In The Beginning

In the beginning
She walked away. She had thought it would be hard.She felt lighter than she had imagined. But she always knew she would, from the start the end was clear.
It had begun well enough. A few emails after initial contact,a few more texts and those first breathless phone calls. The attempts to work out, from a few words, if he might be the one. The next days of tensely waiting for contact; she often swayed erratically from anxiety to indifference. She drove the relationship,but he would have to follow or she would lose him from her trap. The others she kept hovering, he was her main target. The one she wanted.
They began to tentatively talk of meeting up. She knew the format and could name that tune.
It would be a drink in a 'lovely' pub. Followed by another. Then he would offer a meal, she would decline.
He would ask if he could see her again. More texts, emails,dodgy photos and general puffedupness from him. The air of a man who thinks his luck just might be in. Oh, she knew it all, had the tee shirt.
They met one Saturday afternoon, the pub by the river. She knew from the beginning that he was definitely the next best thing.
Predictably he laughed a bit too much,his hair was a bit too styled and his clothes neatly respectable. But none of that bothered her anyway. She spent her time imagining what she was going to do with him. She wove her web around him. Of course she let him think that he was calling the tune. He told her he had never felt like this about anyone. She let him in a bit more. Sometimes she felt guilty about how grateful they all were. All of them so delighted to think that they had at long last found the love of their lives.
She was kind and loving. She laid herself open to flattery and steadied herself for the outpouring of love that was to follow.
He hovered on the verge of moving in 'I spend so much time here I suppose it makes sense' was the usual phrase. She could see them eyeing up the small holding and the outhouses. She always knew what they were thinking.
At this point she always hesitated. 'Loving more' she grew quiet until he (invariably) asked what was wrong. Then she would reluctantly, eventually tell him her tale of inheritance tax and financial disaster.
He would, eventually , make over a generous sum of money, so eager was he by now to get into her knickers and get his washing and cooking done.
The beginning was so predictable; it was the ending that thrilled her most. This one was different, she almost felt sorry for him, some of her demonstrations of love ceased to be quite so hollow. But he weighed her down,she needed to feel lighter to feel the relief.
She hardly needed to plan, she knew the next steps. The kitchen was the best place to have her way with him. The blade sank in easily,it was the special one that she kept for such occasions. The look of shock excited her; she breathed a hasty 'thanks' and lowered him to the floor.
The wheelbarrow was ready and the plot freshly dug. Her roses would do so well again,she loved it when new blossoms emerge