Chapter 34 – ANGELA – A MEMORY REVIVED 

 Sometime in the 1980s I was in London on a business trip. I arrived into Waterloo station, coming off my train, when I saw Angela apparently waiting for hers. I knew her from my old days in London. She was one of the Yanito ex-pats that worked there then, and she even married Max who was, like me, another Yanito in the fashion trade. She was in her late 20s or perhaps very early 30s. Petite, ash blonde hair, pale complexion and signature bold red lipstick.... how could I miss her?

"Hey Angela, nice to see you .... "
"Oh, Hi David ..."
There was something wrong. She was avoiding looking me in the eyes and her discomfort was something she could not hide. This was strange because I had a very good relationship especially with her husband Max. We had shared digs when I was in London in the late 60s and early 70s.

"What time's your train?"
"Not for another hour....."
"Angela, coffee?"
"Well ...."
"Is something wrong Angela? Can I help you with anything?"
Perhaps because I was about 15 years older than her, or because she could no longer contain them, her eyes filled with tears. Sometimes a warm embrace can do more than words and I embraced her and we went into a pub where we sat at a quiet table in the corner.

"Is Max ok? Are you still together?"
"Yes ....  yes ... it's not that..."
"What about your two sons? ...Are they well?"
She broke down completely.
I was at a loss what to say or what to do, but obviously Angela needed help. I suspect I could have appeared to her as an older relative, and it must have been that, because she had some deep feelings pent up inside that she could not articulate to anyone else, that she told me what the problem was,

Max was.... "between jobs"... as they say. He had been an independent trader in “fast fashion” for a few years, but the big boys were eliminating the small fish and in comparison, Max was very small fish. Angela had an office job but her income was barely enough for a family of four. And on top of that there was a mortgage to pay.
As if that was not enough ...... she had become pregnant again!
"I am off to Bournemouth to get an abortion" she sobbed.
This was my first direct contact with the subject of abortion.
Admittedly I knew very little of the medical side of it but I did know that it had to be very traumatic moment for Angela …… and I am sure even for Max.
"How far gone are you?"
"Two months ….. and a bit...."

As you, the reader, may realise, the subject is a hot potato in Gibraltar these days. I have always believed that all life is precious and that human life, in fact all life generally, starts at conception. This was not something that we talked about much, not then and not till now. Obviously, it is obviously the present acrimonious discussions for and against ... and even how and when.... abortions are acceptable has triggered this memory about Angela.
This incident actually happened so many years ago!
 I had virtually forgotten all about it. But it is a part of my life and it would be negligence not tell you about it now.

"Does Max know?"
"No ... My aunt lives in Bournemouth and she, and now you, are the only ones who know"
I am neither a preacher nor a counsellor, but when a friend is going through such mental and emotional agony, I could not very well just drink my coffee and go. Because of my friendship particularly with Max, I felt I had to offer my help.

"Would it help if I loaned you and Max some money to tide you over this bad patch? Max is sure to get a job soon."
This brought out fresh tears to her.
"No, no ... thank you …  but .... I'm also finding it hard to cope with the two boys anyway."

I have to be honest and tell you I do not remember exactly what I said to Angela. Obviously, I was as empathic as I could be ….. the subject is delicate at the best of times anyway. Frankly I don't think it was anything I said. It was rather that I was there to listen to her, as she verbalised the internal conflicts battling inside her. I really think that men can never fully connect with the emotions that a woman must go through in such circumstances.
We spoke for a long time, well over an hour.  But as the minutes ticked by and her train was due on the platform, she dried her tears embraced me, gave me a sisterly kiss and we left the pub. I thought I'd accompany her to the platform when she turned and said:
"I'm not going to Bournemouth, David. I have decided to keep this baby."
More tears, more embrace ..... my own eyes filled too ….
Angela hailed a taxi and went back home.
Me?
I went ahead doing my own work and quite forgot about it.

I never saw Angela again. She and Max divorced some years later. 

Fast forward with my own life. My wife and I divorced, and with hindsight I see that had we been allowed to work things out by ourselves we would probably never have ended our marriage. But well-meaning people…. and some less well-meaning  others…. fanned the flames of what turned out to be a hugely acrimonious divorce until there was nothing left of our marriage to repair. It was several years later that I penned the following poem which will give you an insight into to my feelings about those sad circumstances in our family.

