This is a love letter to the security staff member who came up to me when I was weeping on a couch at the National Theatre. He crossed the foyer, enquired softly if he could help, and when I said no, he specified that perhaps he could bring me some tissues.
Two and half months later, I bumped into him in the corridor on my last evening at the theatre as I was leaving.
I’m glad that I stopped and asked him if he had been the guy who’d shown such kindness to a stranger; How was he to know that I had been working there? There had been no evidence. I’m glad that I got to remind him of his generosity.
He saw and heard me one afternoon in the past. I am very glad that I got to look back at him.