You can't spend fifteen years of your life with someone without ...
No, let's try again. My wife and I spent fifteen happy years ...
That's not what I wanted to say either. Oh look, let's just give you the bald facts and not try any fancy dressing up.
Linda, my wife, died a month before and life had been sheer misery ever since. Does that sound too maudlin? It's not meant to be. In a way her death was a relief. Cancer is a horrible way to die - breast cancer, you know - especially in one so young and full of life as Linda. I don't want to dwell on the past, not now, but I will tell you this: watching someone you love die from cancer must be the next worse thing to having the wretched disease yourself.
I cared for her as long as I could; even when I got the letter saying that unless I reported in for work I would be dismissed I never wavered. She deserved the best that I could offer. I didn't even tell her about the message, nor about the one that came a week later telling me that as from the date of the letter I no longer had a job. She hadn't long to go then and it was no time to worry her with inessentials.
As a result, since the funeral I'd been rather at a loose end. The friends who mean so well have their own jobs and their own lives. Someone or other called round most evenings but during the daytime I was on my own. I tended to go on long, lonely walks because everything in the house, even the house itself, reminded me of her.
That's what I was doing this day, walking aimlessly, following the roads wherever they led, just keeping away from people. About mid-afternoon I ended up in that estate of rather posh houses on the hill above town, the sort of house that Linda and I would have loved to afford but couldn't. I remember that as I walked I was toying with the idea of getting away and making a new start where nobody knew me - knew us; where nobody would ever know about the dreams that Linda and I had shared, or pity me for the tragedy that had befallen us.
I actually got as far as wondering what I would call myself and how I would manage to open bank accounts or get a driving licence in my new name. How would I cope if I needed to go to the doctor or a dentist, or wanted to claim unemployment? Out of nowhere the name "Paul Jones" popped into my mind and somehow it seemed to fit my mood. Sombre, anonymous, short. I was so occupied in building this fantasy that I never even noticed the long black car that came down the road behind me and drew up outside the house I was passing.
"That's my daddy!"
I heard but didn't pay any attention to the childish voice, nor to the patter of little feet that came running after me, not until two tiny arms were flung around my left leg just below the knee and I looked down in surprise to see a beaming, elfin face framed by a halo of tousled golden curls.
"You're my daddy, aren't you." the tot stated confidently, holding me tight.
"Tricia! Come back. Oh!"
I turned at the sound of the woman's voice and saw two older women flanking a slim, dark haired young girl. All three were dressed in black and the girl was half crouched, her arms stretched out to recall her daughter. Our eyes met and her face went dead white.
"Paul!"
Her eyes widened, her mouth opened and she toppled forward, striking her head on the concrete paving slabs. As she slumped to the pavement the black car accelerated smoothly away, the driver so busy looking over his shoulder for traffic that he failed to notice the drama he was leaving behind. The two older women leaped forward to catch their companion and fell to their knees beside her.
I reached down and detached the tot's arms from my leg.
"Let go, lovey. Something's happened to your mummy!"
I hurried towards the women, pulling my anorak off as I did so.
"Here, do you want to cover her with this? Keep her warm?" I offered.
The two women looked up at me and then glanced at each other.
"What's your name?" the older one, the one on the right, asked.
I hesitated and then on impulse answered "Paul. Paul Jones."
The two women looked at each other again and then the one on the right, who seemed to be in charge, nodded her head.
"I think it would be better if we took her inside. Could you carry her please, Paul?"
There was a curious catch in her voice as she said my assumed name. I shrugged my anorak on again and looked down at the young woman. Slim, small and curiously appealing in her helplessness as she lay unmoving on the ground.
"Sure."
I squatted down and eased my arms gently under her knees and shoulders, rolling her over onto her back. She didn't weigh much at all. I swung her up and rose easily to my feet, her head cradled against my shoulder. The tot stood in the driveway of the nearest house, sucking her thumb uncertainly.
"This way."
The spokeswoman opened her handbag and took out a key, then led the way past the two big cars that took up most of the drive and opened the front door of the posh house.
"Take her into the lounge, the first door on the left."
I walked in, manoeuvring the girl's head and feet carefully through the doorways. The lounge was sheer luxury, expensive-looking furniture sparsely dotting a huge expanse of thick, white carpet. I walked over to the sofa but instead of putting the girl down as I had intended, for some reason I turned around and sat down, holding her in my arms, her legs stretched out along the cushions.
A moment later the two women followed me into the room. One was carrying a glass of water, the other a bowl with cold water and a face cloth. The one with the bowl came and knelt down in front of me, put the bowl on the floor and began to examine the girl I was holding, brushing her hair away from her face to reveal a nasty bump on her temple. She bathed it carefully with the face cloth and as trickles of cold water ran down her face and neck the girl stirred and her eyelids fluttered.
"She's coming round." I whispered.
The older woman stood up and looked down at us.
"Do you think we ought to get the doctor?" the other woman quavered.
"No." The older woman was quite emphatic. "I think she's got all she needs."
Again the two women exchanged glances but I barely noticed because the girl I was holding suddenly stirred, only instead of trying to sit up or pull away, as I expected, she raised her right arm and rested it around my neck while she nestled her head down into my shoulder.
"Do you mind, Paul?" the older woman asked me.
"Er, no. Not really."
It felt comforting to hold something so frail and warm and alive. I couldn't understand why she was pressing so close to me and didn't doubt but that soon she would be awake and recoiling from me in embarrassment, but while it lasted I held her close and was content.
The little tot reappeared, this time clutching a teddy but still sucking her thumb. She came and stood in front of me and regarded me solemnly, then withdrew her thumb and piped up.
