Apologies for the lack of feedback and Author's notes with this story - I keep forgetting to add them in.

Thank you for all your reviews - they are always welcome - as much to feed my ego and keep me writing as anything else, so please keep on posting them.

Another chapter where our two damaged goods continue to bump along together; as well as a few tips for driving a manual (stickshift) car!

Hope this keeps you happy for a while as I am going on holiday and not sure how much time I will get to write, so without further ado - please enjoy!

Chapter 5

Sleep is a balm to the mind and soul and once Ali had left the house, I fell onto my bed exhausted, closing my eyes and drifting off for over two hours. It was only my mother repeated calls that woke me for supper.

As it has always been in my youth, we sat down as a family to supper at the kitchen table, when my father returned home from work. Conversation had always been topical and amusing all of us participating in the discussion. The scenario had not exactly been replicated on my untimely arrival at home. At first, mealtimes were battlegrounds for me, as I had to learn to move my mouth in order to eat, grip the cutlery again and feed myself. Often exhausted with the trials of the day I was mentally unprepared to participate in the civilised discussions of my parents.

However, now, as I was healing things began to return to normal and we once again gathered around the table as a family. "How did your appointment go today Ric?" My father asked, helping himself to the carrots and passing me the dish. I stupidly reached out my right hand to grab it, my fingers failing to close around the crockery properly and winced as it went crashing to the table, thankfully unbroken.

"Okay," I shot a look at my mother, wondering if she had said about my reaction on returning home.

"And I took it Ali took you?"

"Yeah, it was very kind of her and Mum looked after Teresa." I added haltingly.

"Good, good," A mouthful of chicken was chewed as he considered his next question and I found myself hanging on the silence, not sure where the topic of conversation might go. "I heard she is living over in de Theale's place, The Old Vicarage."

"You know him?" I could not hide my astonishment; amazed that someone who I thought was a stranger could have a life so embroiled in my parent's.

"Hmm," if disapproval could be reduced to one word, then my father just sounded it. "I don't know him per se, but we both worked in the city for years. He was at Lloyds, made an awful lot of money and was completely obnoxious with it." My father disapproved of the usual city mentality, faithfully coming home to his wife and family every evening, rather then living it up, as was the case of some men. I always thought that if he had really known what my former life had been like he would have disapproved thoroughly, for it was rather similar to many of his colleagues and peers.

"I don't think Ali has a very good relationship with him," I tried to rescue her from being mentally tarred with the same brush. "She told me that she only stayed in England to attend ballet school, otherwise she would have moved back to America to live with her mother."

"Really," Mum interjected. "Imagine being that dedicated to your career and at such an early age," she sighed. "I would love to see her dance sometime." She gave a hesitant giggle. "In fact I do have a confession to make – my curiosity was piqued when she told us what she did, so I went and looked on the Internet and found out about her, very interesting."

"You used the internet?" Mum must really want to know about Ali. I am not sure which revelation astounded me more.

"Yes, I do know how to you know," she sounded disgruntled at my amazement. "Anyway, you know she is actually a First Artiste with the Royal Ballet, even though she talked of it as if it were nothing and she has danced quite a few major roles in Swan Lake, Cinderella, La Sylphide and all sorts. I didn't know some of the names. It also said that she created some of her own roles. I got the impression that she was going places with them you know."

"Did it say how old she was?" Despite my initial reluctance I found myself indulging in my mother's knowledge.

"No, only that she joined the company in 1999 from the school, so I guess that makes her twenty-six, twenty-seven?" She paused and shrugged her shoulders, shooting me a look that I could not interpret.

Dad seemed to realise that my Mother was on a dangerous tack as he cleared his throat imperiously, drawing attention away from her chosen topic of conversation. "Did you discuss driving again at the hospital today Ric?" he coaxed gently.

"Um yeah," I looked down at my half eaten dinner, feeling my appetite slip away. The memories of the accident had been called to the fore, partially causing my distressed state of mind that afternoon. "They were trying to encourage me to drive again. Apparently I may have a bit of post-traumatic stress and that's stopping me." I grimaced at the thought.

"I happen to agree Ric," his words came as a blow to my calmness. "It is rather like riding a bike, you have to get back on, however scary it is. After all, you didn't cause the accident."

"Oh yeah," I shouted, jumping up from the table, causing the dishes and plates to rattle. "Sure, I didn't actually crash the car, but you know I was over the limit. If I had been sober then I might have stopped in time."

