It would be wrong of me to pretend NG and I didn’t have our problems. We had loads. I’m sure I’ll get back to that quite soon. But at the time she left we’d only just got back from recreating a fantastic holiday where we made love on a desk chair and in our balcony overlooking the sea. The neighbours were metres away. She liked the risk of getting caught. So did I. We broke the chair as I recall . We rocked in that department. It was the best and most intense love making I have ever experienced. I’m trying to be non-explicit but I won’t have that again. I don’t think you experience that twice in your life. If you did it would be just plain wrong to be so lucky. Our fitness failed way before our enthusiasm mostly. Once we got it right that was. Or once I got it right. We’d had a rough summer and her Depression was getting more acute. But we got through it. So much so that she planned to come back to the flat we shared and leased together in early September. It looked like all the uncertainty and heartbreak was going to be worth it. I thought we had been through so much together we both knew we’d never make such a connection again. Like I said, we earned our spurs. We paid for our mistakes and still we loved each other intensely. We were going to the beach on days off, lunching in the Shire and taking said holidays days before she left. Well it turns out that might be all rubbish. An illusion only those you love can get away with. Had I tasted thr same confused disbelief  that Hilary woke up to today? People say one thing, do another and the last time we saw Logic it was heading south along with Reason.

I remember asking her if we would make it to the finish line a week before she left (her moving back in being said marker)  and although her mouth said ‘Yes’ everything about her said ‘No’. I let it go as I didn’t want to believe the truth. I never do. She could never describe her Depression and I said to her around the same time it was like she was pining for a partner that had maybe spurned her. Or hadn’t worked out? She looked uneasy. NG is a supreme and highly skilled liar but her body language often gives her away. And her face goes a delightful shade of plum. She can’t hide that. After all, there was the 2 month period when she didn’t contact me in the Spring. There was the liaison she had told me about in Oxford visiting a friend, and she certainly was not staying as frequently. And she was distracted and aloof. And as far as the world knew she was single too.

Where as I need to process and grieve the end of a long relationship for anything from 9 months to 2 years, NG has her own cycle. She has never left 1 man without going directly to another. Sometimes there was no break at all. The nicest way I can put it is to say they ‘overlapped’. She needs to be needed and she needs a sympathetic shoulder to lean on to muster the strength to make the hard decisions. I’m not judging her- just telling it like it is. I was that shoulder the day she walked away from her husband. A good man too. Remember , she’s a War Child from Sarajevo. She’s a born survivor.

I want to believe the version that her Cancer gave her that extra strength she needed. That’s heroic and very brave. If only she could have more like that before she got Cancer. I want to believe she met her new shoulder at a Cancer Support Group in her new town and they have bonded through illness and the pain and uncertainty that goes with that. She is a great Carer. But have I made all that up in my head? There is no fact to support this version. Have I invented it and if so for what purpose?

Can I overlook all that I’ve said, and the very real fact that she was not diagnosed with Cancer for a full 2 weeks after she disappeared from my bed whilst I was en-route to her.

I know I’m thinking too much. I know it’s not good and can serve little point. It will not change the outcome. This is the outcome. If this is my drug-fuelled paranoia then great, but what if it’s my gut instinct that’s rarely too far off base? It would at least make more sense. It would mean I wasn’t the devil. The Devil my uneducated, bullying, aggressive, inadequate and useless father told me I was when I was 6. I could make sense of that. It’s still horrible, but it fits.

I need to make sense. I wish to fuck I didn’t. If I don’t then I obsess until I do. Logic has always been my calculus and guide. Is it possible to go on holiday with the devil a week before you leave him? No one could  do that. Could they? That would be masochistic.

That would show a level of coldness and power to separate emotions from actions that we humans don’t possess. But What do I know? I seem to trust too much, like we did as kids. When you believe that people that love you don’t leave you. Maybe it’s nothing more than the difference between men and women. For all my intelligence I can be a  bit slow on the uptake. As easy to fool as I am keen to see the best in people. As I want them to see in me. Warts and all.

Surely she had enough respect left for me to tell me the truth? Instead she said nothing at all, propelling me into an endless cycle of over-analysis in my need to understand. A constant treadmill of self-loathing and doubt with no ultimate conclusion. My beautiful mind seized by tbe illogical dark side.  It’s not her fault – it’s just the way I am wired to my eternal regret.

Why can’t people just be honest? I’d rather hear tbe uncomfortable truth than a clumsy lie that requires me to suspend my intelligence any day. Wouldn’t you?