Well it's good to see your smile and I'd love your company. (Stay For Awhile, Amy Grant)

Cynthia's dashboard had told Bernie it was 25 degrees Celsius outside the Ford Ka, but why then was she shivering and wishing she had her cardi? If global warming resulted in unbearable temperatures too great for the human race to tolerate. Bernie concluded that the final inhabitants of planet earth would live on station platforms, because whatever the weather they were always bloody freezing.

Bernie looked up at the departure and arrival board for the umpteenth time. the Edinburgh train due at 11:08 was delayed by seven minutes. Bernie calculated that was not really time enough to go get a coffee. She would just wander up and down the platform to keep warm. A yellow light six minutes later appeared in the distance, as became slowly brighter and the intercity from London King's Cross chugged into view.

Amid the travellers wearily alighting and the travellers eagerly waiting to board, a rather handsome man Bernie admitted, left the train. He wore a smart dark grey suit, Bernie thought probably designer, not that she was an expert on such matters. She was always most comfortable in her supermarket jeans and a baggy shirt. She admired his slick charcoal grey tie, she mused that the choice in tie was very important if you were trying to make an impression. He had a very smart leather overnight bag and matching laptop case, also designer she thought. He then perversely removed a very tatty looking red suitcase from the carriage. Bernie smiled with instant recognition. The handsome man offered his hand towards the open train door and a perfectly manicured hand took it. A beautiful peroxide blonde pixie-cut dipped out of the carriage followed by a slim figure immaculately turned out, in what Bernie knew to be charity shop seconds from only the most affluent areas of West London.

Handsome man smiled and headed towards platform four for a connecting train, not before kissing the delicate hand he was holding. Bernie rolled her eyes, before waving and yelling, "Trixie, over here."

The blonde spun around and a scarlet painted mouth, the exact same colour as the perfectly polished nails, broke into a stunning smile.

"Bernie, sweetie, I made it, I am up North."

"You are, you really are," replied a breathless Bernie.

The two dodged the other occupants of the platform, all searching for a face familiar to them. The girls met in the middle and hugged each other tightly.

"Gosh, I had no idea how north you were, I think I may feel a nosebleed coming on."

"Trixie I am Scottish, remember there is more north than this," Bernie giggled.

"Really?"

The two reunited friends linked arms, Bernie taking the suitcase pulling duties. They found Cynthia in the car park.

Trixie swung the teddy hanging from the rear view mirror, that she had chosen as Bernie's leaving present, from the mission they had both worked at together. What now seemed like a lifetime ago to the driver. They talked about their mutual friends in London. Trixie went on to list some of the losses that had occurred at the night shelter. These had mostly resulted in funeral attendances, prison visits and sometimes just futile searches and leaflet drops. Bernie felt a jab of shame in her chest. While her friends had been dealing with all this human sorrow, she asked herself what she had been doing?

Aware of her friends tendency to feel she alone was responsible for every error anyone had naively or foolishly ever made. Trixie realized Bernie was slipping into melancholy. The visitor quickly changed the subject commenting on her surroundings and her excitement at visiting Poplar-on-Tweaven. Bernie was hooked out of her guilt and started to watch the miles being eaten up by green fields and village bypasses as they headed closer to Poplar. Trixie still wasn't convinced all was well with her friend and finally asked her outright.

Bernie took a minute to collect herself, "I may have to work while you are here."

Trixie was unperturbed, "I know, you said, I can accompany you as long as the patient..."

"Client," Bernie corrected.

"Client agrees and it doesn't compromise their privacy or dignity," continued Trixie as if reading off a card. "Has she changed her mind, the Matron?" Trixie sounded panicked.

"No, not at all Trixie, as long as we stay within the guidelines."

"Oh phew," Trixie exhaled. Bernie was rather perplexed by Trixie's apparent relief. A little excessive for only discovering she was not being prevented from witnessing first hand a day in the life of a Crane Carer. She didn't have to wait long to discover the reason for Trixie's concern.

