Hi all, I'm off work this week - hence the quicker update! Enjoy. x
Chapter 25
Thursday 8th September
For long moments the sound of the wind travelling over the heath and birdsong winging somewhere in the distance filled the awkward silence.
Charles dare not breath. His mouth was still open from speaking the words, and his bottom lip was dry and calling out for him to lick it. Elsie blinked. Charles exhaled and waited for her response.
Her whole body seemed to sag with exhaustion and the weight of expectation; she rubbed at her forehead, brushed a hand over her errant hair.
"Oh fuck."
Whatever he'd expected it to be that certainly wasn't it. He opened his mouth to speak but found his chest starved of breath.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she repeated, her voice a whisper as she backed from his hands.
He turned from her, sucking in cold air until he felt his lungs would burst, "Christ," and rubbing a weary hand over his face. "That wasn't what I –,"
" – I never thought… Sorry, you go…on."
"No, no. Clearly I've said enough." He still faced away from her and she watched his broad shoulders shake.
"Oh no," she moved behind him, resting her hands on his upper arms, "no don't feel bad, I don't mean this negatively. I didn't mean."
"I shouldn't have said it. Stupid. Ridiculous timing." He grumbled, groaned, frustrated with himself. "Old fool."
"No," she said softly, holding him tighter. "You're not, and it was a…" she didn't know what to say. Her mind was whirring, chest thudding – this was all happening too fast and so unexpectedly and she couldn't quite string together a coherent thought let alone put it into words. "…it was a lovely gesture. But I'm still hoping he'll see sense and let me move him somewhere pleasant and…" she breathed deeply, pressed her chin against the back of his shoulder and sighed. "Oh Charles."
He reached back and patted her hand, "I do love you," he started, "and what I meant to say really was…"
She yanked back from him, "We should go. We've got to walk back and if we're late she'll panic, she does panic."
She set off walking, glanced back over her shoulder at him, watching as he stared resolutely at the scenery for a few more moments before turning and trailing behind her and her heart sank – she'd handled that badly… she didn't know how to handle it. It was something she hadn't prepared for.
Elsie turned the page of her magazine, shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced over the top of her glasses down the salon to where her sister was having her hair washed. She closed the magazine and smiled to herself as she watched Becky's feet move back and forth in time to the beat of the music playing lightly in the background.
Her eyes cast around the room and settled on a young girl laughing as she leant forward to look in the mirror.
"Do you think it looks too big?" The girl asked giggling and then swirling around in her chair to face a woman who sat beside Elsie on the couch by the window. "I don't want to topple over."
"The dress is that big it'll weigh you down," the girl's mother teased.
"Mum," the girl moaned, "does it look good though? I want to be able to see my neckline and the necklace…"
"It looks beautiful," Elsie interjected, "really beautiful. You're getting married?"
"Three weeks," the girl held up three fingers, one of which flashed a small diamond ring. "Sooo nervous it's ridiculous."
"They've been together since they were kids," her mother explained, "since you were what, fourteen?"
"What a total saddo!" The girl laughed and Elsie smiled.
"Not at all, if you're in love then you're in love. Enjoy it. I hope it all goes smoothly; the hair looks wonderful."
"Elsie!" Becky called as she traipsed from the sink and back to her chair, "come here," she waved her hand, "can you tell yet? Does the colour look different?"
"Mmm, I can't tell yet sweetie because it's wet," she rested her hands on Becky's shoulders and kissed the top of her head, smiling at her in the mirror. "Are you excited? Have you got your picture?"
"Yes, here," Becky said, pulling the hair magazine back into her lap, "this one."
"I think it looks fabulous."
"I'll be beautiful, like you."
"More so darling, you're always beautiful."
"Where's Carson?"
Elsie glanced over her shoulder to the window, "He went to get our coffees a while ago, didn't he?"
"I asked for milkshake. Strawberry."
"I know."
"Tell him."
"I will." She allowed the stylist to drape a cape around Becky's shoulders. "I'll give him a call."
"Don't go far," Becky gasped, "there's the scissors."
"I'll be right here, I'll sit right here next to you, let me just call Charles. One minute, I promise."
She rang his phone for a good thirty seconds but as she watched Becky jerking about in the chair nervously she hung up and took the seat next to her, taking hold of her hand.
"Now, let's talk about what we're going to do next. Shall we go get cake next or go look at these shoes you want?"
"Shoes please! But I'd still like some cake."
"We can do both."
"And can we still go look at dresses?"
"Of course darling, I promised." She watched the stylist cutting the first few inches off her sister's hair but kept her face neutral and calm, patting Becky's hand. "You should have your nails done too."
"Like yours? Yours are pink."
"Pale pink, very pale, but yes, they are. Would you like that?"
Becky nodded.
"We do nails here, upstairs." The stylist said to Elsie, "Other things too – eyebrows."
"What do they do to your eyebrows?" Becky asked.
"Tidy them up, like, they might pluck them – remember how I used to do mine when we were younger? With the tweezers?" Becky nodded. "Well, you can have other things done too – they can dye your eyebrows like you've just had your hair dyed, to cover the greys. And you can have them waxed or you could try threading – they use cotton for that, it can feel odd the first time."
"What do you have?"
"I like mine waxed." She looked up as the door opened, spontaneously breaking into a relieved smile as Charles walked in, laden with drinks. "Oh, he's back, my lovely man with caffeine."
"Sorry, was a terribly long queue."
"That's okay," she reached up to take her drink from him.
"And a strawberry milkshake for Miss. Becky," Charles said, setting it down in front of her. "Looking good already."
"What do you do to your eyebrows?" Becky asked, gazing into the mirror and scrutinising his reflection.
"Good lord, nothing. Why?"
"Yours are fluffy. Elsie has hers waxy."
"Waxed. But you can try threading if you like." Elsie said.
"Will you have it threaded too, Carson?"
"I don't know what that is, but my eyebrows aren't for playing games with." He settled himself on the couch with his coffee.
"Now, you've got to be brave," Becky said with authority, turning in her seat to look at him.
"Ooh, sit still babe, don't want the ends uneven." She glanced at Charles, "You could do it, try it, go with Becky as support."
Charles rolled his eyes, "I think not."
