© 2026 Richard Taylor
There was a knock at the door. Actually, four knocks. And not four in a row, or two and two. It was two, gap, one, longer gap, one. Why would you do that? Who would? That's why I answered; to confront the oddity.
It was a sunny day. I swung the door open wearing my best smile and there she was. Not smiling. Looking quite cross. As if someone had kicked a ball over her fence and damaged a favourite plant. One of those expensive ones you buy from the garden centre on impulse and then manage to kill off, somehow, in a year, or two at most.
She followed me into the kitchen, closing the door a little too firmly behind her. I put the kettle on and started making tea. There was an unopened packet of her favourite Darjeeling in the cupboard; I never drank the stuff myself, it was always "builders" for me. Class.
"How have you been?" I asked as I handed her the mug.
On the side was written "World's Greatest Aunt". She scowled, but took it from me anyway.
"Did I put in too much milk?" I said reflexively, remembering that she only liked a splash; reacting to the poor taste of my own brew.
I think she shook her head ever so slightly. I wished for the millionth time in my life that things had gone better for us. Or was it the billionth? I wasn't really counting.
Her piercing hazel eyes captivated me. As they always had. Not blue, or green, or brown. A mixture. But exactly symmetrical. Perfection. I should have stared into them all day but, like an idiot, I spoke instead.
She didn't answer my question.
She blinked. Her brown eyes suddenly seeming bigger.
The tea was gone, even though I didn't remember putting the pots away. They must be in the sink. I'll do them later.
She was always so busy. I mustn't keep her long. I know she has better things to do than hang around here with me. But maybe she'll stay a little bit longer.
I notice her necklace. On a fine gold chain hangs a small gold cross. She smiles. I want to ask her about it, but don't.
Now I'm being very cautious. I don't want to say the wrong thing. I'm worried about looking at her the wrong way. When she looks right at me I feel guilty. But I don't look away. I look right into her big brown eyes. I want her to blink, but I blink first.
I want her. There, I've said it. Only to myself. But I want her to know I want her. Can I say? She must know, already, surely. How could she not. She sees me seeing her. She sees me. She must know. Do I have to say it? I want to. I can't. She smiles. I want to... I can't.
Something about her is different today. There's always something different. Every time I see her. Something new. Something interesting, lovely. I wonder if there's anything about her I don't like, but can think of nothing. She's wonderful.
What can break this spell? I have to do something. What if she does see me, really sees me? What if she's waiting for me?
But I always think this. She looks right through me. I know it.
There is a commotion in the garden. The furious flapping of wings. A cat has almost got hold of a pigeon by the bird feeder. We both go to look. There are feathers and a cat, but no pigeon. Lucky escape.
I look at her again. A nervous smile exposes her relief at the lack of bloodshed. But she doesn't see the whole picture. She thinks this is amusing, but I know better. Or do I? She's not who I want, so I'm just projecting.
Her long neck suddenly looks exposed. What am I, a vampire? But those pearls don't suit her, do they! Why would she wear them with such a low-cut front? Are they meant to draw my eyes to her breasts? I know they are fake, anyway - the pearls, not the breasts.
My offer of more tea is refused, politely. I don't know what else to say. I'm feeling a little awkward now. I'm a little disappointed. But I don't want her to leave. She has a certain something about her. She reminds me of someone else. Enough to want to keep her in view until the memory clicks.
I ask her out, suddenly, on impulse. Dinner at that little place I found when I was looking for the new indie bookshop. She knows it. She says yes. Her smile as she looks into my eyes is encouraging.
There's hope in me as I gaze back into those vibrant blue pools. She sparkles a little. But maybe too much.
Doubt, again. From somewhere deep down. She's not the right one. She'll do though, wont she? Near enough? Ballpark. What I need right now. Surely I have to move while the iron's hot... or perish in the frozen wasteland of my own solitude.
But I know it wont last. Second best is a regret in waiting. A matter of time. Always on my mind. Gnawing at me from the inside. Regret. Wanting. Waiting. I can't do that to her, or myself. Better to not.
Except I will. I know I will. Despite myself. I will try, and knowing I will fail, will ensure I fail. Again.
She turns away for a moment.
I try to think of a kind way to withdraw my invitation. But I don't have to. She takes out her phone and checks her calendar. It's a busy week. She's sorry but we'll have to make it another time. Maybe we can include some other colleagues too?
When she looks back at me I realise I am staring at her. I look away reflexively, then regret it. There is a flush of anger that reddens my face. But I soon realise it is not anger, it is grief.
Soon she will leave and never come back.
Her manner has become very businesslike. I try to say something kind. She ignores it, or tries to. I feel a glimmer of recognition, but the fragile flame flickers and dies.
I want to capture her bright green eyes, but she avoids my gaze. Everything but me suddenly needs her attention. I sense her desire to leave, but she doesn't want to offend me. I should give her an out but I don't want to.
If there was anything to cling on to, I would. I find myself slowly calming as I search for something. There's no catch to be found. I realise that now. As if there was ever some doubt. She never encouraged it. She was only doing her job.
It was nice of her to call, wasn't it? I should be glad to see her this one last time. Let her go and live her life. Without me. For her it was never any different. I was only an obstacle to be navigated, safely.
I say nothing as she heads to the door. When I open it for her she leaves without a word, without looking back. I blink away a tear.
The sun shines on me at the threshold. I look down and see a parcel by the door. On it there is a wrinkled card with a cursory pen mark through the box that says "we delivered your parcel to your safe space".
Alone, I pick up the parcel. It is addressed to my neighbour. I laugh.