"I doubt it you know," Dad's words were quiet and his eyes bore into mine in the silence. "Sit down son, getting excited is not going to help." He waited until I once again resumed my place at the table. "What I was going to say is that as it is the weekend tomorrow why don't we go up to the old airfield and take a spin on the road there. It will be empty and then you can just try getting use to driving again, don't have to worry about the traffic or pedestrians or anything that gets in the way of enjoying being in a car. What do you think?"

I bowed my head; ashamed at the way I had spoken to both my parents. "Okay thanks," I said gratefully, trying to hide the elation and fear that flooded through me at the thought.

I awoke early the next day, filled with dread and panic at the forthcoming driving lessons. Whilst I was desperately worried about getting behind the wheel of a car again, the thought of driving, of regaining a degree of my lost independence was enough to spur me on.

I clambered out of bed, knowing that once I was awake there was no point trying to regain lost sleep. I would become aware of the scratching, aware of the slight chill that hung in the room and would toss and turn instead of gaining peace through slumber. No, it was much better to rise and get the routine of the morning out of the way and sleep in the afternoon if I got drowsy, which was often; a side effect of the drugs.

I automatically reached for the pile of pills next to my bed, about to pop the foil wrappers and wash them down with water, when my hand hesitated. One positive of my visit to hospital yesterday was the joint decision to slowly wean myself off anti-depressants. They had been necessary in the early days, for everyone feared that I would give in to the overwhelming desire to finish what the car accident had failed to do and try to die. Instead a couple of small white pills a day, allowed me to put my situation into perspective.

I could understand what Ali was going through, for I had been there myself. Staring into the darkness of the future and seeing no hope, no relief, only the purgatory of life in its current state. It was like trying to walk in quicksand, not waving but drowning, and the drugs just gave you a foothold.

Oh Ali, if I manage to drive again, I can come and see you and Tess. The thought was so automatic that it did not strike me until five minutes later that my friend and her baby were a major motivation in regaining my wheels. Friend, is she really a friend, do you really know her? My rational voice argued with my emotions, denying me the comfort of companionship. She is my friend, she has done more for me in the past week then most of more so-called 'friends' in London ever did. And besides, I love her.

I froze in the act of creaming my body and stood up straight, confusion and elation flooding my body at the same time. Do I love her? Do I really look upon this woman as more then a friend? I hesitantly tested my feelings, allowing myself to dwell on the few brief hours we had spent in each other's company. Yes, the feeling of joy when I thought of her did not diminish upon further study, but instead swelled to something bigger, greater.

We were both battered and bruised with the blows that life had dealt us and maybe that helped the attraction, but there was something in her look, something in her manner that I could not resist. But I must get to know her better, I must not scare her my declaring my interest so early on.

I was not use to being in love. I had reduced my desire for the opposite sex to a clinical disinterest, as I found it easier to deal with the women who use to throw themselves at me. I knew they all saw me as a ticket to stardom, so I learnt to see them as objects of beauty and nothing else.

But now I was in love with someone as a whole. It was not their appearance, for I had not seen Ali look anything other then tired and slightly bedraggled, but instead an inner glow. I suddenly realised why people put so much faith in love, for the world seemed to be lit up in glorious technicolor.

Finishing getting dressed, I moved downstairs singing softly under my breath, not caring that my parents might hear, nor that the song was utterly corny.

I feel it in my fingers,

I feel it in my toes,

Love is all around us

And so the feeling …

"Good morning darling!" My Mother greeting was bright and breezy as she caught my mood. She smiled widely at me and I returned the gesture as best I could, my skin widening into a genuine smile. The move reinforced her theory that I was very happy and she dared continue. "Looking forward to later Eric?"

"Hmm yes," I said with new founded enthusiasm, geared by my revelation of being in love. Suddenly I was desperate to drive, so that I could spend more time in Ali's company.

"Well, eat your breakfast, your father is ready when you are," she chided softly, handing me a plate with a cooked breakfast on. "I thought you would like something special," she smiled as I stared at the bacon and eggs, not quite sure what to say.

"Thanks." Despite the special treat, I shovelled the food into my mouth, chewing rudimentarily and swallowing hastily, causing myself to choke as large pieces of bacon where forced down. Despite it's tastiness, it was simply keeping me from my wheels.

Therefore it was only a mere fifteen minutes later that I rushed out the door, pulling on my coat and chiding my father to hasten towards his car. "Ric, what is the rush?" he asked with genuine bewilderment, obviously recalling my actions last night, against the undue haste I was using this morning.

I sat in the car, my good hand tapping a rhythm out on my knee as I waited for him to climb in. It seemed hours before he finally got into the car and we made our way to the airfield, several miles outside of town.

