the same inner monologue that it wouldn't have happened because he'd have been in bed nursing the mother of all hangovers on a Sunday morning and moreover he never took her out alone as a kid and neither at any stage had they ever owned a dog. So all told it was a stupid question on her part. Clara forgave herself with another mouthful of caffeine but it didn't wash away the thought of her Dad which stayed with her like a most unwanted guest. It had been months since she'd last thought about him at all and several years since she'd last clapped eyes on him. It was an arrangement that seemed to suit both parties more than adequately. To the best of her knowledge he'd not drunk himself into an early grave yet but was probably still busy trying. For all his faults, of which he had an abundance, shouting wasn't one within his repertoire, that was the domain of Clara's mum. He'd roll in drunk, she'd shout at him about being drunk all the time which made him retreat back into himself and drink more to cope with whatever emptiness lived inside him and needed filling and it would have been a never ending cycle until finally enough was enough and they went their separate ways. Her Mum then spent every spare minute she had with Clara rubbishing him as is the want of divorced women the world over. It was in one of these rants that Clara discovered that she had actually been a Clare for the best part an evening and early morning until her old man who'd been wetting her head all night in his local hadbstaggered bleary-eyed and still several sheets to the wind to register her birth. At some point during the previous nights festivities he'd written down the names agreed on for her out on a piece of paper out of the fear of forgetting come the morning and in his drunken state had transposed the e at the end of Clare for an a and so Clare Alice Edmonton's short existence had quickly ceased and she was magically reborn as Clara. Still unlike her mum who was livid, Clara didn't mind as she much preferred it to Clare of which by the time she reached an age for her education to commence, there were six other girls of the same name in her school year with the variation of added i’s in some instances. It could have also been far worse had she inadvertently become Clare Alica which would have been fine up until the point in life where she had to apply for things like a passport or a driving licence and then the secret would have been out. Her parents combined disdain for one another had put her off the thought of ever getting married for life so at least she wouldn't have had the worry about the vicar asking ‘do you Clare Alica take …’ I guess she could probably claim she was named after a Greek aunt she didn't have or just tried to laugh it off as one of those things. Any thoughts of her father disipated when the coffee shop door opened from somewhere behind her and a first gust of wind stole a march on whoever was attempting to prize it open and had taken hold of a set of napkins by the door and sent them flying and then a second gust had slammed it shut behind a man in his mid twenties who was now stood in the doorway with his cheeks flushed red either through the embarrassment of the entrance he'd made or from slapped cheeks from the wind. Clara turned her body round on the stool to look at him and he pulled the type of face you do when you're about to say oops but the word didn't follow from his mouth. Clearly somewhat entranced by the beauty sat before him his face then turned into a warm smile and it must have touched something inside of Clara because she found herself lifting off her seat to come to his aid. Maybe it was the sort of smile one day that would lead him somewhere down the line to fighting with an umbrella in the wind and rain with a dog going about it's business on the pavement and a little girl crying because her daddy was shouting, you never can tell with these things.