Chapter 2: Sarah

She was a natural blonde, blue eyed and attractive in a hard faced way. Sarah had a little boy and little else when I first knew her. She had bitten off more than she could chew once and then left him to his guns and alcohol in Sweden to come home to her parents. He left her to their son. She was one of the few I didn't start up over the previous five years, put on over my head by my Production Manager, Bert, as a favour to the local Commonwealth Employment Office. Bert always had design but his stomach got in the way. There she was one Monday morning, a strange face on the line, unexplained. As it happened Bert was late that morning for whatever reason and I just took it for granted that she had taken his fancy and started her on the line without waiting far an explanation. You could always tell she wasn't one of mine; not one of the 'middle-aged-and-grateful' Bert was always whingeing I employed. To be honest Bert's description was accurate. I truly worried about the company's welfare and employed to get the job done with as fewer complications as possible, whether it was nipping union hassles in the bud or making sure that any bitchiness caused by a young strange face in this henhouse just never occurred. Like I said, I put her on and probably wouldn't have if I'd had my way. Now I've just got to live with it.

It was weeks before I had much to do with her. I left much of my day-to-day personnel relations to my leading-hand Trish and knew I would only be called in if there were trouble brewing. I was chewing it with the only other male on the shop floor, Greg, just talking shit, when the subject of birthdays came up. I can't remember why, I ignore mine. Sarah was packing unobtrusively nearby on the end of the line. I guess when your hands are in automatic the ears wander with the mind and she merged into the conversation. It must have been one of those bad days as so did Trish and The Grasshopper (if you saw how she looked and dressed you wouldn't ask). Greg mentioned his star sign and Sarah piped up with hers and her birthday date leaving me a little nonplussed to say the least. Someone must have told her mine and she was ragging me. "What year?" I asked.

"1951."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, of course I am." She had a puzzled expression on my face and I realised she had no idea what I was on about.

I looked at Trish with my eyebrows raised and she just shrugged, "I didn't fuckin' tell her, don't look at me." Trish was as close as I could call a friend around here and was as surprised as I was. She was the only one on the shop floor who knew my birthday. To make the deja vu even worse Sarah also had the same surname as myself only spelt differently.

At this point I dropped the subject completely then announced I had to make a phone call, leaving hurriedly. But it had me started and my mind played on the concurrence of birthdays like a tongue at a bad tooth. It had me fascinated. I realised as pure common sense that other people in the world must have been born on the same day as me but I hadn't struck any prior and few since. The shyness created by living with my own companionship took me a while to fight through. Three weeks later, when she came into my office for more time sheets for herself and some mates, I asked her out. To my surprise she didn't hesitate and said yes. I had thought she would probably knock me back thinking I was using my position to take advantage, a-la Bert but appreciated her acceptance and trust with more than a little relief, and made arrangements to go to one of the local steakhouses that Saturday night. I'd pick her up from her parent's at seven and she gave me their address. She was quite pleasant about it but I could hear some loud squeals and catcalls from the shop floor a few minutes later. Well it wasn't meant to be a secret.

I drove into her driveway early that night. I was so desperately unsure of myself, not knowing what kind of reception to expect. After all she was a virtual stranger who I'd only talked to five times since we'd met. A lady in her fifties met me at the door, welcoming me warmly, an older version of her daughter. A small round face hid behind her skirts, blue eyes and white blonde hair, just like his mum. She spoke in a mid European accent, I later learnt to be Czech, and ushered me through to the lounge, to shake hands with an older man whose accent you could have cut with a knife. They were nice people. Sarah popped her head through a bedroom door just to say 'hi, I won't be long, aren't you early?" she was wearing a towel loosely over her head like a turban and a dressing gown. Suddenly I realised that she wasn't that hard on the eye at all with a little make-up on. I hadn't really looked with a seeing eye before. That basically was all she was wearing and I also realised then how long since I'd last had sex.