Karma

There is that scene in Little Women, where the insistently superficial and annoying Amy falls through the ice in the frozen pond and is rescued by Jo and Laurie.

I can’t help it.

Knowing what happens in the rest of the book – Amy gets to travel Europe, Amy gets to marry Laurie – while Jo, with all her dreams snatched away, does the hard yards as a nanny and a struggling writer, I kind of wish they’d left Amy to her fate.

A cold watery death, for the undeserving sibling.

Harsh, yes, its harsh, but you know how people talk about Karma all the time, I need to know its real.

Whenever someone is abominable to someone else – the cheating wife, the pyramid investment scheme operator who rips off hard working people’s retirement income – the last consolation to sooth all the natural resentment and misery the victims feel, is that Karma will catch up with the perps.

But does it? I need more than the hope that a transcendental vibe sent into the ether will wend its way back to eventually give someone their comeuppance.

Like those romantic Disney couplings that end with the promise of a happily ever after with no proof – I mean, how do we know Cinderella and her Mr Charming stayed tight? It’s not enough to just believe love lasts forever or that crime doesn’t pay.

And that’s what got me started.

Well, its only part of the story really.

I wasn’t always vengeful.

Once, I was in love. So much in love that the world was iridescently beautiful.

I was a veritable Snow White, all the birds seemed to twitter more sweetly near me, the squirrels lingered longer in parks, giving me a happy wink as I passed by.

I had met my prince and just knowing he was in the world, made everything rosy.

We met in what I have come to think of as a sweet, old-fashioned way - no best-foot-forward profiles or carefully selected photographs, no swiping left or right, no titillating texts as a prequel to real-life conversation.

We simply both reached for the same book in a bookshop. A little spark of interest curling through our fingertips as they touched. Eyes widening as we awkwardly deferred to each other over the book, and then that smile that acknowledged attraction, a gentle joke or two that flowed into a long chat, then bookshop cappuccinos and the promise to catch up again.

Our first real date was a movie and dinner. Five hours later, neither of us wanted to go home.

As our relationship progressed, we found we had so much in common. From books and movies, to views and values, and right down to the way we folded our tea towels, we were simply perfectly in sync.

And that is how I believed things would remain until I introduced my love to my best friend.

Now, I’ll admit, by the time I introduced him to Jolie, who had been away studying cooking in Paris, my prince and I had become very comfortable with each other.

You know the kind of comfortable that means you don’t wear make-up unless you are going out. You have both agreed that flatulence is perfectly natural, and you don’t need to rush off to the loo to pass wind discretely anymore.

We had chosen to be cosy together. It was OK to work late every now and then as long as you came home with some takeaway, flowers were lovely but unnecessary except for on special occasions, and we’d agreed bed socks and PJs were perfectly reasonable in the colder months.

There were little annoyances now and then – he always squeezed the toothpaste from the top – I never could remember to put my shoes back in the cupboard - but these were mere trifles, we were together, we were in love.

Having Jolie back in town was actually a breath of fresh air. It gave me an outlet for the occasional grumble about the prince, and she was so understanding and supportive of the rightness of our relationship.

She took to hanging out with us regularly. We had movie nights at home on the couch. She decided to cook for us once a week to practise her newly acquired culinary skills.

She was still single, blaming a punishing work schedule for her dateless condition and adorably, the prince insisted it was lucky for Jolie to have great friends like us to spend time with, to save her from a lonely life.

So, when I had to go home to see my parents because my father had been ill, I thought nothing of Jolie’s sweet offer to make sure the prince didn’t starve while I was gone. What could be more endearing than my best friend and my best fella looking out for each other?

It was a week after I returned that I found Jolie’s bracelet under my bed sheets. That was when the penny dropped.

Taking off my rose-coloured glasses, I started to see things in a new light.

And what a light it was, powerful, revealing, forensic.

I noticed how the prince made a special effort when Jolie was visiting. Showered, scented and shiny, he was immaculate when she was around.

I noticed how they laughed together often at jokes I didn’t get. I noticed that when the prince and I disagreed on something, she always found her way to be on his side in the discussion.

I didn’t say anything, I let things run their course. And as my walks in the park became more perfunctory, with the sparrows and the squirrels returning to their natural disengaged state, I knew it was time to leave my prince.

There were no outward signs of bitterness. He took it on the chin bravely when I told him things were just not working out.

Jolie was bereft on my behalf and spent a few nights with me commiserating – she brought expensive wine and petit four.

It was at least two months before they decided there was enough clear air to move in together.

Jolie cried when she told me they were an item. She prostrated herself before me, all moony-eyed saying “are you really sure you don’t mind?”

“Better mates than dates,” I replied stoically. And when we hugged, I could feel the lie between us like a board.

I saw the prince with her walking hand in hand one night. She waved enthusiastically and he gave a sheepish shrug.

It was winter...skating season. I felt those mysterious Karmic forces driving me on, forming the words on my lips without my control.

“Want to come skating with me at the pond on the weekend – I’ll bring the hot chocolate.”

They looked at me in a state of guilty relief, as though they had just been pardoned for a crime they did commit.

****

I had removed the Thin Ice, hazard signs and exclusion tape from the far end of the pond just 20 minutes before they arrived.

“Race you to the other side,” I shouted as I bent down slowly to tighten a lace on my skates.

And they were off, well before me.

****For all those who have been spurned, I hope this story gives you the opportunity for a wicked giggle. Appreciate all reads and hearts.****