And that’s what I shall do. I shall retreat to my deck and sit out there every night, watching the waves, watching the moon slide, grow small, watching the volcanic arch being eroded by time.

20 April 2000

Ellen’s house sale was completed today — she left everything to me and I wanted none of it, apart from her books and the drinks cabinet from which I once filched a bottle of Crown Royal. I’ve arranged for the estate to pass to John because I have no use for the money and I think soon he might have. I did keep the dogs and now they’re used to being here in Thurlestone, although I suppose they knew it already from their visits. I’m glad I have them - they sleep in my room and follow me everywhere, as if I’m their last contact with

Ellen. Sometimes I think they’re watching the door, waiting for Ellen to come in. I know I do. It’s been months and I still can’t believe I shall never see her again. As I promised myself, I did get and stay very, very, very drunk for a long time, but not long enough, it would seem, for it to stop hurting.

30 May 2000

John and Ian arrived today when I was passed out on the sofa. They scattered statues through the garden, unpacked their bags, then woke me with coffee. I felt terrible, still half-cut. But I had to go with them to the beach, stumbling across the golf course, Ian practically carrying me. He poured me more coffee while John stripped down to a pair of swimming trunks. Ian and I watched him running down the beach, his scarred back paler than the rest of him, arms pumping. He ran into the surf and yelled as the cold hit him, dived into a breaking wave and swam out towards the volcanic arch. Then he turned and waved, laughing, water crashing round him. I tried to clear my head and wave back.

4 June 2000

John came into my bedroom this morning with a cup of coffee, sat on the bed and told me everything that has happened with Sonja. That it’s over, that he’s left her the house, sold his interest in the business to Ian. I’ve known for a long time that something was wrong but I didn’t guess the extent of it. Years ago he presented me with his decision to marry as a fait accompli and now he’s done the same with his divorce. I remember Ellen telling me that John was always trying to protect me from sadness and, as usual, she was right. He never did take my advice. I told him to ask for help because he’d need it but he never has.

I’m ashamed to admit that I feel relieved. When he’d gone I lay in bed and tried to work out the source of that relief. Sonja — I never did work her out. John says she’s been seeing a blind man, as it were. I can’t even begin to work out what’s going on in her head. Next week John will have his electrodes tuned and if everything works out he’ll hear again, or at least he’ll hear something. And it’s at this moment in their lives she begins an affair with a blind man. Madness. Was it that she couldn’t face the thought of John being whole? Does she have to substitute her own crazed sensibilities for someone else’s? I don’t know. It seems to me now that John didn’t grow when he was with her, he just hid behind her, and I think she relished that.