The Girl in the Turquoise Dress

“Hi I’m Hannah” the girl in the Turquoise dress announced
“Can I borrow a screwdriver?”
She had just moved in to the house next door.
Strictly speaking calling her a girl was perhaps stretching a point.
I found out subsequently that Hannah Knott was forty nine years old and had 4 grown up children but she was a girl in comparison to me, who was knocking loudly on the door of my sixth decade.
“Of course you can” I replied “Come in a minute”
“Thank you” she said
“I’m Harry by the way”
She had a pleasant face, but had sad eyes, not sad like a puppy dog, more the kind of sad that went deep and left a tell-tale impression on her face.
She had a nice figure, even taking into consideration the fact she was in her late-forties and had given birth 4 times.
There was no instant mutual attraction, no flash of lightning nor cascade of Mantovani’s violins.
I thought she was a “fit” woman but I’d always needed more than just physical attraction to light my fire.
I had to know the person, like them and preferably love them for true sexual attraction.
Apart from noticing the obvious facts that she was very attractive and didn’t own a screwdriver I also divined that Hannah was Jewish as she wore a gold Star of David around her neck.
The turquoise dress in question was a long flowing affair that fitted well around her ample bosom and then hung loosely to the floor
Which left a lot to the imagination which was fine because I have a very vivid imagination.
I soon ascertained what task she was doing and what type of screwdriver she required to do it and got one from the tool shed but after having coffee with her I volunteered to do it for her.
I was retired and lived alone, my wife had died two years earlier and my two sons had families of their own so I had time on my hands.

So we became friends from the first day that I helped her assembling flat pack furniture and I enjoyed it so much that I helped her on subsequent days.
So that was how I came to spend the summer helping her to decorate her house.
It kept me busy and made me feel useful which gave me fresh energy and a renewed purpose.
I wasn’t aware at the time that Hannah liked it too, but for her it was because she was lonely, she missed her boys and felt unneeded since the youngest one left to join the army.
It had occurred to me very early on that I had been lonely too I just hadn’t realised it until I met her.
While we worked together we got to know each other and I got to find the reason for the sadness in her eyes.
She hadn’t given birth to 4 babies as I first thought she had given birth to 5.
Her youngest child was a girl named Ruth who at the age of 8 was struck by a hit and run driver and killed.
“My baby girl was gone” she sobbed “my beautiful baby girl”
I didn’t know what to say, what can you say?
What empty words can console someone who has lost a child?
No parent should have to bury their children.
All I could do was to take her in my arms and let her cry on my shoulder.
I couldn’t take the pain away or stem the flow of tears all I could do was hold her and afterwards listen while she unburdened herself.
In addition to losing her daughter she also lost her husband who decided he could best help his grieving wife by shagging the next door neighbour.
“That’s shit” I said
It was little wonder she was sad and lonely.

As the summer wore on and we completed room after room we were both secretly dreading finishing the job.
We had done the garden already and the exterior painting was complete.
What would we do? What would fill our days? What excuse would I have to be with her?
It wasn’t until the end of the summer as it turned slowly to autumn when all the work was done, we found that amidst the polyfilla and the paint fumes that we had fallen in love.
And we realised there were ways for us to pass the time together that didn’t involve a screwdriver or a paintbrush.