It’s been one-of-those-days. Traffic, too much work and assorted other stresses. My phone rings when I’m on my way home at long last at seven o’clock.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello,” Seb says, for it is him. Immediately, I feel better: hearing his mellifluous drawl. He has not forgotten me, my wonderful boy .
“Hi darling,” I say, lugging my bag of vegetables home. There’s artichokes, asparagus, purple sprouting broccoli, chicory and courgettes. It is a heavy bag.
“How was the office?” He says.
“Yeah, it was OK,” I say, remembering the advice from a dating book long ago: don’t moan about your day. Ask your man how his day was. “How is work?” I say as I cross the road on the way back to the flat. It’s still sunny and although I’m wearing fit-flops I’m not cold. OK, I’m a bit cold, but it’s bearable.
“Well I’ve been chained to the desk but I’m walking down to see the sea now,” he says.
“I wish I was with you,” I say, picturing the beach and the sea and the pier and really just wanting to be with him.
“Me too, me too,” he says. “As soon as I’ve got this next piece of work done, I’m rushing up to see you. Definitely by this weekend,” he says.
“Oh, good,” I say. “I missed you this weekend.”
“Me too,” he says. “I didn’t mean not to finish my work, it just happened and…well, I’m coming to see you as soon as I can.”
“Good,” I say. “I’ve got the office tomorrow, and then writing and you just work hard this week and come and see me at the weekend.”
Love Seb more than anything in the world, but his work must come first and I know this. Am not going to provide an excuse for why he can’t get his work done.
“I will do,” he says. “I’m feeling better now that I’ve had a bath and I’m going to do some more work this evening.”
“Great,” I say, feeling happier now that I’ve heard his voice.
Arrive home and brother has made a lovely dinner. Lucky me.
Happy Monday everyone!
Attached photo is a tragic event that occurred yesterday. Life is cruel.
*2014. By Frank Tayell. “A post-apocalyptic detective novel” apparently.