He sat on my bed. I feel chastened by it, I said to him. He’d come to tuck me in, as he always does. I’d asked him if he ever got a bit low at night. Oh, yes, he said, often. It’s melancholy, I said. Yes, he said. Of course, that why people use alcohol, I said. Absolutely, he said. It takes the edge of it. Yes. It’s made me feel grey, that’s all, I said. I know, he said, taking the hot water bottle out of the bed. You did nothing wrong. It was an experiment. And you can always write about it. Yes, yes, I can.
She’d emailed me the following day cancelling it. It’s that hoary issue over photography, and possibly more. It was a tricky day on Thursday, I felt unwelcome, not by the residents but by the staff. They know me, must’ve recognised me but didn’t acknowledge this. I understand, they have their work to do. People like me must be a hindrance, a nuisance. It’s just the way it was done, the rug pulled out from under me. Did they give her a hard time? He holds her responsible. But she was just doing her best. I’m sorry for her, she wanted some credit for its novelty. So be it. I cannot do anything about it. I must just accept it, for all the heaviness it brings. It will pass, other plans will take over. I always recover. Always.
I missed her, then she called back via 1471 which I then missed. I knew it must be her, so I did the same. Her voice sounded shaky. The dog had died. Died in its sleep after collapsing while out walking. Poor love. She was her companion, her walking companion. She died in her sleep in daylight while they were with her. Her handyman buried her in the garden. He’s a friend, she says. He talks to her about his failing marriage. If you don’t talk you burst, she said. Would it hurt her to know I write about her? I hope not. It is a loving thing. I want to record what we talk of, her sayings and idiosyncrasies. To cherish her.
The town has been overtaken by camper vans and lorries for the great downhill cycle race. There are diversions and barriers laid all along the Prom. It unsettles me, I feel hemmed in. It is not ours anymore but usurped. Meanwhile the students play out their leaving routines. I heard three lads shouting from the other end of the Prom. They were perched, apparently naked, on the edge of the steps ready to jump into the sea. One did. Fuckin’ hell it’s freezing, he shouted. Is that a good idea? I want to say, but don’t. They are young, careless and exuberant. Let it be.
Application writing day today and I am weary of challenges. Breathe through it and write. It is my space, my words, I am in control. The winning isn’t what it is about but the making sense of an idea, carving it out, fleshing it out. Just let it be, breath into the fear of it.
The moon is almost full but hidden, just a tiny crescent peeping out behind a cloud.
