Autumn Light

I was staring at the television when I heard a wail from outside my front door. It made me jump. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it was already eight o’clock. Surely it had only been six o’clock a few minutes ago?

I clicked the TV off with the remote and listened. There were some low voices, one of them more high-pitched and tearful.

I got up, walked over to the door, and opened it. In the gloom of the October evening were a witch and Wonder Woman. Actually, two girls, one very young, probably no more than seven. She was the witch. The other one was much older, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, and dressed as Wonder Woman in blue hot pants with white stars and a low-cut red and gold bodice. Wonder Woman was fussing over a cut on the witch’s leg. Beside them were two small buckets, with the bright, reflective wrappings of various pieces of confectionary just visible.

They both looked up at me as the light from the doorway illuminated them.

“Your path is DARK!” said the witch accusingly. “I tripped on it!”

“Sssh, Charlotte,” said Wonder Woman. “It wasn’t his fault. You were running. I told you not to run.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I did mean to put some lights on the path. Do you want to… come in and clean that up properly? I’ve got some iodine somewhere.”

“Not the stingy stuff!” Charlotte’s lip trembled again. “I don’t want the stingy stuff! Please don’t let him put the stingy stuff on it, Tara!”

Tara soothed her. “I won’t, don’t worry. You don’t need it. It’s only a graze.” She looked up at me. “Perhaps some water and a sponge, just to get it clean?”

“Sure,” I said, and opened the door wider and gestured them in.

They picked up their buckets and came inside. I led them through to the kitchen and found some paper towels. Tara dampened a couple under the tap and gently wiped Charlotte’s leg. Charlotte was much calmer now, and looking curiously around my house, and then fixed her eyes on me.

“What’s your name?”

“Simon,” I said.

“Don’t you like Halloween? Tara said because there were no lights on your house, you probably didn’t like it, and you didn’t want people knocking on your door. But I said maybe you just forgot.”

She looked at me hopefully.

“Yes,” I said. “I did forget.”

She beamed. “So you don’t mind us knocking? If we had knocked… if I hadn’t fallen over.”

“No. I don’t mind.”

She nudged Tara triumphantly. “See! I TOLD you.”

Tara gave me a brief, apologetic glance, then glared back at her young companion. “You still shouldn’t have run off.”

This was already distant history to Charlotte. “I’m a witch,” she told me. “I was supposed to have a broomstick but I forgot it.”

“You look great,” I said. “You don’t need a broomstick.”

“And Tara is Wonder Woman. Her outfit’s a bit tight because she’s grown a lot since she last wore it and she forgot her jacket so she’s a bit cold. And lots of the boys are staring at her boobies.”

“CHARLOTTE!” Tara was crimson with embarrassment. She did look in some danger of spilling out of her top, which was probably several sizes too small for her. She was a very pretty girl, I noticed. Long black hair past her shoulders, blue eyes, slim and pretty. I noted all this very indifferently, of no more interest than the contents of somebody else’s shopping list. But I did feel a bit sorry for her.

“It is a cold night to be out without a jacket,” I said. A thought struck me.

“Be right back,” I said, and went upstairs to our bedroom. Still “our” bedroom. Not mine.

I opened some closets and rummaged. After a minute or so I found what I was looking for, and took it downstairs.

“You could wear this,” I said to Tara, and held out a light blue jacket, the nearly exact same shade as her blue hotpants. “I think it kind of goes.”

“It’s like a Wonder Woman jacket!” said Charlotte excitedly. “Put it on, Tara!”

“Oh no… I couldn’t… this looks really expensive… it’s lovely, but… I’ll be fine, really.”

“Take it,” I said. “Please.”

She looked at me uncertainly. “Well… I could bring it back later, on our way home.”

I shook my head. “Keep it. I’ve got… lots of my wife’s clothes. I keep thinking I should go through them, take them to the charity shop or just throw them out or something. Please — keep it?”

She was still reluctant, but weakening. “Well… if you’re sure?”

“I am,” I said.

Charlotte looked at me solemnly. “Doesn’t your wife need them any more? Did she grow out of them?”

“Something like that,” I said, and smiled at her.

