Don't wanna be ... ... all by myself

Posted April 24, 2011

Don't wanna be ... ... all by myself

The weather is glorious and we’re eating outside for the first time this year. We’ve just finished off a delicious cut of barbequed pork and a fennel and tomato salad with balsamic dressing (a Jamie special). We’re sipping white wine and chilling out to our favourite tracks which are playing softly in the background.

I pop into the kitchen with the empty plates. The mellow voice of Chris Isaacs drifts in on the night air. I smile and think of sun kissed holidays in the Vendee. We always played this track as we drove past the salt fields on the way to the coast. I’m feeling romantic.

I go back outside to ask if hubby wants a cup of coffee or a top up of wine. He isn’t there. The music is still playing but his half empty wine glass sits abandoned on the table. I go back into the house to search for him, shouting out his name but get no reply. I try his office and the garage; there’s no sign of him. Like the Marie Celeste, he’s completely vanished.

I return to my seat in the garden, alone, feeling very aggrieved. Has he wandered off for a walk? How could he? Especially as I’m caught up in the moment and want to share memories of our holidays in France, maybe even have a smoochy dance with him. I sit there for five, ten, forty minutes.

Romance turns to rage. I clear the table, turn the music off and lock the doors. Eventually he returns. He’d decided to water the front garden (he never does this!) and then popped over to the neighbours for a chat. “Did you not think to tell me where you’d gone?” I practically spit the words at him. He shrugs and looks bewildered. I tell him he’s spoilt everything.

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