Fate's Acquittal

The End; The Beginning

2009-01-17T23:14:00.001Z

I could bore you with paragraphs of descriptions portraying the multi-coloured flowers, the quaint country church, the aunts and uncles and the uncomfortable badly fitting and hilarious morning suits. I could even tell you of the panic as I sent Ed to pick up the rings.

The worst part of it, though, was the fretful anxiety. I was nervous about the blackmailer: could he or she really ruin the day? How would it be done? I was nervous about Alice’s words the other day, and my own feelings, Sharona’s feelings, my parents, even Ed. I was nervous as hell.

But I’m not going to tell you about that. Instead I’m going to pass straight to the moment that ended this last year and started the rest of my life.

“And now, before we go any further, it is of course my duty to ask whether there is anyone amongst you who may object to this union between Thomas Evans and Sharona Sophia?”

For some reason I turned to face my audience and in that moment time slowed. I looked out over all their faces and in them saw my life. I saw all those before me who had married and saw my future. How many had settled? How many had made rash decisions?

I saw the events of the last year, since Annabell left me almost exactly a year ago, with new clarity.

I turned slowly to look at Ed and I realised now that everyone in the room held their breath, as though they too knew that nothing further might be done until this moment had passed. For the first time in so many years I was master, not only of myself, but of the assembled masses. They waited for me.

I looked into Ed’s eyes and saw bravery suppress truth. My mind was decided.

“I object.” I said. My firm, deep, unwavering voice echoed about the silent church.

Nobody murmured. They waited still. I allowed a moment to pass. I was aware of Sharona by my side, unmoving.

“The time has come to be brave,” I said, taking Sharona’s hand by my side but still looking out, into the eyes of the audience. “I’ve spent my life being swept along by the passions of others but in this last year two marvellous individuals have taught me, in their own way, that to be true to yourself is to be kind to those around you. Self-deception is the cause of all our greatest pain: it is time we began to follow our hearts and forget our rationality. A mind can always be persuaded, but a discontented heart can never be quietened. Today, there shall be a better way.”

I took Ed’s hand and brought him around in front of me. He was smiling now and looked at me with an expression of perfect pride. I turned to Sharona and she too smiled to me, blessing me with this sanction of my words. I leant towards her and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, brushing aside the dark hair that escaped from her careless style for the last time. A tear formed in her eyes and she allowed it to spill down across her cheek, though her smile did not break. I brought her around too, opposite Ed. I stood above them now, as though I were the reverend and they the couple to be.

“These two are my best friends and my family. I love them both with all my heart and I always will for all they’ve taught me of bravery, adventure and honest friendship. So loyal have they been to this duty of educating my weakened soul that they too have fallen foul of their most denounced vice. They have denied the truth in their own hearts. For my sake they have stood back from one another, time and again, while all the while it is they who have been in love.”

Ed and Sharona looked down at their feet like shy teenagers.

“Don’t be like that now!” I said. “As I have said, now is the time to be brave!”

I still held their hands and now I brought them together. As their fingers touched they both shook and drew breath. Still the audience was held in the grip of something magical. Nobody dared whisper or shuffle. All eyes were on the barely touching fingers of Ed and Sharona: the divine image of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel – the spark of life.

All at once Ed looked up and stepped into Sharona. He took her in his arms and kissed her with a gentle passion. It pierced me straight to the heart and my soul was shredded, the parts separating in the wake of the deepest cut. The layers were torn from me, one by one. But only at the darkest, innermost depths could the softest, hottest, most heart-breaking essences be found and felt: truth, beauty and this picture of fate’s acquittal before me.

“That’s enough!” came a loud, female voice from the back of the church. “Yeah, you heard me! This is all nonsense – cock and bull.”

Jane came striding down the aisle towards Ed and Sharona. For a moment I caught the old look of terror in Ed’s eyes. Jane stopped half way along, however, and span, glaring wildly at the audience.

“Tell me you don’t all swallow this rubbish? You think this is romantic, do you? Do you see this paragon of honest friendship and passion? I’ll tell you of it; I’ll tell you of him,” she pointed at Ed, without looking at him. “He’s married! To me! Yes, that’s right.” She quietened slightly. “I thought he loved me too, once.”

She looked down at the floor for a moment and then suddenly glared at me. She took several steps toward me but I didn’t shrink away. Not this time.

“And you!” she said to me, “You’d better not be throwing all this away because of those blackmail notes you’ve been getting! They’re his doing too. I’ve had him watched, I know everything about him.”

I started slightly but remained calm. Her words made sense and came as little surprise. I’ve always known it was Ed, somewhere inside. He’s complicated and so are his methods, but no one should ever be dismissed for a single transgression or flaw. Nor should a man be forsaken for two, for in truth I knew of the next revelation as well.

Two police officers walked down the aisle now, approaching Ed.

“Thank you, Ms Donavon, we’ll take it from here,” said the first.

“Mr Donavon, I’m placing you under arrest on suspicion of obtaining a money transfer by deceit. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be recorded and later produced in court. Equally, anything you fail to mention now that you later rely on in defence may lead to an inference taken against you in court. Do you wish to reply?”

“This is about the money coming from my account, isn’t it?” I asked, interrupting.

“Yes sir, it is.”

“Good, well I’m terribly sorry to have put you to this inconvenience but I had meant to inform you that I wished to withdraw my statement. While going through all the paperwork to sort out this wedding that you gentlemen have kindly attended I realised that some time ago I had signed off permission to Mr Donavon to withdraw the questioned amounts from my account. As you will see, if you check our records, the two of us have lived together for the past year. The transfers relate to various sundry property bills. Again, I’m extremely sorry to have put you to this trouble but I’m afraid you must release Mr Donavon. He’s an innocent man.”

“I see,” said the officer. He contemplated the tale for a moment. “You know I’m going to have to file a report on this. My superiors may wish to consider a charge of perverting the course of justice against you. Do you maintain your withdrawal?”

“I do,” I said, for the only time today, the only time I could have meant it.

“Very well,” he said, and they departed.

“Jane,” I said, “we’re all moved by your words and I can’t sufficiently express my sympathy for you, but I won’t turn from Ed now. It seems you know more of his actions than I, but you don’t know his heart. This last year he stood up for me and fought my battles, physical and psychological; he pushed me into battles of my own; he saved me from a cave-in and forged through a life-threatening blizzard with me. He placed my salvation ahead of his own happiness. He shot me with an arrow when I needed it the most, when no one else could’ve done it. I won’t be moved from his side.”

Jane lifted up her head and narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not done with you Donavon!” she declared. But she too departed.

I turned to Ed and he came slowly towards me. His eyes were wet and he embraced me warmly. He whispered his thanks, his apologies. I watched Sharona over his shoulder. She held my gaze almost shyly and finally broke, turning her eyes demurely to the ground.

I pulled myself back from Ed and placed one hand at the base of his neck, flesh to flesh. I looked him in the eye and gave him half a smile.

I turned and began to walk from the church. The spell over the audience broke and they came to their feet and began to applaud raucously. I looked down bashfully and smiled. My father leapt to his feet and slapped me on the back before standing behind me, clapping for everything he was worth. My mother’s voice was the final sound to accompany me:

“How can you congratulate him? Do you have any idea how much this all cost?”

Outside the church I discovered, appropriately, that it had begun to rain hard. I strode right out into the midst of it and laughed loudly. I span and allowed the droplets to trickle down off my hair, over the contours of my face and on beneath my shirt, wrecking my expensive suit.

I flipped a coin and began to walk to my left down the road, leaving them all behind me. My mind was pure sensation, nothing else mattered.

After no more than a minute I heard a voice on the wind.

“Tom!” she shouted.

I paused and raised my face to the heavens, waiting and feeling the water splash over me.

“Tom!” she shouted again, closer now. Almost by my side.

And then, breathless, she was there.

“Tom, that was wonderful, I’m so proud of you.” She whispered into my ear.

I turned and smiled at her. Her dress was wet through and stuck to the curves of her body, a figure I’d so often admired, and denied.

I laughed and took her by the hand. She squeezed my hand and we began to walk slowly along the road, listening to the patter of rain across the fields and forests about us.

“It’s bad luck to get married on a rainy day anyway,” I said.

“Let’s not talk about luck,” she said.

“Fate?”

“Are they any different?”

“Ever so! For only one truly exists.”

We had paused our walk and turned to face one another. Alice placed her hands on my chest and then shyly removed the red rose from my lapel. It was in a sorry state but she held it to her cheek nonetheless and allowed its petals to caress her skin. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, just slightly.

I kissed her, long and lingering; soft, red and heart-breaking.

Guilt, Grief, Horror.

2009-01-16T23:52:00.000Z

I’m sick to the core, physically and at heart.

I don’t know where I was when I woke this morning, but I can be sure that I wasn’t alone in that bed last night. I’ve got the photographic proof: I found a Polaroid stapled to a note by my side:

“Shall we do this the easy way, or the hard way? I’ll be watching. Don’t go through with it.”

I was handcuffed to the bed. I glanced around and found a key lying on the bed. I just about managed to unlock the cuffs with my spare hand and mouth in awkward combination.

Then I sat, looking at that picture, paralysed with guilt, grief, horror. What the hell happened last night?

Stag Night

2009-01-15T23:04:00.000Z

It turns out Ed has organised a surprise stag night for me tonight, the bastard. He’s just given me five minutes’ warning so I’ve got to get ready. I’ll report tomorrow!

The Final Goodbye

2009-01-14T23:45:00.000Z

I’m officially on wedding leave now. My clerks don’t believe I’m really getting married. They think I have commitment issues and they consider me thoroughly capable of inventing a wedding as a mere pretext to take more time off. Have I earned nothing through the last few months of solid service?

Annabell called me today.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Can I come?”

“No!”

“So the last five years meant nothing to you then?”

“Four.”

“Well… I’m happy for you. Bye Tom.”

Pauses Mean More than Words

2009-01-13T23:49:00.000Z

I got a call from Alice this afternoon, whilst I finished off my work.

“Hi there Tom!”

“Hi Alice!”

“I… just wanted to say thanks for inviting me on Saturday.”

“That’s okay, thanks.”

She paused.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help clean up. I hope it wasn’t too much bother for you.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Okay. Well…”

She was going to end the call. I found myself somehow moved.

“Alice!”

“Yes?” she replied, quickly.

“I… Will you come to the wedding on Saturday?”

“Oh. I don’t know.”

“Ah, I’m sure you have plans… I’d love to see you there though, if you become free, that is.”

“Okay.”

I wondered what to say. Alice wasn’t helping. Perhaps she wondered too.

“Okay,” I said, “I guess I’ll speak to you soon then?”

“Yes. Bye Tom.”

“B…”

“…Tom!”

“Yes?”

“Tom, I like you,” she said quickly, then stopped dead and silent for a moment. “All I’m saying is… don’t make any decisions that aren’t your own. Please? Just make sure everything feels right.”

I thought about it.

“Thanks Alice.”

I hung up.

Dilligaf

2009-01-12T23:51:00.000Z

A bit of lightness for today’s entry. This was my second to last day of work before I go on holiday for the wedding and honeymoon. You’d think a man about to be married would be embarking upon a magnificent career and yet I found myself today at Bracknell Magistrates Court dealing with a youth.

The kid was eleven years old and stood charged with the grave offence of swearing at police officers.

I read his interview on the train. He’d answered every single question with one word: ‘Dilligaf’. In conference with the boy and his father I was informed by his laughing father that this meant ‘do it look like I give a fuck?’

In this same conference I was informed by the boy that he’d ‘remembered’ that he was shopping with his father and grandfather at the time of the alleged incident. They fiercely denied any suggestion that they might be mistaken on this point.

“But wot no one seems to understand, right,” began the father suddenly, “is that my son only told those coppers wot ’e did ’cos they asked ’im.”

“Yeah,” chipped in the boy, “I woz only tellin’ the truth.”

“They asked ’im wot ’e thought of ’em.”

“’an I told ’em: buncha useless wankers.”

“I see,” I said, sympathetically. “And this was while you were out shopping, right?”

“Er…” said the father. “Er… yeah. No. Wot? No. This was another time altogether.”

“I see. Yes.”

Eventually I secured them an alternative charge of swearing in a public place and forced a confession out of the kid for that.

Honestly, how am I expected to provide for a family on the back of this nonsense?

Empty Cans

2009-01-11T22:48:00.000Z

Today began with a long and tedious tidying session, as we tried to fix that which the party had broken.

I wanted to find the words, or the balls, to take them on.

I wondered if this marriage was such a good idea. Where was the certainty in my heart? The thrill in my soul? It’s only a week away.

I picked up empty cans in silence.

Artless Civility

2009-01-10T23:29:00.000Z

The Murder Mystery Night was arranged in segments. For a time we’d be acting out specific parts by reading out lines on cue from each other. The rest of the time we were free to move about and discuss whatever we wished with the others, so long as we remained in character.

Half way through the evening I noticed that the food was beginning to run out. I went out of the living room to the kitchen to collect some more and there I found Alice, sitting alone at the kitchen table.

“Hello!” I said.

“Hi!” she replied, looking up and smiling.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I just thought I’d take a break.”