Charlotte smiled back. “You’re nice! And Tara said you might be an axe murderer! Or a… rapper, or something.”

“Charlotte!” The blush was back.

I shook my head. “I haven’t axe murdered anybody for years, Charlotte, don’t worry. And I was never a… rapper.”

She giggled. “So – what DO you do?”

“Don’t be so nosy, Charlotte! It’s none of your business.”

“Have you heard of architects? Well, that’s what I do. I design houses and buildings for people.”

“Like castles?”

I shook my head. “Sadly, nobody’s ever asked me to design a castle for them. Wish they had.”

“I’m going to live in a castle when I’m older.” She looked at me doubtfully. “Perhaps I’ll ask you to design it for me.” I sensed she would rather give the commission to somebody with a better track record of castle design, which was very sensible.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d appreciate that.”

“I need to pee,” she announced. “Where’s your bathroom please?”

I pointed her towards the downstairs cloakroom and she trotted off. Tara was now wearing the jacket, and it fitted her very well. By pulling it tighter around her it covered up most of her cleavage, and I thought that the boys outside and any neighbourhood dads answering the door to her later wouldn’t thank me for that.

“This is really nice of you,” she said. “Thank you.”

I shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

There was a pause.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “I realise who you are now. I’m really sorry about what happened. About your wife.”

I nodded. Another slightly strained silence. We heard the toilet flush.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any sweets or anything I can give to her,” I said. “If I’d thought about it… I’d have bought some, just in case.”

She looked at me sympathetically. “That’s OK.” Then a thought struck her. “But I’m sure she would like something from you. Do you have a bowl or a plate or something?”

I gestured to a cupboard. “In there.”

Tara opened it and chose a brightly coloured soup bowl. She put it on the side then quickly darted over to one of the buckets. She grabbed a handful of sweets from it and then dropped them into the bowl.

“That’s my bucket,” she said. “She won’t notice mine’s gone down a bit. And I shouldn’t eat them anyway.”

There was the sound of a door opening and Charlotte came back into the room. Tara looked at her fondly.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep!”

Tara glanced at me. Taking my cue, I reached over and took the bowl from the counter and held it in front of her.

“Something for your collection,” I said.

Her eyes lit up. “You do like Halloween!” Then she looked at Tara gravely. “Next year, we have to come and remind him to put lights up.”

She took a handful of sweets, and carefully put half of them into her own bucket and then the remainder she dropped into Tara’s. I liked her very much already, but I liked her even more after that. And I liked Tara too, for her quiet thoughtfulness in giving me something I could share with Charlotte.

As I watched them disappear down my path, I found myself smiling again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that.

**

I had no expectations of seeing either of them again, but a couple of days later I came home to find a note lying on my doormat. The paper and envelope were blue and scented, and the writing was neat and careful.

Dear Mr Garrison,

Thank you again for helping me clean up Charlotte’s knee and for giving me the lovely jacket. I really like it but if you change your mind and want it back I’d quite understand.

I did wonder though if you’d like some help in sorting out all the clothes you said you had to go through? Some of my girlfriends and I would be very happy to do this for you? I’m sure we could sell quite a lot on Ebay or other sites, or you could just give it to charity shops if you like. But don’t just throw them out — I think that would be a real waste.

Anyway, if you don’t want us to that’s fine. But we’d be happy to do it for you — please?

Yours sincerely,

Tara Ross

Below it she’d written out her mobile number and an email address.

I thought about it. It was a job I’d been putting off. And I knew I had to do it. I liked the tact of her note, with no direct reference to my wife. It was just a simple offer of neighbourly help. I suspected what was also unsaid was that she and her friends would really enjoy it. Whole closets of fashionable, expensive, nearly new clothes — unworn in some cases.

I pondered. Why the hell not? So I texted her.

Thanks for the offer of assistance with the clothes. Most appreciated. Most evenings convenient after 6. Let me know. Best, Simon G.

A few seconds later my phone buzzed and there was a simple smiley emoji from her.

**

A few evenings later I opened the door and Tara was standing there with two other girls. It took me a while to recognise her as when she’d been Wonder Woman her hair had been jet black. Now she was a brunette. And this time, rather than a costume, she was dressed in a simple brown skirt and a dark green sweater over a white blouse.

