Ghosts

by Dolly Alderton

“You can’t change the course of history because it suits your own story,”

who you are is just what you wake up and do every day.

“Love is homesickness,” I once read in a book. The author’s therapist had told her that the pursuit of love in adulthood is just an expression of missing our mums and dads—that we look for intimacy and romance because we never stop wanting parental security and attention.

I would make a strong case for the argument that every adult on this earth is sitting on a bench waiting for their parents to pick them up, whether they know it or not. I think we wait until the day we die.

In my fantasies, “Hello” is exactly what he’d say first. It had the classic cadence of romcom dialogue—uncomplicated and yet loaded with subtext. One word that stated cool, stylized offhandedness, assuming that all would be forgiven and forgotten.

“I’ve found everything really difficult recently. And I can’t work out if this is just a tricky period or whether this is what adulthood is now—disappointment and worry.”

“She is,” Katherine said, wiping her face. “My daughter is being a cunt.” “Well done.” “My daughter is being a total and utter cunt.” “There we go.”

“Sort of magic, isn’t it? To know that we could meet the most exciting person in the world, but they’d never be able to recreate the history you and I have. What a unique superpower we have over each other.”

“And it’s a reminder to all us ladies that sometimes when your ex-boyfriend gets back in touch, really, he’s just trying to take you down with him to the grave. I think we’ve all been there, haven’t we!”

“You wanted the bicycle, now pedal it.” “And what does that mean?” “It means, you must face the consequences of your desires.”

“Where are you from? I know ‘Baldracca’ isn’t a place, you piece of shit.”

“Okay,” she said, picking up the champagne and taking a swig as we went to the door. “I’ve got nothing to lose now.”

“You know, every time you ‘change your mind’ in such an extreme way, it takes something from a woman. It’s an act of theft. It’s not just a theft of her trust, it’s a theft of her time.

love is being the guardian of another person’s solitude. Maybe friendship is being the guardian of another person’s hope.