there. There was no music playing, just emptiness and silence.
Lying down on her bed, Jennifer closed her eyes and tried to recall the touch of her lover from hours before. She really was her lover now. It wasn’t just a dream.
Arianwen wasn’t from now. She was from long ago. Jennifer knew that was impossible. Yet they had been together, and it didn’t seem to matter that it was impossible.
‘Jennifer,’ Arianwen breathes in her ear.
Jennifer reaches out to touch her but there is only empty air. ‘Please come back. I want to hold you.’
Arianwen did not appear. Jennifer pulled the blanket over herself and pressed her face into the pillow, utterly bereft.
B ewilderment follows Arianwen. She finds herself alone on the beach, her corset and wide skirt and petticoats in place and trapping her as always.
Her head throbbing with confusion, she trudges home across the sand. Her parents will be at the cottage and she will have to pretend she is not in love with a spectre.
Making no noise, she slides into the cottage. It is dark. There are no candles lit. There is no hum of her father’s voice and no click of her mother’s knitting needles.
‘Mother?’
There is silence.
‘Da?’
Still nothing.
She walks into the living room and finds only darkness. Her piano stands quiet and closed in the darkness. There is nothing else in the room.
Trembling, she goes to her bedroom. There, her brass bed stands ready for her. There is someone in it, huddling beneath the covers.
She jerks in delight. Jennifer has come!
No. It is her own body she sees.
She sees herself, in a different time, lying in her bed. Her hair is white, her face creased and her mouth in a grimace. She is alone, dying in her bed. There is no one even to hold her hand.
Arianwen watches herself suffer, covered in blankets, her breathing laboured. She can feel her own loneliness, aching within her body. She wonders why she does not call out for Jennifer. Jennifer would come to her.
But she does not know Jennifer. She is lying in her bed, old and alone, decades before Jennifer is born. The arch of time separates them and she cannot reach out. She cannot feel the soft touch of love on her skin.
She lies down with her body, closes her eyes. Her past, her future, it is all one and there exists no time, not for Arianwen. She can see herself slipping away and feels death tearing at her throat.
This was long ago. This happened. She died and has been forgotten. Now, she exists only as a fragment, an echo. She means nothing.
Jennifer threw herself into her work. She could hear her old dad’s voice chastising her.
‘Pull yourself together, girl and get on. That’s the answer.’
Her exhibition was ready. She had taken her photographs down to the small gallery in person but they had been set out without her.
Despite the dull ache inside her, she felt eager to see what the galley owner had done with her exhibition.
She dressed in her smart pantsuit and tried to look cheerful as possible. She forced her smile as she shook Mr Lloyd’s hand. He was a pleasant, round-faced man with bright eyes. He could talk for hours about art and he chattered on as he led her through to the gallery.
‘I ‘ope you’ll get a good turnout for this. Folk round here struggle a bit with art but being all about the town, as like they’ll turn up.’
‘Those who are in the photographs will come at least.’
‘That they will, my lovely.’
He opened the door into the gallery and she was welcomed by a wide open white space. Arranged on the walls were her photos in frames. She gasped as she saw months of her work coming together in a picture of the town.
Mr Lloyd patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you alone to take it all in. You give me a shout if you want owt changing.’
She barely heard him leave. She stared in wonder as she wandered down through the gallery. This was the culmination of her work, of her passion. She’d never had
Lying down on her bed, Jennifer closed her eyes and tried to recall the touch of her lover from hours before. She really was her lover now. It wasn’t just a dream.
Arianwen wasn’t from now. She was from long ago. Jennifer knew that was impossible. Yet they had been together, and it didn’t seem to matter that it was impossible.
‘Jennifer,’ Arianwen breathes in her ear.
Jennifer reaches out to touch her but there is only empty air. ‘Please come back. I want to hold you.’
Arianwen did not appear. Jennifer pulled the blanket over herself and pressed her face into the pillow, utterly bereft.
B ewilderment follows Arianwen. She finds herself alone on the beach, her corset and wide skirt and petticoats in place and trapping her as always.
Her head throbbing with confusion, she trudges home across the sand. Her parents will be at the cottage and she will have to pretend she is not in love with a spectre.
Making no noise, she slides into the cottage. It is dark. There are no candles lit. There is no hum of her father’s voice and no click of her mother’s knitting needles.
‘Mother?’
There is silence.
‘Da?’
Still nothing.
She walks into the living room and finds only darkness. Her piano stands quiet and closed in the darkness. There is nothing else in the room.
Trembling, she goes to her bedroom. There, her brass bed stands ready for her. There is someone in it, huddling beneath the covers.
She jerks in delight. Jennifer has come!
No. It is her own body she sees.
She sees herself, in a different time, lying in her bed. Her hair is white, her face creased and her mouth in a grimace. She is alone, dying in her bed. There is no one even to hold her hand.
Arianwen watches herself suffer, covered in blankets, her breathing laboured. She can feel her own loneliness, aching within her body. She wonders why she does not call out for Jennifer. Jennifer would come to her.
But she does not know Jennifer. She is lying in her bed, old and alone, decades before Jennifer is born. The arch of time separates them and she cannot reach out. She cannot feel the soft touch of love on her skin.
She lies down with her body, closes her eyes. Her past, her future, it is all one and there exists no time, not for Arianwen. She can see herself slipping away and feels death tearing at her throat.
This was long ago. This happened. She died and has been forgotten. Now, she exists only as a fragment, an echo. She means nothing.
Jennifer threw herself into her work. She could hear her old dad’s voice chastising her.
‘Pull yourself together, girl and get on. That’s the answer.’
Her exhibition was ready. She had taken her photographs down to the small gallery in person but they had been set out without her.
Despite the dull ache inside her, she felt eager to see what the galley owner had done with her exhibition.
She dressed in her smart pantsuit and tried to look cheerful as possible. She forced her smile as she shook Mr Lloyd’s hand. He was a pleasant, round-faced man with bright eyes. He could talk for hours about art and he chattered on as he led her through to the gallery.
‘I ‘ope you’ll get a good turnout for this. Folk round here struggle a bit with art but being all about the town, as like they’ll turn up.’
‘Those who are in the photographs will come at least.’
‘That they will, my lovely.’
He opened the door into the gallery and she was welcomed by a wide open white space. Arranged on the walls were her photos in frames. She gasped as she saw months of her work coming together in a picture of the town.
Mr Lloyd patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you alone to take it all in. You give me a shout if you want owt changing.’
She barely heard him leave. She stared in wonder as she wandered down through the gallery. This was the culmination of her work, of her passion. She’d never had
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