The Witching Hour

            Annabell’s gone home to her parents for the weekend. I arrived back from work this afternoon to find a note she’d left. So now she’ll talk to them, and her brothers. Luckily they approve of me. They know I’ll provide for her.

            But they’ll know. They’ll know we’re not fine and that I’m apparently not perfect. It’s embarrassing. How will I face them when I next see them? I know she’ll talk to them and if they bring her round then so be it, but relationships should be private. This discussion of our business with others is so coarse and disrespectful.

           

*

 

            I’ve started drinking. Just a few ales from the fridge but it’s only six and I never drink until later in the evening. And I never drink alone.

           

*

 

            It’s the middle of the night now, the witching hour of early Saturday morning.

            I’m not drunk, just corybantic.

            Around midnight I decided to go for a walk. I used to go to school here in Oxford, years ago now. I walked to my old school and found a spot in one of the school parks that is far from the road and far from any houses. It’s private property but there’s no difficulty climbing over the fences to get there. I used to go there with a friend of mine, Robin, to discuss things late at night. It was a minor rebellion – as borders at the school we were not supposed to be out at those times – though we never got caught. The rule breaking lent an edge of life to the time we spent out there and inspired us to discuss what really mattered. I recall that most of our old conversations used to be about love. I’d never have dreamt in those days that I’d end up with such a thoroughly well admired girl…

            I sat there, in that spot, drinking more and remembering all my dreams. I haven’t been back there since I left. For a while tonight it was as though I could reach my hand back through time and touch history. Nothing had changed. I still dream of future happiness, when everything will have been resolved.

            Eventually I began to walk home. The journey goes through some very pretty areas of Oxford: down little cobbled moonlit alleys and past magnificent old buildings. A few people were still around, mostly a bit drunk and on their way home.

            Suddenly, before I knew it, I found myself following a girl, alone and on her way home. I was hidden in the shadows, wearing mostly black. Strips of light cut across me and exposed areas of flesh. I stood motionless whenever she paused. I began to develop such a feeling! She had no idea I was there but I watched her every move. Somehow I seemed to have total power over her and everything around me. I could do anything, and no one would ever know. After all… who would ever question a barrister? We’re so… stable and responsible.

I’m a veritable pillar of society.

Yeah. Let’s not forget that.

Out there, on the street, I remembered it and came home. I’ve no business wandering about the streets like a vagabond.