The Black Balloon Contest
Title: The sound of the unlocking
Your pen name: bendingmirrors
Characters: Rose, Royce and Emmett
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all of its characters, I'm just borrowing them.
To see other entries in the Black Balloon Contest, please visit the C2 page: http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/c2/78669/3/0/1/
Warning: This story deals with issues that may be upsetting to some. Specifically, this may be a trigger for depression or those who have dealt with miscarriage.
*****
This my excavation and today is Kumran
Everything that happens is from now on
This is pouring rain
This is paralyzed
RE: Stacks
Bon Iver
The clouds above blocked any sign of the stars, which seemed so fitting for a night that had long gone to hell. The afternoon of pain, uncertainty, and sheer misery had devolved into a night that she never wanted to remember, a night that she could never forget. Starless sky overhead, dark and lonely roads devoid of traffic, shivering in the front passenger seat of the car where the heat outside failed to touch her within the confines of the cold, unfeeling steel.
Of course this wouldn't go right for her. She deserved no less than for the absolute worst to come to pass. He was talking to her, asking questions that she didn't know how to answer. She could barely hear his voice; making out the actual words was beyond the realm of possibility.
Another wave of pain pulled her further under.
Insulated.
Isolated.
Unworthy.
The motion of the car made her vaguely nauseous. Ignore that, shove that aside. She looked out the car window at all the houses shrouded in darkness. A dark that was strangely welcoming, inside them were families for whom the gloom meant 'all is well', no one was waking in a panic and turning on all the lights. Whole houses full of people whose lives would continue tomorrow, untouched by her tragedy. The world would be the same place for them tomorrow that it was tonight. For her, tomorrow would represent the first of the days that would have to be gotten through, an endless succession of days which would bear witness to her absolute failure. No comfort there, she looked away, sinking further into the seat. He just kept asking unanswerable questions.
Why did I marry him? was on a constant loop in her mind. This was her punishment for marrying him, despite her doubts. What made me think I could get away with marrying him and getting everything I wanted? It just doesn't work that way for me.
Her hand drifted to the soft mound of her belly, not very large yet, certainly not large enough for this to be happening, but this was her punishment. Of course it would be happening now, just when she had relaxed a little and told people. Royce had been acting the Proud Papa for others; behind closed doors was a different matter. He was at best indifferent, and at worst blamed her for falling pregnant in the first place. He had had a plan, one that did not include a child. He had dreams to fulfill, living up to his parents expectations, attempting to merge those with his childhood dreams of fame and fortune. These lost babies were an annoyance, taking her time and energy away from him.
She had thought she was safe this time, past the date that had been written large on her calendar. No such thing as safe for her. Rose was not to know safe, that belonged to other people. People who had not married so injudiciously, people who had not set their sights on easy fixes.
Empty house fronts whizzed by, and she was seized by the intense need to crawl out of her own body, her life and this car. This wouldn't be happening if she was one of those fortunate people in those dark, seemingly barren dwellings.
"Rose... Rose, answer me. This is it, I want your promise. No more." Royce's voice was firm, and loud enough to cut through the layers of silence around her. Grating on her nerves, of course he would want to extract such a promise now, when she had nothing but the hope that this would not happen again to cling to.
Shaking her head, she resumed her vigil on the houses outside the car. Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, and determined that no such promise would be wrung from her lips. The car ghosted through the streets, cutting through the heat and humidity to deliver her to her doom. Half of her desperately wanted to see a Doctor who would promise her that this was simply a very vivid nightmare, that all would be okay with her world after a good sleep, but the weary impression of a woman who sat in that front seat had been here before. There were no such last minute reprieves, the very worst she could imagine was going to happen, and there was nothing to do but to accept it.
The bright lights of the exterior of the hospital, a beacon to the lost and distraught seemed almost cruel in their intensity. Royce's afternoon of indifference to her misery seemed to be further proof that she had been both young and stupid when she married him. Shouldn't he be feeling some connection to what was happening her? Even if the only thing that concerned him out of this was her, then shouldn't he be the slightest bit worried that perhaps this time would break her? His complete inability to show any care for what was happening suddenly confirmed what she had known in her heart for a long time. Unless it directly affected him, Royce had no interest in anything that happened around him, and that extended to her.
