A Warm Front

Karen was all too aware that we all have a propensity to see what we want to see. She’d read the books and her therapist had reinforced this theory, urging her to shift her perspective and see all the good in the world. Her gratitude journal lay empty, discarded on the floor by her bed and right now, all she saw was grey. Her days began with grey thanks to Gary and his strange ideas about bedroom décor. This was what he had left her with. Gary’s legacy. 

Grey. 

As she threw back the curtains, she was greeted with a panorama of more grey. It were as though Gary owned the world and had painted it with fifty shades of grey, so that she could never forget him. Mostly, she was down with that. She didn’t want to forget Gary. Not really. What she wished to cease dwelling upon was his betrayal of her and their life together. Billions of people in the world and he had to sleep with her mother. Worse still, he’d then whisked her mum away on a cruise. How that worked, still eluded Karen. A cruise ship had to be the slowest get away vehicle going. In the world of vehicles, it was a snail. And snails whisked nothing away. Snails were grey too. Gary was a treacherous snail and all Karen saw when she looked out of her lonely bedroom window was the slime Gary had left upon the world.

Her world.

The slime wasn’t exactly slime, but as near as damn it. The morose clouds wept their lacklustre tears upon the land and left it greasy, sullied and sad. Winter always dragged Karen’s mood down. The days were short and all too many of them never even began to light up. Her anticipation of that lack, the depravation of light and the grim, wet and windy weather brought her mood down and sure enough, the weather duly obliged her ever darkening moods.

When they were together, Gary had suggested a trip to Tenerife to lift her spirits, but she wasn’t feeling it. She was a home girl at heart. Never felt the urge to travel far. Besides which, they weren’t made of money. A fact that she was all the more aware of since Gary had wiped their savings account out to take her mother around the world on a boat full of wrinklies with nothing better to do with their time.

Despite the depression her surroundings inspired in her, she climbed into the shower and shook her head at the irony of her getting wet, then drying herself off only to venture outside and get wet all over again. A ridiculous act that mirrored the futile circlings within the cycle of her life. Revolutions too slow to cause any exhilaration or dizziness, only an apathetic disdain.

Outside, she experienced a familiarity that carried with it a grating discomfort. She’d never been able to put her finger on it. A disjointed de ja vu that failed to land because she’d forgotten the original memory that would have buzzed and resonated with this one. And so all she felt was a disconnect. The most intense loneliness, usually experienced when someone was in a room full of people, but cast adrift and exiled in their midst.

Her day didn’t improve and neither did it worsen. Until the final hour of work approached and she considered her return to a home made empty by cheating Gary’s absence. She was soaked by torrential rain as she walked with little purpose to her small car. The yellow Honda looked for all the world like a paper boat on a stream as she made her way reluctantly back to her home. 

Cooking was a chore when it was for one. In the Autumn, she’d at least bothered to make batch meals. Cottage Pie. Lasagne. Stew. Freezing several portions for a later date. The freezer compartment of her combi fridge was chock full with food, but she couldn’t bring herself to open its door. Something held her back from that task. Another disconnect. Another small failure that brought her that little bit lower.

As she eventually slipped into sleep and dreamed dreams that she never recalled, the rain stopped and the clouds went on their way. Stars sparkled down upon her small abode from a clear night. When her alarm went off the following morning and she began the ritual of the snooze, the clouds gathered once again and wept their fine tears until there was once again an all-encompassing grey.

And this was how it was. A dismal Winter with no promise of an end. But there is always an end and with that end, the opportunity of new beginnings. As Spring did its stretches and checked itself in the mirror, Karen had a moment. And so did Dave. Their initial moment was innocuous, but within it was a promise of something that they both felt worthy of exploration. Soon enough, they were doing the dance that two people do when they are too afraid of rejection in all its despicable guises, but intrigued enough to invest themselves in someone who instead of hurting them, may remind them of who they really are and perhaps even encourage them to be a better version of that person they have rediscovered in the new light the other brings to their life.

Dates were agreed and attended. These were gentle affairs that allowed both parties to assess the other, together with the sustainability of their undoubted compatibility. Karen lit up when she discovered that Dave liked to paint watercolours. His creativity fascinated her and opened up new dimensions to their fledgling relationship. 

The final frost of the season painted the grasses and leaves with a dusting of white and then Spring did its thing. New born lambs staggered around like drunks in the early hours of a Saturday morning, then they recovered from their hangovers and leapt for joy at the prospect of another visit to the pub. Little did they know that they would be spread over a multitude of plates and smothered in gravy and mint sauce when that visit occurred. Another of life’s circles, going around again and again.