My father drove steadily and carefully, much the same way he spoke and acted; his moves deliberate and judged. He was an excellent driver, not allowing the emotions of the moment or the actions of other people put him off his road space. On the other hand I was nearly tearing my hair out in panic and excitement as we drew nearer and nearer the airstrip.

Once used as a World War II airbase, the field was more or less deserted, occasionally put into action for the odd private plane to land and the annual summer airshow, but most of the time it played host to a predriver school for learners and a variety of car exhibits. There was a strip of perimeter road, away from the main traffic that many parents would come to teach their children the rudimentaries of car handling without being on the road and it was to here that my father drove the car.

It was early in the morning and the strip was abandoned, the dew still glittering on the grass, disturbed only be the odd magpie, which I was glad to see were hopping around in pairs and groups. No solo birds to bring me sorrow this time.

"Are you sure you want to do this Ric?" Dad asked as he parked the car and switched off the engine, the road gleaming empty in front of us. "I don't want to push you into something just because everyone else says you should do it."

"No, no, it really is time that I faced this," I gabbled, a slightly wild gleam in my eye that he assessed.

"Well firstly just calm down. I'm not worried about you handling the car as you can drive and there is nothing to drive into, but I would still rather you didn't remodel the bumpers."

"Mmm," I took a deep breath in and opening the door stood up inhaling the fresh air of the late winter's morning. Firmly wrapped against the cold, I didn't feel the chill, instead saw the beauty of the day ahead. Thoroughly high on this emotion I walked around the car and got in behind the wheel, fastening the seatbelt and starting the car before my mind could overtake my positive feeling.

I eased the clutch out, pressed down lightly on the accelerator and let the car move forward, the engine purring under my foot, gaining speed and moving through second and third gear. The elation of driving again, of moving a pile of metal under my guidance, of speed and freedom. I pressed the accelerator a little harder and moved into fourth gear as I approach a gentle bend in the track.

And suddenly out of no where a flash of light came, panic flooded through my body and in front of my eyes I saw a ghost car spin out of control, crashing violently into the side of a nonexistent bridge. The screech of metal, the yells of the people, the crunch as my car skidded to a halt, knowing that it would not stop in time.

"Fuck!" I slammed the brakes on; leaving skid marks down the centre of the tarmac as the car skidded to a halt and sat there at the wheel shaking and shivering, blindly reliving the accident.

"It's all right son, calm down," Dad's voice quietly dented my relapse. I opened my eyes and looked at him, my breathing laboured; my head buzzing.

"I can't, can't, no…" the words came out choked and I leant back in the driver's seat, breathing deeply trying to push the images from my mind.

"That's fine; we can stop if you want to."

"No!" I sat forward and opened my eyes. "No, I am determined to do this Dad, I can't let it control me." I gripped the steering wheel again and restarted the stalled engine, carrying out a three-point turn with a degree of difficulty as I did not have the flexibility in my upper body to easily turn. No wonder they said driving was good physical therapy.

"It seemed to effect you as you picked up speed," Dad observed astutely as I sat there, gazing at the stretch of road ahead of me, the light dancing on the distance ahead. "So when you reached about forty miles an hour try and concentrate on something else and not the actual speed you are doing.

"Okay," I set the car off again, moving through the gears, gradually picking up speed as I pressed down on the accelerator. Thirty miles an hour and I moved into fourth gear, the speedometer climbing. Fifty miles an hour and I shifted up into fifth gear, allowing the speed to overtake me, seeing the grass move by in a blur and I let out an unmanly whoop of delight at my achievement. Coming around the corner I pushed the clutch in, eased off the accelerator and moved down into third gear, so that I could safely cruise around the bend, before bringing the car to a halt.

I was shaking, only this time with elation as I looked at my father, a wide grin on my face with no regard for the pain it caused.

"Well done Ric, that was bloody fantastic," my father patted my arm and I realised that he was swelling over with pride to swear as he had. As the trembling stopped and the adrenalin rushing through my body calmed down I took a deep breath. "Why don't we practice a couple of manoveres and then you can drive us home," he suggested, realising that I wasn't about to relinquish my hard earned place behind the wheel.

My mother rushed out to greet us as I pulled into the driveway, her arms outstretched and a smile on her face, as if we had been gone for months and not a little over an hour. I clambered out of the car and gathered her into my embrace, trying to convey how grateful I was for all that both she and Dad had done for me over the past few months.