He parked in a lot that seemed miles from the door. She looked toward the door, and balked at the prospect, both of the walk and the place.
"Hurry the hell up, Rose. I want to get inside to the air conditioning. I've no idea what on earth would possess you to want to spend the hottest part of the year in the tropics. We should simply have vacationed at home..." his words beyond that point made no impression on her. They merely drifted; swirling into the background noise that she simply blocked out, her world consisting of this on a regular basis. The brutal pain of loss, the acidic coating of grief smothering her heart and lungs, forming puddles in the deepest recesses of her soul.
Another wave peaked and crashed over her head, she was drowning in the agony of knowing that this was really happening. Beginning to wish for the oblivion that the doctors would provide when she finally arrived in their sanctuary.
By the time she made it into the impressive foyer of the hospital, Royce was already demanding that someone see her. It struck her as absurd that this ornately decorated desk would belong in a hospital, and wasn't quite sure why she had even noticed it. Royce had commandeered a nurse; his naturally obnoxious demeanor was obviously something that the nurse at the desk responded to. A sweet-smelling, motherly-looking nurse gathered her into a room, and pressed her into a chair, asking questions that she couldn't and wouldn't answer.
"I'm so sorry, Rose, I need you to answer these questions for me, and then we can get a doctor in to see you." Her soft, warm voice encouraged Rose to take a deep breath and begin to answer the standard questions about her full name, address, how far along she was, and who she was seeing as her doctor.
The doctor was brusque, obviously busy, and perhaps not meaning to be as callous as he appeared. He would never understand how it was to receive the news he was doling out, never realize that he was dealing the fatal blow to her hopes. To him this was simply another setback, he would not see her again, and had no place in her life either before or after this day. The indignity of his examination was followed by the stark words that there was nothing to be done. The search for a heartbeat had been a complete failure; a curt order was given to a nurse, words that were again making no sense to her. Dead. The only word she had caught was dead. The kindly nurse returned with a syringe and soon she was wrapped in the blurring embrace of pethidine.
Nothing could be all that bad when pethidine was making the clocks drip off the wall as though they were appearing in a painting by Dali. Rose's mind wandered to all the things that she had ever heard about Dali, about how he always had bees in his paintings. What a strange thing to paint over and over, as though he were trying to perfect their likeness.
Recommendations for surgery were directed to Royce, who had once again assumed the role of a concerned husband. None of this mattered to Rose; her world had ended when the doctor had made his pronouncement, all the rest of this was simply window dressing. Being wheeled through the hospital in a bed increased the nausea, why did they have to wheel people backwards? She also couldn't understand why the orderlies felt the need to make small talk with her while they moved her from place to place; the labyrinth of the hospital had long since ensured she had lost her way. Moving deeper and deeper into the bowels of the hospital, she gave up attempting to watch where they were going, and closed her eyes, longing for oblivion.
Coming to in the recovery room, Rose had the strong sense that all of this was simply a nightmare. But the aching emptiness had expanded, and now resided in her belly. Such a deep hollowness. Her body a deep chasm, as void of life as a black hole.
Royce ignored requests to leave her in the hospital. He was determined to get home and 'forget all this nonsense', dragging her out of the hospital while she was still high as a kite.
"Royce." He pretended he couldn't hear her calling him and kept walking. "Royce!" she tried again, louder this time, which elicited a small response as he turned to look at her.
"Can we stop and buy some cigarettes? There's no need for me to stay off them now." The request was met with silence, but as he turned back to the car, he nodded. He hated for her to smoke, but it seemed that he was willing to concede to this appeal at least, given what she had just gone through.
The trip back to the room they were staying in was accomplished in silence. Royce having nothing to say to her, or at least nothing that she would be willing to listen to, so he wisely kept his peace. The only noise made was when he stopped to purchase the requested cigarettes, and even that was simply the groaning of the door as it was opened, the squeaking of the car as his weight was lifted from the seat, and the gentle crunch as the door was closed behind him.
Eyes at half mast, Rose watched the stranger she had married as he completed the transaction at the counter. He was still a relatively handsome man, she had to at least admit that. Handsome with an aura of power, he was a man used to getting his own way, yet conversely refused to make a move that was not sanctioned by his precious mother. The paradox of his life had at first intrigued Rose.