“Do you mind if I sit down for a moment?” I asked. Perhaps my character had inspired this artless civility. I sat down next to her quickly, in order to move on.

“Thanks for inviting me here,” she said, infected by this very awkwardness.

She was close to me, for it is only a very small kitchen table we have. She faced across the table and her hair fell across her eyes. I couldn’t see her expression. Somehow affected, I reached out without thinking to push aside her hair that I could look on her face.

She twitched at my touch and took a sharp breath, glancing at me from the corners of her deep brown eyes. She appeared paralysed for a moment then very slowly she turned to me and placed her hand over mine upon which remained upon her cool smooth cheek. Her lips parted, sticking, first, for a moment and then spreading. But there was anxiety in her eyes.

All at once noise crashed through the scene and shattered it, speeding our senses back to reality. Someone had opened the living room door. I jerked my hand from Alice’s cheek and stood, knocking back the chair. Without turning back I walked from the room and made straight for Ed’s little balcony, in search of some cold air.

The curtains were drawn across the door that led to the balcony and I pushed them apart. There were two figures already out there, caught together in a manner of embrace. A girl leant back against the railings, tilted away from a taller man who bent his shape over her. His hand lay within her thick hair, supporting her head as she leant away. Slowly he began to drawn her into him but then she saw me and threw him off.

I ran from the curtains.

“Tom!” she shouted after me. “Wait!”

I burst into the living room and went immediately to the nearest bottle of wine.

Sharona was scarcely a moment behind. “Tom!” she repeated, “It’s not how it looked.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” I growled.

There was silence about us now. All eyes were upon us. I growled wordlessly.

“Can’t we go somewhere and talk about it?” she asked.

“No. These people came here for a performance. They came here to see something imaginary.”

“Not this!”

“Why not? This seems as imaginary as anything else.”

“Tom!”

“Alright,” I said, and we retreated to the kitchen, followed by light applause from those whose confusion about whodunit was now exasperating.

In the kitchen Sharona told me that Ed was drunk and just being his usual self. She told me that nothing would ever have happened and that they were just standing close to alleviate the cold of the night. I could scarcely believe her but the kitchen scene was all about me and I could only picture Alice, watching me from the corner of her eyes, and so I could do nothing but accept Sharona’s words and smile, weakly.

We made it through the remainder of the night with some difficulty but eventually everyone departed. Robin congratulated me on my acting skills but professed some confusion at the relevance of the living room scene.

The moment the last guest was packed out the door Sharona went to bed, professing tiredness. I found myself alone with Ed. We sat in silence for a short while, looking at the domestic devastation about us.

“Night then,” I said, at length.

“Night,” he replied, and stood to leave.

“Wait!”

“What?”

I tried to find the words. Why wouldn’t he just apologise, or explain, or acknowledge it? Why should I be the one to speak?

“Nothing,” I said, resigned. I shook my head and released the breath that I’d held, looking away.

Ed went to bed.

Casting

2009-01-09T23:43:00.000Z

We’ve decided on a 1930s themed murder mystery party for tomorrow night. We ordered a kit online and made everyone read through it so they can get the right costumes tomorrow before they arrive.

Using some of the money from the diary of Armand Duplessis we bought an old original gramophone and some records from the thirties from a little shop Ed had once seen on the High Street at Hatch End.

Ed will be the ‘host’ for the night and only he will actually know ‘who-dun-it’. Sharona and I get to act a part, it should be entertaining!

Idle Threats

2009-01-08T23:58:00.000Z

“Abandon the wedding or I’ll report everything you’ve ever done to your Chambers, the Bar Council and the Police. You’ll never work again.”

Blackmailer’s back. I showed the note to Sharona.

“So?” she said.

“What do you mean, ‘so’? This could be the end of my career!”

“Just deny it all, besides it’s getting old, these are all idle threats.”

“But it’s strange isn’t it? This is the first time the blackmailer’s actually asked for something. Why try to make me call off the wedding?”

“Well… you’ll do what you have to do.”

I frowned and tried to fathom her. The corners of her eyes were turned up but deep within they were not smiling.

“I’ll figure something out,” I said.

Invitations

2009-01-06T19:42:00.000Z

This evening we discussed the next adventure, based on Sweet Little Mystery. We settled on hosting a Murder Mystery dinner party at the weekend. Ed found a website online that provided host packs and ordered one that would give us a ‘Casablanca during the war’ theme. Then came the tricky part: the guestlist.

We decided to invite Robin, Scheherazade (and her new boyfriend), Nicole, Alice, Ed’s younger brother (of whom Sharona had never heard!) and the two girls from the flat next door.

“What about Jane?” I suggested, wondering whether time might have healed their mysterious wounds.

Ed spat out his drink. “What’s your fucking problem?” he asked. “Why d’you keep bringing her into things?”

“We’ve got Alice.”

“Yeah, and I’m not too happy about that either! I’ve got an idea, let’s invite Annabell too!”

“Okay… Point made.”

“No, I’m serious. Let’s get Jane and Annabell here!”

“No.”

“Go on, it’d be hilarious.”

“They wouldn’t come.”

“Let’s try.”

“No.”

Ed stared at me, as though taking my measure. “I thought not,” he said.

A Long and Uncommon Day

2009-01-05T23:23:00.002Z

Ugh, what a day. We got up at midnight last night to wander out onto the streets. Ed had proclaimed that having no money also meant we could have no home, from midnight to midnight. As a further part of this idiotic plan we were only allowed a tatty old jumper each and no coat. It was bloody freezing.

We wandered about for a while, wondering what to do.

Eventually we stopped and stood still for a moment.

“Er… let’s get drunk,” Ed said.

“With what alcohol,” I asked.

“Hmmmmmm…”

“I actually need to sleep, Ed. This isn’t really very funny. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Christ, it’s only been half an hour and you’re giving up already?”

“Actually I never really signed up in the first place.”

“Oh, don’t do this to me now, Tom. So what? You get the girl and everything’s suddenly okay, you don’t need this anymore? It’s just like before, with Annabell: once you’re happy then to hell with everyone else, eh?”

“Fine, but I’m sleeping whatever you say, even if it has to be in a park.”

“Good, I guess it’s part of the experience anyway, sleeping out rough. Let’s do it.”

We scaled the fence of a nearby park and lay down between some bushes. Sharona dragged us each in close on either side. She was trembling from the cold but smiling nonetheless, her eyes alive with adventure. It was a little nerve wracking, knowing nothing about our surroundings but trusting ourselves to unconsciousness. Eventually, against all odds, I actually managed to drop off.

I woke only a few hours later in the middle of the night, appallingly stiff and cold. How such things can be survived night after night is entirely beyond me. I thought of my bed, so little distance away. It’s an average bed in all respects, nothing special, but God was it fit for a king in my mind.

I tried to return to sleep and ended up thinking about money and the properties it shares with electricity, sight and oxygen.

At the crack of dawn, after fleeting moments of rest amongst a broken, icy lake of discomfort, I decided to face the day, even if it would be tiring. At least movement might warm me up.

I decided to walk to work where at least I could get on with something. Sharona stirred as I moved, no doubt feeling a sudden icy gap where my body had been pressed against her.

“Where are you going?” she asked, waking up Ed.

“Work,” I grunted, softly.

“I’m coming.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” added Ed.

We were somewhere in the vicinity of Queen’s Park in the North West of London, and the plan was to walk all the way down to my Chambers in Temple. It seemed to take forever. Even though Ed and I have walked far further together, this stiff, cold, miserable walk through a cityscape appeared to be never-ending.

“I’m starving!” said Ed, as we walked past Holborn, almost there now. “Let’s beg, we need some money for food.” So saying he stopped and sat down on the pavement outside the tube station. Sharona and I watched on for a moment as he began to mumble pleadings to passers-by.

“Come on, I can’t do this on my own. Split up and find your own patch, meet back here in half an hour.”

I asked someone for the time (Ed had banned watches again, he seems to have issues with time) and discovered I had an hour or two before I might be expected at work. I wandered around the corner to the narrow streets behind the tube station and sat in an alley outside a pub, watching commuters pass and trying not to notice the faint scent of urine about me.

I couldn’t bring myself to actually ask anyone for money, knowing how it annoyed me to be asked myself, and knowing that I didn’t really need it. I felt embarrassed and ashamed.

I noticed someone come out the back of a sandwich shop opposite me and dump a bag into the rubbish. I contemplated my next move. Could I really stoop so slow? My stomach rumbled, desperate for more fuel to burn in the furnace within me that staved off hypothermia. I felt rotten to the core, as though my stomach had begun to digest itself in desperation. I stood and paused again, looking across at the bin. I shook my head and sat back down. I stood. And sat.

I stood and strode across to the bin, pausing only once to glance about lest anyone might be watching. Quickly I snapped open the bin and examined the refuse. I found a sandwich in a plastic container, apparently unopened. Quickly I reached in and pulled it out with surprising, greedy relish. I slunk behind the bin, out of sight, and snapped open the container, quickly devouring the sandwiches inside. They were a touch stale, but perfectly edible, even if it was only tuna and sweet corn – does anyone ever buy these ones?

I returned to Ed and Sharona who’d made enough between them for breakfast. I looked at Sharona and noted exactly how un-tramp like she looked, almost at home in her new clothes. I’m confident I could pick out the caste of commuter who dropped coins into her elegant hands.

“I’m going to work, enjoy your breakfast. I’ll see you later!”

At work, perhaps unsurprisingly, I was greeted with disdain.

“Good morning, Sir, would you like us to send Billy out for a suit this morning?”

Billy is our seventeen year old junior clerk.

“No thank you, Frank.”

“Very well, Sir. Perhaps just a razor then?”

I smiled and retreated down to the basement.

Lunch was a tortuous affair. I slunk out to find Sharona and Ed in a local sandwich shop dining out on their morning’s profits.

“This begging lark is a piece of cake,” said Ed. “I think I’ll take it up.”

I sat watching them for a while. “Er… can I borrow some money?” I asked, finally.

“No. You’ve been inside all morning, nice and warm. This is your punishment.”

“I’ve been working!” I looked imploringly at Sharona but she was silently eating her sandwich.

At six I met Ed and Sharona on Fleet Street as arranged. It was pouring with rain and they were hiding under an archway playing some sort of hand slapping game, giggling like children.

“Let’s go into a shop, or a museum or something,” I suggested, thinking to escape the weather.

“We have to pretend we’re stinking tramps, we’d never be allowed in any such place.”

Instead we wandered along across Waterloo Bridge, for the hell of it, since the rain had slightly abated. Eventually we met a real life tramp wrapped in a blanket in the IMAX underpass.

He asked us for money, sensibly enough, but instead we sat down a few metres from him and began to beg ourselves. After a few minutes a passer-by threw some coins to Sharona.

“What the hell are you lot doing?” the tramp shouted. “Fuck off, this is my territory.”

“We should go,” I said.

“Not yet,” said Sharona. She walked across to the guy and handed him the money. “Sorry,” she said, “we’re hungry too.”

“I dou’ it. Look at yer.”

“We’ve been living on the street all day, we’ve got nowhere to go.”

“All day! Haha! All day! I’ve been here ten years!”

“What’s that been like?” she asked, in all innocence, sitting down by his side.

“Fucking awful, what do you think?”

“But how did it happen?”

He sighed. “How does anyone ever end up like this?”

“Won’t you tell me?”

He looked her up and down and leered slightly. Ed stood and moved slightly closer. The guy glanced at Ed, and back at Sharona. “It’s alright,” he said, “I won’t hurt your girlie.”

“It was the booze,” he said, settling back against the wall. “Back in ’96 I was running a successful little building business. Wife, two kids, the works. Well, you know how it is, the job starting collapsing, I started shagging the wife’s sister and before I knew it I was staring out the bottom of a bottle on the street, bankrupt and disowned by the family. That wasn’t the worst of it. I tried to pull myself together and start again but I found out my wife had been having an affair as well with me best mate. He moved in after I left and I heard tell he’d hurt my eight year old daughter and beaten my wife. I was in agony about it all day, drinking. I wanted to go there and kill him, but I never made it, just collapsed on the street like a drunk. I’ve been out here ever since.”

“That’s sad,” said Ed, without any apparent sympathy. “You don’t listen to music do you? What’s your favourite song?”

“I’ll tell you a beaut’,” he replied. “Sweet Little Mystery, by John Martyn. Do you know him? I managed to see him here in London a couple of years ago. It took me a month to save the extra money, but it was well worth it.”

He began to sing a few lines and towards the end Sharona joined in with the chorus. He smiled an honest smile of pleasure and kissed her quickly on the cheek. She patted him on the shoulder and stood to leave, smiling.

After that we all, even Ed, began to feel a certain sense of shame in this adventure, a sort of hypocrisy, so we decided to walk all the way home and be done with it. We’re there now, and exhausted from a hell of day.

Plans

2009-01-04T21:39:00.000Z

My Mother was waiting for us at the flat when we returned this morning.

“Darling!” she exclaimed. “Where have you been? I’ve been terribly worried – we have so much to do! Sharona, come here and help me decide which flower arranger to go with. Tom, look at those magazines and please try to find a theme for the men that isn’t vulgar!”

Sharona smiled sweetly and attended to her task.

“I’ll just go sit in my room then,” said Ed.

