You Are Here

by David Nicholls

She’d have been hard-pushed to find it on the map but there must have been a point where she thought she was falling in love, somewhere between Marrick and Marske perhaps, in an area of woodland, shady, damp and pungent with wild garlic, where the path had started to rise once more above the river. No majestic vista, just a steep, muddy incline, dim and chilly on an overcast day.

But in these last few days with Michael the silences were no more alarming to her than the gaps between songs, easy and ordinary because soon another song would start.