A dear friend of mine, who lovingly checks every chapter of this story for me before publishing, reminded me that quite soon this will be a year old, which is hard to believe when it was meant as a short playful thing! Sorry we haven't quite reached Christmas yet, but hopefully I'll update again before I return to work. If I don't get to do it before New Year though I'll say now thank you to everyone who has stuck with this over the year and supports the story and my version of Chelsie. x R
Chapter 29
Thursday, December 1st
"Now then," Charles said, lifting Sybbie up from the changing mat. "What's all this fuss about? We need to change your nappy and there's no getting round that," he supported her head, walked her about the kitchen until she started to calm. "I understand it isn't a really nice thing; it's messy and I'm clumsy, not like Aunty Elsie, that's for sure."
"You're babbling to her," Elsie said as she came into the kitchen. She leant over and kissed Sybbie's cheek, "Good afternoon gorgeous," then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Charles, "Good afternoon to you too."
"Hi sweetheart. And I'm not babbling, we have some intellectual discussions, Sybbie and I."
"About nappies. I heard. What time did Tom drop her off?"
"Couple of hours ago," he walked Sybbie back to the table, sat himself down and watched as Elsie filled the kettle. "Said he was going to the bank to sort through some things and then to pick up his tickets."
"A-ha, you want some coffee?" She asked, reaching up into the cupboard for the coffee beans.
"Ooh, that's a short skirt," Charles noted, eyes wide as he appreciated her legs.
"It's new, M&S winter range. Pretty nice, hey?"
"Nice…" he looked her up and down, "…short."
"Do my legs look fat?"
"Hell no. People will be looking."
"By people you mean men," she sauntered towards him, twisting her hips deliberately as she passed him and slipped into a seat at the table. "Jealous? Worried?"
"Not in the slightest…"
She giggled at his furrowed brow as she crossed her legs and deliberately pushed her skirt up.
He was shaking his head at her, "You're incorrigible," he placed his hand on her knee, easily balancing the baby on the other arm.
"Behave Mr Carson, I hardly know you." She leant forward and kissed him. "I gotta go soon, my train is at 6:20."
"Mm, I'll drive you."
"You're looking after her, I'll get a taxi, it'll be fine."
"I'll miss you." He jiggled the baby in his arms, "Sybbie and I will miss you."
"I will be home in one week, maybe less, and then we'll decorate for Christmas and what have you."
"You're sure you don't need me to come up with you? I could be of some help."
"I know, but no, it should be okay. I hope." She got up again, pouring water into the coffee pot. "I will call though, if your assistance is required," she smiled at him. "I'll call everyday anyhow."
"I should hope so." He turned his attention back to the tiny girl who was now sleeping in his arms. "She'll be gone too."
"Not for long, and it'll be good for Tom, a month in Ireland with his family."
"You think he'll come back?" He said pointedly.
"Yes, I do. Don't be frosty."
"I'm not, I've been much better haven't I? Better behaved."
"You've been wonderful, letting him have the flat and… taking care of Sybbie sometimes."
"I like having her, you were right, it lessens the pain somewhat. A little." He kissed the baby's head, got to his feet and gently placed her in her pram.
Elsie turned, leaning back against the counter and crossing her legs; Charles perched on the edge of the table watching her.
"I am being genuine…"
"About? Tom?"
"No. Missing you…" he smiled, then realised what he'd said, "Oh and of course Tom too."
She laughed, glancing at the clock, "Well, we've got time for a quick bedroom visit if you want to squeeze me in."
He frowned, "Elsie Hughes, really, with a baby in the house."
"Yes, you're right," she giggled, "And when have we ever been quick about it?"
They both laughed and she turned, pouring the coffee. Charles moved behind her, one hand resting on her hip, the other moving her hair back from her neck and kissing the base of it before moving up towards her hairline.
"That's seductive," she said softly.
"I know," he squeezed her hip, "just wanted a moment with you," he closed his eyes, whispered by her ear. "To smell you, touch you, taste you…"
She leaned back against him, reaching a hand down to cover his where it still grasped her hip.
"Almost a year Charles," she said, gazing at their reflection in the kitchen window. "Can you believe it?"
He stopped kissing her, rested his chin on her shoulder, "If you'd asked me on January 2nd, or even the 3rd, no. But by February, yes. I knew for damn sure I wasn't letting you go."
Her mouth quirked into a smile, "You've been so good for me."