"Oh go on… make it worth your while."
He wasn't sure quite what she meant by that, but he held her gaze, took some comfort from the fact she was smiling at him – he hadn't buggered it all up quite yet.
"Ah! Look Elsie! My hair's gone!" Becky exploded, swinging around in her chair, "Look."
"It looks great," Elsie said, "you look wonderful."
"It does look good," Charles agreed.
"You think so, Carson?"
"Definitely, very nice." He winked at her, "How's that milkshake?"
"Very nice," she winked in response.
"Right, let's get it dry and styled and then we'll go upstairs," Elsie said. "I'm gonna nip upstairs and see if they can fit you two in –,"
"Er, I haven't agreed to anything." Charles asserted.
Elsie leant over him as she got to her feet, kissing his cheek, "Oh go on, for me."
"And so I got them both, see?" Becky said, "Because Elsie said they both looked pretty on me. And new boots for when I go help at Sally's farm with the horses and the kiddies who learn to ride. What did you buy, Carson?"
"Books," Charles said from the front of the car, twisting his neck slightly to look at Becky behind him, piles of bags beside her.
"Which kind? I like lovey ones, and you know, there's that other…" she pondered, looking out of the window, "make believe ones."
"Fantasy," Elsie supplied.
"Yes." Becky agreed. "I can see my hair in the reflection," she said, "and my eyebrows. Do you think they look good?"
"I think they look very good," Elsie said, flicking on the indicator and slowing to turn off the main road and onto the country lane. "And do you know what I was thinking?"
"What?"
"That maybe, if you'd like it, I could arrange for you to go back to that hairdressers every six weeks or so. I could make a standard booking for you and then you can go and keep having your hair done, if that's what you'd like." She glanced in her mirror to look at Becky, "I could arrange for Aunt Jan to go with you if you'd like, or maybe one of your friends from the centre."
"I would like that I think," Becky agreed, "Then my hair would always be pretty, like yours is. Elsie's hair was always pretty when we were little."
"Well, yours looks wonderful I think," Charles chipped in. "Very sophisticated."
Becky laughed, "I like how you say that word. Say again…soph…"
"Soph-is-ti-cated," Charles said grandly.
"Ah, I like this song," Becky yelled, pointing at the stereo, "Elsie turn it up, turn up the radio."
"I like this song too," Elsie agreed, glancing to Charles' stricken face – he wasn't really one for popular music.
"Hello," Becky sang, "you can sing Carson, it's very deep," she giggled then repeated in a very low tone, "Hello."
"Do you know, it's like having Adele in the car with us," Elsie said.
"You sing too Elsie, it's the big bit."
"Yes," Charles said, smirking at her, "go on Elsie, sing the big bit."
"I can bloody well sing, I'll have you know," she shook her head and joined in with Becky, both too loud and slightly shaky but filling the car.
"I must have called a thousand times
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done…"
Becky continued to sing, looking out of the car window and singing to the view she knew so well. Elsie paused, her hand reaching out to pat Charles' leg; she suddenly thought of his broad, globed shoulders shaking up there on the moorland. The oddly phrased words, and, more importantly, the sentiment behind it.
She sucked in a tight breath, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and pulled onto the gravelled track that led down to the family farm.
"We're home," Becky announced, "I want to show Dada," she placed her hand on the door handle, all set to jump out as soon as Elsie stopped. "And hang my dresses in the wardrobe."
"I'll carry the bags," Charles said, "you go in and show him."
The sky was darkening, not just the hour but the threat of early evening rain. Yet Charles felt almost gleeful as he watched Becky jump down from the car and race across to the house, proudly showing off her hair as she twirled in front of the door and smiled back at them.
"She's so happy," Elsie said, "such a simple thing has made her so happy."
"You have," he tilted his head towards her, "you have the power to do that. Don't you know." He opened the car door and got out before she could reply; leaving the words hanging in her mouth.
She watched him, laden with bags, make his way across to the farmhouse. Never, not once in her time away from home, had she ever imagined bringing a man home with her. She'd never imagined allowing anyone to see where she came from, to dig down and explore who she is, what made her, what shaped her.
The thought made her throat close up and she dropped her head back, willing her heart to slow and for some sense of the stoic Elsie to take hold.
"Oh, bugger it," she snapped at herself as the sky opened up and the rain fell. Pulling the car keys out she dropped her feet to the muddy floor and ran towards the open door.
Charles was at the end of the hallway, by the stairs, setting the bags down by the side of them beneath the space where coats hung.
"Wasn't sure where to put these," he said as she came towards him.
He paused when she purposefully came close to him, her hand on his upper arm.
"I love you," she said urgently, "you do know that? I need you to know that. Never mind what…" she paused, her eyes searching his face. "…Earlier…"
He nodded, mouth slightly open as she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. His arms surrounded her, hands at the small of her back as he held her tight against him, their kiss growing in depth and intensity.
When she pulled an inch back from him they both smiled foolishly; her nose touching his.
"Talk later?" She said lightly.
He nodded, his fingers lacing with hers against her hip.
She kissed him again, just quickly, then backed away, turning her head to see her father watching them from the other end of the hall.
For the shortest of seconds, he stared at the pair of them; scanning the way their bodies leant together, where Charles' hand lay on her back, hers still holding his other one.
Grumbling in the back of his throat he questioned, "Still 'ere then?"
Elsie sighed, licking her lips, "I'm not giving up that easily, Dad." She let go of Charles and walked towards her father, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"
"Stop preening," Douglas said, poking at the fire and watching Becky in the mirror.
"Leave her, Dad," Elsie smiled, wiping a cloth over the table. "She's happy."
"Can I try my dress on now?"
"Not just yet," Douglas said, his voice softening, "and you better be taking those shoes off too, put your wellies on for locking up the barns."
Elsie was about to respond but bit her lip; they were in a long held routine and really she shouldn't interfere. She watched Becky do as her father asked and set out the teapot and mugs.
Charles took his coat off and settled himself in the chair at one end of the table, pouring the tea as Elsie sliced a large piece of fruit cake and put it in front of her father.
"Dad, sit down, eat this. I want to talk to you."
"More talking," he yanked out a chair and wearily collapsed into it, pulling off his hat and laying it on the table. "Where did you get the cake?"