My Mother looked up at him briefly, as one might at a bluebottle buzzing in the corner, before returning her attention to the flowers. Ed skulked off.

Hours later we had planned much of the wedding. Sharona had been perfect throughout, without even so much as a pity-seeking or angry glance. Something about that makes me uncomfortable. Shouldn’t she be more stressed about it? Shouldn’t she care more?

My Mother finally retreated home and Ed edged out of his room nervously. We switched on the television and blanked out for half an hour before dinner.

“Tomorrow,” said Ed, “we’re going to have no money.”

“It’s not that expensive, Ed,” I replied, “and we’ve still got all that money from Armand Duplessis’ diary.”

“No no no, it’s another adventure. The last song in the pub last night was Common People, so we’re going to live like common people, do whatever they do, and have absolutely not a single penny to our names in the process.”

“Hmmmmm,” I said.

“Great idea, Ed!” said Sharona.

Monophonic Fable

2009-01-03T18:52:00.002Z

Today we planned to go to the seaside again, following Ed’s ‘Sea Song’ adventure.

In the end we trekked out to Dell Quay on the south coast and found a peaceful but dull little cottage by the sea. This evening we wandered out through the crisp cold wintry night to a homely pub overlooking a small harbour through little mottled glass windows that gave one the impression of looking out of the captain’s quarters on a fine Ship of the Line.

We ate quietly, without urgency but also without inspiration. I watched the other two, wondering which of us might strike life into the thing. I caught myself looking at Sharona as though she were still a mystical creature from fable, rather than my wife to be. I glanced over at Ed and saw him watching her too.

“Ed,” I said, “you do realise you’re not coming on our honeymoon, right?”

“I see how it is,” he replied. I’d been half-joking with him but his response was gruff. These days it’s impossible to read his intonation, it’s monophonic: abrasive.

I’d be a fool not to suspect him. I know it often must seem as though I stagger through life with naïve impressions of those about me, giving credence to their better natures, but I’ll not pretend I haven’t seen the way Ed looks at her.

I’ve thought of the many occasions I’ve left them alone. I’ve thought of Ed’s vague claims, back when he was trying to split me from Annabell. Back at the beginning of November, when Sharona was coming back he… taunted me with it. But was he just trying to stir me into action?

Or wasn’t he?

Making a Wife

2009-01-02T23:44:00.000Z

Back at work today and the news has broken. It seems Scheherazade let it slip, it was just too big a secret to withhold.

“Congratulations Sir!” said Frank, my head clerk. “You’ll let us know next time, eh?”

“Next time?”

“It’s a joke, sir.”

“Of course.”

I went to my room and began to work on some late paperwork, hoping to escape the questioning of others. I didn’t survive long, however. Shortly my old pupilmaster came in and sat down, in a leisurely fashion, across the room from me.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, when eventually I steeled myself to look up. “You’re getting married!” he added, as though he’d just come up with the idea.

“That’s right.”

“I hear she’s a singer, from America.”

“Yes.”

“Yes. I see.” He nodded his head sagely then gazed off for a moment, almost vacantly. “Well, that’s splendid. Quite splendid! Yes, of course, you’ll make a wife of her yet, if you know what I mean?”

“I’m not exactly sure I do.”

“That singing will certainly come in handy, get the young ones up to scratch in time for society! Can she teach instruments as well? And cook? Yes? Splendid, I see you follow me now.”

I watched him.

“Yes,” he said, “splendid. I’ll leave you to it then.”

Let's Twist Again, Like We Did Last Year!

2009-01-01T23:25:00.000Z

New Year. It’s hard to see how it could be any ‘newer’ than the last year. Then again, I’m about to get married.

Does it scare me? Marriage leads to contentment, they say, so does that scare me? The reality is that I’m more scared of contentment scaring Sharona. I can be a contented guy and enjoy it, I really can. I’ve no need of ‘experience’ any more. There comes a time in a man’s life when he peaks, and if he’s smart enough to realise it then he’ll never twist again, only stick.

But some like to twist…

Especially singers.

Welcome Intervention

2008-12-28T23:35:00.000Z

As we made our way back into central London this evening on the train, I finally plucked up the courage to tell Sharona of my mother’s plans of intervention.

“See, I told you it would work out,” Sharona said, even as I winced in anticipation of an argument.

“Er… what?”

“Don’t worry Tom, it’ll be fine.”

“You mean you’re not angry? You do realise she’ll go crazy? She’ll probably even book a church, doesn’t that bother you?”

“Hmmmm… No. It’ll be quaint and English!” she laughed.

Ultimatum

2008-12-27T23:29:00.000Z

“So, what are the arrangements?” my mother asked me at breakfast this morning. It was just the two of us; Sharona and my dad had gone out for milk and papers.

“Sharona has a plan,” I replied.

“Which is?”

“To wait and see.”

“Lazy so-and-so. She knows nobody else could ever stand around and let that happen! She’s just waiting for someone else to step in and do the work for her!”

“I don’t think so, Mother, that’s just the kind of girl she is.”

“Well it’s not the kind of girl I am. Anyway, this isn’t girls’ business, it’s women’s, and if she doesn’t realised that then she shouldn’t be getting married!”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t you dare talk to your Mother that way!”

“Sorry, but can’t you just let me live my own life for a while?”

“Ha! I’ve been doing that for far too long. Look at the mess you’re in! Right, here it is: I’m organising that wedding, even if it is her plan, and if I can’t, I’m not coming.”

Rapture and Curiosity

2008-12-26T23:44:00.000Z

Christmas passed without event. Sharona was perfectly behaved and sent my dad into further rapturous spirals of admiration while managing not to speak more than a few words in my mother’s presence thus affording her pretence of ignorance.

I haven’t heard from Ed, but I’ll be seeing him a couple of days. Hopefully Christmas will have cheered him up. Meanwhile, there’s something understated but curious about Sharona’s manner. She keeps looking about thoughtfully before smiling at me, as though she’d only just noticed me, then taking my hand.

Seasonal Spirit

2008-12-24T23:43:00.000Z

I was about to leave the flat to go home to my parents for Christmas with Sharona when something occurred to me.

“It’s been ages since you’ve shagged anyone,” I said, turning to Ed.

“That you know of,” he replied.

“No. You haven’t. I’d’ve noticed. Are you losing your touch, Ed?”

“Maybe it’s not always about shagging the next girl, Tom. Maybe sometimes I get tired of inhaling all I can in the knowledge that it’s only a matter of time until I’m sated and then bloated and then sick. Sick to the core. Maybe sometimes I’d rather breathe more steadily, more slowly, and taste a subtler, more enchanting essence.”

“Er… Ed, are you talking about love?”

“Never mind, Tom. Enjoy Christmas.”

Not Exactly Orthodox

2008-12-23T23:42:00.000Z

I caught up with Robin at lunch today. I told him the news. He appeared genuinely shocked and surprised but congratulated me with all apparent earnestness.

“I’m really pleased for you,” he said, looking me in the eye. “It’s good to see you finally settling down properly. It’s fantastic, just fantastic.”

“You don’t think it’s rash?”

“Marriage is always rash, so my father says. I think it gives stability. It’s an important foundation stone of good society.”

“I see.”

“Of course, admittedly your situation isn’t exactly orthodox…”

“No?”

“Well, she’s not exactly the obvious choice…”

“Oh?”

“Look, I don’t mean any offence. It’s just… she’s an American, and a singer! Would she be a proper mother?”

I declined to answer. It’s not like I was bothered.

Mistaken Congratulations

2008-12-22T21:05:00.001Z

Christ! I’m engaged. I dreamt it this morning and in my dream it was the most confusing moment of my life. When I woke I was relieved, then amazed to remember it’s true!

I phoned my mum.

She was appalled.

“This is the biggest mistake of your entire life, Tommy.”

“Thanks, mum.”

“No, actually, it’s the biggest mistake of all our lives! How will we live this down? An American! A lousy, singing, American!”

Ten minutes later I got a text message:

‘Congratulations son, I’m so proud, this is the wisest move you ever made.’

My dad. Poor guy.

Sharona started to make lists of things-to-do. Ed was out. Suddenly she ripped everything up. She was laughing. I supposed all was okay, but one never wants to mess with a girl at a time like this.

“Everything okay,” I asked, “dear?” I added.

“Let’s just see what happens, dear. Let’s make it four weeks from yesterday. That should give us enough time, and after all, this is an adventure, right?”

She grinned, elfin.

A Snowflake Landed on Her Nose

2008-12-21T23:39:00.000Z

We decided to head into central London this morning to wander about and enjoy the crisp day.

We went down to the embankment to stroll along and across the river. It was a joy to walk with a warm cup of coffee between the hands, chatting, shooting the chilly breeze.

Eventually the inevitable came up.

“What next?” Sharona asked.

“The last song was ‘White Wedding’, right?”

“Well…” said Ed, “we already crashed one wedding. That’s how we found you Sharona!”

“Yeah,” she said, thoughtfully, “you did, didn’t you?” Nobody spoke for a moment. We all walked along in contemplation. Then Sharona squeezed my hand.

“Tom,” she said, “you know you’re always talking about fate?”

“Well, yes. But none of this is fate, right? This is some kind of active meddling in randomness.” I paused. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “maybe not.”

We walked on a little further. Suddenly Sharona stopped and laughed prettily.

“You know where this is Tom?”

“This is where we kissed, a month ago.”

“Doesn’t it seem like years ago and yesterday, at the same time? You know what else?”

“What?”

“Our very first kiss was by a river.” She took my hand. “Tom,” she said, breathlessly, “a wedding brought us together. Let another one keep us together: Marry Me!”

It sounded like a command. Time stood still. The entire scene about halted. I saw Ed’s face: something like shock; something like… despair.

I blinked slowly and time flooded back. A snowflake landed, from nowhere, on Sharona’s nose and she wrinkled it slightly. I started to think but my lips were already moving.

“Yes.”

Jarring shock. Sharona squealed and hugged me. I saw her slender calves over her shoulder, encased in red satin, one heel lifted horizontal in excitement.

And I held onto her for dear life.

Companion?

2008-12-20T23:38:00.000Z

Whilst I was at work yesterday Sharona bought a radio alarm clock. She expressed amazement that I didn’t have one already. This morning it clicked on just at the beginning of ‘Yesterday Once More’ by the Carpenters.

“Oh! I love this song!” she said, leaping from the bed and dashing from the room, rather contradictorily.

I raised myself more steadily a few minutes later and began to dress for work. Just as I was about ready Sharona walked in with a cooked breakfast! I’d smelt it for a few minutes but put on a display of suitable shock and gratitude. The latter wasn’t difficult. As I ate I watched Sharona, watching me more than eating, and saw that all was good. More particularly I saw a… companion. I smiled at her.

“I’ve sorted everything out,” said Sharona, the moment I walked in this evening.

“Eh?”

“Let’s move out,” said Ed, “we’ve got an adventure to get underway.” I glanced up at him, wondering if just once, he might butt out. I smiled.

We emerged from Belsize Park half an hour later. Sharona led us along several streets until we came to a building looking somewhat like a church. She kept talking about that song: ‘Yesterday Once More’. She’d heard it as a little girl and it had inspired her to be a singer. Karen Carpenter was her muse.

“It’s a studio,” she said, “I’ve called in some contacts from one of those jobs Nicole set me up with. We’ve got the place to ourselves after eleven.”

Until then we watched some band I’ve never heard of recording some album tracks. Eventually they were done and the studio was left to us.

“Be careful my dear,” said the studio manager, handing the keys over to Sharona as he left. “If anything’s broken then the suit will pay for it,” he said, glancing at me with an unsavoury look. He kissed Sharona far too close to the lips, smirked, and made away.

“Such a sweet guy,” Sharona said, as he left.

We spent the evening rocking out to various tracks, perfecting our karaoke and pretending to be rock stars. Ed played the drums while I pretended to be a guitarist. Sharona sang along, but with no pretence.

The time finally came to go home and Sharona asked us to sit to the side for one final track. She placed the headphones on her head, messed about with the equalizing equipment for a few minutes and then started ‘Yesterday Once More’ without the vocals. She closed her eyes and came in, perfectly on cue and perfectly in tune and tone. Her voice was rich, striking and powerful. She felt every note of the song, expressions of all type dancing upon her intent and beautiful face. I was utterly captivated. My heart tightened and then exploded, falling completely into her.

As Sharona finished the place suddenly exploded with the sounds of ‘White Wedding’ by Billy Idol. Ed had found the track and put it on at twenty times the volume strictly required. He burst into the studio and danced around frantically, taking Sharona by the hand and sweeping her along with him, laughing.

I smiled and lay back on the floor. I closed my eyes, intoxicated and relaxed.

Holding On

2008-12-16T23:23:00.000Z

After some random discussions last night we found ourselves getting up at 5.30am this morning just so we could get out onto Hampstead Heath to watch sunrise.

Actually, it wasn’t so much to watch the sunrise as to sit outside in the cold, watching the lamplights die and fade into cold daylight, following the words of Memory.

We sat in perfect silence, Sharona sinking quietly into my body. I was weary. No doubt it was meant to be lonely, to bite. But it didn’t: how could it with Sharona by my side? I was as warm as ever.