She laughed at my confusion. “It was a wig! Didn’t you realise?”

I shook my head and she laughed again. “I’m kind of pleased it worked so well. This is Alice, and this is Claire. And Jess was going to come but can’t tonight but might come another night if we need to.”

We said our hellos. Safety in numbers, I thought. Very wise. After all, I could well be an axe murderer. Or a rapper.

I led them upstairs to the bedroom. I’d carefully removed my own clothes to the spare room, so everything there was Terri’s. I opened the three large closets, all tightly packed, then pointed to the four suitcases on the bed that I’d taken out of the other room.

“And there’s even more I need to bring down from the loft. I’m afraid it’s quite a lot to go through. It might be easier if you just take it all away and sort through it in your own time.”

Tara looked doubtful. “But… there’s so much! I mean… this will take ages. And I think it will be much easier if we can do it here, where everything’s together. If we take it to our houses… my dad will have a fit if I turned up with even a quarter of all this.”

“Mine too,” said Alice. “We could take it away if you really want, but I think if we could work on it here for the next few evenings that would be better.”

“Well,” I said, a little feebly. “You decide what’s best. I’m going to be sleeping in the other room, so you can take as long as you want, I guess.”

Claire had gone to examine some of the clothes in the first closet. “Some of this stuff is really beautiful… most of it, actually.” She looked at me shyly. “Would you mind if we bought some of these things from you? I’d love this top… but you could probably make more money on Ebay than I could give you for it.”

I shook my head. “I really don’t want anything for it, thank you — please take what you’d like.”

The girls looked at each other. I could see they were tempted, but they weren’t greedy.

Tara said: “How about if we choose… say, four things each? And you can check what they are, just in case there’s anything… really special that you’d rather we didn’t take.”

I shook my head again. “Take six things each. Eight if you want. Ten. And there’s nothing I want to keep, I promise. Nothing.”

My words must have sounded a little bitter, as the girls suddenly looked very subdued. But I didn’t know what else to say, so I decided to just leave them to it. I turned and left the room.

Half-way down the stairs I realised I was being rather graceless and rude. So I turned and went back. Claire was sitting on the bed staring at the suitcases while Tara and Alice were rather listlessly poking through the closets.

They all looked up at me as I came back in. I forced a smile.

“Listen,” I said. “I want you to enjoy doing this. And you are really helping me. You didn’t know Terri, but she… she would have really liked you all, I’m sure. She loved hanging out with her girlfriends, all of them trying on clothes and suggesting things for each other to wear. So… please, have fun doing it. Help yourself to whatever you want and help me get rid of all the stuff you don’t need or like or… whatever. OK?”

The girls looked at each other. Then Tara looked at me. “OK,” she said. “Thank you.”

“No need for that,” I said. “You’re the ones helping me, like I said. Just one condition.”

“What’s that?” The girls looked serious again.

“If two, or three, or four of you all want to take the same thing… I’m not going to adjudicate — you sort it out between yourselves. Rock, paper, scissors, or whatever, OK?”

Tara smiled. “No problem. We’ll have a fight to the death if we have to.” Then she realised what she’d said and her hands flew up to her face. “Oh god — sorry! What an awful thing to say!”

She looked mortified but I just laughed. “Well, I’d rather you didn’t do that, but as long as I don’t have to get rid of the body…. Whatever works for you.”

Then, with a final reassuring wave, I closed the door and left them to it.

**

For the first hour or so it was fairly quiet. Then, presumably as they got more relaxed, there was a more general hum of chatter and the occasional giggle coming from the upstairs bedroom. I turned up the television slightly to drown out their intermittent noise. I didn’t mind it, exactly, but it felt wrong to be listening to it.

I found myself staring at the TV rather than watching it. But I was used to that. I’d sat through multiple seasons of various drama series over the previous months, and for the majority of them I’d struggle to name the major characters. Grief has its own agenda, its own timetable. I was better than I was. But it was still raw.

I jumped when Tara gently tapped me on the shoulder. It must have been an hour or so later.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine… I’d forgotten you were there, that’s all. Found anything you like?”

She looked at me, slightly amused and incredulous.