"That works both ways, believe me."
Sunday 4th December
"Anyhow, so I have finally located and transported all of my Christmas decorations; they're currently in the kitchen piled up on the table, which you'd hate."
"I don't mind so much," Elsie said, settling down in bed and pulling the sheets high up her neck, balancing the phone in one hand. "It's cold here."
"Not too bad here, though I did light the fire for mum."
"Where are you?"
"In the lounge, writing a list of things I need."
"Such as?"
"Well, there are several lists. List 1 is cards – who I want to send them to, especially those who live abroad. List 2 – food. List 3 – potential gifts…"
"Is this all Christmas stuff?" Elsie asked.
"Of course. It's closer than you think Elsie darling."
"I know, luckily I'm organised too, I've been storing presents for the past month or so."
"Have you? Where?"
"That's a secret."
"I'm going to search the house for them now you're away."
"Don't you dare."
He chuckled, sitting back on the sofa and stretching his legs out, "Where you hide them?"
"My secret place, the same place I keep all my sex toys."
"Ha ha Elsie."
"You think I'm lying…?"
"Stop it. You're making me feel very inadequate."
She laughed naughtily, suddenly wishing he was there in the bed with her. "I asked Dad by the way. He said yes, though provisionally."
"Provisionally?"
"I suppose he doesn't know how he'll feel after the move."
"Well, we'll take it as a yes and I'll plan for that too."
"And your mother?"
"I haven't asked her but that's the plan, to have her too, if you don't mind."
"You know I don't mind. No idea where they'll all sleep though."
"It'll be fine, I've thought it through…"
Elsie smirked, turning onto her side and switching off the lamp, the light from her phone illuminating her face. "Have you?"
"Mum in the room by ours, it has its own loo which she'll need. Then Becky in the one by the bathroom and I figured we could put your father in my room."
"There's no bed in there."
"Well, no, not at present, but all we need do is take out my side tables, move my lounging chair next to the desk by the window and we can easily squash in a single bed – we can use the one from my flat, easy enough to take down and reassemble."
"You sure that's not going to be too much of an issue?"
"Course not, they'll be here a week after all."
"A week?" She couldn't hide the shriek from her voice.
"Maybe ten days. If they come over Christmas Eve or the day before, the Friday I think, then go after New Year."
"Wait. What? I thought we were going to the party New Year, anniversary of our meeting."
"We can do, doesn't mean they can't stay. Your Dad might want to come."
"I can assure you he won't. He'll see it as debauchery."
Charles chuckled, "You're sure I don't remind you of him."
She rolled her eyes, "Charles, you think we won't kill each other?"
"Think of it this way – if they only come once, to stay here for the festivities only once in our lifetime then we can manage ten days, can't we?"
She smiled, "You're such a sneaky thing."
"My mother probably won't stay that long," he admitted, "she'll be ready to go home come Boxing Day, she's the same every year. Least she won't have to deal with the flat this year, she never liked it."
"Was she okay with the stairs tonight?"
"They're fairly accessible; I helped anyhow."
Elsie gasped, "I go to a party on Christmas Eve," she suddenly said, "And then Midnight mass."
"Well we can still do that. If you don't mind me tagging along."
"Course I don't but what about Dad, and Becky?"
"Becky might come, mightn't she?"
Elsie bit down on her lip, "I don't know. I guess she'd like to…"
"What?"
"Nothing. Just," she closed her eyes, "nobody who knows me knows her, you see what I mean?"
"Yes." He replied softly, "I see. But you're not embarrassed?"
"Course not. No. I just don't want lots of questions, staring; I don't want her feeling uncomfortable."
"As if we'd let that happen. I think she'd love spending time in your world, with her sister, staying up late, going to church. It will be special, which is what it should be."
Elsie closed her eyes, sank even deeper into the soft warmth of her pillow.
"So, don't worry about things, just enjoy it. I made Cottage Pie for dinner, for mum and I, and you missed it. Oh and I heard from Tom, he rang, which was odd but nice. Said the journey was fine, Sybbie slept and he's home now… You've gone quiet."
"I was just… just thinking."
Charles lifted his legs up onto the sofa, settling back against the cushions, "About?"
She sighed, "It makes me sound selfish."
"Tell me."
"Everything has to change. All the things I do, or I guess used to do now, it all changes. My routine. I've done the same thing for years at Christmas, got all my little places I go, when I visit friends, which parties I attend. Now it all changes."
