It was now unavoidable. She knew she had to do it. She lifted the mask.
She looked him in the eye. Not for the first time; but it was certainly the most notable.
The silence as he realised was thick and dreadful.
“How…?” he said, at last.
“You were busy,” she replied.
She held her hand out, and he took it.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied.
His eyes were wide,...
Of course, it’s all relative. A situation I’d have considered ‘tricky’ a few years ago wouldn’t even make it in to my journal now. So adept had I become at riding my luck, the assumption I made was that “things tend to fix themselves.” We are players on a grand stage.
I wasn’t entirely sure how this one would fix itself, though.
“Mr Dawson,” I smiled, “please. Let calmer heads prevail here.”
...
Sunday evenings often sit heavy. That familiar and dreadful feeling of ‘school in the morning’ never truly goes away. The thoughts of coming days spread through the mind like ice on a lake. Of late, every day felt like Sunday.
Millie was in the kitchen, the place where she spent most of her time when I was in the house these days. It was either the kitchen or the bedroom, where she’d sit on top ...
It was completely innocuous. We’d had the argument a million times.
The problem is that she just never, ever tells me what she wants for dinner. You’ve had that argument before, haven’t you? You must have had that argument more times than you care to remember.
A small argument. Completely inconsequential, yet somehow all-consuming and totally maddening.
Staring at the mess, I suddenly remembe...