The sun began to rise and Sharona sang a few lines of the song:

“When the dawn comes; tonight will be a memory too; and a new day will begin.”

I blinked, was it meant to be about surviving? Coping? It just reminded me that every single moment I had in this state of happiness was to be held onto. I squeezed Sharona’s hand.

Ed was silent throughout.

Back at home I put on my suit and prepared for work. On my way out Sharona squeezed me tight and I held her close, smelling the orange blossom in her scent. She whispered something in my ear about men in suits and I laughed. I set off down the road thinking that perhaps all I needed was a decent bowler hat. I could’ve positively twirled an umbrella.

Singularities

2008-12-15T23:21:00.000Z

“So what’s going on?” Sharona asked us this evening. “I know something’s up, you two are adventuring without me aren’t you?”

“She’s right,” said Ed, “we haven’t told her about our latest one.”

“We’ve sent a three line message to two randomly selected people. The idea is to reach them without promising anything, such that they’ll call,” I said.

“Here’s mine,” said Ed. He passed a note to Sharona. I looked over her shoulder. It read:

‘Destiny? 079_______’

“It’s a winner,” Sharona pronounced, with a look of delight.

At that exact moment my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I smiled and answered it.

“Are you the person who sent me his number?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

I quickly scribbled my message on Ed’s note:

‘I promise nothing.’

“So what’s the idea?” my called asked.

“I told you, I promise nothing,” I said.

“But… why?”

“You honestly think there’s something to be had out of this, don’t you?” I asked.

“Well… I…”

“Alright. I’m going to give you a word and ask you to tell me the first thing that comes into your head.”

“Okay.”

“Destiny.”

“Er… Love?”

“Is that it?” I asked. “Is destiny love?”

Sharona raised her eyebrow and gave me an indecipherable look.

“Tell me one more thing,” I said, “what was the name of the last song you heard?”

“That’s easy. I just came in. I was listening to ‘Memory’ from Cats.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“So what’s the deal then? What are we doing?”

“Nothing. Thanks, that’s it now.”

“That’s it?”

“I promised nothing.”

Twice the Woman

2008-12-14T23:17:00.000Z

Today was the fateful day of Sunday Lunch at the parents’. The moment we walked in the door my mother gave Sharona some kind of evil eye. It was a joke.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” Sharona said, charmingly.

“Mmmm,” my mother replied, regarding Sharona’s outstretched hand as though it might harbour a million invisible enemies.

“Oh come here!” my dad said going over to her and hugging her warmly.

“David!” my mother exclaimed. “Don’t be so uncivilised!”

My dad retreated, with a stage wink at me.

“There’s enough of that in our presence already,” she added, with a Significant Look at Sharona’s feet.

So it began, and so it continued. Lunch was tortuous; my mother was impossible. Incredibly, against all these odds, Sharona flourished. Never once did she break her smile or look to me for help. She performed so admirably that I began to wonder if my mother’s insinuations were passing undetected. Ashamed of myself for the thought, I recalled Sharona’s uncanny observations of the slightest mood I might present. She was just simply unrivalled in her moral resolve.

Eventually we began to prepare to leave. Sharona excused herself and departed for the bathroom. Once she was out of sight, my mother turned to me.

“She might be pleasant on the eye, Tommy, but she’s a yank, through and through. That accent! It’ll end in tears, mark my words!”

I was exasperated into silence.

“She’s no Annabell anyway, is she?” My mother sighed. Thankfully she chose this moment to begin to clear away the table. Soon she was gone, into the kitchen next door.

My dad and I stood and looked at one another, a knowing smile on our lips. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let her go, son,” he said, in a conspiratorial low voice. “She’s twice the woman your mother is.”

He paused thoughtfully. "And half the woman too, all at the same time..." He grinned, and winked.

Reach With an Empty Promise

2008-12-13T23:16:00.000Z

Early-ish this morning (around midday) I stumbled into the living room and saw Ed sitting bleary eyed with a mug of coffee.

“What was all that about last night, Ed?” I asked, sitting down opposite him.

“Nothing,” he replied, croakily.

He stared at the floor.

He drank some coffee.

Stiffly he reached up to the stereo system and clicked it on, linking it to his laptop. He fired up itunes and clicked play on a random playlist.

“Writing to Reach You, Travis,” he said.

I watched him.

“Right, here’s how it’s going to be: we’re going to pick a random person each on facebook and we’re each going to write them a message with our phone number at the bottom. The message cannot promise anything to the recipient but must reach them within only three lines such that they are compelled to call the number.”

“It’s a deal,” I said, taken with the creativity of the idea. “We can pick a name by sticking a pin into the phone book and then facebook the nearest equivalent name.”

“Okay,” he paused, “and the winner gets…”

“Yes?” I prompted.

He muttered something. I thought he might’ve said ‘the girl’.

“What?”

“The winner gets to pick the next song,” he said, brashly.

So now I just have to think of a way to reach someone. But how can it be done without a promise? Isn’t every connection an implicit promise?

Green Aleness

2008-12-12T23:14:00.000Z

Ed and Sharona were joking around when I got back from work this evening. Their laughter was so hard I could hear it from the door of the flat. I asked what the joke was as I came in but Ed walked straight out without answering. I raised an eyebrow but quietly fixed myself a drink.

When Ed returned to the lounge he declared that it was time for the pub. It being a Friday night we readily agreed to the proposal and before we knew it we were sat before Ed’s latest bartender-torturer: Half a pint of ale with a double shot of green ginger wine topped to a pint by Guinness. I noted that Sharona took one sip before discreetly sliding her pint to the side.

“So, guys, what’s next?” Sharona asked.

It was the familiar pub scene.

“I have a pixel perfect memory of you dancing to ‘Let’s Get it On’ by Marvin Gaye,” Ed said.

“I bet you do,” giggled Sharona.

Ed frowned, momentarily. “Right then,” he said, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Eh?” I said.

“Well… I hate to give you two any opportunities, but there’s really only one answer to this one, and they’re your adventures, Tom.”

He looked at Sharona, and then back at me, with mild distaste, before smoothly rising to his feet and exiting the premises.

Sheepish

2008-12-11T23:13:00.000Z

Baaaaaaa.

Polo Hippo

2008-12-10T23:10:00.000Z

I spent the day in Chambers, diligently and demurely working on brief after brief. In the afternoon I took a break and wandered about the austere halls of my daily environment, marvelling at the grey, grave practitioners in whose worn paths I was all set to tread. Could I really be a man about to embark on a stripping adventure in a seedy gentleman’s club? Was I really so different, or were they all really the same?

Upon my return to the flat Ed threw a thong in my face.

“That’s for you Evans,” he said, “and find a jumper you can whip off quickly. You’ll need it to cover yourself under this,” he held out a trench coat.

We departed early for the pub. Dutch Courage was required and we found it lurking within the natural green depths of the ever loyal Green Ginger Wine.

Once we were suitably prepared for the adventure we went around the corner to the well known establishment Polo Hippo (any resemblance to the name of any other establishment, either real or fictional, is merely coincidental).

We watched some of the pre-midnight warm up acts with interest: Sharona had determined that we ought to at least attempt a bit of ‘real’ dancing in our adventure. I glanced over at her during the performances and noted her arched eyebrows and perceiving eyes.

Eventually the stage cleared for a few minutes and suddenly, without warning, Ed grabbed us both and leapt up on stage. He ripped his coat and underclothes off down to the thong and began shaking and jiggling all over the stage.

“Come on, Tom!” Sharona shouted, stripping herself. She revealed laced red lingerie that I’d never seen before. It was all the spur I required. Suddenly I was all but naked in my red thong and… it felt good. I laughed and danced like an idiot around the pole on the stage.

But it wasn’t to last.

In a moment of excessive ebullience I lost my footing and slipped flat onto my butt. I looked up to see Ed doubled over in stitches but within a split second he was thrown sideways, clutched in the arms of a flying, rugby-tackling bouncer.

I jumped to my feet and turned to sprint away but ran straight into a stripper-waitress behind me. I fell over her and was dragged off by someone behind me.

My final sight as I was hurled bodily out the exit door was that of Sharona striding confidently down the steps of the stage to her pile of clothes and walking, unaffected and unchaste, after me.

It was the sort of scene many might have predicted as the outcome to our daring adventure: two men in red thongs, bruised and face down in dirty London alley water, with one trench coat between them.

There followed an embarrassing passage of time during which we attempted to hail a cab, to no avail, while sharing (don’t ask) the trenchcoat.

Public Order Offences

2008-12-09T23:08:00.000Z

“Right: next. Switch on the radio Evans,” Ed said, after dinner tonight.

I did as he bade and we listened with some degree of tension. Where would the next song take us? I know it would never be the same were I doing it myself, but knowing that Ed and Sharona were involved, I knew something would happen.

The first song to come up was ‘The Way I Are’, by Timbaland.

“No!” I said.

“What, what’s wrong with that?” Sharona asked.

“No, I don’t mean ‘No!’ to an adventure, I mean ‘No!’ to the appalling grammar! What on Earth makes a man title his song in such a ridiculous way?”

“Maybe he’s trying to create an Opus on the tortures and nuances of a multiple personality disorder,” Ed offered.

“It’s about stripping,” Sharona noted.

“Interesting…” suggested Ed.

“No!” I repeated.

“Yes!” Sharona decided.

“Yeah! Let’s go to a strip club!” said Ed.

“I think not,” said Sharona. “While I get your interest in that plan, I think it’s clearly an invitation for us to perform a strip tease!”

“I’ve waited so long to hear those words,” said Ed.

“Ugh!” Sharona replied, but they were both grinning wickedly.

“Fine,” said Ed, “for this to be a real adventure we have to make an exhibition of it anyway. We could hardly do it in private…”

“Hold on right there,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal under several sections of the Public Order Act 1986. Come to think of it, there are one of two sections of the Sexual Offences Act 2003 that would probably apply too…”

“Shut the fuck up Evans,” Ed averred.

“I’m serious,” I said.

“Well you’re the legal brain, how do we circumvent that issue?”

I thought for a few moments and suddenly the solution came to me. I paused, wondering if, despite the solution, I shouldn’t just veto this idea as a contravention of The Rules. It couldn’t end well. I couldn’t quit though, not in front of Sharona.

“We’ll do it in an actual strip club,” I said. “There’s nothing illegal in that.”

“Perfect!” said Ed.

Chaos Maketh Man

2008-12-08T23:07:00.000Z

Last night we turned up on Alice’s doorstep at about seven.

“Hi Alice,” Ed said, upon her opening the door. “I’m here to stay the night with you. I’ve walked 60 miles this weekend and need somewhere to stay. Don’t worry about these other two…”

“Sure, Ed,” she said. She didn’t appear the least put out. She didn’t ask any questions; she didn’t wonder what was wrong with Ed’s flat, just on the other side of London. “And you ‘Other Two’ are more than welcome too.”

Sharona nodded awkwardly and walked in. Alice bowed her head shyly as Sharona brushed past. Then she looked up at me and smiled warmly, hugging me gently and welcoming me in. Sharona half turned, down the corridor, and watched for a moment.

Before we knew it we were dining, complete with wine and candles, under the stars in Alice’s conservatory out the back of her flat. It was almost as though we were expected. Alice made no big deal out of it.

After a while Ed began to explain the circumstances that had led us to Alice’s door. He laid out a full explanation of the adventures.

“I understand your description of this… game,” Alice said, as he finished, “but not why you play it.” Her gentle Eastern European accent edged her words with a humble and innocent patience.

“Chaos! Fun, life!” Ed replied.

“Why does a fun life require chaos?”

“Er… to break free from the obvious and comfortable decisions of life?”

“That should be possible without yielding your will to another altogether random power.”

“For some, maybe.”

“Is a man who relies on chaos to be a man, really a man at all?”

I was staring at the table considering their debate but I looked up at this point. I had assumed that Alice was directed her meaning, as well as her words, at Ed, but when I looked up I saw that she was looking a me, a trace of sadness within her eyes.

King Arthur and the Vatican Invasion

2008-12-07T23:02:00.000Z

I woke a little stiffly this morning but was soon raring to go and finish the expedition we’d started yesterday, out into the wilds of Eastern Hampshire.

We began early, to ensure arriving in Winchester early enough to catch a train back to Alice for early evening.

Most of the morning was spent in anonymous but pleasant hedge-lined fields. We were following a route set out by some of the locals form the pub and sure enough, eventually, we found ourselves at a little town called Ovington, just outside Winchester. It was a lovely place with a restaurant by a ford in the centre. We ate happily for an hour, glad to get in out of the cold for a while, before setting off for the final leg.

Our end point was the cathedral, and though it wasn’t really anything like walking into the Mediterranean at the end of the GR5, it did feel good to finish the 500 miles.

Better yet, Sharona was waiting for us. She ran up to me, hugged and kissed me, and congratulated us on our achievement. She’d been investigating the town in our absence and had officially fallen in love with it.

“I’ve been to see the Round Table!” she declared.

“Well done,” I said.

“It was on a wall, so I couldn’t sit at it, but I imagined myself as Lady Guinevere!” she spoke with a mock British accent. It was cute, I’ll admit. I laughed at her excitement.

“So that makes you King Arthur then mate,” Ed said to me.