Charles tapped his fingers against the side of the phone, "It doesn't have to. You can still do the same things, we don't have to do the whole family thing."
She pouted, closing her eyes, "But I want to do that."
He smiled, "So, things change. It's not a bad thing."
"No. Not at all."
"And we do things together now. You know we'll share the load –,"
"You say that now. Men say things like that."
"Here we go, men, all the same," he rolled his eyes. "Have I not proved things yet?"
"A thousand times over."
"There we go." He laughed. "And we both know I'm the better cook." He teased.
"Mm…"
"Elsie… are you crying?"
"No."
He sat up, "Yes you are. You know I was only joking."
"Course I do," she snuffled, reaching across the bedside table for a tissue. "It's just a little… it's nothing."
"Sweetheart," he said gently, his voice comforting, "talk to me, what's happened?"
"Nothing, oh God." She sat up, snatching more tissues from the box. "It's so silly. I'm not even sad."
"You don't have to be sad to cry. Here I am I'm prattling on."
"I like that, I like listening to you. It's just hard here, it's taking longer than I expected; I'll be here another week I think. And it's stressful – a hundred things at once to deal with and Becky excited and Dad grumbling and then my own work going on in the background and I can't pay attention to it. And you. I miss you."
"Why didn't you just say that? I'll be there tomorrow."
"Charles, I don't expect –,"
"I'll get an early train. No arguing. Besides it's my turn."
"What do you mean?" She flopped back on the pillows again, comforted somewhat by the thought of his presence.
Charles pushed himself up from the sofa, stretching his back as he stood, "You didn't have to come to me that night, over the Tom stuff, but you did. It should have been me crawling back, not you meeting me halfway."
"Well," she smiled, closing her eyes as she remembered their passionate kisses in his kitchen. "I can tell you now old Elsie wouldn't have behaved in such a way. Softening me up."
"I thought that was what you'd done to me." He poked at the fire, watching the embers dying down. "I'm going to go up to bed, pack a bag now then get some sleep. Mother's always up at 7:00 anyhow. She was yesterday, wandering around."
Elsie smiled, "I'm glad she's there with you, that you felt comfortable enough for that."
"You do keep telling me this is my home, and it is, our home." He got to his feet, "So, I'll be there tomorrow to help."
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me; I should've joined you in the first place." He turned off the lounge light, turning to look at the room in the dim orange light of the fire. "Love you."
"I love you too. See you tomorrow."
"Goodnight darling."
Tuesday 5th December
"I caught a cold," Charles said, sneezing into a tissue and shivering.
"You want a tonic?" Douglas asked, following him along the empty corridor and into the kitchen.
"Medicine?"
Douglas laughed, "You might call it that; my Grandfather used to mix it for me. Hot Toddy type, you know."
"Oh yes," Charles sneezed again and wearily sank into a chair at the kitchen table. When he'd first visited, the kitchen, in fact the entire farmhouse, was a well of clutter. Now all was bare. Pictures were gone from the walls – some wrapped and transported to the new property, others burning on the seemingly ever growing bonfire taking up more and more space in the yard. Trinkets that filled surfaces cleared leaving behind trails of dust along scuffed surfaces, chipped paint. Only food remained; something Elsie insisted would wait until last to be cleared.
"She's a whirlwind," Douglas said, finding a mug and rinsing it clean. "Within days this room was cleared, she says we can afford to leave the table and chairs."
"Not an heirloom, is it?"
"No, and she's already ordered a new one for the bungalow. She gets things done."
"She does," Charles agreed, watching as Douglas mixed together the drink. "Though I think she forgets sometimes, that she doesn't have to do everything alone."
"Habit," Douglas said, sliding the mug across the table to Charles. "Drink it down in one, it'll fix you up."
Charles sniffed the contents, "I'll be able to drive after drinking this?"
Douglas smiled, "Yeah, you will. We've got another van load to go; she'll skin us if we don't get there before dark."
Charles nodded and lifted the mug to his mouth, knocking back the concoction. "Woah!" He coughed, eyes stinging as he swallowed.
"Good stuff, it'll see you right. Now, shall we get that cabinet?"
Despite the many years Douglas had on Charles, he had to be impressed with the grit of the older man showed. He supposed it came from years of physical labour working the farm; he was still strong and determined and together they carried out the old dresser from the dining room and into the rented van.
