Do you think it is time we tried again?
The words came from the Good Lady. She was standing by the window. Her back to me. Her words were fragile. Softly spoken lest they broke.
I stopped scratching my knackers and stood, moving over to her and placing a boomy arm around her shoulders,
Is it not a bit too soon?
I asked softly.
The Good Lady shook my arm from her shoulders and moved closer to the window wrapping her arms around herself as if feeling the cold through the glass.
I want to try again.
She said flatly.
She didn't look at me, just carried on forlornly staring out at the cold Scottish Spring morning beyond the glass.
I looked out too and spoke again, careful with my words.
After it went so wrong the last time, I thought we were going to leave it for a while before trying again?
My heart was heavy. I knew this was important to the Good Lady but really, after that last time, I had hoped we wouldn't rush things.
But here we were.
It felt too quick. Too soon. Old scars hadn't healed.
I don't care. I just want to try again.
She turned to me and I stepped involuntarily back from the ferocity of her gaze.
I racked my brain, thinking of a million ways to explain why I didn't think we should. Why I didn't want to. Why I thought that we hadn't left enough time since we last tried.
I didn't want us to go through such heartache and disappointment again and I knew deep in my gut that we needed time to recover after our last attempt.
But I couldn't deny her.
Ok, lass. If you think we should try again then try again we will.
I took her hand and led her to the kitchen.
There before us was a basket full of still-wet freshly washed laundry.
Smiling, we took an end each and hefted it out the back door and into the cold Spring sunshine.
It was almost March. Surely this time, it would fucking dry...?