“Rastamouse,” I read aloud, slowly. “What on earth is this?” “Give it here,” Raymond said, and poured us both a... cup.
We tapped our vessels together. There was no clink. “I thought I’d found the perfect person for me,” he said, staring at the back of the garden.
“Didn’t work out, though.” “Why not?” I said, although I could, in fact, think of many reasons why someone might not want to be with Raymond.
“Thing is, I’m still not entirely sure. I wish I did know—it would make things easier...”
I nodded—it seemed like the appropriate thing to do. “Helen said it wasn’t me, it was her.” He laughed, not an amused laugh, though.
I can’t believe she came out with that old chestnut. After three years... you’d think she’d have known before then that it wasn’t working for her.
I don’t know what changed. I didn’t change... I don’t think I did, anyway...
“People can be... unfathomable,” I said, stumbling slightly over the word. “I often find that I don’t understand why they do and say things.”
He nodded. “We had a lovely wee flat, went on some great holidays. I was... I was actually thinking about asking her to marry me. Christ...”
He stared at the paving stones and I tried and failed to picture Raymond in a morning suit, top hat and cravat, let alone a kilt.
“It’s fine,” he said, after a while. “It’s quite a laugh, sharing with the guys, and I’ve got this new job. Things are OK.
It’s just... I dunno. She said I was too nice. What exactly am I meant to do with that?
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