"You did promise I could meet Patience Mount," beseeched Trixie.

"I didn't promise anything. Ms Mount is not technically my pati...client and I should never have told you about Mount Busby."

Trixie looked sullen and Bernie seized her opportunity while Trixie was sulking.

"It's not that job, I am referring to."

Trixie was never one to be moody for long especially when she sensed gossip.

"Are you working in a nursing home?"

"No, it is more of a hotel."

"You are a chambermaid?"

"No, it's more of an inn, an old coaching house you could say."

"You work with horses?"

"No, it is more like a public house."

"A pub?"

"You could call it that."

"Doing what?"

"Midwifery, what do you think I am doing in a bleedin' pub?"

"Alright! Wow Bernie what is up with you?"

"I am sorry, it's...things have been difficult."

"And that is why you have to work in the pub?"

"No, things are difficult because I do work in the pub."

The pair stayed silent for about a quarter of a mile. Trixie staring out into the unknown countryside and Bernie focusing on the familiar road in front of her. Bernie regained her composure and calmly began again,

"I might have to work at some point. Pa...my boss has said he will try to cover me while you are here, but I know it might be difficult. So I might have to do a few hours."

"Well that's alright, I will come with you, it is open to the public I presume, I think the clues in the name?" Trixie's temperament was still just simmering.

"Yes and that's what I was most afraid of."

Trixie stopped simmering and boiled over with passion,

"Bernie I can not believe you of all people would think I could not be trusted for a couple of hours in some foisty old country boozer.."

In contrast to fiery Trixie, Bernie froze in horror at her own stupidity and self preoccupation, "Trixie that is the last thing I meant, that never crossed my mind. I am so sorry."

"What then?" spat out Trixie.

"It's me that cannae be trusted" confessed a contrite Bernie.

Bernie knew they were nearly home, but she was still having problems explaining things to her friend.

"So you are having it off with your boss?" Trixie had most definitely come off the boil now and was rolling around the passenger seat giggling.

"Trixie, you know that's not what I meant. We are just friends." Bernie was wishing Cynthia had air conditioning, it seemed very hot in the car.

"We are very good friends too Bernie, but you don't go all red when you say my name."

"Trixie behave yourself. I am trying to explain. We are just friends and we sometimes go out." Trixie smiled and nodded encouragingly, Bernie continued, "You know, to the pictures, bowling, maybe a meal, last week we went to Scarborough for the day."

"Sounds painful."

"It's a coastal town."

"So you have met this man, it is a man I take it?" Trixie asked for confirmation and Bernie nodded, "Who you go out places with and you have a nice time. Am I right?"

Trixie supposed she was and continued,"You obviously find him attractive." When Bernie protested, she went on, "As I said you obviously find him attractive. He must find you attractive or he wouldn't be taken you to Scaryboro or wherever."

Bernie searched for the words, but took too long.

"This may surprise you Bernie, but this is what most people want in life. Some people spend years searching for something as simple as this."

Bernie thought about Val.

"So why then, Bernadette, if you have found it, are you acting like you have killed someone?"

Bernie knew they would soon be entering the village, she pulled over into the siding.

"It's complicated."

"Is he married?"

"Of course not, widowed"

"Oh I am sorry."

"He has a son"

"And you don't get on."

"Yes we do actually."

"But you didn't let him ride on a donkey at the seaside and now he hates you."

"He is 17."

"Oh."

"Paddy is a wee bit older than me."

"I prefer older men."

"He was a pal of my dad's."

"Oh my goodness how old is he? Bernie I know you work with pensioners but you are not supposed to bring them home."

Bernie was now staring at Trixie without blinking. Trixie knew that it was she that had now crossed a line.

"Paddy is...very nice, as is everyone in Poplar. But I don't want you getting the wrong impression and going back to London and telling everyone that Bernie is loved up in the North and not coming back. Because that is not the way it is."

Trixie went to speak but thought better of it.

"Right," said Bernie, starting Cynthia again. "Welcome to Poplar-on-Tweaven."