We haven’t talked about it, but I’m not going to put up a Christmas tree. In your house, they did talk about it. Marina will buy the tree, and your dad will polish up the baubles your mum kept in the cupboard. They’re in what used to be your room, in the third drawer down, Marina said to your dad. Although last year we didn’t have a tree, this time I’d ask you, maybe you’d like us to have one. Can I tell you something? The other afternoon, walking along the pavement, I saw a woman putting up a Christmas tree in her living room. I could see her from head to foot through the large window. A woman alone, hanging coloured baubles on a plastic pine tree. I felt a longing to be living that life, a longing to be her. Why? I imagined two people talking about their day, the little bulbs flashing on and off, on and off. So far from our reality. Like a story I’d have liked to visit with you today.

The power’s just gone. I lit the candles you bought the last time there was a blackout. Six little candles on the table. Let’s hope the power comes back soon, because it looks like the notebook’s holding a spiritualist meeting, only without the paranormal effects.

19

19