The church that Pete visits is the North Parish church in Girvan. It is a fine red stone church with a steeple, built during the reign of Queen Victoria. It is Kirk of Scotland. Although it is written that Pete is a lapsed Catholic, and therefore trained for the priesthood, I cannot see him returning to that fold. Particularly bearing in mind his burgeoning relationship with Maggie. I, therefore see him being much more drawn to the Presbyterian.
Girvan is a small town, but gets quite a few summer visitors, in winter I would describe it as 'sleepy'. It is not lost on me, that it also has a Distillery but I'm afraid Pete is just going to have to stay well away!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A FULL HAND OF LOVE.

Waking to find the cottage empty, was a huge shock for Maggie. Ringing his phone produced no answer and it switched straight to voicemail.
An hour passed...two...three. There was still no sign of him.
Maggie was frantic.
As he had come so far, she really hadn't expected a relapse now, he had seemed so determined, so focussed.
Where could he be? The thought that he may have embarked on a bender, made her feel sick with fear.
Grabbing her jacket, she set out to look for him. Since his favourite place was the beach, she headed across the golf course and down through the dunes. Scanning right and left, she walked towards the lighthouse.
It wasn't long before she spotted him. Seated on a lump of driftwood, gazing across towards the hazy shape that was the Mull of Kintyre.
He saw her while she was still some distance away, but remained where he was.
"Christ, Pete...where did you go? I've been worried sick."
There was no smell of drink that she could detect, and he seemed perfectly calm and at ease, if somewhat detached.
"I've been to Girvan." His voice sounded nonchalant, as if this was what he did every day of the week.
"Girvan!" She cried, "what for?"
"I've been to Kirk." He replied, turning to look at her and smiling slightly. "It was a whim." He ended, lamely.
"A whim? A bloody whim? Good God, Pete, I wondered where the hell you were. I can't tell you the thoughts that went through my head, but they ranged from drunk and disorderly to under a bus!"
His laugh, shook her to the core. He never laughed like that around her before. Head tilted back, shoulders shaking, hand across his belly, a chuckling, merry sound, that moved her deeply.
Thumping his arm playfully, he gripped it as in mock agony.
"Me worried sick, and all the time you were sitting in church...you stupid sod!"
"I ha' some thinking to do, and some questions I needed answering and it suddenly seemed like the best place to be." He said, with a shrug.
Maggie put her arms around his neck, more in relief than anything else. His hand traced her forearm thoughtfully.
"So...did you receive any answers to these burning questions?" She enquired.
"Aye... I spoke te the pastor. He was a nice man, he helped me te see a few things more clearly."
She tightened her grip around him, cheek resting against his.
"I bin sittin here, wondering what te say te ye, how I'm gonnae say, what I want te..." He paused,
"I cannae go back, Maggie, I don't want te, I want..."
"Neither do I!" She cut in, "I don't want to go back either. I want to be with you."
He turned to look at her in astonishment...
"I had a speech all worked out, how I was gonnae persuade ye, how I wanted us...to be us!"
Her reply was to lean closer and capture his lips with her own, and his response was instant. Hand cradling the back of her head, the kiss slow and warm, cheeks wet, he melted into her. Eventually pulling back, gasping...
"I love you, Maggie. Wi' all my heart and soul. An' I know I'm no' much o' a catch. But if ye could see ye way clear to bein' wi' me, I promise ye I'll do my best fer ye...There, I've said it!"
He slumped back overwhelmed, relief flooding from him, declaring his love for her had been the first brave step.
Maggie's bright blue eyes shone, she took his face in her hands, thumbing away the tears there.
"Peter Macpherson, I declare that I'm in love with you, and I want to be with you always. I'll do whatever I can to help and take care of you and I promise I'll do my best for you too."
"I'll always be an alcoholic, darlin', but I never want to drink again. I dinnae want to go back to that person I became, I want a future, and I want it wi' ye."

They strolled back to the cottage, her arm hooked through his. Somehow, they would make this work. They would survive. Both knew it would not be plain sailing. But they had faith and they had to try.

