Tales From A Harrogate Caravan
Chapter 4 — Work and Ruth
← Karl Swainston / Tales From A Harrogate Caravan
On another front, work and family life went on as well as can be expected. I tried many times to interact with Alex, but he was stubborn and found more comfort with his mates and X-Box games than he did with me. Rebecca and Danny coped as best they could, and life trundled on.
At work, things were ever the same, and the place didn’t seem to have any life anymore; even the students we had were quite dull compared to the lively ones in the past. This crowd didn’t seem to want to do anything, and no amount of persuading gained reward, and that’s always a bad sign, as everyone then becomes irritable, and the place can quickly lose its character. The unit did maintain its character, but the days didn’t have the laughs that we were wont to have in the past with the Mikeys and Martins of this world. In hindsight, I don’t think it was only the students who were dulled by the work and discipline of study, but I think Rakiya, Gouhar, Kate, and I had all had enough as well, and we were all simply waiting for the autumn to fall, Christmas arrive, and all begin paths to a new life. I think only inertia kept us going.
I never once spoke to Rakiya about seeing other women, but she knew, as my phone would go off and I’d move to another area of the building. Karen knew, and I spoke to her about the situation, and I suppose she told Rakiya, but I didn’t. I had no fear of not telling her, but Anna and Rakiya were the deepest of friends, and I was a close friend of Rakiya too, and that made the situation awkward, and the more I didn’t say anything, the less I had need to say anything.
***
I’d started dating a theatre nurse, a diminutive lass from South Africa. She was lovely, and we got on very well, so well in fact I asked if she’d like to meet the kids. She accepted, and although the meeting was difficult for all of us, it went better than expected, and Rebecca, Alex, and Danny were mature enough to accept her, and all even commented upon liking Ruth and asking her back another time.
I’d been seeing Ruth a fortnight or so, and she was due to fly back to South Africa to visit family. It was then Fortune, or Misfortune, whichever you deem it to be, played her or his card.
Since seeing Ruth, I hadn’t bothered anymore with the dating game and had even stopped looking for that matter. Earlier I’d joined E-Harmony, but couldn’t understand the workings of the site and had only posted a couple of times on there, preferring other sites instead. Ruth had flown the previous day to South Africa, on a Thursday, and I’d finished work as usual and wasn’t particularly looking forward to an empty weekend without much to do when I received an email.
I’d exchanged a few missives with some Scottish woman called Lorraine, or so I thought, and on this particular Thursday, on the day Ruth had left for South Africa, another message arrived asking if I’d like to meet in Harrogate the following day. How strange sometimes is life? If Ruth hadn’t gone that week to South Africa, what a different path of life I would have journeyed. I’m not saying it would have been better, or worse for that matter, but it certainly would have been different.
I replied to the missive and agreed to meet the following day, as I dreaded the weekend without distraction. She replied back and added that she hoped I was a ‘good kisser,’ which I found unusually forward.
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About Karl Swainston
Karl Swainston is a writer and storyteller whose work is forged from a life lived across the North of England and far beyond. Growing up on a Leeds council estate in the 1960s, Karl's journey was anything but linear. By the age of thirty, he had already lived a dozen lives: from the rigors of grammar school to a degree in Latin, a stint as a fishmonger, a period of discovery living in Marseille, and a return to the hustle of London. Whether working as a postman, a builder, or competing as a county-level chess player, he was, above all, an avid reader—constantly documenting the world around him. This restless spirit continued into his professional life. Karl later taught in Bradford, where he ran a specialist unit for 244 of the most excluded students from across the region—young people whom even the local Pupil Referral Units could not accommodate. Working alongside his old friend Malcolm, Karl spent his days navigating the volatility of Bradford's most aggressive and dysfunctional teenagers. Throughout his life, Karl has been an avid runner and has always shared his home with a rotating cast of beloved dogs and cats—companions who have been constant witnesses to his work. As a writer, Karl's range is as expansive as his history. He works across a wide breadth of genres, including fiction and short stories, autobiography and memoir, biography, non-fiction, and metaphysical writing, as well as providing sharp commentary, opinion, analysis, and essays. Whether writing about his years managing the Harrogate Arms or offering insights from his current adopted home in South East India, where he lives in a simple village with his dog, Bambi, Karl's voice reflects the full, untidy, and deeply human breadth of life. He continues to draw on the rich, decades-long tapestry of his experiences to tell stories that matter, proving that no matter where you live, the human story remains the same.
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