“Oh… there’s so much lovely stuff! You have no idea.”

I shrugged. “No… I’m sure I don’t. Terri — my wife — always used to say that she shouldn’t have bothered wearing anything except jeans and old t-shirts… I always liked her in those most of all… I couldn’t tell a… Versace from a… well, anything else, really.”

She looked at me. Her expression was sympathetic and friendly. She really was very beautiful. A similar slender build to Terri, similar height. I noticed now that facially there was a resemblance too. The same slightly upturned nose. Large brown eyes that should have been a little too big for her face but somehow weren’t. And, without the black wig, her long brown hair was the same shade and thickness, though Terri had worn hers shorter.

She coloured slightly under my scrutiny. I realised I’d been staring and dropped my eyes.

“So… you girls need anything?”

“Well… actually I just wondered if you’d mind if I made some coffee or something? We’re really thirsty and we’d like to keep going if we can.”

“Sure… I can make you some coffee.”

“No — really, I’ll do it. Just show me where everything is and I’ll make you some. Just tell me how you like it.” She coloured a little more. “Like milk, and sugar, and… whatever.”

She followed me into the kitchen and I showed here where the things were. Luckily I’d bought some milk earlier that day. Other than that the fridge was mostly empty. I caught her stealing a glance at the bare shelves but she didn’t say anything.

“Splash of milk, one sugar for me,” I said.

“Got it. Thank you.” I think she was a little relieved when I left her to it. I went back to the living room and sat down again, feeling about a hundred years old. I turned down the television slightly. I liked hearing the sound of her moving around in the kitchen. The slight clink of cups and the hissing of the kettle. It was almost as if I could pretend everything was fine and it was Terri back there, sorting out one of her undrinkable herbal teas and a coffee or hot chocolate for me.

She brought me my drink and I thanked her, and she said they’d be about another hour before they had to go, and I said that was fine, and she said it might take them every evening for the next week or so to go through everything properly, and I said that was fine too. Then she went back upstairs and I went back to staring at the television.

A few hours later I woke up and the house was dark. Somebody had put a blanket over me and switched off the lights. I went upstairs and peered into the main bedroom. The clothes were all out of the closets and there were various piles arranged neatly if a little randomly around the room. If there was an underlying system it wasn’t immediately obvious to me. I closed the door, carried on down the corridor to the other bedroom, and crawled under the duvet still fully dressed. I slept badly, but that was normal for me.

**

The following evening there were three of them again. No Claire this time, but Tara introduced me to Jess, a redhead in a very tight t-shirt which made it quite clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. I thought there was a slight coolness in Tara’s tone when she introduced us, but I could have been wrong.

I told them to make their way upstairs and let them get on with it. This time there was more giggling right from the start. Jess had a distinctive laugh which was infectious and sometimes I caught myself smiling at it. God knows what they were talking about. Probably better I didn’t know. But this time I didn’t turn the television up so loud. I just sat in my chair and enjoyed the noises of people — younger people, attractive people — having fun. If Terri had been here she’d have loved to join them, I thought.

But they’re here because you’re not, Terri, I thought. Damn you. Sorry.

Tara came down after about an hour and, unprompted, made us all coffee. She also produced a packet of biscuits and put some on a plate for me.

“Also,” she said. “I spoke to my mother and… well, we’re having a casserole tomorrow night and there’s always loads and so she said I should bring you some.”

“Oh… that’s very kind but really there’s no need.”

She looked at me solemnly. “I think you’d like it. My mum’s a pain in the ass sometimes — most of the time really – but she’s a good cook.”

I laughed a little at that, and she looked pleased. “Fine. Thank you. And thank her, very much.”

She went back upstairs and the giggling and chat continued. I felt suddenly very lonely, and wished I could just go and sit with them for a while, to bathe in their company, not speaking, just listening and soaking up their youth and good humour and warmth. But they were trying on clothes and I was at least a dozen years older than them and it was much better for everybody that I stayed where I was. But already I knew I would be very sorry when the clothes were sorted and they would have no further reason to visit.

“So get out there, you stupid sod,” said Terri angrily. “Get out there into the world and meet people again.”

“What?” I looked up, startled.

