Love, and other stuff I get wrong.

Valentine�s Day Debrief.

It’s been two weeks now since she left me, so I thought I’d look back and see if I could have done things differently?

The start of the end of Valentine’s Day began shortly after 8.15 on a cold and dark Friday evening.
She was arriving back on a flight from Europe, popping into the office to drop off some files and was due home at about 9, or thereabouts.
I was preparing a surprise supper of roast pork tenderloin stuffed with cherries and onion on a bed of wilted green and red Swiss chard with a splash of white balsamic vinegar and a sprinkle of crushed red pepper flakes. Impressive, eh?
I’m a fairly good cook so I was confident I could pull it off without too much going wrong, and this is a super fast recipe taking no more than forty minutes in the oven.
Anyway, I’d pan fried the tenderloin for a few seconds to seal it, stuffed it and put it in to roast. Then I ran upstairs and started running her bath.
I put in a measure of her favorite aromatic soothing bath balm, sprinkled a handful of delicate red rose petals on the water and lit twelve tea lights around the tub.

There, everything was set, and nothing had gone wrong.

When I got back downstairs I allowed myself one brief moment of self satisfaction. I sat in the big old red recliner her friend Donna had loaned us when we first moved in, put my feet on the rest and smiled to myself. Well done, me!

I’m not sure how long I slept for.

My head had fallen forward and my chin was touching my chest. There was a little dribble running from the corner of my mouth which had attached its other end to the third button down on my shirt. Perhaps it was this saliva restraint that prevented me from lifting my head up immediately, or perhaps it was the hypnotic flickering of a naked flame as it floated by my feet?

“WHAT THE....!?”

I sprang forward as the elasticity of my saliva was finally tested to breaking point. There was a splash as my feet plunged into the two inches of water covering the lounge carpet. The resulting mini-tsunami that swept outwards from my point of entry managed only to draw my attention to the other four tea lights that danced their way towards the TV. I knew straight away what had happened.

As I turned towards the door leading from the lounge to the staircase, I saw the smoke making its own floating progress across the ceiling.

“Oh, shit. NO!”

I managed only a glimpse of the water cascading down the stairs as I turned and hastened my pace towards the kitchen. There were more tea lights, and rose petals, but I do recall the scented bath water did a good job of disguising the smell of burnt tenderloin.

When I reached the kitchen, I screamed.

The smoke was coming from the oven, and through the glass fronted door I could see a small flame inside the roasting dish where supper used to be. But this was the least of my worries. You see, I hadn’t turned the gas off under the frying pan. Still, ‘every cloud,’ and all that; the fume extraction unit was working perfectly, and was singlehandedly responsible for preventing the house from burning down. It was sucking the flames from the cooking fat straight out through the vent, and from my position I could see through the kitchen window that it was ejecting ‘said flames’ like some sort of home appliance flame thrower, and to aid my view on this cold and dark Friday, the shrubs along the edge of the deck had been completely engulfed and the bushes burned in biblical fashion.

“Jesus Christ!”

I turned the gas off, then I turned the oven off. I threw the frying pan out the kitchen door and was encouraged to see the escaping flood water extinguish the burning bushes. A tea light floated between my legs and out into the night.

The phone rang. I let it. I could hear the answer machine come on as I ran upstairs.

“Hey sweetie, it’s just me. My flight was late so I’ll see you around elevenish. Love you.”

At the top of the stairs the wall clock read, eleven!

I was in the bathroom now and reached towards the taps, just as the bath fell through the ceiling into the study below. In the second of silence as the bath travelled between floors, I heard the front door open.

I ran down stairs and across the hall, but I lost my footing. My feet overtook me and I landed on my ass, sliding towards the front door. I didn’t hit the door because it opened with perfect timing. I came to a soggy stop with my legs either side of my lovely Veronica, looked up at her and said, “Surprise!”

She didn’t leave immediately. She did a quick walk through the house first, but she was pretty much out of there in about 45 seconds and I haven’t seen her since.

I suppose I could have done things differently, on reflection, but what’s done is done.

I’m hoping to be dating by Easter.