18 July 2007
Today, via various intermediaries, I received a postcard from Ruth: sent from Paris last month, so she will be long gone.
She said we did the right thing. And yet almost a year on her face is still the last thing I see in my mind's eye before I fall asleep. That she is hundreds, thousands of miles away and I will never see her again is my first thought on waking. I feel a part of me is missing. I feel a physical ache that I'm sure Sally Chapman would find no cause for. How can this be right?
