One night in the bedroom a week or so later Freddie and I argued about the wedding ring I had bought him. We had been out clubbing and his habit of hiding the ring from the people around him began to annoy him. He seemed too embarrassed to wear it, and I was begnning to feel like a part-time partner.
‘Every time you go out of the house you take the bloody thing off. Why?’ I said.
Freddie said nothing and slipped the ring on. Then he kissed me and we got into bed. After that night Freddie always wore his wedding ring and it never cam eoff his finger again, even when he washed.
From then on the relationship felt on very solid ground, even though we still had our occasional minor quarrels. Whenever Freddie talked to me about Garden Lodge he always referred to our home, and he always told me he wanted me to feel it was as much mine as his.
‘It’s your home, too,’ he’d say.
I’d agree with him for an easy life, but I don’t think I ever believed it. It was certainly our home while he was alive. I tried not to think what I’d do and where I’d live the day I found myself once more alone in the world without Freddie.