"Fran's, in town, you always liked her cake."
"Her daughter runs it now, same recipe mind." He said, taking a bite. "Still tasty."
"Good," she added a drop of milk to his mug and a lump of sugar. "Now, I want to bring something up with you."
"She's happy," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Happen you've done her some good, taking her out."
Elsie allowed herself a small smile at that, she felt her chest lighten just slightly. "Thank you. I wish I could do more, I wish I could see her more often."
Douglas watched her, "You're different," he finally said, then he seemed to remember himself and took a long drink of his tea. "Don't turn her head; it'll be different when you've gone back."
"I know," Elsie said softly; she could feel the quiet comfort of Charles watching her. "I'd like to arrange for her to go back to the hairdressers, every other month, something like that. I'll pay."
Douglas pursed his lips, murmured then nodded, "If it keeps her happy."
"I think she'll like it."
"She can't go alone into town though and I can't be expected to –,"
"I'll talk to Aunt Jan, or Hannah, she might go with her." She folded her hands on the table, "I want to do something for her, for her to have something."
"I do take care of her."
"I know that Dad, I never doubted that, not for a second."
He looked to the table, to his own hand and the place where his wedding ring sat embedded in his old skin. "She still misses your mother," he admitted, "cries, sometimes, not as much now as she did when it… Well."
The silence seemed to stretch painfully onwards and Charles squeezed his hand against his knee beneath the table.
"What…" Charles coughed to clear his throat. "What was her name? Your mother?"
"May," Elsie said gently, taking her time before looking up at him. "Becky looks more like her than me…" she tapped her fingers upon the table. "Well, let's…" she stood up, reaching for the teapot and refilling their mugs.
"You look like her," Douglas said, pulling his mug towards him. "Now you do, anyhow." He looked up at Elsie, "The way you hold your chin. Regal. Like the world is beneath you."
"Thanks. That makes me, us, sound snooty, horrid."
"No." he paused, his eyes narrowing. "Beautiful."
She flexed her fingers out on the table, "Dad." Her voice was soft and for a second Charles felt he was intruding. "She can't carry the farm with you, I've noticed, you've got her doing more and more and…"
"Ah," Douglas' tone was defensive as he leant back in his chair, "she's fine, fit."
"Maybe. But you're not," Elsie said, hoping her words wouldn't be seen as an attack. "I want to help Dad but you have to let me. Stop fighting me."
He drained his mug, placed it on top of his empty plate and pushed it aside. "Go on then, what's your big idea?"
"I don't have no big idea," she said. "But I have suggestions. My first," she took a deep breath, "You won't like it."
His eyebrows rose and she thought how much the action reminded her of Charles giving her one of his looks.
"They're building some new houses."
"No."
"Just try, Dad, just see. They're right over on Asher's corner, that plot of land, remember the old storage place was there, remember?"
"Not lost my marbles just yet," he said and he heard Charles smirk and cast him a quick look – he seemed a good man, a decent sort, truth be told.
"There's a bungalow, I checked it all out a while ago."
"You've seen it?"
"Only online," she admitted. "But it'd be perfect for you and Becky, a corner plot, bottom of the field, nothing behind you but the woods so you could still walk the terriers and not too far for Becky to get to the stables. There's buses to town, one would drop her off right by the centre."
"Little Miss Planner."
"Please don't mock me."
"Is that what I'm doing?"
She narrowed her eyes, "I'm never sure. Would you see it?"
"Why?"
Dad," her shoulders sagged, "just go, please, I can take you, tomorrow if possible. I can ring in the morning."
"I won't like it. And I can't… even if I did. You know this farm, you know how hard I fought for it, worked my guts out for it before you were born."
"I know that Dad, I know how hard it would be, what it would cost you."
"It's in my bones."
"It's killing you," she said quickly and the air paused, just for a moment, as he looked at her with such intensity. Then she reached across, touched the knuckles of his right hand. "Please. Just come with me."
He breathed, then gave a slight nod.
Charles took his time rinsing his face; he was staring at himself in the mirror, patting the water away when Elsie came in.
"Excuse me," she said as she squeezed by him.
"This bathroom's so damned small," he said, watching her strip off her robe and underwear and step into the shower. "I'm gonna make some tea, you want some?"
"A-ha," she nodded, pulling the shower curtain across. "Quick rinse."
By the time she came out, damp hair clipped on top of her head and back in her robe, Charles was sitting in bed watching the news.
"Your tea's going cold."
"Sorry," she rummaged in the top drawer of the dresser, "do you have a spare t-shirt?"
"You're cold?"
"A little, I don't want to sleep in this, I'll tie myself up in it."
He threw off the quilt and got out of bed, finding her a t-shirt out, "Serves you right for never packing nightwear; not that it bothers me." He smiled, nudging her elbow, but she ignored his comments and instead moved to the opposite side of the bed, taking off her robe and quickly putting the t-shirt on before climbing in bed.
"Thanks for the tea," she turned her lamp off, settled back on her pillows and sipped the cooling liquid.
"You're welcome. So you er, you going to talk to me, or just ignore me? Or rather it?"
"I haven't been ignoring you, have I?"
"No, not in terms of the silent treatment or… but you've… you've been quiet since we left the farm."
She shrugged, "A long day. An emotional…" she shook her head, put her tea down and shuffled down in the bed, turning onto her side, her back to him.
Sighing, Charles switched off the television and laid down next to her, on his back for a moment before turning over and facing her. He laid his hand on her upper back, "Darling," he whispered, brushing his hand down to her hip. "I'm sorry if I upset you... this morning."
She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut; she was too tired to do this. "I'm not upset."
"Then what? You never responded to it, you've deliberately avoided it."
"What did you want me to say?"
"Nothing dramatic," he pulled her back towards him, pushed himself up onto one elbow so he could look down at her.
She peered up at his face; her heart ached for hurting him, for not reacting better to what he'd said.
"I'm sorry, I know it must have cost you a lot to say what you did. I didn't mean to be rude."
"Oh, nonsense," he shook his head. "I wasn't proposing, I don't want you to worry or get scared and think that's what I was doing, not yet. We haven't even known each other a year, I'm not deluded."
