1989 was quite a year for me, one way and another. In another work of fiction that isn’t really fiction I wrote “When Snow Drifts Melt” in two goes over a six year period. The act of writing in this case was also therapy, and as tomorrow is twenty years – hard to credit! – since the critical event in Part II I thought I would bring it to the fore again.
September 14 1989
– I miss that man so much.
– I know that Luke.
– I don’t know what to do about his birthday. I phoned but there was no answer. He doesn’t want to see me. It makes me so angry.
– Listen, Luke, he told me to tell you he still likes you. Take it from me, when he’s like this you just have to wait.
Luke cries publicly, there in the Unicorn Bar at 10 pm. Not something he would normally do. Later at the Oxford, trying to be wise I say something like breaking up is a bit like a death and you grieve and…
It’s possibly the best thing I have ever written.