Charles bore the weight with hardly a word or moan; he'd always been one to turn his concerns into silence, so carrying something so heavy meant he suffered internally but focussed his mind on completing the task.
The backs of his thighs complained as they hoisted it up into the back of the vehicle and his calves ached as he pushed himself up after it, moving it into a secure space. Once still, he leaned against it, breathing deeply.
"You going to ask her then?" Douglas asked, looking up at Charles' tall frame bent forward; the top of his hair skimming the roof of the van.
"Sorry?" Charles said breathlessly.
"Bout time you asked her, isn't it? That's what you want."
Charles climbed down from the van, coughing following the exertion of their task. "Marriage, you mean?"
"She mentioned it, last time you were up here. Said you'd talked about it."
They crossed the yard, back towards the farmhouse.
"I wouldn't say 'talked about it', the word was mentioned, she shirked, to be honest."
Douglas snorted, "Course she did, she's Elsie Hughes. Independence branded on her arse no doubt."
Charles laughed at that; he could assure him it wasn't but the joke would be somewhat tainted.
"What else did she say we needed to bring tonight?" Douglas asked as he surveyed the empty rooms. "Can't see much."
"She wanted a, erm, what's it called… the extension."
"That's it."
Charles remained in the hall, "You think she'd say 'yes' then?" He asked as Douglas returned down the stairs.
Douglas shrugged, "Who knows honestly; our Elsie has never been one to be pushed though, lead her somewhere, don't push."
Charles followed him back out to the van, locking up the house behind them.
"I wouldn't half mind knowing she was secure though," Douglas added, "and happy. You know, before I kick the bucket." He climbed into the van, slamming the door closed.
For a second Charles stood stock still in the middle of the courtyard – death, any mention of death, seemed a bit too keen still. He figured it probably would for a long time to come too. There was no changing what had gone, nor predicting what was still to come, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't just let life stop.
The van door opened, "Are you coming then?" Douglas barked at him and he was chuckling to himself at the similarity between his and Elsie's snappy tone. Life went on.
Elsie gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter, forcing her heavy eyes open as she yawned. Her body was tired but her mind was exhausted; she felt like she hadn't slept easily since Sybil's death – her mind a constant whirl of to-do lists, questions, concerns.
"I'm starving," Charles said, breaking her reflections. He pointed to the clock on the dashboard. "We ate over seven hours ago. Look at me," she twisted her head to glance at him and he glanced down at his own body. "I'm a well-built, broad guy, I need food."
Elsie laughed, her weariness disappearing as she took in his expression.
"You are indeed, quite broad." She smirked, "Okay, and what would you like to eat?"
He mulled on it for a second, lips pursed, "Cheese."
"Sorry?" She chuckled, slowing the car as they reached the roundabout.
"Cheese, sometimes you just need cheese. And wine."
"Fair point," she shrugged. "Shall I find a supermarket? There's a new Sainsbury's around here I think."
"Yes, I'll nip in and get supplies."
"Would you mind?" She asked, "If we went to the farm tonight?"
"You mean instead of sleeping at the hotel?"
"Yes, I know it's folly but it's the last night it's technically owned by the Hughes' and I'd rather it wasn't standing empty. Is it asking too much – an old, damp place?"
"Is there a kettle? A pot to make tea?"
She smiled, "Yes, the old one is there. Can you believe he was actually going to take it with him? That thing is paint and mud splattered and God knows how many years old. I got him a new one for the new house."
"Of course you did. I bet it matches the décor too."
"You know me well," she squinted at a sign in the dark, "does that say superstore?"
Charles peered out of the window, "Yes, take the fourth exit."
She did just that. "You think they'll be okay? Sleeping there tonight just the two of them?"
"They've got to do it some time."
"I know. I just… well, I…"
"You don't want them to be unhappy, I know, because then you'd feel guilty, I know that too. But they'll be fine, they're grown-ups, you can't control everything, or everybody."
"Do I try to do that?"
"You try to make everyone happy, to be everyone's mother… in a way." She looked sharply at him, "Not in a bad way sweetheart, a good thing but just, exhausting sometimes, watching you try to juggle it all."
"I know," she sighed, "I am exhausted. We'll light the fire when we get back to the farm; I'd like to sit in there and eat, just one last time."
He nodded, reaching over to brush his hand over her leg, "We will."