Attracted to him, and the illusion of strength, she had assumed that she would be safe in his arms. That he would protect her simply because she was his. Coming later to the realization that no such safety would be found in a man who huddled into himself behind closed doors, and hit out with his words when he did not get his own way. Rose definitely knew that she would be on her own if she ever left him.
Her parents had been so pleased when she made the match with him. It was the perfect marriage to secure their social standing; her beauty and breeding, his wealth, power and looks. Instead it was her version of one of the circles of hell. He cared nothing for her except as a decoration on his arm. He had no interest in her opinions on any subject, from politics to which house they would live in, the grand exception her much pleaded for holiday to the tropics to celebrate New Year's Eve, and this would surely be the last of its kind. She had even managed to mess that up.
Throwing himself back into the car, he snarled at her to ensure that the window was all the way down before she lit up. He would tolerate her smoke, but only this once.
Fumbling with the outer cellophane wrapper, fingers slow and clumsy, she was finally able to get into the pack. She peeled back the foil, extracted one cigarette and then grappled with the lighter. The first drag feeling as though it was the only line tying her to the earth, she was a helium filled balloon, slowly deflating.
The trip home the following day was an exercise in agony. Twelve hours stuck in a plane seat, frequent trips to the bathroom notwithstanding. Feigning sleep, she did not interact with anyone more than she had to. Handing over travel documents and tickets upon request, she simply didn't speak. What was the point?
The house in which they lived was filled with reminders of what should have been. She had shopped, and now there was a room upstairs that would remain untouched, uncleaned, as empty of life as her womb now was. There were things in that room she could not bear to see.
Royce quickly learned to turn the channel when any stories of lost and broken children filled the news. He would bring home stories only of his colleagues, and avoid all mention of their families. There were occasions that he would try to be understanding, but he simply wanted her to forget and go on with life as though nothing had happened.
Her words grew fewer and fewer. Not many were required when she could purchase all of their grocery needs on the internet and deliveries could be made without a word. Her parent's attempts to get her to talk were met with as much success as the delivery men. They also had nothing to say that she wanted to hear.
"It's for the best, Rosalie. You know we expect nothing but perfection in this family, and the King's are even more exacting. There must have been something wrong for this to happen. You'll simply try again when you are ready..." her mother's voice prattled on, but Rose had freed herself to listen to the birds outside the window. She didn't want to hear any of it, there was nothing new in this conversation anyway, and quietly set the handset back on the phone. No dramatic slamming down of the receiver, that would surely bring her mother to the house and that was to be avoided.
Each day was a Groundhog Day, nothing new happened, just a repeat of the one before. She refused to answer the door unless she knew she had to. Well meaning friends and family alike were ignored, as she tried desperately not to give in to the ever-present tears. Movies were put on to watch, and discarded as quickly as they were selected. Television shows were simply not an option, who knew what sort of advertisements would come on. No bouncing babies being clothed in diapers were to be shown in this house. No one understood her need to grieve, they wanted her to just stop and be herself again. No one understood that the cumulative effect of their disappointments had worn her to the bone; there was no hope to be had.
Half-heard conversations between her husband and his mother yielded more information than she wanted. It was obvious that she wanted her only son to leave the defective wife. There must be an heir to carry on the family name and company. He was to either leave her or get on with the business of creating the next generation with her. The child had not lived, why would she require such a long time to grieve? Surely the best way to get over this would be to jump into it again, have a live baby to forget the one who never took a breath. Lesson learned; she would no longer drift silently around the house, learning to make her steps heard.
The house was clean, as clean as she could make it. Floors scrubbed over and over as she knelt on the floor in her own version of penitence. Religion had not formed much of her early life, and the twisted form of Catholicism that her grandmother followed scared more than it comforted. Still, she found herself following the path around her house, scrubbing at the tiled floors on her knees, making them gleam, and the grout look freshly laid. Cupboards had also been cleaned out, there was nothing new there to do. No space in the house had been safe from her purifying frenzy, except the room to the left of the stairs. That room would remain as it was.
Trudging up to their bedroom, she slipped out of her clothes and showered. Cringing from the reflection in her mirror and understanding the Victorian urge to drape the mirrors in black cloth, she did not need the daily reminder that she was less than she had been. Less than she should be. She hurried back into her bedroom, after tidying the slight mess she had made in the bathroom, leaving no signs of her use. Throwing on some clothes, she grabbed her purse, and left the house for the first time in months. Feeling rusty as she settled herself into the driver's seat, she decided that the only way to overcome any of this was to simply drive.