The sun shone and when the rains came, they were welcome, aiding rebirth and growth. This was a time for walks. Getting out into nature and maybe even getting down to the nitty gritty of nature. Dave and Karen walked for hours and then they would sit in a pub and nurse a drink as they held hands over a small round table and gazed into each other’s eyes. Chatting about anything and everything. Revelling in each other’s presence.

Now, when Karen opened her curtains, the world was no longer grey. It was green and pleasant and back lit by a fierce light that made everything fizz with vibrancy. Her bedroom remained grey, but she herself no longer felt any of that grey. Besides, wallpaper was never there to be noticed. Another pointless exercise that people indulged in from time to time nonetheless.

Sometimes, Dave would be in the bedroom with Karen. Their romance had progressed and things were getting serious. Things were always supposed to get serious once both parties occupied the same bedroom. How serious things were was another matter entirely. The measure of serious is a subject of philosophical debate and as such, can only be established on a theoretical and therefore questionable basis, well after the fact. Testament to how serious Dave was about Karen was that he never once asked her why her bedroom was such an awful and dreary shade of grey.

There was no doubt that Karen liked Dave and Dave liked Karen, and they liked each other in a very special way. Before the Summer was out, there was a second toothbrush in the bathroom. This was a landmark. One Monday morning as she got ready for work, Karen saw the toothbrush in the small glass she kept on the shelf in front of her mirror for this very purpose, and in seeing it, she knew that Dave had the potential to be a keeper. After a little deliberation, and a piece of toast washed down by a cup of tea, she decided that this was a good thing. She wore a very big smile on her way to work that morning. The day was particularly sunny and it turned out to be the hottest June day on record. Karen barely noticed, she was too happy to be distracted by the weather. For her, the weather was now like wallpaper. 

The course of love whether true or otherwise can be wibbly-wobbly at times. People are strange and sometimes their strangeness can cause a wee bit of chafing. All had been smooth and lubricated with smiles and kind words for a couple of months or three, but come the August Bank Holiday Karen and Dave got a bit carried away at a cider and sausage festival. Being carried away isn’t an arrestable offence and oftentimes it can be quite charming. However, when cider was added to the mix, all bets were off.

Karen accused Dave of flirting with a lady at the food stand.

“I only waved my sausage at her and said ‘wahey’!” protested Dave. The words died somewhat in his mouth as he fully attended to them. They sounded worse than the reality of the situation. He was having a nice time and had cracked a joke. He thought it was quite a funny joke. After quite a lot of Nob Rot, Rat’s Makings and Incid(h)er, Dave wasn’t all that aware of whether anyone else thought he was funny, but he didn’t particularly care at that point in the proceedings.

Suffice to say, Karen was not amused. 

Dave sensed this by way of Karen stating categorically that she was not amused. Something told him it was time to make it a day. The cold breeze and approaching storm clouds helped underline the sense in this retreat.

They walked home. Karen wasn’t at all happy and continued to give Dave the cold shoulder. He gave up trying to placate her and walked silently at her side, hoping that the walk home would improve matters. Any chance of that was worsened as the heavens opened and angry lightning bolts illuminated the futility of a reconciliation. Still, Dave remained at Karen’s side. If only because his cider befuddled brain couldn’t come up with an alternative.

As they got home, the both of them shouldered the front door open and staggered gratefully into the dry refuge of the house. Upon seeing the state of Karen. Wet through and mascara painting her face like a cheap rate extra in a horror film, Dave laughed. He laughed wholly and heartily in Karen’s face.

“What?” she asked him solemnly.

This one word was a pivotal moment in Dave’s life. He would live or die by his response. It was a challenge, and then some. He fell silent. Remembered his earlier, failed protestation of his innocence and opted for a more direct response. He closed one eye, lunged successfully at the Karen on the right and kissed her with a surprising passion. That kiss lasted all the way up to the bedroom, even as they discarded their clothes on the stairs and landing. How they achieved this feat will never be revealed. Some things need to remain private. 

Once the kissing couple reached the bedroom and collapsed upon the bed, there was more than kissing that went on. Lots more than kissing. Both Dave and Karen excelled themselves and each other. The grey wallpaper blushed at their acrobatics.

The following morning, Dave awoke to a plate of tea and toast and the most monstrous hangover he had ever experienced. As he gave thanks for the restorative qualities of his breakfast-in-bed he remembered his manners and thanked Karen for providing such a fine and much needed repast.

“Was that crack there before?” he asked absently as he spotted an impressive divide in the ceiling.

“No,” replied Karen, “there was a minor earthquake last night.”

In other circumstances, Dave would have made a joke relating to their exuberant antics with said earthquake. Two things stopped him. His magnificent hangover and also a strange feeling that something big was afoot here. Something bigger than him. Something so big that he’d really rather pretend that it wasn’t there.

