Pat met Lucy on a coffee break at work, during a long commute or at a pub quiz afterwards. He had long since forgotten when and where, but remembered thinking she was beautiful right from the start.

Lucy met Patrick at a picnic in the park. He hadn’t noticed her at first, and so she too tried not to notice him, though she did. They shared the same factory floor for months. He looked at her without feeling, she looked away without thinking. Eventually they connected.

Patrick and Lucy finally spoke to each other, accidentally then deliberately, until they started conversations with just a look and finished each others sentences with a laugh. They collected parts of each others lives – music, thought, religion. A length of conversation, books exchanged or borrowed – these were the artefacts of friendship which could never be returned. Friendship deepened and grew, through life, death, work and failed relationships, watered by tears. Finally, when both of them had nothing else but each other, they knew they wanted more.

He stared into her eyes, sometimes certain sometimes not. He nevertheless boldly said ‘I love you’. Later, when Patrick stared in the mirror he wondered what he meant. Whenever he didn’t know how he felt, he would stare into his mirror and try to recognise something. He picked apart the words and decided that they should be true.

He said it, again and again and married her. He convinced himself, as he waited in the church for her, surrounded by friends and family. He wondered where she was and whether she had changed her mind. As he saw her walk down the aisle towards him, radiantly smiling, he saw those doubts in another light and realised she was the one who had been waiting here all along. He knew that she loved him and knew that she knew.

He found jobs and cars and homes, opportunity seemed to stick to him and ambition was the glue. Pat was always smiling; he loved all the things in his life. He had fortune, infamy, prestige, a Porsche and then Lucy.

One November, one year, there were fireworks that made Patrick shake and Lucy steady. He looked around, saw people pointing at the sky and laughing and he thought they were laughing at him. Patrick shivered more, Lucy squeezed his arm gently and he realised who was holding who, then days later forgot.

He forgot the way to the bathroom, forgot what keys were for, he had forgotten how to eat.

Halloween came, and he would scream back at every trick or treat, but she would always hold him. The bells on new year didn’t shake her, she whispered into his ear that she was there and she was, every day. He couldn’t use the radio, couldn’t break an egg, didn’t recognise people and couldn’t hold his temper but she always could. He stared in the mirror, and wondered who he saw.

He wanted to know how she felt, why she loved him. He wanted to listen. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, more every day. He could only say her name. It sounded as though he were asking for something, every time he tried to say he loved her.

A lengthened conversation, a steady hand to hold, these were the artefacts of friendship which could never be returned. As his debt accrued, her quiet grace increased. He loved her, but couldn’t say. She loved him more, and didn’t need to.