“In a way. He … died. That's why I'm here, I suppose. I just needed to get away.” He still hadn't looked at Graeme.
“It's a bitch. You love someone and then they get taken from you.” Graeme's voice was neutral, dispassionate.
“Yes.” Jason was silent for a moment, then added, “I thought …. I hoped …. it was going to be for ever.”
“Yup.” Graeme's voice held only a trace of bitterness. “Good old God. Making us love, then taking it away.”
Jason knew that there were various phases of grief, according at any rate to the gurus. First came grief, then anger. He wished he could be angry. It would make it easier. But all he felt was the unbearable loss, the immense pain, the hollow inside him where there used to be a warm loving presence.
“You know,” continued Graeme, just as if there hadn't been a long and painful silence, “I still miss him. Every day. Sometimes I think to myself, I must tell Pete about this, and then I remember.”
“You're not making it any easier, “ answered Jason, trying to smile, but failing badly.
“Oh, Jeez. Sorry.” And Graeme reached across and took Jason's hand and squeezed it.
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