We trooped into the house and sat in the living room, drinking tea and conversing lightly. I sat in my usual chair, reading the Saturday papers and listening to the conversation, trying to judge an appropriate amount of time to let pass before I went out again. Finally a jumpy half an hour later I looked up from my perusal of the crossword and asked the question as blandly as I could. "Mum, is it okay if I borrow your car?"

She looked at me with a slight smile. "I suppose we shall be in competition for the keys now. Where do you want to go?"

"Um, I thought I'd just go over and see Ali and Tess," Damn, knew I would have to reveal my plans.

"All right then, but wait a moment, I have a shepherd's pie I cooked for her and some cake."

"Mum!" I couldn't believe the way she seemed to have adopted this woman.

"Well, she is far too thin, almost worse then you."

"She is a dancer; I don't think they eat too much." I tried to put my mother off her course of feeding up the world.

"Nonsense, she needs to keep her strength up or she will never be healthy! Now let me gather it together."

I was finally able to escape with a carrier bag full of food for my friend and given the keys to my mother's little car. It was not as powerful as my father's large executive car, but still powerful and I felt the tremblings of panic as I carefully pulled out the driveway.

Thankfully I was heading in the opposite direction to most of the Saturday traffic that was driving into town. Instead I drove carefully, alert to all the potential hazards as I made my way to the small village. It was a picture postcard day as I drove past the small village green with its Saxon church and swung into the driveway of the house opposite.

I could not help but gawk slightly at the beautiful building that I pulled up outside. The original house must have been Georgian, but added on to over the years, leaving it slightly rambling in appearance, yet tied together by the ivy and wisteria that crept up the brickwork.

I got out the car, carrier bag in hand and studied the house, unsure where I might find my friend and if it were wise to knock on the front door if she was staying in the annexe.

There did not seem to be anyone else staying in the house, for only Ali's slightly broken down old car was parked in the driveway. The chance of meeting anyone else gave me the courage to walk around the side of the house, following the narrowing gravel path. Past the shade of the building the driveway once again opened into a sweep at the back with a large outbuilding that looked as if it were utilised as a garage. This was opposite a door into the house, complete with its own doorbell and post-box that made me think it was probably the entrance to Ali's house.

I was about to ring the bell when I was distracted by the sound of ballet music drifting from the outbuilding opposite. Looking up I saw upstairs windows flung wide open to the sunny day and guessed that there must be a room above the garage.

It was easy to locate the door, sitting wide open, stairs leading steeply up from a small entrance lobby. I climbed them with a degree of trepidation, aware that I had not been invited up and stood gawking at the sight I was witnessing.

The room was kitted out as a dance studio, a line of windows along one side, a barré attached below and the back wall fixed with a floor to ceiling mirror. Tess was sitting in a bouncy chair, gazing crossed eyed at a few toys dangling in front of her, whilst Ali danced away in the middle of the studio.

Her hair was pulled tightly back into a bun, her dainty body encased in a faded black leotard and tights, legwarmers pulled over the top of her pointe shoes.

I watched in amazement as she lifted her hands above her head with delicate grace and danced backwards on the tip of her shoes with tiny steps, moving so gracefully and easily that she almost seemed to be floating across the floor. Reaching the far corner of the studio she then lifted her back leg at a ninety degree angle, holding the arabesque for four beats of the music pouring out the CD player, moving her arms into another position.

The music changed in tempo and she lowered her leg, shuffling her foot against the floor before dancing across the room with a leap and hitting the floor a metre in front of me, her chest heaving with exertion.

"Eric," her voice sounded shocked, as if she had only just become aware of my presence. I could see the light fade from her eyes and realised that in similarity to when I played music, she was oblivious to all else around her as she danced. "How long have you been here?" She picked up a bottle of water on the floor near my feet and took a long swallow, rinsing the liquid around her mouth as I stood mutely in front of her, awed by the talent I had just seen on show. "How did you get here anyway?" She didn't wait for me to answer as she picked up a sweater that had been draped over on old sofa in the far corner and put it on over her leotard, before flopping down into the cushions, reaching over wearily to turn the CD player off.

"Sorry," I said finally. "I didn't mean to interrupt you, just heard the music and thought it must be you. Is this your dance studio then?" I looked around in amazement at the space.

"Hmm, sort of, it used to be the playroom when we were little, but after Ben and Mom went; Dad changed it to the studio. My stepmother became fed up of me using any available surface in the house as a barre." She leant down and undid the knot of her shoes, flexing her foot as she slipped them out of the slipper with a slight wince.