"Thanks very much."
"I can't win."
She smiled.
"It wasn't a proposal Elsie, believe me. If it were a proposal, I'd have made a much better job of it."
"You would?"
"Course. Something romantic, something memorable," he touched her hair. "A huge diamond."
She smiled again, "See, you do know me," she mumbled half into her pillow.
He chuckled, "It was a spontaneous comment, but that doesn't mean it wasn't heartfelt. Marriage is something I want, not with anybody else, I've never considered it…" he huffed, "Not since Alice, anyhow."
She rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, look how well that turned out." He touched her hair, "But with you, for the rest of our lives? Yes, that's where I can see us going." He swallowed, "And, if I'm honest, it upset me that you reacted so negatively towards it."
"Oh I didn't, I haven't," she said eagerly, twisting fully onto her back and reaching up to touch his face, "It just surprised me. I say just, it really bloody surprised me."
"You've never considered it?"
"I've never considered marrying anyone, Charles, not even Joe, not really. It was a game back then, a role I thought I had to play. That was such an almighty mess and I never… that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you, to spend my life with you."
"I'm not saying now, I'm not pushing for anything, honestly. I really didn't mean to scare you."
"I'm not scared, that wasn't why I reacted…" she turned onto her side to face him, plumping the pillows up, "I can't explain it."
"Try. You think it's easy for me to just lay my heart bare?"
"No."
"Because believe me, it isn't. After Alice, years on my own, finding somebody I can trust enough –,"
"You can trust me."
"And I do. I do trust you. I wouldn't offer to help out with the farm."
"I don't want you to pour money into this, I'm not saying that to be cruel."
"I know. I get it, I understand why."
"And I didn't avoid...what you said. The 'm' word just threw me. And my mind is spinning anyway, being back here, trying to decide what to do about it all and then you just… it just seemed to come out of nowhere."
"Am I allowed to hold you for a moment or do we have to be all standoffish?"
She slid forward into his arms; her hands gripping his back, eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of his chest.
"I don't like being distant from you," he whispered, "I don't like awkward feelings between us. It seems wrong, not being on the same page."
"I agree," she said into his skin. "Oh this is unworkable," she yanked herself free, pulling the t-shirt up and over her head, "you know I hate clothes in bed."
"Which is one of the reasons that one day I might propose," he opened his arms for her to sink back into them.
"Very funny," she groaned as she pressed against him. "I don't know why you'd want to."
"Where do you get this idea? That you're unlovable?"
She pressed her cheek to his chest, "Experience," she finally said and his heart thumped against her face.
"What experience would lead you to think that, hmm?" He kissed the top of her head. "What could possibly lead you to ever think that?"
She was silent for such a long time that he wondered if she was asleep. That perhaps she'd drifted off after the exhaustion of the day. That was fine, they could talk another time, he figured they had forever now – an unspoken bond, that this was how it would always be; the two of them.
But then he realised she was crying. Silently at first. The warmth of it; slight, steady trickles of moisture sliding over his chest. He tuned his brain into her movements, to the tiny curling of her fingers against his belly. The sounds of the room, shrinking in and focussing on the ticking clock, the darkness moving around them.
He moved his fingers into the heat of her hair, and perhaps that was a mistake because then she really cried and he hadn't quite been prepared for watching her come apart.
The sight of Elsie Hughes coming undone broke his heart; he'd never heard her really cry before, not the soul-wracking sobs that shook her body now. Her tears drying on his skin, her entre being shaking in his arms. He could do little but try and soothe, but even then he knew she had to cry it out – sometimes it was all you could do.
Her body shifted, her head slid to his belly, tears slowing.
Charles stroked her hair, one hand massaging her shoulder as the other ran through the silky strands.
"I never let myself care," she mumbled, "because it's easier not to."
"I know; I do the same."
"I don't want to let you down."
"How on earth would you do that?"
"I let everyone down."
"Nonsense."
It took every ounce of energy to push herself forward, to reach for the box of tissues on the side and blow her nose and wipe her face.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"Don't be," the tips of his fingers just grazed against her knee.
"Not at all attractive."
He shook his head, his hand still rubbing her knee. "You know you can tell me anything. I don't want to see you like this, but I do want to know why."
He held his hands apart, an invitation to come back to him, and she did, lying on her back with her head on his stomach.
"The night my father… I did tell you, didn't I? About how my father knew? How he found out?"
He closed his eyes, the scene playing out inside his brain, "Christmas party at your house."
"I didn't realise that my father had seen him creeping out of my room. When I got up the next morning everyone had gone; Dad was out working, mum had made porridge and Becky and I sat in our pyjamas in front of the fire eating it. It was so frosty, I remember that so well, isn't that odd? It seemed like the coldest December I'd ever known. We had to clean the house, there was mess everywhere from the party – glasses, food, you know. In the afternoon Becky and I worked in the barn, we sat on the hay and I read to her. Dad never came home, not til it was dark and Becky was asleep and just me up with mum."
"He'd avoided you?"
"I suppose so; avoided dealing with it anyway."
She was still again, quiet as she stared up at the ceiling and remembered.
"It was the most awful thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'd never seen him…" her voice clouded over. "He's never been like that. Unhinged. And my mother crying, it was the first she knew – him screaming at me. Dragging me across the room."
She felt Charles' hand against her stomach; a warm, comforting weight, protective and soothing.
"He hurt you?"
"It doesn't… he didn't…" she sighed, searching for the words. "He was disgusted by me. And I'm embarrassed by it." She reached for his hand, feeling his fingers close around hers. "Still." She closed her eyes, "He threw me out, it was raining and I was crying and I just didn't know – I'd never hurt anyone before you know, not really; silly playground stuff, kids arguing, but never really hurt someone. It was an odd feeling, like being in a fog."
She turned a little, so her face was away from his gaze.
"What did you do?"
"Ran, only place I could think to go. I was so absolutely convinced that this was it – love. And that it would always be that way. So, I was bedraggled and muddy and soaked and creeping around this farmhouse peering through the windows."
"The farmer?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.
"Geoff. Yes."
"And… what? You went in?"
