It was three weeks since I’d thrown Giles out and in all that time I’d heard nothing from him. No phone calls, no text messages, nothing.
At first, it had seemed strange, so unlike him but after two weeks of silence I stopped caring. It was time for a fresh start, a new life. One without Giles.
Then, out of the blue, there he was on my front doorstep.
“I’m telling you, Giles, it’s over,” I said for the umpteenth time, “We’re finished. And if you think you’re leaving that with me, you can think again!”
We both looked down at the large bag he was holding. Inside he had one huge bundle of blame and he wanted to lay it at my feet. Its long black snout and two large brown eyes peeped out from the top of the bag. It was staring at me, pleading to be taken in.
“Are you listening to me, Giles? Whatever thoughts or words you have put together in that bundle of blame have nothing to do with me. It’s your problem, you deal with it.”
He blushed, no doubt feeling guilty but still, he didn’t move. I glared at him. I knew exactly what he was up to. So typical of him. We’d been through this charade so many times before.
We’d argue, I’d throw him out and then he’d be back. That sheepish, vulnerable look on his face and before I knew what was happening I’d find myself sharing the blame for whatever had happened.
But not this time. I was stronger now, less gullible. Any love I may have felt for him was long gone. It was over and he had nobody to blame but himself.
He shuffled awkwardly and went to put the blame down on my doorstep.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I shouted, ” You’re not leaving that here. I know what you’re doing Giles and it won’t work, not this time. If you think I’m going to feel bad about this blame just sitting there and take it in, you’re very much mistaken. You’re just going to have to take it home with you and learn to live with it.”
I closed the door and went to the flat window.
Minutes later I saw him stagger across the road laden down with his burdensome blame.
I had no regrets.