First stop, the fabric store. Rose purchased yards and yards of black cloth. Not attractive black cloth. Simple, heavy weight, black fabric. Enough to drape the whole house in black. Loading the bags into her car, she once again set off. No idea of a particular destination, only the simple need to get far, far away in the forefront of her mind.
Taking the twisting road to the ocean front, she decided that the cliffs would be a good place to take stock. There were never any people at the location she chose, the forbidding views of an angry ocean didn't make for great tourist photos. The locals drove further along these cliffs to a point that had a large parking area, an entry point for the path down to the beach, and a track along to yet another spot where the teens tried their hands at cliff-diving.
Grabbing the blanket she kept handy for picnics from the trunk, she spread it out on the rocks near the edge, settled herself comfortably and contemplated eternity. Watching the ocean as it repeatedly threw itself on the shore made her feel insignificant and small. As long as the waves would continue to behave this way then her own life and troubles couldn't be as large as she thought they were. The endless miles of water ahead of her, the horizon beckoning. The sheer size of the drop down to the water. Her life was a mere wrinkle in the fabric of time, no bigger or smaller than those around her. Her troubles no different from thousands of other women, but at that exact moment none of that mattered. What did she know about women who had lost just as much as her? They were strangers and her heart was already filled to the brim with her own pain, she had no room left over for compassion for others.
Today wasn't the day. Taking a step closer to the edge, she enjoyed the rush of the wind around her, the slap of her hair on her face, the sting of the salty ocean air in her eyes. They were the first things she had really felt in such a long time. No, today was not the day. Gathering the blanket and her shoes, she threw the bundle back into the trunk and drove back to the house where she pretended for Royce that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
The following day dawned bright and clear again... too bright and clear. So setting to work with the scissors and fabric, she draped every mirror and reflective surface with the dark cloth. Satisfied with the results, she was able to relax in the house for the rest of the day. Royce's startled reaction when he arrived home almost convinced her that this wasn't quite normal behavior. Still, he didn't make too much of a fuss, he had to head back out again almost as soon as he got home. Dining out with new clients was always his excuse. Rose wasn't stupid; the cheap perfume he smelled of when he arrived home was a flashing neon sign pointing to his infidelity. She couldn't care less though; as long as he left her alone to grieve for their loss then he could screw his secretary six ways to Sunday.
Finding herself back at the cliff again and again, Rose flirted with the edge a little more each day. She wouldn't really do it, she was convinced of that, but as long as she had the choice available, it made her feel safe. If anything too bad happened, then she knew deep in her bones, there were options. She didn't suspect that there was anything worse that could happen, but just in case she couldn't cope, she knew she could just come here. Where the embracing arms of the ocean, the swish of the sea breeze against her cheeks, would welcome her home, she simply had to give herself over to them.
The ocean scent reminded her of childhood holidays spent at the seaside. Playing with her younger brothers in the waves, splashing those around her, water fights. Later, the bikinis and strutting down the sand, straddling the edge between ocean and shore. Carefree vacations with her family, when she knew her place in the universe and everything was hers for the asking. No wish was too big or grand for her parent's to grant. The apple of their eye, she was feted by those around her, and while there was nothing that she really wanted, she knew that should she find something she craved, her parents would gladly give it to her.
Now, the one thing that she truly wanted had slipped through her fingers. Too scared to try again, not at all confident that the world would give her anything that she wanted. It was her due to now receive nothing of what she coveted, those whom she had scorned in school were all enjoying their bounty, and she went home to an empty house, with arms that were destined to remain unfilled.
His car's approach was the first thing that registered, it had slowed and then stopped here at her spot. She quickly collected her things, and went back to her car with her head down, hoping that he would understand this signal to leave her alone.
The man mountain ignored her signals and tried to help her with her load.
"Please, let me carry some of that for you. Little thing like you could get blown off this cliff carrying a bundle like that." His earnest expression as he attempted to take things out of her hands pulled something loose in the barrier around her heart. Such an open, honest expression could not be ignored, so she went against everything from the last few months and acquiesced. Hurrying forward to open the trunk, she waited until he had settled her things within.