"God no. I got his attention through a window. He came out to me in the barn; it wasn't the first time we'd met there – I tearfully poured my soul out about my parents knowing. Told him it would be okay because now people knew we could be together and I could call off my engagement and he could leave his wife and we'd be together… Stupid, foolish ideas. Of course he didn't want any of that. I think it actually terrified him; the thought of being with me."
"I'm surprised your father didn't beat the hell out of him."
"I thought he'd shoot him," she said honestly, "I think maybe Geoff thought that too."
"What did you do?"
"Cried. And cried and cried and cried. He didn't want me. Just wanted to fuck me, of course. And so I ran back home, where the hell else was I going to go? I hid in the barn – soaked through, shaking… I must've fallen asleep in there. When I woke up I was in my bed, wrapped up warm with a water bottle."
Charles smiled sadly, "Your Dad carried you in?"
"Under duress from mother I would guess."
He squeezed her hand, "Oh, I don't know. I think maybe he was sorry he didn't protect you from that bastard."
Her head twisted sharply as she looked at him for the first time.
"You don't think that's what he is?"
"I think it's hard to just place labels, none of us acted perfectly. Correctly. But when I woke up that day we were both different people; our relationship was damaged, and we never got it back." Her brow creased, "And I hate myself for doing that."
He brought his hand up to her face and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, "You have to let it go."
She gave him a watery smile, "Are you going to burst into song?"
"Don't make jokes," his hand slid to her shoulder and tugged her towards him.
"Don't be nice to me."
"Shut up," he pulled her fully against him, kissing her forehead. "I'm always nice to you."
"You are."
"I'm glad you told me," he said gently.
"Well, we did make a pact, didn't we, to be honest." Her face felt flushed, head heavy and spinning with the weight of it all. "What a day – if I'm not arguing with my father or having promises of marriage thrown my way…"
"You're forcing me to get my eyebrows done."
She folded her arms on his chest, looking up at him, "Oh yes; how are they feeling?"
"Sore, truth be told. But worth it, to see you and Becky together."
"I've got some stuff you can use to stop them stinging," she reached up to his face. "She had a good day."
"She did." He licked his lips, "You're not unlovable, Elsie, far from it. You're the kindest, most sincere person. Hard as nails and practical and yes, downright bossy at times."
She smiled at that.
"But wonderful. And very, very lovable."
Her voice was small, "Thank you… for so many things."
He gave a slight nod, "Tomorrow we'll see these properties and take it from there. Don't worry; we'll make it work."
Friday 9th September
When Elsie woke the room was still dark, she felt warm cocooned against Charles' side but as she turned and the sheets shifted the coldness of the room touched her arm and she shivered, burrowing back down beneath the quilt.
Charles breathed against her forehead and she slid her palm over his chest, lifting her head to kiss his mouth; sweet, tiny kisses until he groaned and slung his arm over her, pulling her tight against him.
"I want a cup of tea," she said.
"Is that a hint?"
"Mmm," she kissed his chin, his chest, pressing her face momentarily against him. "I need to pee too though but I don't want to get up." She looked up to his resting face, "It's comfy here."
"I'm still asleep."
Smiling, she kissed his mouth again, gently pressing her lips to his. "Your chin is prickly."
"Still asleep…"
Her kisses became more insistent; the press of her lips against his lasted longer, more pressure applied, until his hand squeezed her bottom.
"Stop it, else I'll have to kiss you properly."
"Oh…?" She giggled in the back of her throat and he growled and almost lifted her on top of him, his mouth opening hers, kissing her deeply, passionately.
"Better?" He asked, finally opening his eyes.
She smiled, "I still want a cup of tea."
"Maddening woman."
"Ah, don't squeeze me, there'll be an accident. Okay… I really need to go." she pulled herself out of his arms and reluctantly got out of bed.
"I want biscuits with my tea," he said, closing his eyes and turning onto his side again.
"Biscuits?" She called from the bathroom, "You do realise we're in a B&B?" She rinsed her hands, filled the kettle and came back into the room to plug it in. "If you get up I'll take you for breakfast."
"Last time you said that I had to actually make it."
She smiled, watching him in the bed. "Not today. I'll ring the property place soon as it turns nine."
"What time is it now?"
"8:25."
"We slept quite well then, latest since we got here." Charles opened his eyes, moved onto his back.
"A-ha. Perhaps we're getting used to the lumpy mattress."
He smiled at her, "Perhaps. Be good to be back in my own bed though."
She pouted, "Oh?" and the kettle finished boiling.
"You know what I mean, mine or yours."
The mention of home made her think about the recently decorated room standing there waiting for him; the question she still had to ask. She brushed that aside for the moment and made the tea. There were other things to deal with first. One step at a time.
"I'll have to take my laptop to breakfast with us, use the Wi-Fi and check my emails and such."
"Alright, I need to call Thomas, make sure everything's ticking along. I'm sure it will be; he hardly needs me now. Just my name."
"Don't say that," she carried the mugs over, set them down and got back in bed. "And I need you."
"Well then, that's all that matters."
They sat side-by-side drinking their tea.
"Can I ask you something?" He said.
"Yep."
"How long after that business you told me about last night did you leave?"
She sighed, "Few days. I couldn't stand it, I had to get out, away. I called off the engagement the next day. Then started packing, got a train ticket. God knows what I thought I was going to do, where I'd sleep. I had hardly any money, just savings from my weekend job, money my Grandparents had given me." She laughed harshly, "When I think about it now I have no idea how I survived."
"Smart. Practical. See?"
"Lucky I guess too," she said, "in a way." She finished her tea, "Hardest thing I'd ever done, leaving. Though I suppose at the time I didn't realise it would be forever, maybe I thought at some point I'd return home. Maybe I didn't. I don't know. Things are so complicated."
He tapped his hand against her leg, "Human emotions are complex. And parents… is there a more complicated relationship?"
She smiled, leaning against his shoulder, "I'm gonna take a quick shower, then I'll call and arrange a viewing."
"Okay." He let her go, watched her get out of bed and walk naked towards the bathroom. "Don't forget my breakfast."
"Haven't."
Mr Sanders, who met them at the site, was every inch a salesman, pure and simple. Big bellied with thinning, slicked-back hair. He prattled on for an age about prices and worktop choices; Elsie knew her father was bored within three minutes of being there. She got him a hot chocolate from the machine and hoped that she could discuss whatever needed to be discussed by the time he'd finished it.