“Did you say something?”

Tara was standing at the doorway, looking concerned. I got to my feet, glancing around, a little shaken.

“Sorry… I must have been dozing again… I thought I heard something, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She was uncomfortable. Not about what had just happened, I realised. There was something else.

“Um… I hope you don’t mind. This is a bit embarrassing. There were… well, some letters in one of her drawers.”

“Letters?”

“Yes… in her… underwear drawer. I think… probably from you. And… well, I just wanted to give them to you, so you can… put them somewhere safe. Or I can… get rid of them for you.”

She was scarlet, but she was also determined. Yes, it was an awkward situation, but she was going to do the right thing. I think that’s when I first fell in love with her, just a little.

“Oh… those letters.”

“Yes.” She held them out to me. Perhaps a dozen or so letters that I’d written to Terri. Some were early on, but it was a habit I’d kept up. Sometimes when I’d been away from her for a few weeks, alone in a hotel room, I’d written to her. Very old-fashioned, but also very intimate. And I’d held nothing back. Everything I thought about her, everything we’d done together, everything I wanted to do to her or that I wanted her to do to me.

“Did you… read any of them?”

“No!” Then she paused. “Well… actually I read… a couple of pages. I’m sorry. I didn’t really realise what they were until… well… I stopped as soon as they… I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry. I can — we can all go, if you want.”

I shook my head. I stared down at the letters. “They were from a different lifetime,” I said. “Thank you, Tara.”

She stared at me for reassurance. I think she found it, because then she nodded, and turned away. Then she turned back.

“You really, really loved her,” she said quietly. “I hope… somebody writes me some letters like that one day.”

“I’m sure they will,” I said. “You’re very special, Tara, and I’m sure one day you’ll get… a whole flood of letters. Much better than mine.”

“Maybe,” she said. But she looked doubtful. Then she gave me one last shy, sweet smile and went back upstairs to join her friends.

**

They weren’t able to come over the weekend and the house felt strangely in the evenings without them. But on the Monday they were there again and the process was much the same. It was all four of them this time. I showed them how to get into the loft and where the bags of clothes were and left them to it. They were from when Terri was younger, and if anything these clothes excited the girls even more than the ones they’d gone through from our bedroom. They were more casual, cheaper and more daring, things she’d found in various charity shops or in some cases had made herself.

“Are you really sure you don’t want to keep any of these?” Tara was looking concerned. “I really feel… you should keep a few things. For the memories.”

“I won’t forget her,” I said. I tapped my head. “She’s up here. Not in any of those clothes. And… I should think about moving on with my life. It’s been… a few months now. It’s hard to move on with all these things of hers all around me.”

She looked desperately sad for me. “No – it’s been nearly a year, Simon.”

I was startled. Then I stopped and thought about it. A year? Yes — it had been the previous December, a few weeks before Christmas. How had time moved so fast? How had I… what had I been doing all that time? I honestly couldn’t remember.

**

The following evening I opened the door and it was just Tara standing there alone, holding a large dish with mitten style gloves to protect her hands.

“It’s still really hot,” she said. “You should put it in the oven if you’re going to eat it later though.”

She hurried past me into the kitchen and I closed the door then followed her. She set the casserole dish on the side and then bent down in front of the oven, looking for the right dial. I had the distinct impression she wanted to look busy.

“Where’s everybody else this evening? Are they on their way?”

“Oh….um, Alice is busy. And so’s Claire… and Jess has… music practice.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. Well, perhaps I’ll see you all tomorrow evening. Or perhaps you’ve all got a bit bored? It can’t be that much fun, really.”

She was immediately indignant. “It’s SO much fun! You have no idea. We’re not bored at all, honestly!”

“Well… I’m glad to hear that. So… tomorrow evening? Or perhaps some nights next week?”

“Yes. Either of those would be fine.”

“Great.” I looked at her expectantly. She was squirming a little, like a toddler needing the bathroom. I don’t think she even knew she was doing it.

“Unless… well, maybe I could go through a few things this evening?”

“On your own?”

“Sure! Why not?” She looked at me defiantly.

“Well… would your parents be OK about that?”

“I’m nineteen!” she said, suddenly looking rather fierce. “I can do whatever I like.”

