The house was to be our 'labour of love', as Mark called it. It was nothing special, built in the early twenty's, it had some character, big rooms with high ceilings and plenty of light. I had never seen so many windows. But it was badly in need of repair, windows rotting, no plaster on the walls, hence the price. It was all we could afford on our budget. It was in a quiet part of town.

Mark loved it though, it had room for his studio, and after knocking down a wall we had a huge open plan kitchen over looking six foot high weeds. Mark spent his days working hard replacing wood, fixing this and painting that, while I got on with the wedding plans. Both trying our best to complete as much as we could so we could move in shortly before our wedding. The house was almost finished, down stairs was complete, and up stairs not far behind. Mark had it in his head that he wanted us living here, as man and wife, and not a moment sooner. So with some help from friends we moved most our things in, just two days before our wedding. Filling the rooms up stairs with what we couldn’t fit. Both of us so happy, we were a match made in heaven, that’s what everyone had said. It had been love almost instantly from the first time we met. We clicked, and that was it. Both of us fitting into each others lives, knowing exactly what we wanted. Everything went according to plan, our lives mapped out before us. A journey

Mark carried me over the threshold on the morning we got back from our honeymoon in the states, laughing as he kissed me. Both of us happy, so happy back then, were has it all gone? Our friends had filled the living room with our gifts and let loose with the garlands of celebration. I remember as we settled down that night, sat by the fire, which Mark wouldn’t give up on. Glass of wine in hand and we made a toast.

‘To us’, we chimed. Sipping our drinks. Mark taking the glass out of my hand.

‘god, I love you’ and he kissed my nose. ’ lets practise making babies all night long, Mrs Gregory’ and he had winked and taken me in his arms. Making love slowly for the first time in our new house, right there in front of the fire. With only the shadows to watch from the light of the fire as it danced with each move.

Where did it all go? The fun, the love? Who had changed? or had we really at all. Is it the house?, as I had joked one morning over coffee, that maybe it was the house. Jinxed maybe. But Mark didn't laugh, he didn’t find it funny. His pride and joy. and he stormed out the door before i could speak.

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