Read Online LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) by T. S. Ellis - Free Book Online
Authors: T. S. Ellis
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long as it takes, surely?”
“And what about you?” I said. “You haven’t told me if you’ve found somebody else. To be frank, I find it odd that you haven’t suggested meeting up for a drink for five weeks. That can only mean you’ve found somebody else. Can’t it? What are you thinking right now? Are you thinking it’s less cruel if I don’t tell her that I’ve found somebody? Because it isn’t less cruel. If you told me at a pub, or even on the phone, at least I’d know. It would be hard. It would be devastating. But I’d know. Then I could grieve properly, instead of this sad state of affairs.”
He didn’t say anything immediately. What would he say, if he were really here? Would he flat out deny it? Even if it were true? Or would he come clean? That’s assuming that he was seeing somebody else and wasn’t just busy at work.
It’s funny how you can be with somebody for seven years and think you know them. But when you break up, you suddenly realise how little you did know them. I should know how he’d deal with this situation, I told myself, but I don’t.
I wanted him to speak. So he spoke. “I don’t think I’m seeing anybody.”
I scowled. “You don’t think you’re seeing anybody? What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t think I am.”
This was a stupid game I was playing with myself. It was torture. But I couldn’t stop. It was the next best thing to having the real Russell here. It was a nonsensical conversation to have with the imaginary version of my ex. But somehow, as well as torture, it was comforting. I still had a good idea of the tone of his voice in my head even if my memory of the exact shade of his hair was a little fuzzy.
I took the empty chocolate pudding container back into the kitchen and tossed it into the bin.
“We can talk anytime. Just like this,” Russell said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Anytime you want. Night or day.”
I went back to the sofa, curled up in a corner, and hugged a cushion. I stretched my arms right around it and held it close, as if it were a person, somebody special.
One of the dancing couples on Strictly finished their routine and received their marks. They weren’t good, a combination of threes and fours. That seemed sad, too. I started crying again.
9. Spotted
SUNDAY MORNING AND I should have been lying in bed, listening to birds chirping at each other. But I was out on the roads, pounding the pavement, jogging.
I have to keep fit. Not just to keep the weight off. My mind gets sluggish if I don’t, and I do less. If it wasn’t for the endorphins produced by exercise there would be a real danger that pottering around the house would become a full-time occupation.
Luckily, the bank of the Thames is not far away, so I jog along there, to Kingston and back. Sometimes a little further if I’m feeling masochistic. I’ve never enjoyed jogging. I have to listen to music or a talking book. If I don’t do either of these, I listen to my breathing, which sounds like I’m dying.
It was a beautiful morning, the early morning mist rising off the river. Dog walkers passed me by, and the funny little coot birds swam back and forth with twigs in their mouth, busying themselves building their nests next to the boat jetties.
I was listening to Coldplay at the time. I’d been jogging for about half an hour. I’d reached, and gone beyond, Kingston Bridge, and was level with the tennis courts.
That’s when my phone rang.
I love the modern world and hate it at the same time. I use my phone as an audio player when jogging. If the phone rings, I can push a button on my headphones to answer it. But I have to answer it without knowing who it is. I don’t like doing that. I just don’t like going into a conversation blind. It throws me. Caller ID on phones is such a blessing but I can’t read the caller ID if I’m jogging.
And if I stop jogging to look, I have to untuck the phone from my jogging tights. It’s a pain to
“And what about you?” I said. “You haven’t told me if you’ve found somebody else. To be frank, I find it odd that you haven’t suggested meeting up for a drink for five weeks. That can only mean you’ve found somebody else. Can’t it? What are you thinking right now? Are you thinking it’s less cruel if I don’t tell her that I’ve found somebody? Because it isn’t less cruel. If you told me at a pub, or even on the phone, at least I’d know. It would be hard. It would be devastating. But I’d know. Then I could grieve properly, instead of this sad state of affairs.”
He didn’t say anything immediately. What would he say, if he were really here? Would he flat out deny it? Even if it were true? Or would he come clean? That’s assuming that he was seeing somebody else and wasn’t just busy at work.
It’s funny how you can be with somebody for seven years and think you know them. But when you break up, you suddenly realise how little you did know them. I should know how he’d deal with this situation, I told myself, but I don’t.
I wanted him to speak. So he spoke. “I don’t think I’m seeing anybody.”
I scowled. “You don’t think you’re seeing anybody? What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t think I am.”
This was a stupid game I was playing with myself. It was torture. But I couldn’t stop. It was the next best thing to having the real Russell here. It was a nonsensical conversation to have with the imaginary version of my ex. But somehow, as well as torture, it was comforting. I still had a good idea of the tone of his voice in my head even if my memory of the exact shade of his hair was a little fuzzy.
I took the empty chocolate pudding container back into the kitchen and tossed it into the bin.
“We can talk anytime. Just like this,” Russell said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Anytime you want. Night or day.”
I went back to the sofa, curled up in a corner, and hugged a cushion. I stretched my arms right around it and held it close, as if it were a person, somebody special.
One of the dancing couples on Strictly finished their routine and received their marks. They weren’t good, a combination of threes and fours. That seemed sad, too. I started crying again.
9. Spotted
SUNDAY MORNING AND I should have been lying in bed, listening to birds chirping at each other. But I was out on the roads, pounding the pavement, jogging.
I have to keep fit. Not just to keep the weight off. My mind gets sluggish if I don’t, and I do less. If it wasn’t for the endorphins produced by exercise there would be a real danger that pottering around the house would become a full-time occupation.
Luckily, the bank of the Thames is not far away, so I jog along there, to Kingston and back. Sometimes a little further if I’m feeling masochistic. I’ve never enjoyed jogging. I have to listen to music or a talking book. If I don’t do either of these, I listen to my breathing, which sounds like I’m dying.
It was a beautiful morning, the early morning mist rising off the river. Dog walkers passed me by, and the funny little coot birds swam back and forth with twigs in their mouth, busying themselves building their nests next to the boat jetties.
I was listening to Coldplay at the time. I’d been jogging for about half an hour. I’d reached, and gone beyond, Kingston Bridge, and was level with the tennis courts.
That’s when my phone rang.
I love the modern world and hate it at the same time. I use my phone as an audio player when jogging. If the phone rings, I can push a button on my headphones to answer it. But I have to answer it without knowing who it is. I don’t like doing that. I just don’t like going into a conversation blind. It throws me. Caller ID on phones is such a blessing but I can’t read the caller ID if I’m jogging.
And if I stop jogging to look, I have to untuck the phone from my jogging tights. It’s a pain to
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