The Doppelgänger of Dormond Street by Sue Harry

8. Mr Dodi Fomonkov

If there is no sadder sight than an old man with regret, I must be the saddest sight. I wandered around the garden with my Emily feeling like half a man, with half a life, and no real marriage to speak of.

It upset me to see former Chief Matriarch Sally Mare alone and holed up in that ridiculous Clocktower all alone. No one went near it these days. Her power had grown to the point that even most Matriarchs felt drained after a few hours in her company. How I wished that Mr Kikwe was still with us. When he was alive, she was a different person, with someone she had grown up with and could love, whether that love was always returned or not. Her tremendous burden had taken a heavy toll on the marriage in the years before his death, more so than at any other time before.

It really was no wonder. Sally had been Chief Matriarch for over nine hundred and seventy years and they had been together for nearly all of them. By the time of his death, he had built up a significant level of tolerance to her gift but no small amount of resentment either. The Earth blessed those of us men who stayed the course with long life, maybe as some recompense for the Matriarchs years of service, allowing us to be part of a very small group of people that could remain in their company for long periods without palpable discomfort. Our long lives are not always coupled with understanding and patience. Those are qualities we have to learn, with time. It  is an honour to be able to alleviate a lifetime of loneliness but it doesn't always feel that way.  We all hope for a chance of  a real relationship again, but that is only possible where there had once been love and the marriage had not been irrevocably damaged.

My first wife was a wonderful woman. Extraordinarily beautiful and unwaveringly kind, she was most beloved by those who knew her. She was the friend I so desperately needed when our parents had decided that we should wed and I was forced to leave my home and join her here in The Seven. She was the one who understood me, consoled me and patiently dealt with my feelings for the woman I was truly in love with.

To say there was no love between Perri and I would have been an utter lie. Over nine hundred years we forged a friendship closer than most people will ever know. We were fiercely loyal to one another and I had been devastated when she decided to leave me, but I understood.

She was tired. And lonely. She wanted to be loved in a way that I was incapable of. I tried to pretend we could be enough for each other but I was wrong. Perri had never wanted a husband and I had never wanted her as my wife. At least she had the courage to admit it and leave. I would have happily watched Sally from afar and kept Perri near. How unfair I had been. How selfish. I should have stood up to our families and let her go a long time ago. I am a coward. I hope wherever Perri is now, she is happy enough for both of us.

I looked at Bronwyn with a mixture of apathy and resentment. Just the floating idea of spending a thousand years with this woman was like touching a hot poker to my temple. No matter how hard I tried, I felt like the walking wounded, that I had sustained a painful, life altering injury that no one but I was aware of. I shook hands, I bowed and I smiled. I laughed convincingly and carried my own in any social setting, but my internal injury was slowly but surely wearing me down, whittling my will to live down to a small, fine point. I already lived a whole lifetime before with Perri. Being forced to begin another with Bronwyn felt like torture.

I put on a good show for the town. I have to. I have a responsibility. To them. To my family. To The Six. To The Seven. If you are lucky enough to get to the grand old age of one thousand and thirty seven, people believe you know just about everything, and what you don't know, you can find out. You slowly take on the role of elder, teacher, town scribe and bibliography.