I can’t remember when I realised her birthday would land out there. It was her birthday, you see, when I was out there in the mud and those vast, inky, icy nights. Clomping around in someone’s shoes, probably one of the abandoned pairs in my closet, those I never wear but hang onto in case there’s a wedding.Īlone episode four screened last night. Usually she arrives later, randomly, flitting around the corners of my vision in a waft of wild titian curls and some delightful concoction of tulle and stripes, handbag and feather headband, sunglasses to complete the ensemble.
It’s years since her ghost has been this solid when I wake. She was right there in the bed like she never left, arms and legs akimbo, head burrowed into my armpit like a forest creature.
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