Day Four: The Angel

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Jessica came for Christmas - her parents had emigrated to Australia to be with her younger sister and she started work on New Years Day, so could not afford to travel out to see them. I wanted so much for her to be happy, and had spent many hours and more money than I could afford decorating the house, cooking food, buying presents.

She arrived at the railway station and I met her with red roses in my hand; we hugged and kissed and she told me more stories of her work and I listened and countered with little tales; who had married, which children had been born, who had died and been buried under the ashes in the churchyard. We walked from the station to the house, carrying her bag in one hand, her arm through my other, and I was happy; happier than I had been in a very long time. She filled my life with her experiences and I told her this over and over; how much she meant to me, how much I loved her, how scared I was that she would get bored of me and this little village and my old house and would leave me.

I tried too hard. I know I did. Instead of being fun and entertaining, I was boisterous and cloying. I would not leave her alone yet when she came to speak with me while I was oiling the lock on the door I lashed out in anger, hurting her in the way that only a lover can. I am not proud of myself for that. I saw my father’s face in the mirror that day.

I knew that Jessica would never talk to me again after that.