"Thank you," she spoke quietly, with a husk in her voice from disuse.
"Anything for a pretty girl like you. I'm Emmett." He extended his large hand toward her, clearly expecting her to shake it. She had spurned all touch since Royce had helped her into the car on the way home from the airport. Unsure of whether she should simply shake his hand and ignore her instinct, she looked up into his navy colored velvet eyes and the decision was made for her. Sliding her hand into his much larger one, he shook it more delicately than she would expect for someone his size.
"I'm Rosalie." Her response was slightly louder than her original words to him, but despite the care that emanated from his face, she was itching to get in her car and leave. Not wanting to offend him though, she gestured towards her car door. Extracting her hand from his, she moved around him to the driver's side. Glancing back at him, she waved half-heartedly goodbye, nodded and got in her car to leave. As she drove off, she heard him call out that he came there every Saturday.
Startled that it was a weekend, but knowing Royce had not been in the house, Rose slowed her journey home. Hoping against hope that he would still be out when she returned. She couldn't face him. The last months had driven them apart so completely that they had begun to live as roommates. Gradually his clothes were moved to one of the smaller bedrooms, and they no longer shared their bed. Her whole psyche was an open wound, each careless word a direct strike to an injury, blowing small carelessness into open misery.
Rose woke each morning in the hope that the previous days had simply been a nightmare, by the time the realization had set in that this was her life, she was up and moving around her kitchen. Hours were lost sitting at the small outdoor table overlooking her garden, sipping from a cup of coffee that had steadily grown cold. Keeping the house clean only took up so much time; the rest was filled in with busy work. Attempting to provide cooked meals for her husband at least felt as though she was contributing to life. Sneaking away to her cliff whenever she could was her escape from it.
Each time she came to the cliffs she crept slowly closer to the edge. Trying to keep all of these things quiet was a heavier burden on her than her loss. She simply couldn't show such weakness in front of Royce, or their families. Increasingly isolated, this became her only outlet.
He arrived again that day as she looked out over the ocean, the way she imagined some sailor's wife had done before her. She wasn't awaiting the day her beloved would return though. No such happy ending would be her reward for her patient watch. The sound of his car preceding him, she began to move back from the edge, well aware of the picture she presented. Unsure of how to interact with a true stranger after having dealt with the alien in her own home, she began to gather her belongings, hoping to leave before he could draw her into conversation.
"Rosalie? Isn't it?" he called out to her. She was still trying to gather her blanket, but the stiff breeze wasn't helping in her endeavors. The wind playfully flirting with the throw, as it billowed and surged.
"Yes. I'm sorry, I can't remember your name," she admitted quietly, still hoping to get the encounter out of the way quickly.
"Emmett. I'm Emmett McCarty. May I help you with your load again?" He flashed a nice set of dimples at her, and she found herself automatically returning the smile.
"Thank you," she acknowledged with a little more volume, not wanting to appear rude. Preceding him to her car, she opened it for him to stow her belongings.
"I'm so pleased to see you again, don't you just love the view from up here? All those windsurfers down there, the eternity of the ocean ahead of you."
His words caused her to pause and look back toward the sea. Had those windsurfers been there all along? She hadn't even noticed them while she was busily contemplating her mortality. What else had she missed?
"It is a great view from here, and it's so quiet and peaceful," she offered.
"I didn't know if you'd be back, whether you heard me as you were driving away last week. Looks like you did though!" She could see that he wanted to engage her in further conversation, but she was reaching the limits of her small talk, and wanted to retreat back to her own world before she infected his optimism with her own disillusionment.
"Yes, I did hear you. I'm sorry, but I must get home." Quashing his enthusiasm was almost painful to behold, as those marvelous dimples smoothed back out again.
"Of course, I hope I see you again sometime, Rosalie."
Feeling the pull of his obvious disappointment, she tried to offer an olive branch. "Please, call me Rose."
For only the second time in months she smiled, offering it to him as the only means she possessed of thanking him. Quietly and quickly closing herself back into the car, she drove away feeling a slight paranoia that she was guilty of leaving her grief behind. Shouldn't she remake herself into Queen Victoria, grieving for all the days she had left to her?
