I can hear the bells from the nearby church glide on the evening air and trickle in through the open window. I like a hot bath when I first get in but it soon starts to make me sick. I like then to run the cold tap and feel the cool, silky water caress my toes and move up my aching legs.
The bells signal something and I can feel a change in the wind although in reality there is none.
The water is getting too cold now and I return to the hot tap. This flitting between hot and cold mirrors my life, my temperament, the way I feel towards him. Finding the perfect temperature is harder than I once thought. Can someone else run the bath for me, dip their toe in first, perhaps swirl the water round with their hand so that the heat is dispersed? I don’t want to run the risk first of getting scalded or being left cold.
And still the bells ring. They followed me from Marlow to Chesham, this weekly ringing. It just changed from a Tuesday to a Thursday. They make me smile to hear them even though I’m not religious. Something stirs in me then and I depart the bath…even though the temperature is now just so, I follow the droplets as they fall from me to the floor and smash into tiny pieces.