“Of course you can,” I said soothingly. “But… if I was your parents… I’d still want to know where you were and who you were with. That’s all.”

“Well, they know I’m here. And they know you’re here. And Alice was going to come. And she still could, if I text her.”

“I thought she was busy?”

“She is.” This didn’t sound entirely convincing. “But… if I really asked her, she could come over. But she doesn’t NEED to, does she?”

At some point in the last ten seconds a subtle shift had occurred. Shy, slightly embarrassed young girl had become slightly teasing, slightly more assertive young woman.

“I guess she doesn’t,” I said. “Though — it may not be as much fun on your own?”

Her eyes sparkled. “I think it will be. I’ll get first choice on everything! Honestly, the others are so pushy about choosing their things. And I’m always so meek and easy going and don’t want to cause any trouble so I always let them have their way. Well — not tonight!”

This was the longest speech I’d heard her give, and she suddenly looked rather self-conscious. Shy embarrassed girl was temporarily back, it seemed. But I just nodded gravely.

“OK then,” I said. “Go forth and… take your spoils!”

She gave me a mock salute and turned and headed towards the stairs. I watched her go. She’d taken off her jacket and left it on a chair in the kitchen, and I realised now she was wearing jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. The sort of thing Terri knew I would always compliment her on. In fact, watching her go up the stairs, she could almost have been a brunette version of Terri.

I walked thoughtfully into the living room. My refuge.

Be careful, I thought. Be very, very careful.

**

I admit, I was counting the minutes until an hour was up. That was when she usually came and made coffee. Well, “usually” based on all of a few nights. Hardly a trend. She probably wouldn’t. She’d want to stay a safe distance away. Or make the most of having first pick of everything. Perhaps I should make the coffee, and take it upstairs to her? Or would that be intrusive? It was my house. Can you be intrusive in your own house? Surely not. But… she might be trying some clothes on. She might be standing there in just her underwear, appalled at my crass interruption. Well, I could knock. I could leave it outside the door, on a tray, and knock, and tell her it was there, and then I could go back downstairs and that would all be fine. Wouldn’t it?

Jesus. This was pathetic.

Then I heard the bedroom door open and the sounds of her coming down the stairs.

“Splash of milk, one sugar, coming right up,” she called cheerfully.

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s very kind.”

I sat back in my chair and listened to the sounds of her in the kitchen. I realised every time she’d been there I’d just been sitting in front of the television. I picked up a news magazine and opened it. There. Now she wouldn’t think I was a total slob.

She brought me my coffee and put it down on the table beside me.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked. “Oh, you’re reading… I won’t disturb you. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said hastily, pushing the magazine to one side. “Please… take a seat.”

She settled herself down onto the couch and placed her coffee carefully on the table in front of her. She looked around the room. There was a photo of Terri and I on the mantelpiece, and she got up again to go and look at it closely.

“She was really beautiful,” she said. “Just… god.”

“Yes,” I said. “She really was.”

She looked at me. “Do you like talking about her, or not? I was reading about… people who’ve been bereaved, and of course it says everybody handles it differently, and some people find it really helps to talk about the person… who’s gone… and some don’t want to at all, and it can be hard to tell, and often the best thing is just to ask the person. If they want to talk about it — them — I mean.”

She trailed off, and looked at the floor. I was very touched by her doing that research.

“Thank you, Tara,” I said. “That’s very thoughtful of you. More thoughtful than a lot of people would be.” I paused, and thought. “I don’t know if I really feel very strongly one way or another, if I’m honest. It doesn’t upset me to talk about her. But… I don’t feel like there’s lots of things I’d like to say, either. I’m just sort of… indifferent, I guess.”

“You’re still numb,” she said. “That’s understandable. She was so young… and you must have loved her so much.”

I nodded. She took a sip of her coffee.

“I’d like to hear about her,” she said. “It’s funny, going through her clothes… it’s a very intimate thing. I can tell a lot about her, at least I think I can, just from the clothes she liked. I think I know what she liked to wear when she wanted to cheer herself up, or when she was feeling a bit down in the dumps, or when she really wanted to make an impression, or be sexy, or… whatever.”