"You's my daddy, aren't you."
I smiled at her across the girl's hair. She looked just like the daughter Linda and I would have liked but never had. The young woman's black dress, linked with the black clothes of the two older women gave me the clue that there was a funeral here and my heart went out to the little tot, far too young to understand bereavement.
"Am I?"
She replaced her thumb for a moment, then pulled it out again and held out the teddy.
"This is my teddy bear."
I inspected the furry brown creature.
"That's nice."
Out of the corner of my eye I watched the two older women turn and walk quietly out of the room.
"He's called Rupert."
The tot suddenly clambered up on the sofa and wriggled her way past her mother's legs to sit beside me, her knees hunched up under her chin, her tiny body pressed up against my side. Her thumb went back in her mouth. I put my left arm around her and drew her curly head against my ribs.
The girl in my arms stirred slightly and I felt her eyelashes flutter against my neck. It felt so cosy, for a moment I yielded to the fantasy: my own family, my own Linda, our own daughter. Before the magic could entirely vanish I bent my head and gently brushed my lips against the girl's forehead, half expecting her to pull away or scream.
Her arm reached up and caressed the back of my neck.
"Paul." she whispered. "I knew you'd come back."
A shiver ran down my spine. This was not at all what I had expected! I held the girl a little away from me so that I could look at her face. Her eyelids were open and she returned my gaze with deep brown eyes.
"I don't think I'm the person you want."
I spoke gently, happy to prolong the moment but anxious to avoid misunderstanding and unhappiness. The girl's eyes clouded slightly.
"Don't you remember me?" she asked. "Don't you remember your Linda?"
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. While I stared at her, rigid in astonishment, she buried her head back in my neck. Beside me the tot sucked her thumb contentedly.
After a while, when I could trust my voice again, I patted the girl's arm with my right hand and spoke as quietly as I could.
"Is your name Linda?"
The girl nodded, her head moving against my shoulder.
"You're my Paul, aren't you?"
It was half question, half statement, breathed into my neck. I thought of the tot, with her confident "You're my daddy, aren't you?" I knew that I should say "No, I'm not. I'm not your Paul. I'm someone else entirely" but somehow I couldn't. Neither, mind you, could I bring myself to tell a lie. I simply said nothing.
After a long while the girl pushed herself away from me and sat up, still perched on my knees. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and then reached out and touched my face.
"You look tired." she said. "Are you hungry?"
I didn't feel at all hungry but the tot answered for me.
"I'se hungry." she stated, temporarily removing her thumb.
"I'll go and fix you something to eat."
The girl got up off my knee and walked out of the room. As soon as she had gone the tot wriggled down on her side so that her head was resting on my lap, her legs curled up like a baby. By the time the girl came back into the room with a tray and bowl that smelled delicious the tot was fast asleep.
The girl halted, looking at us and a smile spread over her face.
"You never used to do that before, Paul."
Her voice was soft and gentle and I realised, as I looked up at her, that she was extremely beautiful - not the flash, hard beauty of a model or a film star, but a soft, pure beauty such as a madonna might have. She came over and perched on the arm of the sofa beside me and held out the tray. I took the bowl and while I ate she caressed the nape of my neck, running her hand lovingly up and down just like Linda used to do.
As I was finishing the soup - and delicious it was too - the two older women came into the room.
"We're off now, Linda. We'll see you later."
"Are you sure you'll be all right?" the younger one asked, her forehead creased in a worried frown.
"Perfectly." Linda replied.
"Take care, Paul."
Again there was that curious catch in the older woman's voice before my name. I looked up at her.
"Thanks. I will. Sorry I can't get up."
I gestured towards the tot.
"That's all right."
The two women turned and Linda accompanied them out to the front door. A moment later I heard the door shut and Linda came back into the room. She noticed that the bowl was empty.
"Did you like it?"
"Delicious."
I spoke with enthusiasm. It was the first food I had enjoyed for - well, ever since Linda - my Linda, that is - died.
"Like some more?"
"Er, no thanks. It was really delicious but that's quite sufficient. For the moment."
She tried to persuade me to have more but I was definite. Normally I eat like a horse and that bowlful would have been just starters, but people say that if you don't eat for a long time your stomach shrinks and it certainly felt as if they were right. I hadn't eaten a proper meal for several months at least and I just didn't have the capacity I used to.
She took the bowl and spoon, replaced them on the tray and then stood for a moment looking down at the tot resting on my lap, a gentle smile on her lips.
"She looks so peaceful and if you only knew how much she needs that. Things have been a little - a little - well, a little upset round here lately."
Her face crumpled and she hurried out of the room. I heard her blow her nose a couple of times but when she returned she was dry eyed and the smile was back on her face. She sat down in the arm chair opposite me.
"Do you mind Tricia staying there for a while?"
"No. Of course not." I reached down and lightly rustled the tot's curls. "How old is she?"
"Two and a half." Linda smiled proudly.
"Is Tricia her full name or is she something like Patricia?" I wanted to know.
"No. Tricia is it. Remember, you wanted to call her Trixie, a name I can't stand, and we compromised on Tricia?"
I opened my mouth to deny all knowledge of this compromise and Linda spoke hurriedly.
"Would you like something to read?"
"No." I shook my head. "What I would like is to talk. I'm not . . ."
The girl stood up.
"Yes, I thought you might."
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and then turned to face me squarely.
"Paul, darling, can we talk a little later? Please? I'm just going to prepare dinner and we can talk after that. Promise."
I shrugged.
"I suppose so. I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere."