Part 2 - The Photo

Part 1 can be found here

Ellen, laughing. The sound gurgling. Like the stream behind the house. She looked so beautiful, the way the sun glinted off her auburn hair. She was with me. How lucky could I get? Was I taking chances beyond what was fair in this world? At that moment in my life I hadn't a care in the world.

Abby, she called. Said my nickname as if it were honey on her lips. Never used my given name: Gregory. Abbot. Held my hand as if it were the most precious thing she would ever touch. We were in love. This was to be our home. Setting: a scattering of undulating hills - nature's grassy breasts suckled by sheep - set back, framing the house. Blue abyss: sky. Clouds like a reflection of the sheep. Russet bricks, bright red roof. The house had seemed to sparkle that day.

A flash. A laugh, the sound gurgling. Look, look! A cry, she came running to me, camera dangling, bumping against hip. Left arm flapping at the wrist. Mouth, wide in a smile. Eyes as bright as the sunshine. Abby: look! There it was, held as if it were fragile: our child; a photo of the house.

Somehow, she'd managed to capture the essence of the day on celluloid. It's the snapshot I bring to mind when I hear her name. It's the only memory I can rely on no. I miss the house. I miss Ellen. One day I will return. Maybe.

It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment, the nanosecond it happened. At first nothing seemed to change. We fell into an easy life, together. Dreamed of children, bigger houses, better lives earning more money. We did what was expected of us, of people in our day. We lived for those dreams. Laughing, the sound gurgling. Like the stream behind the house.

And then, there it was, impossible to ignore. Had it been waiting, biding its time? Picking its moment to maximum impact? Even now the doctors are unsure. They gave it a name: Invasive ductal carcinoma, layman's terms: breast cancer. We had a name for it, too: death.

Seemed everyone we met said the same: there can't always be a reason, evidence, conviction. These things just happen. Empty words, meaningless. Fluff. That autumn, when the rain came. It seemed to mark the beginning of the end.

It continued to piss with rain. Gurgling like the stream behind the house. Like Ellen's laugh.

I took up smoking when she passed away. Months I'd watched her waste away, drift on an ocean of pain. I was as helpless as she. I wanted to die, to be with her. Smoking seemed to be the best way, I wanted to be stained. Suicide had never been a consideration for me. For Ellen it just never occurred. Her body was killing her. Death was coming. Inevitable, we both knew. Knowledge didn't make it any easier. It felt as if we were the only people experiencing this. How selfish of us.

I wouldn't change that. It kept us sane.

I still have the photo; it still looks as fresh now as it did all those years ago, the day we moved in. The happiest day of my life. The sun has eclipsed now, there is only rain. My thoughts wander to the house, to what it would be like now, in the present. Bricks, pitted with age, hail, water. Eroded like my memories. Much replaced, no doubt. It may even have been demolished. No one could afford houses that big now, not in that area. Run down through economic slumps, unemployment, crime. Only the countryside kept the region popular. In the summer months. Would the photo betray what I held in my mind?

I'd soon find out. I was to visit. A call came, my lawyer. The house was for sale, was I interested? Some things had changed: a new porch (he called it a monstrosity); the gardens were smaller; the house had aged and needed repairs. I think he said TLC. I had to look the abbreviation up. Only then did I understand it was only just repairable. Lawyers=sarcastic about sentimentality.

I accepted the offer, wanted to go back. Wanted to see it again. Just once. That would be enough. Enough to recall her laugh, recall the gurgling sound, see the stream behind the back of the house. I wanted to remember her beauty, the flash of her auburn hair. I wanted to remember back when I felt lucky. Back when I didn't have a care in the world. It was as lucky as I was ever going to get.

I wondered - what other ghosts would need to be laid to rest? I'd been informed of one thing: the rain continues to piss down.

Continued here...