Slowly, over the course of the next week she found that there were other things that brought a small smile to her face. None so large as the first one she had gifted Emmett, but smiles nonetheless. With each one she would chastise herself, convinced that she was behaving inappropriately, she was betraying the life that she should have lived by accepting the one that she had to live now.
Finding herself back at the cliff the following Saturday, she timed her arrival so that she would be there a little later, perhaps closer to the time that he arrived. Only to be disappointed as she saw his car pulling away up the road when she pulled in. She decided to stay anyway, appreciating the view a little more than she had before. The clouds seeming more ominous, the cliffs slightly more intimidating and less friendly. The swollen ocean did not seem to be offering its embrace this week, she watched the pound and shuffle for a while, and retreated back to her car as the rain began to fall.
A plan was what was required, she decided. A way to move forward with her life, without losing sight of what she had lost, but to begin to incorporate that into the new life she would need. The first part of the plan was to find permanent employment. Her engineering degree would still be good, despite the changes that had happened in the field of Computer Engineering, with her qualifications she was certain that she would be able to find work with a good company.
Once she had a good job she could afford rent on a place of her own, she had no fairy tale images that her parents would welcome her back if she disgraced them by leaving a King. She would have to stand on her own two feet for once. A scary idea, but there was a nagging thought in the back of her head that this was the right thing to do. She could make something of herself out of the ashes of her old life. She simply needed the courage to start.
Another week passed, one in which she had valiantly tried to bring her life back on track. Royce had been resistant to even speaking with her. Months in which she had ignored him had wrought a further change in her spoiled husband, now he refused to listen to her, or to speak to her at all. The complete ambivalence she felt toward him now had done its work, neither of them cared for the other; they shared the home as though they were mere acquaintances. Going out of their way to avoid being in the same room together, he would eat whatever food she left for him, but if he was cooking would not return the favor.
The strangeness of her first interactions with Emmett soon passed, and she found herself enjoying conversations with him on their Saturday afternoon engagements about politics, the state of the economy, and which baseball team was playing well. All topics that she hadn't even realized she had opinions on. Emmett's easy going manner changed her, she felt freer than she had in years, and for the first time since she had married Royce, she felt like the future might be a bright one for her.
The day that she was offered a well paying job, her first instinct was to call Emmett. But they had not exchanged numbers, simply relying on their spontaneous Saturday meetings. Instead, she took herself out for a nice lunch, followed by a trip to a Realtor to set the wheels in motion to rent an apartment close to her new job. Finally, she discreetly checked among their society friends for gossip about who the good divorce lawyers were. She would not be demanding a large slice of the King empire, but she was also determined that she would leave this marriage with a small slice of financial security. Just a small nest egg.
Timing had to be perfect; she served out the first month in her new position quietly. Royce had taken no notice of her in such a long time that it was easy for her to slip out to work each day without attracting his attention. The day that she completed her trial period, she met with the lawyer to finalize the papers requesting a divorce. Serving the papers to Royce that night instead of dinner was the sweetest moment of her marriage.
Saturday morning saw her arrival at the cliffs, well ahead of Emmett's usual appearance. She could almost hear an audible click as the shackles fell away from her. The cliffs were not her answer, nor was the ocean an inviting embrace. Instead it had been the man she had met here who had provided her the solution she required. He had helped her to find her way back to herself. Encouraging her to find her own feet, a rare gift in the busy world that they inhabited. Something about his demeanor, perhaps it was even his dimples that tipped the scales on her way to rediscovery. She knew that she could do this; she could rise like a phoenix. Not everything was lost, instead something new was found. Her loss need not define her, instead it could be the small voice in her head urging her to look life in the face and take what was on offer.
His car arrived; she turned from the cliff face and began her walk to him. His easy smile appeared, and like the sun breaking free of the clouds, it called to her own. She reached out a hand to him, initiating contact for the first time. He took it for the gift that it was, his large hand sheltering hers from the wily winds.
He would be a partner for her, helping her to take on the world, but she would never demand safety and security from him. He had taught her how to create those things for herself; they would share the load together.
A/N
I need to say a HUGE thank you to Nostalgicmiss who talked me down when I was climbing the walls over this one. Also to Miztrezboo who always leaves lovely little comments for me :)
Last but definitely not least, to Britpacksuccubus who fixed my grammar, punctuation, and so much more! Many, many thanks hun.