My Policeman

by Bethan Roberts

‘It was his problem, but it was also his joy,’ I continue. ‘Because he met a man, an older man, whom he liked very much. This older man took Tom to the theatre, to art galleries and the opera, and opened up an entirely new world to him.’

Tom’s pride and his fear stopped him from ever seeing the man again. Despite this, the man went on loving him. He will always love him.’

I keep whispering his name until I no longer feel anything at all.

I nodded and said nothing. But I knew that shirt was brand new, and a gift from you.

I’ve never asked him anything about his time in Venice with you. And he’s never volunteered any information about it. I’ve imagined it many times, of course. But all I really know of that weekend is that Tom experienced the luxury of a hand-made Italian shirt.

sometimes regretting ever having set pen to paper.

I kept it on all day, even after my own skirt had dried out. I wore it home and hung it in the wardrobe next to Tom’s wedding suit. Julia never asked me to return it, and I still have it, folded carefully in my bottom drawer.

‘Graham Vaughan. Top-floor flat. Very awake. And rather annoyed.’

but one can’t help but feel sorry. Sometimes this country is too brutal.’

All these years I’ve known it, but I’ve never really felt it until now, until writing this and realising that neither of us got what we wanted.

What is it they’re always saying now, on TV? You have to move on. Well. Neither one of us managed that.

I know you can hear me, though. Because when I say the word Tom, your eyes brighten, even now.

‘Don’t you worry,’ she said. ‘You kept my little secret. Now I’ll keep yours.’

I have never been religious, but at that moment I wished I could pray, or even pretend to pray, for forgiveness. But I could not. I could only weep.

That was some comfort, and I was to hold on to it for many, many years.

And it suddenly hit me: in attempting to destroy you, Patrick, I’d risked destroying Tom. When I’d written my letter to Mr Houghton, I hadn’t given a single thought to what the consequences could be for my husband. But now I had no choice but to face them. I’d betrayed you, but I’d also betrayed Tom. I’d done this to him.

‘Patrick will never tell them about you. And I will never leave you.’ He began to cry, his tears wetting my fingers.

Those passages have been with me ever since, like a low but constant ringing in my ears. I have never been able to shake myself free of your words. They are so obviously mismatched that I had to smile when I saw them together. I’ve always remembered that particular sentence. Your casual tone is what hurts the most. That, and the fact that you were right.

If I were to touch this wound, to probe its boundaries, it would never heal. And so I carried on, going to work, preparing meals, sleeping on the edge of the bed, away from Tom’s body. In some ways it was just as it had been before I’d married Tom. My access to him was so restricted that I began to cling to clues of his presence.

He’d gone, you see, from the house, and all that was left were these traces of him.

I had my answer ready. ‘Read, then. You could read to him. He won’t respond, but he can hear you.’

‘For God’s sake. I lost him once already.’

‘It’s my confession. It’s not about anyone’s wrongs but my own.’ He looked at me. ‘You said he needed you years ago, and that’s true. But he needs you now, too. Please. Read it to him, Tom.’

although your body wasn’t coping very well with the pillows Tom had arranged for you – you were wilting to one side – your eyes were open and fixed on Tom.

What I’d really like now is to hear another story.