Richardson: – because, you know, never have I loved a girl as I loved gentle Abigail.
Andrews: You say that a lot. What does that even mean?
Richardson: That there was a girl called Abigail. And I loved her. Keep up.
Andrews: What happened to her?
Richardson: She’s gone. She passed.
Andrews: I’m sorry.
Richardson: I’m committed, you know. I’m going to be buried next to her.
Andrews: That’s… sweet? If it’s not too rude to ask, what was she like?
Richardson: Gentle. I said gentle. Keep up. She – she had this smile. Wow. Our lips would talk of fantasies, but my eyes stayed on her smile.
Andrews: That’s sweet. Sounds like my Dad talking about Mum.
Richardson: He and my sister were nothing like Abigail and me. They’re practical. We were romantics. Abigail and I were going to get married, you know. Somewhere mad. Maybe wing-walking, or, or underwater. Like a scuba ceremony.
Andrews: Were you really going to get married? I’m so sorry.
Richardson: Oh god! There was this time. We were on a shale beach – bit nippy, that beach – and planning our future. We were going to have a pet. She wanted a cat. I wanted a dog. We decided to get a large snake.
Andrews: Good compromise? I suppose?
Richardson: We were talking about children, even. She wanted them to have blue eyes, like me. I said that wasn’t likely – Punnet squares and all. But I said they’d probably have her stunning browns. When really… All our plans wouldn’t come to anything, but isn’t it nice to pretend sometimes?
Andrews: What do you mean?
Richardson: We knew it was coming. Her health. One night, she just… She passed.
Andrews: We don’t have to talk about this, if it’s upsetting you.
Richardson: Her family! They consented to have me buried next to her, and wed to her. Forever by her side, don’t you know? The ceremony will be mad, just like we wanted. When it’s my time to go, years from now, I’ll be with Abigail forever. It’s just… We planned our life far too late.
Andrews: I am so sorry, Uncle Jeremy. Really, I am.
Richardson: We planned a life together. But we met at the old folk’s home.
Photograph: Celeste Yeo