Elsie left the engine running as Charles went for food. It was dark and frosty out; she'd almost forgotten how cold it was back home, how Scotland appeared to have its own weather system separate from the rest of Britain.
Fiddling with the temperature controls she sat back in her chair, stretching out her legs and staring out into the darkness of the car park. There were still quite a few people about, despite it not being a particularly busy town, and she watched as families and singletons alike searched for their cars and piled them with their buys. The first hints of rain came, scattering shoppers as they headed for their cars and home.
Elsie turned on the wipers, keeping a look out for Charles and preparing to rush out and help him with the bags if needed. She could do with a hot bath, truth be told, and a very large whisky.
There was a young lady, hardly more than a girl, struggling with her pram and the weight of her bags and Elsie opened her car door without even leaving time to consider, the warning alarm sounding as she dashed into the rain.
"Let me help," she insisted, taking hold of the bags.
"Oh thank you, so awkward with this thing." The girl headed to a small car, pulling her car keys from her bag. "Still getting used to having to do it all."
"I can imagine; friend of mine had a baby not too long ago, so yes, I know." She popped the bags into the boot. "They okay there?"
"Great thanks. Thanks so much."
"Oh you're more than welcome," Elsie shielded her head a little as she ran back to her car, pausing momentarily by the door, the light from inside blinding her vision somewhat. A man seemed to be staring at her; he was no more than a couple of metres away, and she stopped and stared back, just for a few seconds, and recognition kicked in. Her heart raced, she could hear her blood pumping in her ears, and the rain soaking through her clothes.
Then she got in the car, slammed the door shut and pressed the central locking button.
Elsie didn't even notice Charles had returned until he tapped his knuckles against the glass. "You've locked it," his muffled voice said.
"Oh god, sorry," she unlocked the car and he quickly got inside. "That came on quick." He shook the rainwater from his hands. "You okay?"
"What? Oh yes, course."
"Got the cheese, got your favourite too. And wine. Crusty bread. A romantic night at the old farm by the fire."
"Yes…" she put the car into gear, "let's get going before it's too bad for me to see the roads."
"What are you reflecting on?" Charles asked, laying out the cheeses on the only plate he could find in the cupboard – a chipped one at that, which is presumably why it had been left there.
"Nothing," Elsie poked at the fire. "Been making this fire since I was about seven."
"I'm guessing that's why you got a real fire yourself."
"Yes, not many houses have them now. Too much trouble I guess."
"I guess so."
"We used to sit here, the four of us. Awful winters you get here, snow after snow after snow, and icy winds cutting down the fields."
"I can imagine."
"This room was the warmest in the house, so we'd all sit here, during those nights. Sleep here too sometimes. We had a sofa along that back wall, Becky and I would sleep on it, sometimes mum too."
"They're nice memories," Charles said, sitting at the table and pouring wine into mugs.
"You think he'll be happy?"
"I think he already is." He held out his hand to her, "Stop worrying. Come and sit down, let's eat, you'll feel better after you get some food and drink in you."
She wasn't so sure but did as he asked and took the seat beside him; bless him, he'd made it look so lovely, despite the limited resources.
"I worry I've made a mistake," she said softly, lifting her drink to her mouth. "I've made so many of them over the years."
"You haven't made a mistake. This isn't a mistake." He said firmly, placing his hand over her free one on the table. "It's hard yes, but it isn't a mistake. And you have to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders." He squeezed her hand, "So cheer up, because it'll soon be Christmas, and we're together, we've made it through a year."
She tilted her head, giving him a lopsided grin, "The first of many?"
"One would hope so." He leant forward and kissed her forehead, "Now, let's eat, and talk about other things, like the news or the weather or who cooks Christmas dinner."
"Together," she said quickly, "we'll do it together."
"I can't believe this is your old bedroom," Charles said, lifting a hand up and easily touching the old wooden beams.
"I know, it seems so empty now." She opened one of the black bags and took out a blanket, opening it out and spreading it over the bed. "I used to hang decorations from those beams at Christmas, Dad told me off one year for hammering nails in – my excuse was that tape didn't stay up for the whole of December."
"Fair point. Did he give in?"
"No, we came to a truce and agreed on drawing pins."
Charles smiled, reaching for the other side of the blanket and helping to cover the bed. Elsie took another from the bag and placed it on top.
"How many do we need?"
"It gets cold up here, believe me. The heat doesn't climb this high."