“She was always sexy,” I said. “I never met a woman who was so… well, perhaps it’s not appropriate to talk about that with you. But… she could wear anything and I think every man in the room would turn and look at her when she came in.”

“I don’t mind… I’d be really interested…” She looked a little exasperated. “This idea of… what’s appropriate. I think sometimes people worry too much about that. We should just be honest. I mean… I’ve had boyfriends!”

I thought about it. She was right. What did it really matter?

“She was… the most sexual person I’ve ever met,” I said quietly. “Until I met her, I…. guess I was rather naïve about women. I knew men were very focussed on… well, sex. God knows I used to think about it a lot. I never realised just how important it is to women too. Sometimes… god…”

I paused, not sure if I should continue.

“Sometimes… what?” Her voice was gentle but insistent.

“Sometimes… she would almost rape me when I got home. I mean… not in an aggressive way, but she would be so… horny. So eager to get me into bed. She used to say… she used to say that it was… certain days of her cycle. And … that would be amazing. She wasn’t big, not particularly strong, to look at her you’d never guess… but sometimes when I was with her I was amazed by her passion, almost like a frenzy… it was all I could do to hold on and just… weather the storm.”

Tara picked up her coffee and sipped it. She didn’t take her eyes from me.

“And… other times she was so gentle and loving and yet so… open. I don’t think it was possible to shock her, not really, not when it came to sex. She would whisper things to me, even though it was just us there, she’d whisper them so quietly I could barely hear her… and they’d be so… wonderfully filthy… she knew… she just knew how to… excite me.”

There was a long silence. I looked over to see if I’d embarrassed Tara. But she didn’t seem to be. The expression on her face was something else. Wistful? Envious? Thoughtful?

“God,” said Tara, eventually breaking the silence. “You… I’m so sorry… to have somebody like that, such a perfect partner in every sense… and then to lose them.”

“Oh… she was a long way from perfect,” I said. “If she was here now she’d be howling with laughter at that idea. Yes, she was sweet and sexy and kind and loving and naughty and beautiful… but she had the most vicious temper too. Sometimes she and I would argue and she was just… she would get so furious with me. She was like… a storm. Scary and awe-inspiring at the same time.”

I looked at Tara. “And when she was like that… you just couldn’t reason with her. She was just… like a wild thing. And that’s… that’s…”

I stopped.

“That’s what?”

I got up from my chair and went to look at the picture on the mantelpiece. I had my arm around her waist in the picture. I could still feel the touch of her hip on my fingers. The slight swell of her breast resting on my arm. After the photo had been taken I had lifted my hand and stroked her nipple through her blouse and she’d swatted it away, laughing, telling me not to be such a greedy schoolboy.

“That’s what, Simon?”

I turned and looked at Tara. Her face was concerned and sympathetic. She was very lovely.

I went and sat back down. I stared at my hands. At the floor. At the picture. Then, finally, back to Tara.

“That’s how I killed her,” I said.

**

She stiffened slightly. I’m sure for a second that joke about me being an axe murderer must have flashed across her mind. But then her body relaxed, and instead she did a wonderful, simple thing. She knelt in front of me, and took her hand in mine.

“You didn’t kill her,” she said. “It was a car accident. A terrible, sad, unlucky accident. That’s all. I read about it, Simon. I read all about it and I’m so sorry, you have no idea how sorry I am… it wasn’t your fault.”

I squeezed her hand.

“I made her so mad,” I said. “I said she had a terrible temper but sometimes I could be so mean, too, I knew how to push her buttons, I knew just how to make her so angry, and we’d been having one of our rows… we didn’t have many, maybe once or twice a year… and I made her so mad. I wanted to do it, I knew exactly how to do it, and it was selfish of me because of what I knew what would happen later… and she was so mad when she got in the car and she was driving too fast and she was thinking about me and how mad she was and she wasn’t paying attention and she didn’t see the other car and thank Jesus the other person was OK otherwise… otherwise it would be even worse. But I killed her, Tara. I really did.”

“No!” Her voice was vehement. “No, you didn’t. That’s… awful that you had a fight just before, but it was still just bad luck. Nine times out of ten, ninety-nine times out of a hundred – she’d have gone out and been fine and then she’d have cooled down and she’d have come home and it would all have been fine. Sad for me but good for you. It wasn’t your fault, Simon.”