"When can we see the house?" Becky asked, fiddling with the carpet samples.
"Five minutes, Becks," Elsie said, watching her sister line up the square tiles, matching colours and patterns until they fit neatly on the surface.
"I will go through everything with you," she said to Mr Sanders. "But would you mind very much if we went around the property ourselves?"
"Not at all, feel free. Save your questions up for me."
She smiled sweetly, "We will." Feeling Charles' eyes on her she turned to face him, rolling her eyes so the salesman couldn't see. "Right, are we ready?"
"Get the bloody thing over with," Douglas complained, throwing his paper cup into the waste basket.
The fact he was still in mud-splattered wellington boots when they'd arrived at the farm said all that needed to be said about how he viewed this entire event. But, he'd changed when she'd asked him too and he was there and that was one hell of a step.
"This is only the example," Elsie said, leading the way towards the property, her heels loud against the block paving. "The show home. Not the real thing."
"Why can't we see the real thing?" Becky asked, tugging on the belt of her jeans, "Instead of the pretend thing?"
"Because it hasn't been built yet," Elsie stopped, sliding her glasses on and peering at the map she'd been given. "Look, down there sweetheart, where the tower is in the distance, do you see?"
"Yep."
"Well, they're building it closer to that. Do you see the base is done?"
"All those bricks?"
"Yes, all those bricks. We'll drive down the lane after and I'll show you." She glanced back at her father, "Then we can look at the boundaries, Dad."
Charles was at the back of the group, his hands behind his back at her walked, and he watched Doug nod in agreement and Elsie set off again.
"She looks like a businesswoman," Doug said, "all dressed up."
"She is a businesswoman," Charles replied, coming up behind him. "A good one."
"Certainly talks like one. Where'd she get all this knowledge from on houses?"
"I suppose she learned it, over time." They followed the two women down the path and towards the show home at the end of the row. "It means a lot to her, you know, that you agreed to come here."
"If it stops her fussing," he snapped, then stopped himself. "Well, and Becky is looking forward to it so that's another thing. Not sure what to expect, always thought new builds were like cardboard."
"There's some good developers out there now, and she wouldn't have brought you here if she didn't think it was high quality. She knows her stuff." Charles held open the door for the older man and let him go inside.
"Dad!" Becky almost screamed from down the hall, "Come and look at the kitchen, it's huge! And there's doors to the garden."
"Alright, calm it down," Doug followed Becky into the kitchen and Charles closed the door, wiping his feet on the door mat.
"What do you think?" Elsie whispered, coming out of the lounge.
"It's nice, larger than I thought it'd be – it's bright."
"It is, isn't it?" She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Never thought I'd get him here."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and hugged her; she felt almost fragile in his arms, and he, in turn, felt incredibly protective towards her as he remembered her shattered against him he previous night. She fought so hard to be the tough, strong Elsie who could take care of everything and everybody. Even she needed reminding every now and then that she didn't have to do it all alone.
She pulled away, smiling, then turning to look down the hall towards the other rooms. "This would be so good for them, look at the layout – great for him getting around in old age."
His hands rested on her hips and he kissed her cheek, "Love you," he whispered and she leant back against him, closing her eyes for a moment.
"I want to see my room, Elsie, can we?" Becky said.
"Course honey," she slipped out of Charles' embrace, making her way towards her sister. "I think it's on this side," she pushed open the door. "Here we go."
"It's big," Becky said, "Look at the mirror. Look at the lights above the bed. Dad, look, fairy lights."
"They don't come with the bungalow," Doug pointed out as he followed them into the bedroom. "Good size though."
"I like these," Becky slid open the wardrobe doors, "look how big they are." She climbed inside the cupboards and shut the doors from the inside.
"I like this place better already," Doug said, "can shut her away." Becky laughed from inside the cupboards and Doug turned back to the door, "Where's my space?"
Elsie followed him out and into the bedroom opposite, "What do you think Dad?"
"Don't like the colours in here," he commented, peering into the en suite.
"You don't have to have these colours; you have to think of your colours, your furniture in here."
He switched the bedroom lights on and off, "Not sure they'll allow my furniture in here, too old, might damage their house."
"Yeah, right." She shook her head at him, "You want me to show you the kitchen, study?"
"I'll get there," He opened the cupboard doors. "Let me be, Elsie, I'm fine wandering on my own."
"Alright, alright." She backed away from him, heading into the kitchen and opening the doors to the garden. She sat at the kitchen table staring out at the peaceful green; she could picture them here, she'd thought that when she'd seen the images online, but being there made it ever more real.
"Do you like it, Elsie?"
She was surprised to find Becky watching her, and put on a smile, leaning back in her seat. "I do darling. What about you? What do you think? That's what really matters."
"I do really, really like it. It's very bright and clean, everywhere is clean. And there are no bumps in the wall, like on our stairs there are bumps."
"It's because the building is old, and the stone they used to make it was uneven."
"Do you not like our old house, Elsie?" She asked, suddenly quite serious.
Elsie frowned, "Whatever makes you think that? Nothing of the kind, I like it a lot. I'm just worried about you and Dad. I think you need somewhere… somewhere easier for the pair of you."
"What's your home like?" Becky said, sitting across from her. "Like this one? Is it easier too?"
Elsie smiled fondly, "A little."
"Do you think it's so very far away that I might not ever see it?"
"No dear, it's not that far away." She reached across to touch Becky's hand, "You can come and see it whenever you want."
"I would like to. I know, you and Dada, you have fights and stuff."
"Oh, we would never mean to upset you."
"I know…" she bit on her lip and Elsie smiled, it was so endearing to watch, like seeing herself. "I'm not so clever."
"Becky –,"
"But I'm not stupid. I know you and Dada fight, and that's why you never visit us. And I am scared of leaving the farm."
"Then we won't do it, we won't move you."
"I will though. I'm excited about it too. Mummy would like it, I think, here."
"I think so too."
"And I can still have my pictures of her in my bedroom like I do now. Maybe I can have them all on the wall with the fairy lights around her like an angel, do you think?"