“My Mum wants to meet you,” said Karen, “are you free on the 29^th?”

“It was the 29^th yesterday,” replied Dave.

“No silly!” chuckled Karen, “September!” 

“Oh…” said Dave, “right…”

“Good,” said Karen, “I’ll let her know we’re going to visit.”

Dave looked at the last piece of toast, deciding he wouldn’t point out that he hadn’t actually said yes. There were more important matters on his mind. He really wished that there were not.

Harbouring a suspicion is exhausting. Dave laboured with this eventuality for a month. Not that it was a suspicion. Every time he saw Karen, he saw or felt the sun shine more brightly. He took to carrying a thermometer and as long as he smiled sweetly and didn’t rock the boat, the temperature rose by five degrees Celsius every time he was with Karen. As he drove away, the outside temperature gauge in his car dropped by five degrees.

In the interests of Dave’s science, he researched tear-jerking rom-coms and suggested they watch the most tear-inducing film possible one evening. He insisted on keeping the curtains open as they snuggled up and fed each other chocolates. Sure enough, when the main love interest Bartholomew, was attacked and killed by a swarm of snapping turtles, Karen broke down into tears. As she sobbed uncontrollably, the heavens opened and generously watered the garden throughout the rest of the film. 

Dave now knew. But he didn’t know what to do with his newfound knowledge. After all, who would ever believe him?

With a callous reticence, the date of the 29^th idly approached. Dave became increasingly nervous about meeting Karen’s mother, but despite this, he entertained the outlandish possibility that he could broach the subject of his theory with this woman. After all, Karen was her daughter and if he was right, surely her own mum would know?

The day of the meeting with Karen’s mum arrived and Dave felt all at sea. He almost wished he was at sea, even though he was a land-lubber at heart and would be terribly sea-sick. He offered to drive, as much to occupy himself as anything else. 

“Strange weather isn’t it?” said Karen twenty minutes into the journey.

“Yes,” said Dave, “isn’t it.”

“You alright?” asked Karen.

“Just a bit nervous,” answered Dave.

“Me too,” agreed Karen.

Really? thought Dave, I hadn’t noticed! This was both a sarcastic and facetious thought, because over the last twenty minutes, Dave had witnessed about as much weather as he’d experienced in his entire life. and he was increasingly aware at how localised it was. His fingers dug into the steering wheel and he grit his teeth as he carried on driving to Karen’s mother’s. Such was the intensity of his anxiety that he had to surreptitiously prize his last two fingers open before he could exit the car.

It was a relief to finally arrive at their destination. Dave viewed the house before them as sanctuary from Karen’s own personal weather system. He tried not to think about the outcome of his current endeavour. He was confused, but also distracted by feelings of impending cramp and the embarrassment this may cause in this loaded social situation.

He needn’t have worried. Karen’s mother was a breath of fresh air. Charming and disarming. In no time at all, they were chatting away as though they were old chums, helped by the lubricating effects of the refreshing large gin and tonics she kept Dave and Karen constantly supplied with. 

The evening flew by and eventually, a sleepy Karen made her excuses and headed to bed. Dave looked at the full glass of G&T in his hand, and as he wondered how it had refilled itself again, promised to head up once he’d finished his drink.

“So…” said Karen’s mother, “you know…”

“I…” began Dave, wondering how best to answer this question. He looked at his gin and realised there was no artifice to be had in his intoxication. And so he nodded.

“Funnily enough,” said Gemma, for that was Karen’s mother’s name, “I have a certain something too.” She leant forward and took Dave’s glass from him and took far more from him after that.

In the morning, Karen clumped downstairs with a hangover that had buddied up with a sense of foreboding. And sure enough, there on the kitchen table was a note written in her mother’s familiar hand. 

Karen sighed, “not again.”

Later, she would find that Dave had whisked her mother away to Paris, the City of Love. He rented a partially derelict apartment and therein they painted, ate cheese, drank wine and partook of activities conducive to further and increasing creativity. 

Outside, as Karen fixed her coffee and mourned the loss of her latest love, the day was gloomy. Summer was well and truly over. Yet again.

It would be a good while before Karen became aware that she was a weather goddess. Her mother never told her. Thought her daughter already knew, in a half-hearted and self-absorbed assumption worthy of a serial seductress. The awareness of who and what she was, was delivered by a postman called Pete who became far more than a postman in Karen’s life. This monumental revelation delivered by the swarthy messenger also opened Karen’s eyes to what her mother was…

…a goddess of seduction.

Somewhat wisely, Karen decided that she would keep Pete well away from Gemma.

But she needn’t have worried, for Pete had a secret of his own. 

But that’s a story for another day.