Several years ago, Pip designed and made these swans as a love token necklace. For some reason they didn't sell too well – a shame as I think they're a lovely piece – but being the generous soul he was, he gave them away to our friends, and I wore mine whenever we went out.
I don't know what happened to my swans, and unfortunately, he was in the middle of hanging some more on chains when he got poorly, so I was left with none to wear and lots in bits. I didn't discover this until the morning of his service, which meant the air was black with fury and blue with misery as I cursed his generosity. “What about me, Pip?” I screeched, angry tears splashing down my face, blobbing my glasses (I'm a very messy crier).
As you might imagine, I was feeling somewhat Bah Humbug over Valentine's Day. I kept thinking Pip would send me a card – or something – though I hadn't quite worked out how, or what. But no cards arrived, not even a bill.
I closed my eyes to the endless messages on facebook, ignored the repeated emails read out on radio and TV and reminded myself that we never did anything on 14th February anyway. We bemoaned the commercialisation and decided that we didn't need a date in the diary to remind us how much we loved each other. But still....
On Sunday I was rummaging in a tray in the kitchen full of bits and bobs. I discovered his wallet that makes my heart lurch every time I see it. Old photos that I have to cover up. An ancient bottle of nail varnish. Then – buried at the bottom of this muddle I found one of the Swans, on a chain, nestling in a polybag.
Just in time for Valentine's.
The second thing happened on Monday itself as I was leaving the house to meet a friend. One of the builders from next door gave me a shout. “We've got some wood for you,” he said. “I'll chop it up so it can go in your woodburner. You'll have it later on today.”
It's now Wednesday and I still haven't got it, but the thought of that wood cheers me up no end.
So all in all, I had two lovely surprises for Valentine's. Thank you, darling.