Elsie felt her eyes burn, "I think that would be quite beautiful."
Becky nodded, turning her face to the open doors, "Can I go in the garden?"
"Of course, you go where you like."
She had just covered her face with her hands when she heard Charles come into the room, taking a seat in the one Becky had vacated.
"Did you hear all that?"
He nodded, "I think she'll be fine. Maybe even adjust quicker than your father."
"Men always take longer to adjust to things."
"Hey, I resent that. I've adjusted fairly quickly to being a 'man friend'."
She laughed loudly, "Good lord, I'd forgotten about that label." She continued to laugh, and Charles grinned broadly at her, glad he'd been able to lighten a suddenly sombre mood.
"Good to hear that, your laugh. You've been so serious this week, so emotionally heavy."
"I guess."
"You know you should invite them for Christmas, don't you? To spend Christmas with us in York."
She tilted her head to one side, "Last year, last Christmas, I was wondering how I was going to make it through another festive day as the guest as somebody else's house. I didn't even know your name."
"And this year?" He asked gently.
"I can't imagine a day without you in it."
He felt his cheeks pink, the lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiled, "You know how to make a man's day."
She swayed back in her chair, folding her arms, eyebrows raised, "Sometimes, more than once."
"Elsie?" Becky asked breathlessly as she peeped her head inside, "where will the chickens go?"
"Let's go take a look, shall we?"
It had been years since Elsie had used such an ancient cooker, but some things you don't easily forget. She remembered burnt pie crusts and smouldering pans – her mother over her shoulder as she taught her the basics. She'd never been much of a cook but she'd just about got by over the years – she could make a decent meal, just nothing too fancy.
Her father had gone out to work when they'd returned from the viewing; Becky had prattled on about the bungalow in the car on the return to the farm and he was no doubt exhausted by her excitement.
Becky herself had put on her wellingtons and gone walking with the dogs once Elsie had suggested she cook them something for dinner, leaving her and Charles to prepare things. He'd peeled potatoes and put them on to boil as she'd fried onions and minced-lamb, filling the kitchen with rustic homeliness.
"I was thinking I'd take a look at the radiators," Charles said, rinsing his hands under lukewarm water. "And the boiler. I'm not much of a handyman but I can take a look, maybe ring a plumber if I can't work it out… or get in a mess."
"Alright." Elsie ladled gravy over the meat and carrots, "There's a tool box in the cupboard beneath the stairs."
"Right," he wiped his hands, watching her scoop mashed potato onto the top of the pie. "Ages since I had a good shepherd's pie. My Grandma used to make it."
"Mine too, I preferred cottage pie, truth be told, but Dad likes lamb."
"You know; the first known record of cottage pie was 1791."
She turned to him, one of her trademark questioning scowls in place, "How the hell do you know that?"
He shrugged, "Read it in a book once, history of England. Chapter on food."
"I'm glad that your memory stores these little things." She turned back to her pie, "I'm going to bake a cake I think, so if you hear screaming or smell anything burning you know what it is."
"Right you are." He pressed a kiss to the back of her head and left her alone, going off to tackle the radiators.
"Well, what do you think?" Elsie asked proudly as she place the cake in the centre of the table.
"Wow! It's huge!" Becky said, getting out of her seat and reaching across to scrape icing from the top. She licked it from her finger, "Ginger."
"Ginger cake." Elsie explained, taking a knife and cutting into it, "I even put ginger preserve in the middle; I hope it's not overkill."
"I love ginger," Charles handed his plate to her and she placed a slice of the cake on it.
"I know," Elsie smiled. "Dad? You want some?" She eyed her father's face, his waxy pallor, dark eyes. "I didn't burn it. Not like that birthday cake I made that time."
"What birthday cake?" Becky asked, a forkful of cake in her mouth. "Did I get some?"
"You were only a baby," Elsie said.
"Those were the days my daughter still did things for my birthday," Douglas said, accepting the cake.
"I'm doing things now." Elsie sat down after serving the others, taking hold of her own fork. Her father had been in a sour mood ever since he'd gotten home, like a dark cloud was following him around.
"Interfering in things now," he grumbled, pushing cake around his plate.
"This is wonderful," Charles interrupted, "I'm impressed. You continue to surprise me."
"I bet she bloody does."
"There's no need to –," Charles started.
"My house, can say what I like. Bugger it!" Doug got to his, kicking his chair aside and putting his cap back on. "I'm off to the pub."
"Oh Dad," Elsie moaned, getting up from her chair as she watched him storm out; the slammed front door a familiar sound. She watched Charles get up and poke at the fire, throwing on another log, and Becky barely moving as she turned her fork over on her empty plate.
"I'll go get him," Elsie said. "You two have some more cake. Have some more cake, Becky, yes?"
Becky looked up, eyes wide and dark. She nodded silently.
"I'll cut it this time," Charles said to her, his tone jovial to lighten the mood. "Cut us a proper big slice."
Elsie smiled at him as she curled her scarf around her throat, "Don't make yourselves sick."
"You okay? Because I can go find him."
She shook her head, "No, no. I need to."
It was already dark outside, and cold beyond the warmth of the kitchen. For a few seconds she remained by the door, letting her eyes adjust to the light, shivering inside her coat. The heavy rain of the afternoon had weakened to no more than a slight drizzle but the land before her was sodden and the air reeked of earth – fresh, damp. It smelled of childhood.
The hunched figure of her father made her move her feet and she crossed the driveway, splashing her legs with muddy water as she went. She clambered up the slight incline, slipping a little on the grass, but making it to the top and towards the old fence she used to sit on as a child.
"There was no need to storm out," she said to the darkness, and her father made a slight movement with his head, drawing a cigarette from his lips and blowing out a plume of white smoke into the evening air. "You shouldn't smoke Dad," she sighed, "I thought you'd given all that up."
"Have done," he said, flicking the stub to the floor. "Most of the time."
"It's cold," she said, leaning back against the fence. "Already frosty."
"Don't start on about the house again…"
"I don't want you to get another bout of flu, you never know… with the house damp. If you won't let me get it seen to or… maybe we could do something with the lounge, put your bed down there so the fire can be lit and keep you warm. I don't know. Charles rang a plumber about the heating, should be here tomorrow."
