A thick and watery presence of shades and depth, of dreams and slow heartbeats. Outside our bedroom window I can see the hazy shapes of the hedges, the wild rosebushes, the long grass and the oak. I am guessing there is frost on the grass. It’s winter in Mount Wilson. Vera is asleep next to me, her arm flung above her head, her breath deep and steady. For a moment I pretend that nothing has changed, that when she wakes she will look at me the way she did before. I pull on a jumper and walk down the chilly corridor to the kitchen. I don’t turn on the light before filling the kettle. I don’t mind the grey darkness; I know the house inside out. We have lived here for more than twenty years. Vera and I. And Ben. I sit at the kitchen table and look out onto the garden while I wait for the water to boil. I loved her name straight away. Vera. It’s old-fashioned, but it suits her. The first time I saw her was at a dinner party hosted in a warehouse in the inner city. I noticed her instantly.
What do You think about What The Light Hides (2016)?
