MAN sitting alone by a window at night

It is night. The city is winding down. There are still cars on the road. But few and far between. Occasionally an ambulance or a police siren, but mostly there is silence. In some of the houses across the street the Christmas lights have been switched off. Not long to go now. Under a week. The sky is cloudy. No stars. No moon. As far as I can see. As far.

Silence

I’ve been sitting by my window for what seems like an eternity. Dreaming. Remembering. Hoping. Missing. Longing.

Pause

Remembering that terrible evening. Last Friday. At the restaurant. Down by the river. First time I’d ever been there. Her choice. It surprised me. Never heard of it before. Never noticed it. She was already there when I arrived. That was unusual. She’s a terrible timekeeper. Always has been. Forever late. Constantly keeping me waiting. Constantly. You have such patience, she’d say. Never knew anyone with such patience. Remarkable.

Silence

It was so cold that evening. Snow showers on and off. Nothing settling but slippery under foot. Quite treacherous on that smooth surface. A fierce, icy wind blowing along the river. I felt the cold in my bones. Though well wrapped up, long cashmere coat, woollen scarf and gloves, I felt the bitter cold in my bones.

Pause

And there she was, sitting at a table in the centre of the restaurant, a glass of white wine in her hand. The place was crowded. Buzzing. A lot of office parties having their Christmas do. When she saw me approaching she didn’t smile. She raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. She looked serious. Stern even. Unsmiling. She looked away. Then she looked back. Unsmiling. Tense.

Silence

It is night now. And I’m remembering. Going over the events of that evening. How stern she looked when I approached her. She didn’t stand to greet me. She raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. Cleared her throat. And when I bent down to kiss her, she turned away and offered one of her cheeks; then abruptly recoiled from my freezing lips on her warm skin. She said nothing. Not a word.

Pause

I asked her had she been there long. Not long, she said. I asked her what she was drinking. Sancerre, she said. Then a waiter came to the table and asked if we were ready to order. Not yet, I said. But I’ll have a glass of Sancerre. And I’ll have another, she said, draining her glass and handing it to the waiter.

Pause

Well, she said. You’re here. I’m glad you’re here. She spoke as though she was trying to control her nerves. I said, You seem nervous. Is there something wrong? Has something happened? She looked away. The table next to us suddenly erupted, uncontrollable laughter. No idea what the joke was. Sidesplitting. A small group of young women, five or six, undoubtedly from the offices somewhere along the river. Just celebrating. Enjoying themselves. The night out.

Pause

No, she said. Nothing wrong. Nothing at all. I just thought we should talk. We needed to talk. I think we should talk. She looked away again. And for a moment neither of us said a word. I sat back in my chair and waited. She said nothing but the atmosphere, the silence, was ominous. Where was her usual warmth, her bubbly charm, her eagerness to chat? The waiter arrived with our drinks. Cheers, I said, and raised my glass. Cheers, she muttered. She didn’t smile. Her face was grim.

Silence

It’s night. I’m sitting at my window looking out. The Christmas lights on the streets have now been switched off. Rarely a car passing. Silence. Almost complete silence. I’m replaying the scene in my head. The restaurant scene. Over and over in my head. Wondering if I’ve missed a detail. A word. Or a gesture. Anything relevant. Anything vital.

Pause

After a long silence she took a deep breath. I’m going away, she said. I’m leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be away. For Christmas. For the New Year. I’ve decided. I need to get away. Have a break. I’m tired. Exhausted really. The last few weeks have been, you know. Overworked. Not enough rest. I need to get away. A change of scenery. That’s what I need.

Pause

Oh, I said. This is news. When did you decide this? You never mentioned this before. Are you under pressure at work? Is that what it is? Is your job on the line? She shook her head. How long have you been feeling like this? She shrugged. You never mentioned this last weekend. We had such a nice time. You seemed relaxed. Full of energy. Full of fun. And now this. All of a sudden. Out of the blue. And no mention of us, no mention of me. Just you. You have decided. I thought we decided. Together. Remember? Pleasure together? And now this. You have decided. So where do I fit in? She looked away. Said nothing.

Silence

It is night. The city is so silent. The world is sleeping. An unearthly silence. I hear a dog. There’s always an infernal dog. Nobody out on the streets. A car occasionally. A desultory dog barking. A stray dog. Then it falls silent. I can feel my heart racing. I can hear it. I’m remembering that evening. Every detail. I still feel numb when I think of it. Disbelief. The words she said. Out of the blue. I feel numb and hurt. What she said and what she left unsaid.

Silence

She must have been six or seven. The little girl I heard talking to her mother. A few days ago. One afternoon. It was one afternoon on her way home from school. In the arcade. Innocent in her green uniform, carrying her green school bag. Mummy, she asked. Mummy, am I adorable? And the mother, immediately, Yes dear, you’re very adorable, very very adorable. I was struck by that heartfelt question. Touched. What need, what insecurity lay behind that question? For someone so young and so clearly loved? What need? Am I adorable, I thought. Am I?

Silence

I think you should attend to your children, she said, and sipped her wine. What do you mean, I asked. Not neglect them, she said. At this time of year. Not neglect them at all. And besides. Besides? I asked. She took a deep breath. I want to move on, she said. I’ve decided. I want a change. I don’t think what we have is working. Not working for me. And I want to move on. Now’s a good time. A good time, I said. Yes, the holiday will give us space. Time. A fresh start in the New Year. I looked at her, astonished. But my children are not children. They’re adults, I said. I see them when I see them. They have their life. I have mine. You know how I’ve struggled to keep them in my life. They’re back in my life. But my life is my life. And they respect that. They have their lives. She looked away. She said nothing.

Pause

It is night. Deep into night. Not a sound now. Empty streets. Snow is falling. Gently. I can see it in the street lights, gentle flurries of snowflakes. And her words. Those words. Such cold, hard words. Reverberating still in my mind. The shock. So sudden, so unexpected. Delivered so calmly. Chilling really.

Silence

But you know my story, I said. I’ve been through it so many times. I wanted the custody, when they were young. When I separated. I fought for their custody. Do you know how hard I fought? You can’t possibly know. The damage. All round. And I regret that. Deeply. The heartache. Theirs. And mine. And all the years, trying to rebuild their trust. Such a long, slow process, rebuilding their trust. For a moment she looked into my eyes, then she turned away. The waiter approached. Are you ready to order now? No, not yet, she said. Two more glasses of wine. Sancerre. Then she was silent.

Pause

After a long pause she said, Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. It’s not working and I want to move on. I hope you can understand that. It’s better for both of us. It’s not working and it’s not what I want. The waiter brought the drinks. We drank in silence. Speechless.

Silence

Not what she wanted. Not what she wanted.

Pause

It is night now. I’m sitting by the window, looking out on the still world, the still, turning world. I’m stung by the memory of that Friday night. Snow is beginning to settle. I’m thinking of the sweet little girl in the Kensington arcade, in her green uniform. She’s sleeping now, no doubt. But she’ll awake to snow on the ground. She’ll go out and play in the snow. And she’ll know as she plays that she is adorable. That she is loved. And she’ll feel secure.

© John Lyons, 2024 All rights reserved