“If I’m King Arthur,” I quickly rejoined, “then you must be Sir Lancelot!”

“Tom?” said Sharona, suddenly slightly perturbed, “you do know the story of Sir Lancelot don’t you?”

“Of course,” I said, and thought about it. “Er…” I said, realising her point. “Yes.”

There followed an awkward pause.

“Right,” said Ed, “it’s as cold as a Muslim in the Vatican here, let’s get moving.”

“!” I said.

We’re off back to London now to see Alice. Our train leaves in about ten minutes so I’m off…

The Stroll

2008-12-06T23:00:00.000Z

We planned the route this morning. In some ways it’s a bit illogical: we’re walking to Winchester in order to arrive at Alice’s house in a Proper Fashion, but she lives in Clapham!

No matter, we decided, and by half past eleven we were on our way. It was a very strange thing to walk from one London borough to another, and then slowly out of London altogether. If there’s one thing I can say for walking, it really does give you perspective. It seems to me that people are tempted to believe that, absent public transport or a car, it’s literally impossible to get from one town to another. But this isn’t so! Amazingly, one can in fact walk between them!

So it was that we found ourselves at Staines in no time at all, and it wasn’t even lunchtime! In fact, in the end we made it all the way to Brookwood by lunch. Brookwood is a very pleasant leafy little town with woodlands and rivers running about and around it, a delightful spot for a bit of food. Sharona had come along this far but after lunch she decided to drop out and relax, agreeing to meet us later. In fairness she’d walked many a mile, and the roads do become painful on the soles of the feet after a time.

The afternoon was crisp and cold, perfect weather for a good walk, and we’d found a few country paths to take us away from the roads. Marching along with the crunch of leaves beneath the feet and the smell of grass and farms became a real joy. It’s so natural, yet so rarely experienced, in any sense, back in London.

Eventually we made it to our end point for the day (we decided 60 miles in one day would be a bit much!) and set up in a local village inn in a place called Bently in Hampshire. The locals were pretty surprised to see somebody new and even more surprised when Ed told them what we’d done. None of this was anything, however, to their surprise on seeing Sharona enter the pub. She swept in after an hour or so and held the place captivated with her lush black hair and deep green eyes. Not one man spoke for a good minute.

We ordered gammon and chips whilst Ed continued to entertain the locals with high tales of our adventures on the real walk in France. It would’ve sounded like so much rubbish – talk of gold hidden in old war bunkers in the mountains – had it not been true! I envied Ed’s ease with these people, they enjoyed listening to him and he hadn’t the least concern over having never met them. As I watched Sharona I saw that she too was captivated, having only half heard some of these stories before, and I wondered why it wasn’t me holding all their attention. I am the barrister, after all.

The Plan, Re-Visited

2008-12-05T23:58:00.000Z

I got back from work this evening all excited and ready to take Sharona out. I found her in the living room with Ed, talking animatedly.

“Oh God,” I said, “what now?”

“It’s time to get back to the adventures, Tom.”

“I might’ve known,” I sighed. “Alright,” I said, and they squealed, “but, my mum’s been killing me lately. I promised to take Sharona home this weekend and…” I paused, noting that Sharona was goggle-eyed, “…and I have to keep working. So no trips abroad.”

We discussed the options.

“As I recall your last adventure was ‘Return to Sender’, many many months ago. You were meant to go to Alice’s house in a dirty, exhausted state.”

“…and now that you come to mention it, didn’t we realise that you’d only walked 440 miles rather than the requisite 500?”

“Hmmmm,” I said, “I’m beginning to hate walking.”

“Go, you love it.”

“No, I hate it.”

“Think about the granite hard mountain man status then.”

“There are no mountains around here and, I repeat, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Okay. Let’s walk from here to…” he paused, staring to the heavens for inspiration. “I know, let’s do the compass thing again.”

“That would be as the crow flies, we know it’s never the same on the ground. Paths and roads aren’t straight.”

“Fine, let’s say on any given walk that you add 20% to the crow’s flight. That means we need to walk 50 compass miles to do 60 on the ground.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“’atta boy!” he said.

“Let me do it,” said Sharona, entering the conversation. “Let me pick the place to walk to!”

We got out a map and stuck the needle into Ed’s house in Kilburn. Sharona measured out 50 miles and drew a circle on the map.

“Look!” she said, after a moment, “Oxford is exactly fifty miles away!”

“NO!” Ed and I shouted, simultaneously.

“Okay, okay,” she said, her accent making her sound briefly like a gangster. “What about Winchester? That’s an ancient town, right?”

“Why does it have to be ancient?” I asked.

“Duh, she’s American, dude,” Ed explained.

“Alright,” I said, “but looking at your circle we’ll have to start further away, Winchester’s just too far. If we start around… Richmond, that should do it.”

“Sorted,” said Ed.

Oh

2008-12-04T23:57:00.000Z

Tonight I invited Sharona out to dinner for tomorrow. Ed was there and asked to come along. I took him aside and explained that this was to be a romantic dinner.

“Oh,” he said, and slunk off.

Closing the Net

2008-12-03T23:56:00.000Z

I got another call from the police today. Again I panicked momentarily until I remembered they were still trying to crack my fraud case. They had more records of the withdrawals someone had been making from my account. They were regular withdrawals but something in the pattern bothered me. They’d been every fortnight except on two occasions, one gap for a month and another for two months.

In the end I couldn’t take any more from it. It must just be some random ID thief out there, I don’t really know why the police think I can help.

It’s a pity nets have holes.

Black Balloon

2008-12-02T23:54:00.000Z

So this blackmailer can’t take away Sharona! The realisation and the honesty of my actions freed me and I felt light today. So this person could try to take down my job but I don’t think that’ll happen. If it were going to, then it would’ve happened long ago. No, I’m untouchable today.

To celebrate I booked tickets for a theatre show tonight. Sharona and I went to an ‘interactive’ theatre performance in a local pub. A Camden theatre company had created a theatrical concept performance all around us. It was an incredible thing.

There were about ten actors who all circulated about the pub stimulating moving and powerful conversations with all us guests, but the choreography of it was stunning. They controlled the conversations so that they would end precisely on queue for a brief performance between characters elsewhere around the pub. Even more amazingly they managed to seamlessly synchronise certain sentences around the room so that all of a sudden, in the middle of an incredible, emotional speech you would all at once realise that every actor in every part of the room had come together from differing conversations to say precisely the same lines at precisely the same time. The effect rippled around the room and silenced all but the actors, sending a chill down the spine and drawing you into a perfect moment of emotional sensation.

Towards the end, one of the actors was creating a story with a group of about six of us. He was telling the story of young love by taking fragments of all our experiences and re-combining them. He asked Sharona to tell him about her first true kiss borne of love. I panicked momentarily, wondering whether she might tell of another’s moment. After all, a thousand other boys must’ve tried to reach her; how could I have been the one? How could I have been the one to fall into that hole in her life?

“It was May 9^th. We were sat by the water on a tropical night. The air was hot and wet; it was thick to breathe. He was telling me all the reasons he couldn’t kiss me but I could taste him all the same, across the distance. He stared out over the dark, inky water, unable to look at me for the tension. I touched his cheek and kissed him quickly, even as he turned to me, glancing his moist lips with my own. Then it was too late, he’d taken from the poisoned, corrupt, sweet apple.”

She smiled at me.

The actor watched us both with delighted pride; this was an audience! He looked about and held everyone else in the group silent with his playful but commanding eyes until suddenly the babble all around the room ceased all at once.

“And now angels fall without her there,” they all said simultaneously, and I almost cried with the penetration of it.

Nothing Wrong with a Little Evil

2008-12-01T23:52:00.000Z

Work wasn’t too bad today, not for the first time I’ve remembered it’s not a bad job. Things could even work out…

... or not.

The blackmailer’s back. Apparently not content ruining things with Annabell he or she had now followed me to London.

I found it on my return, on the other side of the letterbox this evening, on my return from work. It was an anonymous unmarked envelope but I recognised it immediately. I took it straight into the living room and held it up before Sharona and Ed, who were curled up on the sofa, reading books.

“Did you see someone post this?” I asked.

Ed barely looked up, but shook his head slightly. Sharona glanced at it. “No,” she said, “I didn’t even hear it. What is it? You look worried!”

“Oh,” I said, “it’s nothing. Just some junk. But you know it annoys me, how much junk we get, it’s such a waste of paper!”

Sharona raised her eyebrow, but returned to her book.

A short time later Sharona came into our room and sat down by my side, kissing my cheek lightly. She placed a hand on my thigh and smiled. What was I to do against this type of assault? I pushed the note over to her and she read it.

‘What if he hadn’t shot you?’

That’s all it said.

“Who sent this?” she asked. “Is this about the other night, with Ed?”

“Must be,” I said. “Look, about that…”

“It’s okay, Tom, I know roughly what happened, Ed told me. Don’t worry, he didn’t say much, just mentioned that it was in your best interests to get shot with an arrow… that’s all I need to know.”

I laughed. We kissed.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little evil in the heart, Tom,” she said.

Family Day

2008-11-30T23:51:00.000Z

Today was a family day. We decided to relax and spend some time together as a three once again. There was football on the box and it was cosy indoors so we made an afternoon of it, cracking open a few beers and reminiscing over adventuring days gone by.

We laughed about those crazy old days of raiding morgues and tricking young girls into meeting us in graveyards late at night. Yeah, we were proud of ourselves.

I grinned a lot today.

The Bacon is the Future

2008-11-29T23:49:00.000Z

I woke up this morning by Sharona’s side. I felt amazing, truly alive. Do you remember how it feels? When the world about you is like a dream, a living memory? The present is the future.

…and the past is truly the past. I’m well and truly over Annabell now, no question of it. In fact, the mere thought of her makes me sick. I can’t believe, no, I’m staggered at the mere possibility that I could’ve wasted so much time on her. She was completely worthless to me, I’m so ashamed at myself. The whole thing makes me wince just to think of it.

I leapt out of bed to find Ed and share my happiness with him.

I found him sitting in the living room watching TV and eating a bacon breakfast. He was stripped to the waist, only wearing pyjama bottoms, and I’ll admit he looked good for it. He was lean and muscular. I can’t remember him always being that way.

I sat down opposite him and stared at him, waiting for him to acknowledge me, barely able to contain myself.

Eventually he glanced slowly over at me before languidly turning his attention back to the television, uninterested in my presence.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning.”

He didn’t look over or make any other acknowledgement. We just sat in silence. I continued to stare at him.

“Alright, alright,” he said, suddenly looking at me, “tell me all about your wonderful evening with Sharona last night then.”

I told him. I said we’d had a magnificent evening and that everything in the world was beautiful. I even told him I was fixed, Annabell was truly banished.

“That’s great mate, I’m pleased for you,” he said, at the end. But he didn’t ask any questions. He just returned to his bacon and continued to watch the television.

I watched him for a moment, and then went to take a shower.

Dining in the Dark

2008-11-28T23:16:00.000Z

It’s been a wonderful evening. It’s so refreshing to spend time with a girl who’s genuinely interested in everything around her, who’s sweet and kind, and who really listens when you speak.

Amusingly enough, listen was all either of us could do. She’d asked me to meet her in Clerkenwell. She quickly led me to a restaurant called ‘Dining in the Dark’ on a side street. It is a restaurant where dinner is conducted entirely in the pitch black darkness of a basement. You are served by blind waiters and have to guess at the nature of the food placed before you.

I didn’t realise any of this until I was being led, hand on the shoulder of the guest in front of me, into the midst of it. I must admit, it was slightly alarming at first, not being able to see a thing. I didn’t know where the exit was and I could feel the darkness pressing on me. There were people all around and I felt the weight of claustrophobia growing. But then Sharona took my hand in the darkness, across the table, and I remember my last sight of her. She’d been wearing a short brown dress nipped around the waist by a wide black belt. She’d tied her black hair back save for a few stray strands and finished the look of with brown suede boots. I’d complimented her on her unusual departure from black. I clung to that memory and imagined her across the table from me. It didn’t take long for other feelings to push aside the claustrophobia.

We had a great time, sharing the experience and talking about various things. We didn’t mention the past few months really, but we talked about the future, and how glad we were to be together again.

“And it’s all down to Ed,” she said. “Without him we’d never have made it through. We owe him so much!” she squeezed my hand and I could feel her smiling at me.

“Yes,” I said, thoughtfully, “he’s a great guy.”

Freedom

2008-11-27T21:57:00.000Z

This morning, on my way out to work, Sharona asked me out on a date! It’s all set for tomorrow night…

Returning to Earth, I went to work. I attacked it with renewed vigour, re-discovering some of my passion for the intellectual challenge of the law.

As I walked home I realised one thing with absolute certainty. I’ve truly let go of Annabell. It’s finally over.

My heart skipped at the idea as I inspired freedom.

Completely Still

2008-11-26T21:16:00.001Z

This morning, on my way to work, I texted Sharona, asking her to meet me on the Thames Embankment this evening. She’s still away with Nicole but she gets back today.

Work was artificially important. I was in the Royal Courts of Justice for a bankruptcy hearing. I felt oh so important, striding around in my wig and gown in the finest court of the land. I could’ve been any barrister; I could’ve been the most promising lawyer of my time, to the average passer-by. But perhaps I’m beginning to know a little better, I smiled at myself wryly for this foolishness.