Returning to Glasgow the following week, filled them both with trepidation. His key turned in the lock and he entered his little home. The stark contrast between its gloomy interior and the light and air of the cottage, was tangible. Pete felt it keenly. The stale smell of whiskey caused him to retch . He had never even been aware of it before, and now it assaulted his nostrils, the back of his throat constricting, he hurried out into the street. Maggie followed him, and found him leaning, hand against the wall for support, sucking in lungfuls of air. She rubbed his back tenderly.
"I cannae stay here." He whispered.
"We'll go to mine, don't worry, it'll be fine. You'll be fine."
He grabbed a few essentials and they headed for Maggie's flat.
Pots and pans clattered as Maggie prepared supper. Pete wandered idly round her living area, glancing at the books on the shelves, admiring her sketches and generally taking in the items that made the place hers.
They ate together, then curled up on the sofa side by side.
"So...what are we going to do?" She began, thoughtfully, tracing the back of his arm with her fingers.
"I was thinking of free-lance," he replied," I might o' bin a drunk, but I'm gud at what I do...I can write. But I want to sell ma place. I cannae go back there. What d'ye think about Girvan? It's a nice wee town?"
"Girvan sounds good, I don't really care where I live, as long as we're together. If I sell this place too, we'll have a bit of cash to spare. It's cheaper there than here. Then I could maybe look for a job?"
"Ye'd be prepared to do tha'? Just up sticks an' leave...?"
"Yes, no question. This kind of thing doesn't happen every day Pete. What we have is special, and I'm not prepared to let it get away."
"I look at mysel in the mirror, sometimes, and I cannae believe what a lucky bastard I am. What did I do te deserve this?"
"You were just you, Pete, and that was enough. You are a good and decent man, but you were dealt a blow, which shook you to the core. Now you are ready to move on. It's taken a while, but here you are."
"And it's all down te ye."
"No, it isn't Pete, it's down to you. It had to be your decision, no one else's, and it's you that's been through the wringer these past weeks. I have only been there to ease the way."
"I wud never have done it alone...never. I'd still be where ye found me. I'm never goin' back to that life again, I've seen the other side now and I like it too much to go back. I want a fresh start, a new beginning and I want ye to share it wi' me."
"Then I'll do it gladly, it'll be a new start for both of us."

Maggie yawned.
"We'll talk about it some more in the morning, you're exhausted and so am I. I'm going to bed...you coming?"
His expression was first startled, then apprehensive...
"Ye mean wi' you?"
"Of course, with me, I don't have a spare room, and I've only one bed!" She gave him a little smile of encouragement, and he left the couch and followed her meekly to her room.

Through all the weeks of her caring for him and being close to him, and while he had been so ill and vulnerable, Pete had ceased to be bothered much by baring himself to her. Now, however, stone cold sober and completely aware of everything, he suddenly felt painfully shy.
"I've no' bin with anyone since Lorna." He murmured, "I can't even remember what it feels like."
"Pete, you don't have to DO anything," she replied gently, " there is no rush and no pressure. You must do what you feel comfortable with."
He felt gauche and self-conscious as he undressed, down to T-shirt and boxers, and slid under the covers. Maggie climbed in beside him and he watched her nervously.
"You don't have to look so fearful, Pete. I'm not going to eat you! Come here and give me a cuddle!"
Holding her arms open to him, he shuffled closer and she wrapped them around him. His eyes closed, as he breathed in the warmth of her, the scent of her skin and hair.
"I'm terrified," he whispered, voice a rasp in his throat.
She placed her lips on his, softly. A shiver of anticipation flowed through him. Gentle stroking motions under his shirt, made him moan, and respond.
For someone so out of practice, he was a patient and considerate lover. Attentive and sweet, the little sounds of need he made, only served to render him more desirable to her. The fire inside him built as he caressed her body, feeling the longing there.
When she yielded to him, and he entered her, the intensity was so great, it almost made him cry out. A rush of love and emotion overtook him, pleasure and desire, all at once. So long in the wilderness, finally he was home. Falling forwards against her breast with his release, his heart soared within him, and he wept, but tears of joy, not sadness.
Maggie, clung to him blindly, riding her own wave of ecstasy. Gasping for breath, and whispering her love into the curls of hair by his ear.
Gradually their breathing slowed and calmed, and they slept. Untroubled and relaxed, entwined in each other's embrace.

The feeling of exhilaration stayed with him all the next day. Waking before her, he lay on his back staring at the ceiling, for a few moments, before turning and leaning on one elbow to look at the sleeping form at his side. He mapped her face, committing each feature to memory. Her aquiline nose, similar to his own, freckles on her face, long fair eyelashes and brows, a pretty mouth, the lips slightly apart, tendrils of pale hair against her cheek and the shell-like curve of her ear. He wanted to file this morning in his mind and hold it there forever, the first morning he'd woken after making love to her, he'd never forget it as long as he lived.

