Past Perfect Love across the ages

All it takes to change the course of a lonely life forever is one small but brave action…

Oh,Lucyf air, you break my heart, Since yet a while we stay apart. Once more the doleful tones broke my slumber. Midnight.

I parted the curtains and saw what I expected to see. My garden in daylight – although it was night for me – and the man rocking to and fro as though in pain.

As always, he was seated on an ornate iron chair at a matching table, on which lay quill and paper. As ever, he clutched a book from which he would read aloud poems of love. Then he would weep and scribble lines of verse, clutching his ruffledd cravat and chanting about how beautiful Lucy was, and his poor rejected heart.

I had only been in the cottage a day when, on my first night, I had been wokenn by sighs and moans from my garden. I was new to the village so feared intruders.. But the weeping and wailing had grown louder and curiosity as much as fear had made me look out of my window.

How long had I been living here? My love had broken too, and I had moved to start afresh. But I was scared of trying, for fear of more heartbreak. I was half hiding, working from home, rarely going out, the nightly visitations my only company.

It was always the same: the garden lit up at midnight, not by street lights but by blue sky. There was a sundial and shrubs – which certainly did not grace my uncared-for plot – and the man, in knee breeches, with a lock of hair fallen over one eye, forever beating his breast.

Every night Lucy did come, her plumed bonnet bouncing beyond the railings. Each time, he sat up at her approach, his eyes longingly following her head as she passed without a glance. Without looking at him. Then he slowly sank back in despair, bent his head into his hands.

This haunting filled my days as well as my nights. Was he doomed to sit for eternity, waiting in vain? Why did Lucy come bby eachh dday, as if taunting him?

Gradually, I became convinced that she just needed sweeping off her feet. But what would make him bold enough?

Iwas out of stores and had to brave the shops. There I saw a date – February 14, tomorrow – everywhere. Valentine cards everywhere. A poster for a Valentine Dance at the Village Hall.

The answer for my lovers came to me in a flash. I bought a satin heart card.

That night, in the card I wrote, From Lucy, in a style I thought old fashioned. I didn’t know the young man’s name so I printed ForMySweetheart on the envelope. I placed it among my weeds, where the ornate chair and table was.

Later it was not sighs I heard but laughter. And there they were, Lucy and her lover, dancing around the table which held my open card.

Oh, I will never know what words he found to bring her into his garden this Valentine’s day. But I like to think my card filled him with strength, and filled his eyes with a gleam which could not be denied, when he stood by those railings as her bonnet came into view.

I went back to bed, knowing I would never see my night time lovers again, but feeling that Lucy was telling me something, perhaps trying to help me.

Morning. And I suddenly knew what her message was. I had hoped for a card. But my old love was over. Just like my nightly visitors, it was time to take my courage in my hands.

I had the Village Hall number, and soon had a ticket for the dance.

Later, as I set off, I would swear I heard the tinkle of Lucy’s happy laughter.