DIVORCING CLOWN©
I thought that break-up was the only way
To set our lives on track
To free us from each other
To get our sanity back

Good choices…..bad choices
No choices….. who cares?
Destiny….. Fortune,
Karma….. who dares?

To walk on the path
Paved with those “good advises”
To leave all behind
For the unknown that now rises

But divorce breeds only losers
Except for the Wigs & Gowns
They milk off all the money
From us divorcing clowns

Along the way we battled on
But did not see the harm
On minds and souls of children
Whose lives.... had lost all calm

Now they’re grown-up, all adult
Experts at hiding their secret pain
From battles …..never theirs
That we fought …..but without gain

“Sorry” is not enough, my children
The clock of Life I can’t turn back
Let me light the way with warnings
So you don’t lose your own life’s track

And when your years are long....
When all you sing are Oldies songs....
Think kindly of this man, your father
I never meant you.... any wrong

But that is another story, one still too painful and raw for me to write about.

The magnet that is Gibraltar to all Yanitos sometimes is transmitted with our DNA. And so, it was that about 15 years ago I was stopped in the street by a young man who seemed to know me.

"You are David Bentata, right?"
"Yes ....."
"You do not know me but I am Paul the son of Angela and Max"
"Oh ... yes, yes ... How are they?"
"Mum's OK, still living in London ..."
Out came the mobile phone and he showed me some family photos.

"...and that's my older brother, Max Jr ..... He stayed in London and lives with Mum"
Angela looked a bit weather-beaten in the photos. Certainly, the years, the divorce and some undoubted hardships showed through in the sadness of her eyes and the creases in her still very attractive face.

"And that is????" I asked, pointing at photo of a young man with a young girl by his side.
"Yes, that's Max Jr... and our younger sister, Hope."
I could see the family resemblance.
"Hope works in Gib but lives in Santa Margarita."
"Really .... well maybe Angela and Max will come back too?"
"I doubt it. But Hope works in St Bernard’s Hospital ..... "

I looked at the photo again but still did not recognize her.
"Wait ... this is a recent photo of her ... "  He slid a finger over the screen.
Definitely she was Angela's daughter, same pale skin and large eyes, and a very gentle smile.
And I realised I had seen her before, in one of several of my own visits to St Bernard's.
"How old is she?"
"Oh .. she's ... 27 or 28 ...I am never sure ha ha ha "
We chatted a bit more then we each went our ways.

I am no mathematician, but neither did I need a calculator to figure it out.
I could not help myself.
I had to go to St. Bernard's.... and I did.
I cannot tell you what I felt when I saw Hope. Oh, she is so significantly named!
But definitely it was a feeling I had never known before ….. elation? …. humility?..... trepidation?
On the excuse that I wanted to check on an appointment, I struck up a conversation with her and introduced myself as a friend of the family.

"Oh yes, I've heard about you ..."
"Really?"
"Yes, Mum told me you are a good friend of hers when you used to go to London often"
"I was a friend of Max as well..."
"You know he died?"
"Yes... very sad..."

“Best thing that could have happened!" she snapped back. Obviously, the bitterness of the divorce had taken root as it does in many children of divorced families.

After a few more pleasantries we said goodbye. I watched her walk back and was reminded of that eventful day in Waterloo.

I find it difficult to describe my own feelings.
There, walking back to her post was the living result of a few kind words spoken at the right time.
There, was living proof of the planets aligning so that Angela and I met at the train station all those years ago.
What were the chances of that?
They say there are no coincidences in life, in which case it was somehow ordained Angela meet with somebody who would listen to her, so that she could listen to her own inner a voice, to her doubts, to her fears ....

In my tribe we have the passage of "Mishna", scriptures which states:
"whoever saves a single life is considered to have saved a whole world."
I know it may sound pompous of me to mention this, but especially in my own life, perhaps I fulfilled my purpose in coming here this time around.

(Names have been changed so as to protect the confidentiality of all parties, but this is very much a true story)