During the months that followed, their plans were formulated, and if they selfishly spent a great deal of time together, then so be it.
There were days when they spent all afternoon in bed...and why not? Just experiencing the closeness, the desire, the sheer bliss of each other's company, the unbridled passion they now shared. Who would blame them if they could not get enough of it?
Estate Agents had been to value their properties and they had found a place that suited them well. It was not large, but it was light and airy and had a room for Pete to use as a study, where he could write, three reasonable sized bedrooms and a small garden. Better still it was situated on a rise of ground which afforded a view out to sea. They could reach the beach in a few minutes walk and there were shops in the town and more nearby.
Telling Devlin, he wasn't returning was no great surprise to his boss, but he did at least show that he was happy for him. Breaking the news to Paddy was a little more difficult. Maggie invited her to eat with them, so they could tell her privately. She cried, and clung to Pete's neck,
"What will I do without you?"
Pete hushed her, he knew she had the ambition to succeed and didn't need him any more to help her.
"If ye ever need to get away from the buggers, you jump on the train and come an' stay! We'll have a room fer ye and you're always welcome."
"That goes for both of us, Paddy, as soon as we're settled, you must be our first visitor."

One thing now remained, and that was to sort through and box up Pete's belongings. Since their return to Glasgow, he had not been back to his home again. He developed a complete mental block about it. The very thought of going there made him feel nauseous. It represented his old life and all that was poison about it, and, try as he might, he just couldn't bring himself to go there.
However, the house sales were going through, and face it he must. Maggie sat him down one day, and tackled him sternly.
"Tomorrow, we are going to your place," she began. Pete swallowed thickly.
"I'm going to throw open the windows, draw back the curtains and let in the light. You and I... together... are going to go through all your things. I am going to scrub that place to within an inch of its life!"
She was true to her word.
The beautiful leather volumes were packed with reverence. There was also a great deal of junk to dispose of, and Maggie attacked this with gusto. Pete absented himself and she found him an hour later, sitting on the floor surrounded by files of papers.
"What's all this?"
He looked up sharply, face barely composed.
"My stories, my poems, my articles...from way back."
She knelt beside him and picked up one of the yellowing manuscripts. It was a love poem. Beautifully written, tender and poignant, his style was spare and polished, flowing and articulate.
"God...Pete...you wrote this?"
"Aye, a lang time ago."
Tears stung her eyes.
"But, Pete, this is wonderful, it's sublime...you could publish this..."
"It's no' meant for public consumption." He said, somewhat sharply, collecting up the sheaves and refiling them.
"Well, don't you dare throw them away, because I would like to read them. Please Pete...don't, I'm asking you..."
"Okay, hen, stick them in the box with ma books. They'll no' take up much space."

Almost everything was packed, the place looked different now, and smelled fresher. The last thing remaining was the empty silver photo frame on the mantle. They both made a grab for it at the same moment. It fell, and shattered. Pete gave a cry, as Maggie knelt to carefully retrieve it from the shards of glass. Inside, turned so that it faced inwards, was a colour photograph.
It was faded but still clear.
An intense looking young man, with a ridiculous head of hair, smiling broadly, his arm around a dark haired young woman. Her face was oval and framed with curls, a wide mouth and large brown eyes, expressive and merry. She was laughing, head tilted slightly back.
Pete made to take it from her, but she pulled away.
"This is you...and Lorna?"
"Aye." His mouth was set, jaw tight.
"Oh, Pete...she's lovely!" Her finger traced the face in the picture.
"I'm sorry, hen, you did nae need to see that."
He reached out again, to take it from her, but she hesitated.
"Why did you turn it round?"
"I could nae bare to look at it, too many memories." He murmured. "Sorry ye had te see it."
"What do you mean? Why should I not want to see it?"
"Well...it's my past...it's..."
"It's part of you, Pete, it's you and your wife, and she's beautiful, and look how happy you both are. It shouldn't be buried away, it should be celebrated. When we move, this is going in a new frame and it's going to be on display!"
Pete hugged her with a sudden fervour, taking her by surprise and knocking her almost off balance.
"You're wonderful...you know that? And I love you so much!"