With every shallow breath she seemed to recede from him, growing smaller and smaller as the tide carried her away, until at last she lingered for one final moment, outlined on a bright horizon, no longer old and swollen with sickness, but a fresh young girl, dressed in the shining spirit of youth, before the tiny speck that was all that was left of her plunged out of sight, leaving him dazzled with tears, cast away on a lonely shore, at the mercy of the elements and the waiting predators.

A week later, at her graveside, he felt Susan’s eyes on him constantly, watching his every move.  It had been a shock when a nurse had told him that his girlfriend was waiting outside for him, that she’d been waiting for several hours.  He’d stared at the nurse blankly, unable to think what she could mean, wondering if she was confusing him with someone else when she said “Well at least you have your girlfriend to comfort you,”.  He wished he’d opened his mouth and told the girl that he had no girlfriend, that no-one had a right to be waiting for him outside, as Susan was, to have been waiting there for hours, assuming rights that she ought to have realised were not hers.  But Susan had looked at him with a terrifying proprietorial tenderness, had gently embraced him, then looked into his eyes, her own pale ones filled with compassionate tears and said “I’m so sorry.”  She had hardly left his side since then, officiously attending to his every need, anticipating, directing, guiding, leaving him no room to breath, fussing until he could have screamed at her to go away and leave him in peace, if only he’d had the courage.  Even in the bathroom he had no peace, for if he was longer than a few minutes, she was outside, tapping on the door, gently calling his name, asking if he was all right. 

Now at the graveside of the only protection he’d ever had from Susan’s predatorial pursuit, his tormentor slipped her hand into his and looked sadly up at him.  He couldn’t repulse her, not here in public; she had taken over the organisation of the funeral and he could hear people saying how wonderful she had been and what a comfort she must be to him.  They were Susan’s friends, the ones who’d always supported and encouraged her, although some of them were people who simply didn’t realise how helpless and trapped he felt.  She was kindness itself to him, bringing him tea and food, even answering questions for him, always talking in terms of “we”.  Dumbly he looked into her pale eyes, so full of love, so dreadfully focused on him, and he was afraid.

In the weeks that followed he tried to avoid Susan, hoping that somehow he could escape, but circumstances always seemed to conspire against him.  Wherever he went, she was there, gently conniving, and if he hid at home she was soon knocking at the door.  If he didn’t answer, she simply let herself in.  He had no idea why she had a key or how she had come by it, but he knew that her having it was seen by her friends as evidence of the serious nature of her relationship with him.   He couldn’t understand why he was so afraid of her, why he couldn’t stand up to her.  In his dreams he told her, sometimes kindly, sometimes harshly, that he didn’t want her, would never want her, and ordered her out of his life.  And in his dreams she heeded him and left him in peace.  Somehow he always felt that if he voiced his feelings to her in reality, she would gently tease him for being so silly, ask him who was going to look after him, how he would manage without her.

Then the worst happened:  he knew that he had absolutely not asked Susan to marry him.  No conversation even remotely approaching such an appalling subject had ever taken place and yet he was publicly acknowledged to be engaged to a Susan who was bubbling over with happiness.  Joyful congratulations flowed in from all her friends, doubtful ones from his.  A date was set and the church booked for a wedding that was to be the talk of the town.  His wedding day crept closer, circling him like prey. 

Unable to muster the courage to put a stop to the dreadful fate that was almost on top of him, he tried to talk himself into happiness, into loving Susan and contentment with his lot.  But his heart remained obstinate and his mind categorically refused to contemplate physical union with Susan.

A week before the wedding, he joined some friends for a stag night organised by his best friend and best man, Brian.  He drank steadily, grimly obliterating the vision of his approaching fate, and woke with an appalling hangover and no recollection of what he might have said or done.  Only a text message from Brian, saying that he hoped he was feeling better now and to call him if he needed anything, suggested that perhaps the evening had not gone entirely to plan.

He’d planned to spend the night before the wedding at home alone, and was standing in his kitchen, staring at a full bottle of painkillers and willing himself to find the courage to take them, when the phone rang.  It was his fiancée, with instructions to go at once to her house two streets away and join her for dinner.  He wanted desperately to refuse, struggled to muster the courage to tell her it had all been a terrible mistake, but he found himself meekly agreeing, putting on his coat and walking to her home.  She’d cooked what she knew to be his favourite meal, but he could taste nothing and fought to swallow each leaden mouthful, before obediently joining her on the sofa.   He was appalled when she suddenly pushed him back and kissed him.  He recoiled, his dinner surging up into his gullet as her mouth probed his.  She was making strange little panting, moaning noises, her plain face red with passion.  He tried to pull away but she whimpered “Please, let’s not wait.”  Her hand slipped urgently over his thigh and he heard himself shout “NO!” It seemed only a split second later that he was halfway down the street, leaving Susan sprawled, bewildered and frustrated on the sofa.  He reached his own front door, looking behind him, afraid she’d followed him.  When he let himself in, his home seemed blessedly quiet, familiar, undemanding. It was there for him; it asked nothing in return.  He wondered if this incident would prompt Susan to call off the wedding, offended, but the light on his answering machine was flashing.  It was a message from her; she sounded ashamed, apologising for her behaviour and assuring him that she still loved him and would see him tomorrow.  “You’re right,” she concluded, “We should wait.”  

He went to bed, curled up in a foetal ball, and cried till the first glimmers of light announced that his wedding day had arrived.

Brian arrived next morning to find the groom ready, wearing the morning suit ordered for him by his bride.  Brian noted his eyes, red from lack of sleep and said compassionately “You have a kip, mate. It’ll take us a while to get there.”  Exhausted he dozed off, feeling oddly comforted for the first time since his mother’s death.  He slept all through the journey, and woke to the sound of Brian’s voice calling him awake.  He looked round puzzled.  The car was parked among hundreds of others but there was no church in sight. 

“Where are we?” he asked Brian, puzzled. 

“Gatwick, mate!” Brian answered.

Tim stared at him, speechless for a moment, then protested “What about the wedding?” wondering even as he said it, at the swelling tide of joyous relief surging in his chest.

“You don’t want to get married, mate,” Brian said, “and therefore, you are not getting married; not today - not to her.  I’ve left messages for a few people including the vicar and her.  We’re going to the Canaries – and you, my son, are going to pull!”

As he watched the clouds he felt a sense of excitement at the unknown future that awaited him.   For one moment he turned to Brian and said fretfully “She’ll follow me. She won’t let me go.”

Brian said “No she won’t. She doesn’t know where we are.  She thinks we’re going to Las Vegas and then on to New Zealand.  If she tries to follow us that should keep her occupied but my guess is she’ll leave you alone.”

His fear was evaporating but he said “What about all her friends?  They’ll all be round her as usual – everywhere I went she was there. It was them, they helped her.”

Brian laughed “So? You’ve got friends too.  When you get back, all your mates will be round you.  Her and her mates won’t be able to get near you.”

He sat back and looked out of the window.  One thing he knew – he was going to have a good time on this holiday and forget all about Susan.  And when he got home, he was going to put the house up for sale and move away.  He was going to have what he'd never had before - a life of his own.