9 June 2000

Ian and I sat for hours today in the ENT clinic, reading papers and jumping every time the door opened, waiting for John. I kept going for a cigarette but I’d only have a couple of drags because I wanted to be there when he came out. I wished Ellen could have been with us, wished John could have heard her voice. But even memories of Ellen couldn’t keep my nervousness at bay. Ian kept jumping up and down, reading posters and pacing around. Nerves played havoc with my bladder and I went to the bathroom. When I walked back into the waiting room John was standing with his back to me, talking to Ian, and I did what I haven’t done for so many years: I called out to him and he turned round, grinning at the sound of his own name.

11 August 2000

A year ago Ellen sat here with me and watched the sun disappear. A year ago. It doesn’t seem that long. Now she is dead and John is getting divorced. He left last week with Ian and two of the carpenters from Elemental, to drive through France in a camper-van. I think I can guess where he’s heading. He asked if I wanted to join them but of course I didn’t. I want him to start to have fun. I want him to grow into his new voice, his new world. I paid for the van to be fitted with a radio and CD player as a present, and the expression on his face when he saw it was the same as when I gave him the water-skis. I hope he gets more use out of them than he did out of the skis. I also gave him a CD of Peggy Lee’s songs. He says he can’t hear it clearly but he can hear enough of it and for days before they left he walked around the house singing, Ts that all there is?’ at the top of his tuneless voice.

20 August 2000

My new deck is stout and plain, made of limed ash with beech rails. I love it. The steps are smooth and deep, perfect for sitting and looking over the beach. I never told John about Ellen’s deck, about how she waited on it, waited for Matt to come back from his fishing trip. I’m glad I never told him because he doesn’t need to know. I’m glad, too, that he seems at last to have grabbed his life in both hands and shaken some sense into it. I want him to stay in that van and keep going. Drive through Europe, along the Mediterranean, down through Greece to Piraeus, jump on a ship and sail the world.

29 August 2000

When I was a girl I wanted the bombs to stop, I wanted the farm girl in the shelter not to be alone. I wanted my daddy to come home, and he did. When I was at university I wanted to be a Doctor of Philosophy, to understand the human heart and mind, how they work, how the language we have paints pictures of what they want, our hearts and minds. When I was with Dai Davies I wanted him to be happy, content, and he was. When John was Merboy I wanted him to love me; I wanted everyone to love me, to desire me, and they did. When I lived in the cottage I coveted this house, this house with its deck, its endless watery view, its gravitas. The emblem, the signifier, of all I had achieved. And then, when the bomb blew up in my face, all I wanted was to be left alone.