Emily, youll be the one whos to blame for his death! I shouted, as if the words could still reach the empty flat wed left behind. Of course you, dear Emily! Thats right, you! I laughed, halfmad, halfsick. And who was that pretty thing on the garden bench yesterday, legs bare, flashing those knees? You think a lad like Tom could just stare at a womans bare knees as if he were in a school PE lesson? Hes a softhearted soul, Tom. Hes only ever seen a girls knees in a school gym, and that was ages ago. I jabbed. There are plenty of girls in minis these days, but youre comparing my Emilys knees to theirs thats a whole different story for Tom!
The voice on the telephone grew harsh, as if the line itself were chewing the words. Im not making this up, love. I can see him now, scribbling a last letter. Hes muttering, I cant go on without her Its like a knife in the heart, you hear? You understand, dont you? Hes writing like that, looking nowhere, whispering to himself. Im thinking of a pint I mean, Ill be dead! He laughed bleakly. The word dead is right there, flashing in my mind. How could I not see? Ive got my granddads old army binoculars I can see anything I want through them!
The line fell quiet for a breath, only Emilys shaky breathing pierced the silence. Oh, my poor dear, were late, Nicky. Were late, and the knife is already sharp, already digging in blood You think youll make it? Run, run, save your prince!
Old Mrs. Larkins, whod been watching from the corner of the street, squinted her narrow eyes with a grin as she saw Emily burst into Toms shabby flat, carrying with her an unspent love, a wish to feed him a proper bowl of bangers and mash, and a dream of a house full of chattering children.
Tom had no chance. The gaunt dreamer lived alone; his mother had remarried six months earlier and moved away, leaving him a threebedroom flat and a stern order to marry quickly and start producing grandchildren at least one, and as soon as possible. Tom agreed; the idea of a cosy family suited him, but finding a girl proved impossible. He was a whizz with circuitry, but in conversation he was shy, selfconscious and timid. He couldnt court a woman, and the moment a girl showed any assertiveness, he fled faster than a jet. Mrs. Larkins approved she didnt want to live with a cheeky, loud neighbour either.
Then there was Emily. She was homely, practical, respectful. Not a beauty queen, but pleasant, with a round freckled face that warmed the room. You just had to look a little closer, chat a bit, and youd see the sincerity she carried something these modern girls seemed to lack. Their gadgets, those blasted little screens, could only spill a fragment of a life. A photo, a short clip thats all. And they pranced about in makeup that looked like witches at a coven, unlike Emilys plain, honest appearance. Youd remember a circus clown far more than the ticketseller at the box office, even if the clown never spoke a word.
Tom would glance at his neighbour Emily, hoping to catch a glimpse of happiness, but he never quite managed. He might as well have died a lonely soul, thought Mrs. Larkins, dying of hunger, cold, and the lack of a womans gentle touch.
At home Tom resembled a hedgehog lost in fog. He survived on instant noodles and frozen dumplings, sometimes remembering to lift the pot off the stove in time. He was a sandwich specialist, and could brew a decent cup of tea. One afternoon he tried to dice a cucumber for a salad, nicked his finger, and went looking for a bandage and some iodine. Just then someone began rapping on the front door. He tore the wound open, blood trickling, and flung the door wide.
Emily, eyes wide with worry, threw herself at him. What she whispered, what she promised Mrs. Larkins never caught the exact words. The binoculars couldnt convey sound, alas. Yet the clever local matchmaker, Mrs. Larkins, later saw Emily back in her own flat, feeding Tom a steaming bowl of beetroot soup, potatoes with meatballs, a bright vinaigrette with cabbage, and a pot of sweet plum compote. Toms face lit up, his loneliness slipping away, his insecurities melting like butter.
A month later they were married. Mrs. Larkins was invited, and she was given the biggest slice of the wedding cake. As they said goodbye, the bride Emily giggled and asked the old lady, So, he really was about to die, wasnt he? You said he was digging his own grave, right? Straight into his finger! She laughed, Oh, Mrs. Larkins, I felt so embarrassed when I said Id save him, and he just stuck his finger out to me! The laughter echoed through the room, and the night felt warm enough for even the coldest of hearts.
