“Lonely? No, I’m fine.”

A book came today out of the blue. I hadn’t ordered anything. I’ve been considering Persuasive Copywriting or White Papers For Dummies — utility books that help me to function but not to thrive. The new book is fiction, a thoughtful gift from an old friend I lost touch with after I emigrated.

I rarely have time for fiction. I’m usually researching my next article — emotionally difficult issues like ocean pollution, dairy cruelty, and songbird slaughter. I’m going to make time for this book, even though it could be just as challenging. The heroine is lonely, you see. I wonder if this is a coincidence or if my friend chose it just for me.

Loneliness is my companion too. He’s with me when I walk to the market square in the town where I’m renting and hope to stay for as long as the landlord will let me. As I pass pretty gardens, loneliness swells my heart without my own to tend. He grips my throat as children chatter to mums who read stories at bedtime and stroke soft heads to sleep.

He is by my side when I go to the bakery each week but hides just for a moment. I tell Kim — who chats as she pops my bread in a bag — that I’m looking forward to Christmas and my husband coming home. I don’t say he has to leave again. On my weekly walk to town, I feel a sense of home at least. Kim knows us all by name, though no-one else knows mine. Nor would they miss me if I didn’t stop by the bakery on a Tuesday afternoon.

When Winterwatch is on TV and long-tailed tits huddle for warmth, my cold companion doesn’t share my delight. Reluctantly he walks with me along the Marriott’s Way, and as birds sing from trees against the fiery sky, I sense his growing distance.

I smile and feel alive.