I stood on the bank of the river looking across to the tall buildings on the South Bank. I had the Temple gardens behind me and the old oak trees overhead. Wind whipped along the channel of the river.

I waited.

After a time I glanced to the side and saw her.

Dark blue jeans, black wrap-around coat down to the knees, red scarf and sweet little black beret.

She smiled at me with an easy confidence and the corner of my mouth escaped into a grin. I took her arm and we began to walk along the river in quiet contemplation. We strolled to Waterloo Bridge and stood looking at the Houses of Parliament silhouetted in the final throes of daylight.

We stopped and she turned to look at me. We gazed at one another with certain, confident, delightful doubt. The past is known, the present is sure hope and the future is indefinite.

I studied the details of her face, watching her dark hair gently caress her cheek in the breeze. I saw the slight lines at the corners of her eyes, markers of so many smiles finally testing her youth and enhancing her beauty.

In that moment I finally fell in love.

I leant forward and we kissed, tenderly. The wind whipped up and tore about us but we were still.

Completely still.

The River and the Wind

2008-11-25T23:01:00.000Z

“If there’s anything going, I’d like to do some work,” I said, on the phone, to my head clerk this morning. I’m slightly worried they’ve half given up on me. There’s nothing for me to do this week.

“Are you quite well, sir?”

“Yes, Frank, quite well, thank you.”

“No funerals sir?”

“None this week Frank.”

“Medical appointments?”

“No, thank you.”

“Sick notes from mummy, sir?”

“I do believe I have taken the point, Frank.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

Ed and I took lunch together today.

“I’m not sure what happened to me, Ed. I can’t explain it. I was living out there and at times everything seemed so perfect. It was… it seemed right, ordained. But the truth is: it was like slow arsenic poisoning. Every single day I spent out there in the country turned me greyer and greyer, from the inside out. I was losing the will to sway. I was becoming dry grey cardboard.

“But the most frightening thing was the acceptance of the future. I could see the tracks of my entire life before me, each stop along the way clearly defined. And it didn’t bother me. It didn’t bother me that I knew exactly where I was going and how I’d get there. I was dying. I was getting married and dying. I was progressing my career and dying. I was having children and dying. I was dying. I was there at my own deathbed looking down on myself, knowing every detail of the room and the people about me. And I was accepting it.”

Ed nodded gently.

“It’s time to act, Tom. It’s time for positive action.

“Some believe there’s no such thing as fate; others will say everything is pre-determined. The truth is that it’s a little of both: everything is pre-determined, insofar as you allow it.

“Some will stay in the same dead end job their entire lives, never bothering to retrain or learn anything new. Their lives are pre-determined. They are passive, through and through. They don’t engage. They marry the first girl who submits to them because it’s easy, comfortable and safer than the alternative: undetermined loneliness. They take no risks, trouble no traditions, but just follow the course of least resistance.

“It’s like a giant river. It’s time to step up and decide: will you be swept away in it or can you swim strongly against the current, drag yourself up onto the bank and evolve into a new state of being?”

I looked contemplatively at my plate, silent with respect.

“Of course,” he added, “then you’ve got the wind to contend with.”

I'll be Fine

2008-11-22T23:12:00.000Z

The police station was uneventful. No one looked at me suspiciously and the CCTV image was far too poor to pick up any clues. It was just about possible to make out a figure at the cashier’s desk, and something about it struck a chord, but there’s no way I could’ve worked out who it was. The police thanked me and sent me on my way.

Ed picked me up mid afternoon in his car. We packed all my stuff to some loud thumping dance tunes Ed left on in the car. Typically he’s gone for some deadbeat old thing with peeling paint and a refitted but aging red leather interior. Ed did most of the work, since I still nursed my wounded shoulder.

Once we were finally on the way we found ourselves caught in silence. The events of the last few days replayed in my head. It felt good to be on the way out of Oxford, leaving behind a stale existence.

“Thanks,” I said, “this is the second time!”

He laughed. “That’s fine. Just don’t make me do it a third time. Tell me you’ve learnt your lesson now, please!”

I laughed slightly but didn’t reply. I have learnt my lesson, and we both knew it. The truth is, I was feeling a little humiliated.

“And thanks for the other night,” I added, after a time.

He smiled and winked at me.

“So…” I said, “We’ve got a shit load of money now, don’t we?”

“Bloody right we do, mate. Piss up tonight, eh?”

“Green Ginger Wine?”

“Now you’re talking!”

I gazed out at the receding houses of Oxford and thought for a while.

“So what about Sharona?” Ed said eventually, breaking my concentration.

“Well,” I began, hesitantly, “I’ll be honest with you. I do really like her. Maybe I even love her, but I can’t see anything clearly through my blurred vision of life right now… I suppose I worry that I just can’t give her enough, over time.”

“So take it as it comes,” he said. He sighed.

I studied him carefully. “And you?” I said.

He glanced over at me with an innocent look of surprise. He looked back to the road without replying but instead he thrust out his lower lip and grimaced slightly. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Mmmmmm.” I watched him for a moment longer and then sat back. I allowed myself to really relax for a moment. I closed my eyes and felt the motion of the car beneath me, carrying me far away from poison and mediocrity.

We made it back to Ed’s place by early evening. Sharona was not in.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“I told her to go away for the night. She’s staying in a hotel.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t have that. She shouldn’t have to pay out just so I can stay here.”

“She’s not. You are. I gave her money from your half of the auction proceeds.”

“Ah. Good. Well let her know she can come back tomorrow. I think I’m ready.”

“Why don’t you?”

He threw me over his phone with her number displayed. I gazed at it for a moment before forging a text, my first real words to her in many months.

And now we’re off out, and I don’t even have to worry about retribution upon my return. Life is certainly looking up!

Best Never Mentioned

2008-11-21T23:10:00.000Z

Waking up back in Ed’s flat felt so comfortable. For just a moment it was as though nothing had happened in the past few months.

Then I remembered last night. I clutched my shoulder and felt wet bandaging. I’d bled on Ed’s sheets.

I staggered into the lounge and realised it must be near midday. Ed was at his computer when I walked in but he swivelled away from it and smiled at me. I took a seat.

“Thanks… for last night,” I managed.

“No problem. Sorry for shooting you.”

“I deserved it.” I looked at the ground, mortified. What had I done? I could’ve… That is… I…

“Perhaps it’s just one of those things,” Ed said, “one of those things best never mentioned to anyone again.”

I looked at him and he flicked his head in the direction of Sharona who was singing to herself in the kitchen. Her voice floated into the room soothing me and again I wondered, was any of it real? Was anything real at all?

Sharona came in and placed two bacon sandwiches in front of me. She smiled and turned to go back into the kitchen. I caught her hand and she shivered slightly, but didn’t turn.

“Sorry,” I said.

She half turned and smiled, before going back into the kitchen.

I began to eat.

“I have a proposition, old boy,” said Ed. “Come back. Live with us again, just like old times.”

I paused, the smell of bacon filling my nostrils. I had nobody else, nothing to keep me anywhere else. Was I really so badly off with Ed, as Annabell always suggested? Was he such a bad influence?

Hadn’t he just saved me from myself?

I looked him in the eye and nodded, smiling slightly, before returning to the bacon.

This afternoon I came back to Oxford to pack. Ed’s coming up in the car tomorrow to pick me up with all my stuff.

On my arrival I had a hand-posted letter sitting on the mat inside my door. I bent down to pick it up and noticed it was marked ‘POLICE’.

Panicking I quickly ripped it open. Some officer or other was asking me to give him a call about his investigation.

What the hell?

I phoned Ed. Once I told him about it he was silent, thinking for some time.

“Phone them, test the water. Be careful. If they’re writing this kind of letter it means they’ve got nothing. If they knew for sure it was you there with that knife last night then they’d have arrested you by now. Don’t give anything away.”

I ended the call and steeled myself.

Feeling a moment of confidence, I seized and dialled the officer’s number.

It was nothing to do with last night! It was about my fraud report a few weeks ago! The officer was following up the mysterious cheque withdrawals that had been taken out of my account. Apparently they’ve caught some CCTV images of the person responsible. The image is really grainy but they want me to go down to the station tomorrow morning and see if I can identify the offender.

You can imagine my relief, but as I put down the phone a new anxiety took me. What if another officer recognises my description from last night’s… incident?

Maudlin and Brutal

2008-11-20T23:40:00.000Z

Today seemed destined to follow the path set down by yesterday: get drunk, forget.

But towards the afternoon I realised I hadn’t really drunk anywhere enough. I was just sitting in the window of my flat watching the grey world get greyer. Eventually darkness fell and in an effort to rouse myself into... something… I switched on my music. Very quickly I became maudlin and brutal.

As I sat there I came to the inescapable conclusion that my life was fucked. Nothing in the world mattered at all. How could it get any worse? Something inside me cracked slightly I had a sudden urge to walk out into the world and… test it.

I wanted to break something, to prove it real. I wanted to stop a stranger in the street and examine them, question them, find something to make them real, more than a blank grey sphere of life wandering meaninglessly before me.

The song ‘Stay in Shadow’ by Billy Talent came on. Yes, I thought as I listened, it’s time for another adventure. What did it matter if I were alone? I could still have fun.s

I dressed in black from head to toe: black sleeveless hoody, black t-shirt, black sweat bands, black. I looked at myself in the mirror and like what I saw. For a moment, I decided, I could be badass. I’m tall, well built and solid. Why shouldn’t I be a frightening mother fucker? It gave me an idea. I went to the kitchen and took a sharp black knife. I secured it under my waist band. The cold steel felt good.

It was around ten by this point and I decided I was ready. Stealth was paramount, from the off.

That was the adventure.

I slipped out of my front door and immediately slipped across to the opposite side of the street which lay in shadow. I paused for a moment and looked down at myself. It was a quiet street with no lighting. I could only be seen by moonlight and therefore I couldn’t be seen at all. I was fucking invisible!

I felt a surge of power, invincibility. I could do whatever I wanted!

I wandered around for a while, slipping from alley to alley, coming closer into the city. I started to seek out the most shadowy parts of the more popular roads. I discovered I could easily conceal myself in the shadows, unseen by even very close passers-by.

After a few minutes in one spot I saw a girl who caught my attention. She’d clearly been out looking for action. She was wearing an impressively short skirt for this time of year. She had long, straightened blonde hair. As I looked more closely I could see she looked like Annabell. A shiver rippled through me.

I caught my breath and gently reached behind me, feeling the cool steel blade.

Maybe…

No. I’d never do anything. But I could come close. I could feel the temptation.

I could just…

She passed me by alone and turned down another street. A few moments later I emerged from the darkness and began tail her. I stuck close to the rough stone buildings, always in the gloomiest parts.

An idea struck me. I’d guessed her direction so I took a diversion and turned off her road. Quickly and utterly silently I ran down a few alley ways. My footsteps were inaudible; I glided in the darkness almost like ghost.

Eventually I found myself out on a semi-rural road leading out to a more leafy area of the city. There were trees and bushes to either side of the road, separating it from a park. I crept into the shadows and waited.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the girl appeared in view, coming in my direction. I watched her every slight movement. It thrilled me that she had no idea of my surveillance. She approached without caution, ignorant of me.

But what would I do? Was it enough just to know I could?

She came closer.

Nobody else was in sight.

A shot of adrenaline fired my nerves. I felt the blade at my back once again. I withdrew it and placed it before me on the earth. The moonlight glinted off the blade. I gripped the handle and dug the blade into the earth. I ripped it back out and wiped it off against my face, smearing it with black dirt. Recklessly I passed the blade quickly across my lips and nicked a cut.

I tasted blood and earth.

The girl was there, right in front of me now. Maybe I could do more. I’d stop short… but I could get away with more…

I sprang from the bushes just as she passed me. I went to grab her arm and I brandished the knife. But just as I reached out…

Searing pain!

“Fuck!” I yelled, and the girl span to see me gripping a knife and holding my shoulder. I grunted and dropped to my knees.

I had a fucking arrow in my shoulder.

The girl screamed and sprinted away down the road.

From out of the bushes across the road emerged Ed. He, like me, was dressed all in black. His black longbow was slung over his shoulder. He walked across the road with a deliberate, measured pace.

“What the fuck?!” I shouted, practically crying with the pain.

“I could ask the same of you,” he said. “Come on you fucker, we’ve got to get out of here before the police turn up. Once that happens there’ll be no going back to that precious career of yours.”

“I need a fucking hospital!”

“No way. After that girl calls in they’ll be checking all the hospitals for arrow wounds.”

“Yeah, why the fuck did you shoot me with a fucking arrow you fucking psycho?!”

“Who’s calling who the fucking psycho here? Come on, I’ve got a car now. It’s parked at yours. We’ll drive back to London and I’ll get you a doctor there.”

It was a gruelling car ride home. We didn’t dare remove the arrow in case it caused further damage. Ed insisted in dropping the bow back at his house, but then he finally agreed to take me to hospital.

At last, by around three in the morning, I made it to hospital.

“What the hell happened?” the nurse asked.

I looked across at Ed. He raised an eyebrow. I grimaced.