“Maybe,” I said. But I knew she was wrong. If I’d just been a little less mean, a little less selfish… Terri would still be there.

“Didn’t you hear what she just said?” Terri’s voice was behind me. Amused but cross. “For god’s sake, listen to this girl PROPERLY! And tell her the rest of it!”

I turned and looked at the kitchen doorway, where the voice seemed to have come from. But there was nobody there.

Tara followed my eyes, then looked back at me. “What is it?”

“Nothing… I thought I heard a noise… it’s nothing.”

I let go of her hand, and smiled at her. Probably not one of my best smiles but I thought quite a good effort in the circumstances.

“You should maybe call it a night,” I said. “Come back with the others tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. Not like this.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy, Tara. Really.”

“I’m going to make us some more coffee.” She got up and looked down at me. “Though – I saw there were some herbal teas in the cupboard… can I have one of them? Otherwise I won’t sleep.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

She went through into the kitchen and I trailed after her. I watched her move around the kitchen. God, she was so like Terri to look at.

“What would have happened later?”

“Sorry… what?”

Tara was squeezing her tea bag in her mug of hot water. She wasn’t looking at me. I thought it was deliberate. Perhaps she guessed what it was. Terri had told me to tell her. Tell her the rest of it, she’d said.

“Well… after we’d had a row. We always made up. Big time. The bigger the row… the more… the better it was after. Probably… people wouldn’t say that wasn’t healthy. But it was how she was. How we were.”

Tara prodded her tea bag a few more times. “So you think you were… extra mean… just so you could have… amazing sex later?”

“Jesus… that sounds so shallow when you say it like that. But… yes… I think that was part of it. Maybe not even consciously.”

I thought for a moment. “I remember… waiting for her to come back… I was… aroused. Waiting for her. It usually took her an hour or two to calm down. It didn’t take long. That was another good thing about her… she didn’t hold a grudge, never stayed angry for long.”

Tara smiled a little. “That is… was… nice. I think my Mum’s been holding grudges against my dad for about twenty years.”

I said, “Well, perhaps the rampant make-up sex for them will be worth it. Any day now.”

Tara had been sipping her tea when I said that and now she spat some out, shaking with laughter, spilling hot scented liquid all over my floor.

“Please… please don’t put that picture in my head” She was spluttering. “God, I’m going to charge you for the therapy!”

I laughed with her, pleased that the mood had lightened.

“I’ve spilt tea everywhere!”

I got some paper towels — the same ones that only a few days previously had been pressed into service to tend to a wounded witch’s knee — and we knelt together on the floor, mopping up the spillage. Suddenly I was very physically aware of her. I’d seen she was beautiful, but my sexuality had been switched off for a long time. Suddenly it was back with a vengeance.

Somehow she must have become aware of the change in me. Or perhaps she felt the same. With a sudden movement she got to her feet and moved away from me.

Yes, I thought sadly. She should go. That would be best.

But she didn’t. Instead she just looked at me, her eyes on mine.

“She never came home to you,” she said quietly.

I shook my head.

“You were waiting and waiting and you wanted her so badly… and she never came home to you.”

“There was a knock on the door… and I saw the police lights on the car outside… and I knew. I knew she was never coming home again.”

Another long moment. Then she seemed to decide something.

“I look a little like her,” she whispered quietly.

“You do… you’re beautiful… you could almost be her sister, Tara.”

She looked at me for a while. Perhaps it was just a few seconds. Perhaps a whole minute. I know time seemed to change, to freeze, just for a while. Then she walked over to face me, our bodies only a few inches apart. She reached up and touched my face, a gentle intimate stroke. Then she reached over and switched off the light.

“Go and sit back down,” she said. “Switch off the lights in there too.”

Not understanding, I watched dumbly as she turned and walked away, opening the front door and going through it and closing it behind her. But I did as she said. I went back into the living room and killed the lights and sat in my chair, with just the pale moonlight coming in through the window faintly illuminating the room.

Then I heard the door open, and I heard Terri come back into the house one final time.