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The last day of the year; not even the whole day, just a few of the last twelve hours. It is, after all, the season for doing jigsaws. The frost is still on the ground as we walk through the woods to the river, our breath coming in cold puffs, steaming out in front
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The two minutes silence begins. Some of the people in the room stand, but I sit, head bowed, in a pose of solemn remembrance. But all I can think of is the moment I crushed your little paper poppy when we hugged, and the feeling you are somehow as lost to me as the fallen
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I am a wearer of hats. One day – four hats – same head underneath. I think. Hat 1 – 6.15am This morning it’s a struggle to leave the house; so much to do and I daren’t be late. Dirty washing flung into the machine, sandwiches made, fruit sliced, yoghurt poured, cake cut, bags packed,
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Everything is in boxes. It’s not that I’m packing up to leave; I’m packing up to stay. Stay sane, that is. The boxes I am referring to are, of course, my emotions. One box for my husband, and another, smaller, box for Owen. And the most puzzling thing is – they are entirely separate.
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We have scraped together supper from what is left in the fridge. Small, sweet tomatoes from our own greenhouse; the last few olives in the bottom of the jar; a week old loaf of bread; and three scrag ends of cheese. I pick up the goat cheese and examine it, then put it down
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If I could, I would take it all away. Everything. Your everyday life, my everyday life (well, in that there are caveats) to leave us standing on a blank canvass. I would make the ground, the players, the media centre, the other journalists, all fade slowly into a brilliant white emptiness. I would wipe
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Rain is our element. I move from my desk to close the window, but instead I pause, listless, looking out over the used car lot outside. The rain is soft and smells of greenness, giving the lie to the scents of tarmac and diesel that normally pervade this space. It takes me away from
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How many words can you fit into one glance? Sometimes, all the words you need to say. A moment, in the middle of a perfectly ordinary conversation, becomes loaded with intimacy and significance. Especially if it is a moment where you reach a point of understanding. We were half working, half chatting at
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Half way along the carefully tended flowerbed, I stop. Or at least, inside me stops; the outside of me carries on strolling, admiring the dahlias. No-one will have noticed – not least my husband, who is walking half a step ahead of me, mentally selecting plants for our garden. It is the cerebral
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It was yesterday lunchtime I started to come to the conclusion I must put all this business (or non-business) with Owen behind me. Yes, I know I’ve said as much before, but this time I shocked myself into meaning it. It was the hollow emptiness that did it, the tiny knife with the pearl
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