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and then, when all is clean and the dishwasher is whooshing and humming away, I take my mug of hot English Breakfast tea into the front room. I throw a couple of cushions up one end of the sofa and lay down with my head upon them. Finally, I can close my eyes and relax.
     
    No sooner have I done this than, through my eyelids, the quality of the light changes to warmer tones and I ‘see’ Joel in my mind’s eye.
     
    I smile. He is unaware I am facing him. He has a look of intense concentration. He bites his lip, minor frustration crosses his beautiful face like a brief rippling wave and then it’s gone. His eyes shine, oddly darting left to right. What is he doing?
     
    I try to concentrate. Ah, I think, he’s playing a computer game. His hands are moving. He looks like he is driving; it must be a driving game. I take in the rest of him like a gift to be savoured; his body, toned and restful in grey track suit bottoms and a white t-shirt with a light, flecked pattern on it. He has some kind of black cord around his wrist and white socks on his feet. It’s the first time I’ve seen his feet out of boots. The carpet is off-white or grey. He is sitting on the floor at the foot of a massive bed which he’s leaning against. There are blinds at the windows. They are big windows, with warm light flooding in. I wonder if this is his bedroom.
     
    Ooof! My eyes fly open. Next door’s cat, Hickey, has spoiled this heavenly vision by jumping and landing square on my bladder, then pausing to knead my trousers with her claws. I chastise her and pop her straight out the front door and out of the porch. I feel bad doing it what with the weather but it’s not her house. We inherited the cat flap when we moved in and Hickey likes to use it. Needing a wee, I get up, mentally shake Joel out of my mind and go upstairs.
     
    So I am on the loo, contemplating what in the way of bathroom products I need to buy from Tesco’s when Joel jumps back into my head. I see him looking at his own face in a mirror. He has some stubble. Is he about to shave? Has he just left the game at the same time that I left the sofa? Am I seeing him in real time? Maybe he has an ensuite and was only steps away from the TV...
     
    Why did we both get up together? Was that a coincidence? So many questions... Did he see me? No, he couldn’t have done.
     
    This concern is uppermost in my mind as I hurriedly finish what I have to do on my porcelain throne; hoping (with my pants round my ankles) that these visual flashes are not reciprocal. I flush, whip off my clothes and press the button to start running the shower. I will wash that man right out of my hair. I have to, or I fear I will go slowly nuts.
     
    If I’m not already.
     
    *****
     
    Over the next few days, Joel continues to permeate my life. Day by day, at work and at home. These regular flashes where I get visible, audible and emotional glimpses of his life make it harder to ignore what is happening. Snatches of conversation, a laugh perhaps. The increase in frequency and intensity of these flashes is both exciting and terrifying.
     
    I have a £295,000 mortgage. I need to hold down a job, spend time with my family and love my fiancé forsaking all others... How will I cope if Joel starts to break through to my life every minute of every day? Will there be a time when I hear everything he thinks? See everything he sees? Feel everything he feels?
     
    In a way I am grateful for the eight-hour time delay between England and the USA. It affords me hope that I will not be lost in his life forever.
     
    There is one problem. Joel is not always eight hours away. He often flies to all sorts of places. What would happen if we met? I like to hope he will look into my eyes and see ; not the woman in front of him with the duffel coat and the non-whitened British smile; but the ‘me’ he will recognise. My spirit, if you will.
     
    It sounds corny, doesn’t it? Do you think, like in some sappy love story,