Lizzie now appears to be remembering on a regular basis that I’m writing a journal about our experiences. She asks me how it’s going, as we take the dog for a walk down the hill.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, I tell her that writing ‘Stop Telling Me I’m Brave’ has not only been strangely therapeutic… it’s also been strangely enjoyable. Which, given the subject matter, does make me feel a little awkward.
Lizzie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems pleased for me. Encouraged by her, I drop tantalising hints as to what I’ve been writing about.
‘It certainly has been an extraordinary year,’ she says. ‘A good subject.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘I don’t want to say the journal has been a positive thing to come out of a dreadful experience. Your dreadful experience. That just sounds like it’s taking the piss. But, as I said, I have been enjoying doing it.’
Lizzie smiles. ‘I’m glad to have been of help!’ she says… not ironically, but genuinely.
‘It’s been kind of an extreme way of doing it,’ I reply. ‘But… thank you!’
We continue walking down the muddy track.
P. D. Clifton 
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