Day 91

Chapter Seventeen

Pat pulled on a sweater. January had come and gone. Grey and unrelenting. The skies had been blocked with clouds that just stayed in one place and dimmed the light. Living in the twilight. Arctic gloom hung around and the time went slowly. Would January ever end?

Many people in the capital had half-heartedly taken a gym membership. Pat had cancelled hers. Some Londoners went on the wagon – dry January. Pat had taken to drink – that glass of Pino helping her tick off the minutes.

So now it was February. The month of pancakes, a single red rose, giving up chocolate again, short weeks but occasional extra time and proposals of marriage or a joint mortgage or whatever floats your boat. And the ash – “gird on sackcloth, roll in the ashes.”

But Pat was happier now. The waiting was over. February was going to be a great month – fresh start.

“Gird on sackcloth, roll in the ashes.” You never see the calamity around the corner. Jeremiah might have noticed the signs. But not Pat.