The whole world was falling...

It was a cool, misty dull summer morning when they sat and talked for just an hour, on a wooden picnic bench, facing one another, by the river in a small town.

Market day, the riverside car park full, the world carrying on as it always does in the face of intense human drama. Those on the stage are always incredulous that the earth can still turn, people still drift by, the wind still play in the trees...

Knowing this may be the last time she ever saw him, yet the very idea filling her with disbelief, she felt she was being buried alive. The whole world was falling on her. It was hard to breathe.

He was already there when she arrived. He was dressed in black. She in purple velvet, wearing the earrings he had bought her. If this should be the last time he set eyes on her - please God, no! - she knew exactly how she wished to be remembered.

The grave expression in his eyes chilled her, his voice sounded broken, how it hurt not to fling her arms around him, kiss his cheek, and hold his hand as they walked towards the bench.

Underneath the grass was wet, above, the sky dark grey but the rain never came. She was shaking and so full of tears she was afraid to speak. So she remained silent, hanging on to every word, listening for any sign of hope...

Full of regret...

Of course he was full of regret for his behaviour, for panicking when H had confronted him out of the blue. He had suddenly been hit with the reality that the shock could kill her, so was terrified of causing her more distress. He confessed that this had overwhelmed him to the exclusion of imagining the impact on Coppelia.

In the months to follow they would talk of this time, and Coppelia did understand how, faced with H's reaction, it was all he could do to make the decision to stick by her. The only way he could cope without Coppelia was to try to 'board up his heart', to will himself to cast her away from his mind.

Coppelia learned from him that, on finding out, H had suffered a serious angina attack, and had continued to behave hysterically. She had stood beside him when he had phoned Coppelia that morning - H had insisted he 'never see that woman again - I want to hear you tell her so- now!'


Later that day, H had had another angina attack and the doctor advised total rest from emotional disturbance or distress. In the circumstances, he also suggested they might spend some time apart for a while for H to recover. (this they later did, she staying with her daughter in Winchester, he with his brother in Bristol.)

His fear that H would suffer an attack that would kill her, drove him to avoid this outcome at all costs - even the cost of losing Coppelia. As Coppelia cried quietly, he offered her a tissue which she refused. She knew this tiny gesture of self-reliance may help her hold herself together during the time they had left to talk.

Losing Everything...

'I do love you, and you will always be my lovely girl'...looking into her eyes, as she had asked, and she knew he meant it. She also knew he was bound by the notion of 'duty' over being true to himself. The one difference in their generations that DID matter.

She pointed out to him that his own happiness, too, counted - wasn't H thinking only of herself, not of him? But he replied that even if this were the case, he couldn't forget that he had an obligation to H. She had saved his life, he could not risk her life for the sake of his own pleasure. He regretted very much their plan had been thwarted by H finding out far too soon, but this changed everything - and Coppelia had known from the start that H's welfare was paramount.

Coppelia's mind understood his reasons, and part of her admired him for his sacrifice, but he wasn't just sacrificing himself - he was sacrificing her, too. He was choosing to hurt HER when he didn't have to: willing to inflict great suffering on HER, in order to save H 's suffering.

She felt rejected and worthless. Her sister told her afterwards that often guilt has more power to drive our actions than love, and Coppelia hung on to this when she tried to make sense of what happened.

He conceded that it would be harmless enough to maybe meet for lunch every few months and suggested they do so- but there must be no phone contact, or letters. Coppelia 's anger was channelled in cool, controlled sentences of biting words- how could he even contemplate their being apart for so long, no contact, nothing. Everything they had shared, their plans, their relationship, wasn't it worth more to him than this? They chose a date in September, close to the day they first met. He would contact her nearer the time to arrange it.

The hour was up and he rose to leave, but Coppelia stayed seated and turned her tearful face up to him. Her heart could not accept it was over. She studied his eyes, his mouth, his hair, everything she gazed upon as if seeing him for the first time. How she would ache for that face, that voice, his touch. She wept for him, not just for herself. She saw his effort at struggling against the pain of his decision.

He looked like a man who had lost everything, the sadness drawn over him like a veil. He took her hand and kissed it, and in a voice barely audible she heard the word

'goodbye'.

And through tears she watched him walk away from her.