"Does it hurt?" I asked with morbid fascination, watching as she repeated the action with the other shoe and then unwound the medical tape from around her toes.

"No more then anything else in life," was her slightly tart reply, before she looked up at me with a smile. "Sorry, but you get asked that question so much. You know if a person who had never studied ballet before tried to dance en pointe then yes, they would be crying with pain, but I've trained for years and whilst it hurts you become so use to it that you barely notice anymore." She massaged her toes slightly. "It's the blisters that hurt the most, not the actually dancing." Another sigh came from her chest.

"You were amazing," I finally offered, still astounded that the girl I thought I was in love with had so much talent.

"Hardly, my teacher would throw a fit if she could see me; I was all over the place. I just thought I'd better start dancing again or I will just turn into a wobbly jelly. Much as I love Teresa, she has done no favours to my body!" She poked a finger at her taut stomach as if to prove her point.

"Well, I'm afraid that my mother is against you there," I remembered the bag clutched in my lifeless hand and opened it for her inspection holding in front of her. "Shepherd's pie, lasagne and cake."

"How sweet, yum," Ali laughed and took the bag from me, peering inside. "I was talking to her the other day about how I was so uninspired with cooking as it was only me." She tilted her head to one side. "Were you okay yesterday afternoon, you disappeared, your Mom said you'd gone to lie down."

"I was tired."

"Not surprised. Did you go and bawl your head off then?"

"What?" Oh god she heard me crying, what must she think of me.

"Remember what we said about total exhaustion, you looked as if you needed to go and have a good cry, just wondering if you did."

"Um well," If my cheeks had been exposed they would be flushed with red. "Yeah, a bit."

"Good on you, I like a man who can verbalise his pain, rather then trying to pretend everything is all right." She laughed and stood up, releasing Tess from her chair and holding her in her arms. "Shall we go and have some milk then darling? And invite Eric for a cup of tea and some of his mother's cake? Does that sound yummy?" She laughed at the face I pulled, being addressed through a baby who drooled in response. "Would you carry her?" Ali asked and without waiting for me to reply handed me Tess.

I smiled at the child who flashed me a smile back, before reaching out and patting the plastic of my mask with a slight laugh. It was an odd feeling for no one tended to touch my face, the mask being a barrier against contact and even though I could not directly feel her touch, the pressure was welcome. "Hey Tess," I chuckled at her, bouncing her slightly in my arms until she was in a comfortable position.

"Right, come on then," I turned and looked at Ali, who had slipped her feet into a pair of slippers and gathered up the bag of food. We made an ungainly procession down the stairs, across the gravel drive and in through the door that I had correctly assumed to be the entrance to Ali's home.

The front door led directly into a living room, crammed with a playpen, sofa, small table and television. This seemed to be the centre of her living quarters for it was happily cluttered with books, music and toys for the baby.

"Come on through," she said with a nod of her head and wended her way through the toys and play mat on the floor and into the compact kitchen. I looked around in genuine surprise, for although small it was very nicely fitted.

"This is nice," I commented.

"Yeah, tell me about it – better then my flat in London - that was a real dive." She laughed slightly. "Can I just ask you to entertain Tess for a few minutes and I will just change?" She dumped the carrier on the table and slid off up a set of winding stairs, I could only assume to her bedroom.

"Well Tess," I said looking around the clean kitchen. "I take it this is your home." She made a squawk in agreement as I moved around the small space, listening to the sounds of her mother getting changed upstairs and trying not to think improper thoughts of the lack of clothing she must be wearing.

Te thought of Ali naked was almost my undoing and I closed my eyes trying to concentrate on all the passion destroying things I could think of: my parents having sex; Margaret Thatcher naked; French kissing an old granny. French kissing Ali, mmm, that wonderful expressive mouth that seems to want to hold a smile; that beautiful taut dancers body. I shook myself out of my reverie and smiled down at the little girl in my arms, deciding to share my secret with her.

She was exceedingly pretty, with blonde curly hair and the iridescent blue of her mother's eyes, which shone when she flashed a smile showing her wide gummy mouth. It made me wonder what her father must have looked like and for a moment I thought of enlisting Mum's help to find out.

Balancing Tess in my arms I wandered around the kitchen, humming softly under my breath and waiting for Ali, the sound of running water telling me she was showering. My secret should therefore be safe.

"Tess, I have to tell you something," I said fixing her with a stare and holding her so that she sat in my arms. "What would you say if I told you I loved your mother?"

"I would say why didn't you tell her?" the voice came from behind me and I spun around to see Ali standing at the bottom of the stairs.