Three Dont Tango 1

Annabel is looking out of her bedroom window. On the opposite pavement an orange street lamp is shining through the dangling branches of a birch tree. A solitary man is standing on the corner watching his dog which is busily sniffing at the messages left by so many other dogs that day. Further along the road is another lonely street lamp hidden among the branches of another tree.
She is looking dreamily at the way the lamp itself could not be seen, only the light shining dully, scattered by the profusion of leaves as it seems to be playing little games, making patterns of light flickering across the dark surface of the road.
Perhaps she could make those light patterns into the subject of her next painting.
She glances back at the street lamp opposite her bedroom window.
No. That is boring, but she is intrigued by the way a light, further along the street, which is there to show the way to the pedestrians down below could not be seen itself, only reflections off the leaves of the branches cuddling up to the orange glow as if for warmth.
There is a calm magic about that light. There is in that scene so many of the thoughts floating about in her mind. There is the dark of her present existence. After all, she is married but with a husband so many miles away. What sort of a marriage is that?
But there is also the faint reflected light of his expected return. That is something she is desperately looking forward to.
But there is still a dark and empty street before her. There are no footsteps breaking the silence, no sudden appearance of a dishevelled boy coming round the corner carrying a bundle of things he has picked up on his travels.
Instead, all is quiet; all is peaceful.
It is too peaceful. Annabel is getting edgy. She is supposed to be married, but where is her errant husband?
She always knew life was going to be difficult with him. He was a restless soul. How on earth was he ever going to cope with married life?
In the next room their son lays fast asleep. She turns, walks along the short corridor to his room, tip-toes in and watches him snuffling and snorting as he sleeps.
She smiles, and goes back to her bedroom.
After all, things are looking good. She has a comfortable home in a nice area of town. She has a good job that she likes and which pays well. She doesn’t really have any worries, but…
She wanders back over to the window and looks out at the dark and now empty street which had changed in her imagination into a gloomy cavern.
She knows he is on his way home from Africa, but Africa is a long way away, and he will be hitch-hiking. It could take another week, maybe even longer.
Sadly she turns away from the window, switches on the bedside lamp, turns down the bedclothes, adjusts a few things, and pulls the curtains, and starts to undress to face yet another lonely night with a half empty bed.

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