“It was an accident,” I said.

They removed the arrow and treated the wound. Luckily, as they confirmed, it was only a minor flesh wound in the end. It would heal well enough. Once it was dressed and disinfected I was released.

We made it back to Ed’s at five. Sharona was at the door when we returned, wearing a delicate white nightdress. Her eyes were so dark and so wide as she watched me come through the door.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Not now, Rony,” Ed said. “In the morning.”

Drunk

2008-11-19T23:27:00.002Z

So it’s over.

“I’m moving out this weekend,” she said to me this morning. “But don’t worry, you won’t see me during the week, I’m staying with… a friend.”

My Chambers tried to call me a few times this morning but it was too late. I was, and am, drunk.

Confusing Dramatics With Love

2008-11-18T23:16:00.000Z

Annabell and I arrived home at the exact same moment tonight.

“It must be fate!” I joked.

“It’s amazing it’s never happened before,” she replied, impassively. “I’m glad you’re home. We need to talk.”

“We always need to talk. Can’t we just… not?”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t. We had a good night on Sunday, didn’t we? A good, quiet, night. We can do that again tonight, and again tomorrow, and again, and again. There’s no real reason we can’t make it work. There’s no reason we can’t just start right now and be happy.”

“There’s every reason. It’s just not working.”

We were still on the door stop. Annabell had the keys to the front door out but hadn’t opened it, almost as though the issue had to be resolved before we could even go inside. I pressed on.

“That’s in your head. It’s not real.”

“All relationships are in people’s heads. They all exist entirely in our imaginations, Tom, and that’s the problem. We’ve got no imagination for one another. We don’t inspire one another. It’s time to call it quits.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the extraordinary intervened.

Sharona came sprinting around the corner of our cobbled street. She looked left and right and suddenly saw me. She was wearing ripped blue jeans and a black wrap around gothic coat. Her black hair was tangled and wild. She swept it off her tanned face as she saw me and came striding over, every inch passion’s apparition.

She walked right up to the two of us and looked closely at Annabell.

“So this is her?” she said, in her soft Southern accent. The sight of her… the sound, even the smell… it was overwhelming. My quaint little English street had melted into an American Dream.

Ed came running around the corner moments later. He saw us, slowed down, and sauntered over.

“What do you want?” Annabell said to Ed. “And who is she?”

“I’m Sharona.”

“And she’s here for Tom,” added Ed.

My jaw dropped.

Ed winked at Annabell. Annabell blanched.

Ed grinned at me.

“Tom, I know this is a bit dramatic,” Sharona said, “but we’ve tried to call you and you won’t pick up. This was the only way.”

“So you do sometimes do what I say then,” said Annabell.

“Shut up Annabell,” said Ed.

“The thing is Tom,” Sharona said, “I’ve come all this way, again. At least come talk with me?”

I stood there dumbfounded.

“For God’s sake, Tom, do something!” Annabell shouted at me.

I looked at Annabell and then turned, very slowly to Sharona. I couldn’t think straight at all. Annabell wanted me to act. She wanted me to make a choice. Perhaps this was my chance. If I made the right choice, then…

“I’m sorry Sharona…”

She trembled slightly and her brow creased.

“Tom?”

“I’m sorry…”

Ed was a picture of disbelief. He strode over to Sharona, who was gazing at me with something close to hatred, and put his arm around her. He turned her away from me and started to lead her away. Moments later he looked back over his shoulder.

“You’re making a mistake here, Tom. Remember everything I’ve told you. Remember how I warned you before. We owe you nothing now.”

We?

He turned away and I watched them slowly disappear around the corner. When I turned back to the house I saw that Annabell had let herself in. She’d gone through to the back yard. I found her out there, smoking. She’s never quite managed to give up. I sat down quietly by her side, still shell shocked.

After a time she looked across at me and took a drag.

“You really love me, don’t you?” she said, exhaling.

“Yes! Now you see. We can get through anything…”

“No. You’re a fool, and I’ll never love you again. I only hope you can save the horrible error you’ve just made.”

Shitness

2008-11-15T15:30:00.000Z

I woke to the sound of my mobile grinding away on my bedside table.

“Are you coming then?” It was Ed.

“What?”

“Come over here, we’ll go pick her up together.”

“Go away Ed.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and hung up.

I came to with despair, remembering the shitness of everything.

Anonymous Betrayal

2008-11-14T23:38:00.000Z

“So, what’re you going to do tomorrow Tom?” asked Annabell when she returned home tonight.

“What?”

“About Sharona?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play the fool, I know all about it. I knew all about Sharona before you ever mentioned her to me. And I know she’s coming back to England tomorrow.”

“How?”

“I scarcely think that’s relevant, but since you ask, I keep getting anonymous notes about it all.”

I sat in confused silence. “Right,” I said, eventually, “can I see them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve got other things to worry about.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about us Annabell.”

“Not us. Sharona. You have to go to her.”

“But you’re the one I want.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I… love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“We can make this work!”

“I don’t want to. I’m going to stay at Alex’s tonight.”

“Who?”

“Christ. Face it, Tom. It’s over.”

“No! Stay here with me and we’ll sort it out. Come on! Your family will be so disappointed. And mine! Everyone thinks we’re good together… isn’t that worth something?”

Annabell raised her eyebrow, and then walked away.

Desolation

2008-11-12T22:17:00.001Z

I feel sick.

Is there any chance it was true?

Could Sharona and Ed really have been… together… during the Summer? I can’t stomach the idea. How could they do that to me?

And even Annabell’s been cheating on me.

I’ve got no one.

The Rules of Friendship

2008-11-11T19:44:00.001Z

“So, does Annabell know you’re here?” Ed asked me.

“Is she here yet?” I replied, referring to Sharona and ignoring his question. We’d met at the pub in early afternoon. I took time out of work so I wouldn’t get home late again and give Annabell an excuse to leave me. She told me she would if I ever met Ed again so I can’t risk it.

“No,” said Ed, “she’s coming this weekend.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“Hmmmm.”

Ed looked at me.

“Alright, you fucker,” I said.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, you’re right.”

“Damn right I’m right. Now what are you going to do about it?”

“I… don’t know… I want it to work.”

“How could it fail?”

“With Annabell, I mean. I want it to work out with Annabell.”

“What?”

“She’s just… we’re… better together.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Maybe, I do really like Sharona.”

“You know what, Tom? That’s not good enough. She’s worth more than that.”

Something in the way he said it riled me.

“Worth more to whom, Ed?”

Ed paused and frowned. “Worth more to me, if that’s what it takes.”

“Oh, that’s just great.”

“What? You don’t seem to want her.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“No, it’s against the goddamn rules.”

“What rules?”

“The Rules. You can’t go anywhere near your mates’ ex-girlfriends.”

“Tom, when will you learn? There are no rules in life.”

“That’s as may be, but without at least some pretence at them we have anarchy and no trust, and thus no society… or friendship.”

“If that’s how you feel.”

We sat in silence for a while, occasionally sipping our pints.

“She doesn’t want you anyway,” I said, suddenly.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

I laughed, but without confidence. How could he be this way to me? I couldn’t believe his actions, what kind of friend is he?

He sat there, still silent but vaguely… smug. I could see he felt superior. He knew that I couldn’t be sure whether he felt superior because he knew something I didn’t, or just because I didn’t know one way or the other.

He was fucking with me.

“You’re fucking with me.”

He continued to sit in silence.

“You got something to say, Ed? Fucking say it.”

“No,” he smiled.

“Come on, just fucking say it, if you’ve got anything worth hearing.”

“I’m just saying… Back when we all lived together, you know, you worked long hours… left us together with nothing to do.”

“Ed, don’t tell me this.”

“Okay.” He sat in silence again.

He was really fucking with me.

“Don’t fucking fuck with me Ed.”

“Christ, Tom, if it matters that much to you then prove it. Leave Annabell. Come to see Sharona this weekend. I’ll stand aside… I won’t fuck with you.”

“We’re done here. Some friend you are. I’ll be in touch about the auction money but otherwise I don’t want to hear from you. We’re done.”

A Bland Return

2008-11-10T21:53:00.000Z

Annabell's been away all weekend. She left barely a note and disappeared. She never said where she was going and only finally told me that she'd be back tonight in the middle of last night. I've been sick with paranoia and worry.

It was a quiet day today in the office. I’ve worked pretty hard lately, perhaps to distract myself. One way or another, I made sure I could be home for the moment Annabell returned.

The second she did, I jumped up.

“Cup of tea?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible as I struggled to regain my balance after tripping over the corner of the sofa.

“Alright,” she said, neutrally, “thank you.”

A few minutes later I returned, mug in hand. I don’t drink tea myself.

“How was your day?” I asked.

She told me, recounting bland details. Eventually she went to her study to work for tomorrow.

She’d been sitting on the sofa whilst I stood before her, unsure what position to adopt. Once she’d gone I remained standing for a time, the awkwardness and uncertainty persisting.

She was ignoring the situation; what could I do? Should I have confronted her again about her revelations of infidelity? Maybe the fact that she wasn’t mentioning it means that she’s sorted it out, broken it off.

I failed to act.

Eventually Annabell went to bed without a word, switching off the light. I wondered about, trying to decide if it would be okay for me to go and sleep in the same bed.

I still haven’t made up my mind, but perhaps it would be better for me to sleep on the couch tonight, I don’t want to put on too much pressure.

Confrontation; Revelation

2008-11-07T23:39:00.001Z

I spent the rest of the day yesterday and all this morning brooding. In my heart I suppose I knew that I had to do something about Sharona. I had to make a decision. In the last few weeks I’ve actually almost used her as an excuse – the girl that would never come back, the elusive dream, the non-existent alternative to my life with Annabell. But suddenly that alternative had become a reality. She’s back.

Annabell had noticed something wrong last night and tried to talk about it, but I’d shrugged her off, for once. Finally, this evening, she broke and demanded that I explain myself. I decided to tell the truth, put it all out there.

I sat Annabell down and told her the full story about Sharona. Well, not quite the full story, but at least the main details. It took a full half hour.

“I see,” she said, as soon as I was done, “but I don’t understand how this helps us right now. More importantly though, I can see you held real affection for her and I can’t understand why you’d ever leave a girl like that.”

“What?” I said. I’d expecting a different kind of reaction altogether.

“Well, she seems far better suited to you than I. You’re both as strange as each other.” Or maybe you’re too normal, I thought. “Look, to be honest Tom, I’m a bit relieved to hear all this. I assume you want to walk away from all this now? I know we’re not really working, we never were. I always told you that this thing of ours wasn’t the be all and end all, and it seems you’re the one to finally prove it. I’m really happy for you.”

“Er…”

“Anyway,” she continued, hastily, “it’s a bit the same for me.”

“What?”

“You know – I didn’t just wait patiently and dutifully for our reunion either.”

“Oh, yes, but what does that have to do with this.”

“Well, as it happens, with one of them…”

“One of them?”

“Yes, with one of them, it hasn’t exactly… finished.”

“…”

“Oh come on, Tom. It’s been shit between us lately. I didn’t exactly mean to do it, but I had to talk to someone who actually understood me, and that never seems to be you.”

“You have to break it off.”

“Okay, but I don’t see what difference it makes which of us does it.”

“No, you have to break it off with the other fucking guy.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my fucking girlfriend.”

“To be honest, Tom, I’m not sure what I am to you. To me, though, you’re nothing more than a friend now.”

“I’m serious Annabell. This is disrespectful.”

She laughed at me.

“How fucking dare you? You fucking… bitch.”

“I’m sorry Tom, I don’t mean to laugh, but you can’t tell me what to do. It’s somehow… pathetic.”

This was over the goddamn line. I walked out.

I walked to a graveyard and sat amongst the tomb stones. I’ve been to this graveyard a few times in the last year, to seek solace and shelter from my emotions. The only way to conquer the situation is through rationality. If I could only make her rational too. If I could only make her see sense.

I stayed sitting there, thinking it over in my head. How could she have done it? How could she having been seeing someone else behind my back, and so recently! In the middle of our relationship!

Time passed and I waited for her to call and apologise. It became a matter of pride: who would break first? She owed me an apology. How could she speak to me that way?

I got no call, and now after an hour and a half of miserable self-reflection I’ve returned back home. Annabell is fast asleep.

What will I do?

Vice

2008-11-06T23:35:00.001Z

This morning I typed Ed’s number into my phone and called him. I know the number off by heart so deleting it makes no difference. Ed got immediately to the point.

“You’re a prick for not calling back last night. Now shut up and listen,” he said, I still hadn’t said even so much as a ‘hello’.

“Sharona’s coming back,” he said.

“…”

“Yeah, exactly. She’s fucking crazy.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? She wants you back!”

“Why?”

“Sodded if I know. The real question is: are you going to man-up and pull your dick out of its vice?”

I paused. “I don’t know Ed. I don’t understand. Why would she do this?”

“I’m not going to entertain that sort of bullshit over the phone. If you want me to ‘be there for you’ then you know where to find me.”

“Right.”

“When you make up your mind call me… and I’ll help you out. Sharona’s coming here, to stay with me.”

It's For the Best

2008-11-04T23:34:00.000Z

Ed phoned today while I was having dinner with Annabell.

