Coming Home

Being away from each other for so long (and so often) would put pressure on any relationship, not to mention ours. That said, we had managed to stay together for almost six years and not had any real problems. Not until now, anyway.

She had been threatening to leave for a few months, though I never believed that she would. By the next time that I had to go to Norwich we hadn't held a conversation with each other for almost a week. It seemed as though we were coexisting in within the house, nothing more.

I told her she was welcome to join me. I wanted her to join me, I truly did, but she wouldn't have any of it. Even though she hated being alone, I knew she hated pulling up her roots even more, even if it were only temporarily.

When I came home, I hadn't seen her for nearly a month. The front door was locked, although that didn't really surprise me, as I was early. She wasn't expecting me for at least a few more days. I fumbled through my collection of keys for the right one, unlocked the door and stepped inside the house. I was still expecting forgiveness - she had told me on the phone that she wasn't ready to leave just yet either.

But she wasn't there. All that waited for me was the letter she had written on the kitchen table.

Of all the places to meet my true love, I had met her in a bathroom. We were both at a mutual friend's party, when she barged in unannounced - the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Of course, there was I, with my trousers round my ankles and a wad of toilet paper in my left hand.

I'm fairly confident that she had seen more pleasant things in her time, but the encounter must have worked its magic and within a few days we began to see each other. A few short weeks later, I moved in with her.

Times were not easy though, for either of us. Almost immediately after I settled into our home, she became ill. I knew that I wouldn't care for her as much as I liked, and sometimes it seemed as if she wanted a little more space from me. I took as many breaks from work as I could, but whenever I came home it wasn't long before she insisted that she wanted me to go back to work again. I felt as though I was pulling her down, pushing her further into her depression, and in retrospect I think I was. With time, however, and plenty of attention, she seemed to get better.

The wedding was a quiet affair, and a surprise just as she had always wanted. I stole her away in the middle of the night to a small church village in Derbyshire. There were few witnesses and not even our parents were present. I knew that hers in particular didn't approve of me. It's strange how these things move so quickly - I had barely known her a year, and yet there we were, the happy couple getting hitched.

Life ran smoothly for some time after that. I traveled the country with my job, but never really managed to meet anyone. I suppose that's why I always missed her so much when I was away.

I was away for longer and longer periods, sometimes over several months, but for me that made seeing her even more special. This last time though, was to be one of my shorter trips.

The argument that we had, the one that stopped us from talking seems so silly now - she had locked me out of the house after upgrading the door locks while I had been away.

Half an hour after returning home, I was still standing, staring at the letter on the kitchen table. The name and address had been printed rather than hand written. My full name had been used, rather than Ed, as most people knew me. It all seemed to formal. The only thing missing was a stamp.

She had never called me Ed.

This was her letter.

The realisation that she had left beat around inside my head, the words drilling like a woodpecker's beak on tree bark, while I stood silently reading the page over, and over, and over.

I reached into the cupboard above the tins of tea and sugar, and took out a small plastic pot. My shaking hands found it difficult to open it, but eventually I managed. I washed the entire contents down with a glass of remarkably clear tap water.

I had made my decision. Now it was my turn to leave, just as she had left me.