He made a hissing sound, drawing air in through the tight gap between his front teeth. "That house, maybe it wasn't too bad."
"Do you mean the bungalow?"
"Mm, wasn't what I expected."
"They're doing a nice job. I can…" she shuffled a little, wiggling her rapidly freezing toes. "I can easily make changes to suit you both; Becky having her own bathroom would be good. But now is the time, whilst the plot is still a shell."
"Ah I don't know. It all seems such a bother."
"I would handle it."
"How can you do that and manage your own job at the same time?"
"I can. I would." She tilted her head back, looked toward the clearing sky, "I can sell the farm from York, I wouldn't have to be here for that, for most of it, anyhow. And you know I'd do the best job I could, you know that. I'd get you the most I possibly could."
"I know you would," he agreed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Been here so long, happen I wouldn't survive without it."
"Maybe. And maybe you'd thrive, without the burden of work, worrying about finances. You'd be free to follow your own interests; I don't know, go fishing, play darts at the local."
"It seems so clear to you."
"No Dad, it doesn't. It seems one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I don't want to move you and uproot Becky; do you think I'd want that? To upset the two of you?"
He mulled on it then shook his head.
"I won't push you, but I do ask that you think about it." She sighed, uncrossed her legs and pushed herself forward a little to get the feeling back into her limbs. "I have to go home, be back for Monday, I need to get things in line. I've bought some more houses."
"How many?"
"Three, they're being renovated and then I'll rent them out. Or sell them on. I haven't quite decided yet."
"No wonder you can afford to drive a big fancy Land Rover."
"You can have one too, the farm will bring in a pretty penny. Besides it isn't mine, Charles rented it; he drives one back at home."
"This Charles," he said cautiously.
"Yes?"
"Since New Year, he said."
"Pretty much, we started… dating… in January."
"And, it's lasting, or seeming like it might?"
She licked her lips, looked towards the bright light at the kitchen window across the way. "He wants to marry me," she said, not to prove a point but to share it with somebody – the thought had been turning around in her mind ever since Charles had casually used the 'm' word and she needed to get it out in the open air. "He hasn't proposed, but he made it clear that's what he wants."
"And, when he does propose, what will you say?"
"Yes," she said simply, then looked up quickly to his face. "You're surprised by that?"
He laughed shortly, "You always second guess people. Do you realise that? Jump ahead thinking you know the answer to your questions before you've even asked them."
"Thanks for that little confidence boost. I already know what a terrible person I am, you don't have to remind me."
He chewed his lip, watching her face, the glassy eyes blinking before she turned her gaze away from his.
"You're far from a terrible person, Elsie. In answer to your question – perhaps I am surprised. I'd always imagined that if you were to marry it would happen early on, you seemed so damned set on finding romance and excitement."
"Did I?"
"It's what drew you to… him, I suppose."
"I never really loved Geoffrey; it was a childish fantasy."
"Yes. But you do love Charles?"
She nodded, "Very much. I never realised… it was a surprise to me, to find it had happened."
"He's not what I pictured you with."
"What's that mean? You don't like him?"
"I like him very much, he seems a decent, hardworking man. But he isn't what I imagined you turning up with, nor marrying."
"Why?"
"Well for a start he's not a lad," he said, "you spent so many years dating these younger men. A different name whenever I asked."
"Which wasn't often; I wasn't even aware you were paying attention."
"Always. I worried so –,"
"You never said," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Why did you never say? Show me you care?"
"You know why. I worried because you were clearly doing so well, financially, business wise. I always knew you'd be one of life's winners."
"I wouldn't say that."
"You are." He took hold of her hand where it lay on the top of the fence post between them. "There were so many dreams tied up in these hands, so many hopes and dreams."
"And I ruined them all?"
He went to answer then paused, clearing his throat, giving his brain time to catch up. "There are things we don't say, Elsie, things we let just go on. For far too long, as it turns out. I was never disappointed in you; I was angry that your first 'love' was some affection starved middle-aged-man who should have known better; but a pretty, bright girl like you turning his head. Well…" He shrugged. "He should have done the decent thing and put you off instead of feeding his ego. I was angry at him, and at myself, for never noticing until it was too late. And yes, I was angry with you, the embarrassment of it all. A cancelled engagement, the plans for this place…all falling through. But then you left and you didn't come back. And anger subsides but the space it once filled needs something – bitterness, resentment. It was easier to fight you, hate you, than accept you as you are now."
She found she couldn't speak; her father was rarely so articulate, or so reflective. Even after her mother died he'd hardly said a word about anything other than the farm.
"I worried because these young men you dated, well, you clearly had little affection for them, they were just company."
She bristled at that, "It was my decision."
"Yes. And I'm not condemning it. There's a lot to be said for the simple pleasures," he turned to glance at her, "Fun."
She pursed her lips, lifted her chin.
"But I worried for you financially. I didn't want them to take advantage. It soon became obvious that nobody would because you never let anyone close enough to."
How did he know all this? They'd never spoken of it and during phone conversations she'd always told him so very little of her life, only snippets of information. Had he read so clearly between the lines?
"After Geoff," she omitted the failures in London, "I decided nobody would ever take advantage of me again. That I would be the one in charge. It took me a long time to get over that, years, to find my own way."
"I know. And I know how hard you worked." He breathed deeply, shifting slightly to resettle his bottom against the fence. "I never imagined Charles because he's not like those young men you spoke of, in fact he seems so far removed from the fresh-faced chiselled good looks…"
Dad," she groaned.
"I'm not saying the man doesn't have handsome qualities, but he's not the stereotype you always went for. Boy band types."
She chuckled, "No, I suppose not."
"But I can see, quite clearly, that the man adores you. That he'll take care of you, stay by your side, like I would've done with your mother." He paused momentarily, glancing to where his boots had sunk into the mud, "Like I did."
"I don't want to take you away from this place if you – if you need to be here for mum."
His face was close to hers, his eyes bright, his hand warm over hers, "She's in here. Just as I suspect she's always with you. And watching you proudly…" he paused, swallowed, said into the night, "just as I am."
I've thoroughly enjoyed writing these family scenes - please let me know what you thought and thanks for the continued Chelsie support! xx