I glanced at my phone and tried to be casual about it but her hawk eyes were on me. I could see she was itching to know who could be calling me. She looking, even then, to see if she could read the name at a distance. I couldn’t lie under that kind of pressure.

“It’s Ed,” I said.

Annabell opened her mouth to complain but before she could speak I picked up the phone and cancelled the call in front of her.

She reached across and put her hand on mine. “It’s for the best,” she said, and smiled.

I turned the phone toward her and deleted Ed’s number, so she could see me doing it.

She smiled again.

The Girl They're All Talking About

2008-11-02T23:06:00.000Z

Annabell was perfect at the party. She wore a really splendid outfit, displaying just the right blend of classical and alluring fashion. She was the star of the event; everybody loved her.

During a few drinks after lunch my head clerk commented that it must be amazing to have the girl everybody’s talking about.

Annabell turned to look at me from across the room at this point. With her lips she smiled broadly at me but her eyes were otherwise.

By the end of the party everyone was delighted with her but we hadn’t exchanged a word.

What Do You Like About Me?

2008-11-01T23:54:00.000Z

Yesterday I’d received an invitation to lunch on Sunday with several people from my Chambers. Annabell was invited. This afternoon I asked her to join me.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why?’”

“Why do you want me to come?”

“Well… Obviously I’m proud of you…”

“Obviously,” she interrupted. I was silenced. She paused for a moment then continued. “There’s no warmth in that statement, Tom.” She studied me, as though searching for the answer to a question I couldn’t know.

“Why do you actually like me, Tom?” she asked. Why do girls insist on asking these sorts of questions? A wise girl I once knew observed this tendency and counselled others never to ask such a question unless you were prepared for the answer. But there is no good answer.

“Well,” I said, “you’re beautiful, you’re talented and you’re doing really well.”

“Yeah, sure. But what about me, Tom? What do you actually like about me?”

“Er…” I was confused, hadn’t I just said? “Well, we’ve got the same goals in life,” I added.

“No, Tom, you don’t get it.” She sighed. “When I first met you I loved the sparkle in your eye when you argued with me. Yes, Tom, you used to argue. I loved the confidence of your march into any room. I loved you for the time you brought flowers to my house in the middle of the night after I’d called you upset. I loved you when you sat down and explained the system of easements to me just in time for me to pass my Land Law exams. I loved you every time you nearly let me beat you at tennis, always holding back until the very end, but never quite letting me win.

“That’s why I love you, Tom. But when I ask you the same question all you can tell me is that I’m ‘pretty’ and ‘doing well’, just like a million other girls.

“I’ll come to your party, Tom, but you’d best think hard about what really matters to you.”

Thinking about her words now, the thing that bothers me the most is that I’m no longer the man she described. I’d even let her beat me at tennis now, if we ever played.

Early Morning Sensations

2008-10-30T22:13:00.000Z

My first sensation of the day, milliseconds earlier: Annabell’s hand slapping me hard across the face.

“Don’t you ever come in so stinking drunk and late again, Tom.”

I squinted up at her, dazed. My eyes focused slowly on her. She wore a dark pencil skirt with a starched white blouse. Her hair was drawn back. She looked stark and professional.

My thick tongue began to dab around my cardboard mouth searching for moisture.

“And one more thing, Tom, if you ever see Ed again then we’re over. I mean it. He’s bringing you down and wasting your life. As long as that’s the way it is, you’re no use to me.”

And so saying she strode off, leaving me to my misery.

Time to Celebrate

2008-10-29T23:17:00.000Z

I’m in the middle of a night out with Ed. I told him I needed to check an email for a case tomorrow so I’ve nipped into an internet café.

I told Annabell I would have to work late on a case, so she’s not suspicious either.

At first my evening did not go well.

“Why are you even still with her?” he asked me, upon learning that I’d had to have an alibi for meeting him. “Is it just for the sake of your pride when you’re out hobnobbing with all those assholes you spend your time with? Or is it just because your parents like her? Maybe because she’s not ‘a poor man’s version’ in somebody else’s eyes?”

“Er…”

“Shut up, Evans, I haven’t finished. Final question: has your continued relationship got any one thing to do with her personality?”

“Since when did personality ever matter to you?”

“I thought so.”

“I didn’t come here for this, Ed. What did you want to tell me? What was so important?”

“The auction was last week.”

“Auction? Oh, shit! Wow, what happened?”

“42,000 Euros, Tom.”

“Wow.”

“Yes.”

“Wow, that’s, like, twenty… thirty thousand quid?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“So now you’ve got no excuse to mess around with that job, and even less excuse to remain around Annabell.”

“Not so fast…”

“Let’s go get drunk.”

I paused, wondering whether to insist on correcting his conclusions. I decided swiftly there would be other times.

We’ve just made a small fortune… it’s time to celebrate!

What's Right; What Works

2008-10-28T23:23:00.001Z

Although things are essentially back on track with Annabell, I’d actually quite like to run the whole thing past someone. Sometimes it can get a little lonely out here in Oxford, away from friends down in London. I know I’m going to be fine now, but it’d be good to get a fresh perspective, just talk it through.

The problem is, who can I talk to? Ed would just turn the whole thing against Annabell and use it as an excuse to make some unreasonable demand that I leave her. I didn’t fancy talking to Robin about it either. He’d only frown and look at me with pity, the guy who never quite pulls off the decent life.

So it’s Alice. Who else? Always a cool head, she’s patient and innocently wise. She can see the world with sharp simplicity, cutting straight through design and dissimulation. This can, of course, be her downfall too. Sometimes the machinations of others sneak up and surprise her; she never expects anyone else to be any more complicated than her. I can count on her to tell me what’s right, I think, but not necessarily what will work.

But really I only want to speak to someone who won’t judge me.

I texted Alice and we agreed to meet up.

Then I deleted the messages, picking them out so as to leave the innocent majority there in case a vacant inbox looked even more suspicious!

Fish Hooks

2008-10-26T22:52:00.001Z

This evening Annabell was in her study, working hard, and curiosity got the better of me.

I’ve been thinking about what Ed had said to Annabell a week ago on the phone. He’d told her our investment had matured. I couldn’t figure it out. I thought it was probably just a hook to reel me in, but I wanted to know.

I told Annabell I was going out for a walk around Oxford and she barely reacted, sunk into her case.

I called Ed.

I apologised for Annabell’s words last weekend, in order to try to smooth the way.

Ed, amazingly, bit his tongue and made no comment. We talked for a while and I could tell Ed was genuinely glad just to have a chat. Maybe he actually misses me!

“Can we meet for a drink next week?” he asked me.

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s about what I told Annabell,” he said. “I’ve got something important to tell you but I’m damned if I’m saying it over the phone. You’ll have to come and meet me.”

All You Need is Love

2008-10-25T23:59:00.000+01:00

You know what? Against all odds it seems to have worked. Annabell actually listened to me the other night, and she’s been really pleasant the last couple of days. She’s been patient and affectionate, a proper girlfriend. I think it might actually really work out after all!

All you need is love.

I had two missed calls today, one from Ed and one from Alice.

I still can’t risk speaking to Ed, especially when everything seems to be going well again.

Alice had left a voicemail. Her lovely plain speaking voice adorns her well, like a simple white cotton dress. She asked if I’d like to meet her again for coffee sometime. I realised that I keep forgetting to get back to her, but Annabell was about so I didn’t dare do it today. I deleted the message and made a mental note to get back to her.

While I was at it I thought I’d better go back and delete that email from Sharona, just in case. I deleted her email address too. I thought about blocking her but then it occurred to me that Annabell might check my ‘block’ list and notice the name.

A Real Enviable Pair

2008-10-24T23:53:00.000+01:00

It’s been a bad few days. I’ve spent the day thinking hard about it all.

When I got home this evening I felt I simply had to talk to Annabell about it.

“Can we talk?” I asked her, as she dashed about looking for various notebooks on different cases.

“Of course,” she said, disappearing into the bedroom. I waited and she reappeared.

“I mean,” I said, “we need to sit down and talk.”

She paused, and noted my serious expression. “Tom, are you about to dump me?”

“No!”

“Fine, then I really don’t think we need to talk. I’m busy.”

“Annabell! Please!”

“Fine.” She sat down. I sat opposite her. “Tom, can you really see us walking down the aisle together?”

“Er…” I started, thinking nervously of my thoughts the other day. Annabell raised her eyebrow. “Of course,” I said.

“I don’t believe you. Frankly, Tom, there’s no chance. The fates are making that abundantly clear to us.”

“There’s no such thing as fate, Connie!” She glanced to the heavens. “Look, you just have to put in a bit of effort, that’s all. I mean, we do, we have to put in the work. See how far we’ve already come!”

“Yeah, look at us. A real enviable pair,” she sighed. “Alright, Tom, I’ll try and make it work, for the sake of what we once had. I suppose I owe you that much, after bringing us back together. But I’m making no promises.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Er... Oh.

2008-10-22T23:14:00.000+01:00

I went into Chambers in a state of agitation today. I couldn’t get Mark out of my head, or the idea that Annabell had slept around. She hadn’t even had the decency to ensure her liaisons were kept separate from work. Anyone I came across could be secretly smirking at me. I hated the idea. She was meant to be mine. How could I live it down if she’d been had by everyone else? How could I be proud?

After an hour’s angst I called a friend of mine named Toby. He worked on circuit every day and knew everything there was to know. If anyone could tell me the truth, it was him.

I met Toby for lunch and I asked him to be brutally honest with me about Annabell. I asked him who’d been sleeping with her.

“Look, Tom,” he said, wiping his lips and setting his napkin down on the table, “I was worried when you asked me over here, but this is just silly.”

“What is?”

“If you want to hit me, Tom, then just get on with it… though I may I add: this is hardly the place.”

“Er… Oh.”

Provocation; Denial

2008-10-21T22:32:00.000+01:00

I was in Oxford County Court this morning for a minor trial about a car accident.

My opponent was about 35. He had obviously qualified late from some other career. He obviously thought he was the bollocks. He had a fake sun-bed tan, perfect fake white teeth and slicked back (dyed) (surgically implanted) long black hair slicked back with thick grease. I shuddered slightly at the sight of him.

“Hi Tom,” he said to me, just before the Judge was to walk in. “I’m Mark. I hope this whole thing won’t be a problem.”

“Do I know you? What might be a problem?”

“Well, you know.”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, you know… Annabell.”

“What about her?”

“Our relationship.”

“What relationship?”

“You really don’t know? We were together for a few weeks after you broke up.”

My God. I reeled. The idea of her being with anyone else was appalling, but this guy? He was so… slimy. What had she been doing?

Mark winked at me as the Judge walked in. “It’s not like I’m the only one,” he whispered across to me.

I lost.

“I told you not to enquire,” Annabell said, when I confronted her this evening.

“But him?”

“What about it? He’s a strong character, and good looking.”

“He’s got wet-look slicked back hair!”

“He acts like a man.”

I fumed.

“What did he mean when he said he wasn’t the only one?” I asked.

“Jesus, Tom! I’m not a goddamn nun. What did you expect?”

“Maybe you’re not a nun, but you could try not being a goddamn whore either.”

Annabell’s jaw dropped. She blinked at me in amazement. She smiled.

“I’ll be your whore,” she said, mischievously.

“What?!”

She thrust herself at me, tearing my clothes off and kissing me. For a moment I was too shocked to react but then I threw her off me, into the wall behind her.

“That’s it, Tom, fucking give it to me,” she snarled, and tore her shirt off, literally ripping it off her body.

Part of me was appalled, but the rest was man.

Later, when it was all over, she lay peacefully looking at me.

“Come on, Tom, there’s no need to look so thoughtful. Just enjoy the moment and forget about the other stuff. You can’t tell me there wasn’t someone else for you while we were apart. Someone special?”

“There was no one,” I replied, after a moment.

A Monologue of Hyperbole

2008-10-18T23:34:00.000+01:00

Tim’s words last night came back to me today, haunting my afternoon. Annabell’s gone away for the weekend to see some of her friends up in Birmingham. I’ve been all alone, with nothing to do but think.

Is this what it all comes down to?

Am I really to be congratulated by the likes of Tim for my life? For getting my work back in order and my girlfriend back by my side? Am I any better than I was 10 months ago when last I teetered on the edge of destruction?

It all comes down to Annabell.

Can I see myself walking down the aisle with her? I’m really not sure. I want to see it, but the image won’t come together in my head. Somehow… I can see all the elements – Annabell in a white dress by my side in a quaint stone country church – but hard as I try, I can never see her smiling.

Could this really be the rest of my life, right here? Living out in a small town, married to a suitable girl, doing a suitable job?

For the first time in my life, normality frightens me.

Several times I felt my mind begin to suppress these thoughts but I fought back. I was alone, with time, and I needed to face these questions. The trouble was, the more I turned my mind to it the more I felt on the edge of a precipice, as though I could trip and plunge suddenly through my entire life in a single moment.

The present was my past.

The now: living in a memory.

But the precipice was two sided. I could fall through the future, or I could fall into flight. Pure, urgent flight. I could run away, and never return. Life could be different – I could face uncertainty.

Of course, now it’s been a few hours since I sat thinking these things and I must admit, writing them out now, they do rather seem like a load of hyperbole.