"Oh but you've got me to cuddle you."
"So I have," she smiled, "the last of my boyfriends to see this bedroom."
He frowned at that, grumbling, "I don't want to even consider the fact that you might have had boys in here when you were young."
"Don't worry, it never went further than kissing or the quick grope," she teased, ignoring the sharp memory of Geoff sneaking into her bed in the middle of the night. "It was kinda nice, having an attic room though. I always felt I was a bit cool having it."
"Did you adorn the walls with popstars?"
"Of course, had all my posters up. My bookcase was here," she pointed it out, "And I arranged them by the date I purchased them."
"Impressive," he sat back on the bed, wobbling a little as it sagged in the middle. "This is a very old bed."
"It is," she turned to look at him, his hands pressing into the mattress.
"Can feel the springs," he pointed out frowning, "we might need to pop a quilt beneath our bodies too."
"Oh dear, and your back can be bad… sorry." She ran her hand along the edge of the wooden frame, "We don't need it at the bungalow, so I thought we might as well leave it here. A new mattress and it'd be fine; the frame is quality."
"Do you want to keep it?"
"There's no room at the bungalow."
"I meant, do you want to take it home with us?"
"How would we get it there?"
He shrugged, "See if it comes apart I guess, then decide if we can drive it, or hire someone to, a removal firm."
"Seems an expense for one bed," she said sharply then turned away from him, moving around the room again. "I had a little desk here where I did my homework and wrote rubbish in my diary. And this," she opened the door that led to a built-in cupboard, "I had hangers in here, look, here." She pointed them out. "Dad put those in for my clothes, shoes in a mess beneath."
"I'm picturing it all."
She smiled, "Cheap perfume and a stain on the carpet where I once dropped my blusher and it crumbled all over. Spent ages trying to pick it out with cotton wool."
"The things we do as kids."
"Yes," she sighed, "the things we do."
She stood at the bottom of the bed, leaning on the wooden frame, "You're tired?"
"I am. Busy day shifting belongings."
"I know, I can't believe this is almost it…" she gazed out of the huge window that looked out to an inky night. "That this won't be my bedroom anymore, not my farm, not in the family."
"No. But family is more than a building."
She nodded, "I know," and went to draw the curtains. "And I know 100% that it's the right thing to do, of course you're right, for both of them. Dad already looks ten years younger not having the daily grind of farm life on his back."
"He does, I thought so too."
"Thank you for coming up," she switched off the main light and Charles turned on the solitary bedside lamp that stood on the floor by the bed. "I'm grateful, just to have your support."
"I did say I would, and you know it's no problem. After my behaviour over Sybil I think it's about time I held you up, don't you?"
She smiled, a small tight smile, and then lifted her top up and over her head, "Right now I just want to lie down, not be held up, so a cuddle will do."
He opened his arms, "Anytime, you know that."
He lay watching her undress; the way she hung her jumper and jeans over the radiator, her bra over the bottom of the bed and then climbed beneath the sheets, shuddering as she fussed about with her feet, seeking one of the two water bottles she'd put in there.
"Are you getting undressed?" She asked, pulling the blanket up to her neck and settling down.
"I am, but I'm not sure I want to."
"Do it quickly, like ripping off a plaster."
He got up from the bed and undressed in less than a minute then retreated beneath the sheets, Elsie's foot pushing the second water bottle towards his feet.
"Like two old people," he noted, resting the soles of his feet on the source of warmth. "It's very quiet here, isn't it?" He stated, reaching down to switch off the lamp.
"I guess," she turned onto her side, her cheek pressed against his upper arm as he lifted it up and around her. She lifted one leg up and over his, curling their bodies together. "If you listen, if you're still, you can hear the whole of life out there. Everything that comes to life in the dark. Many a night I sat by that windowsill watching foxes play in the yard, scavenging for food, or out on the field – huge hares racing about. Owls. Bats."
"Hard to imagine you as being so in-touch with nature."
"I know right, how things change." She closed her eyes, "Just listen."
He kissed the top of her head, "I am."
There's that eerie feeling that comes in the early hours of a new day. People are never sure whether to term it night or morn, not quite dawn but long past midnight. The air is thick and still, settled, resting – a great pause before a new day.
The farmhouse creaks in these hours, a gentle stirring of its backbone as it breathes. There were times in its history when it had been full with a bulging family, times when it had shared in the tears of heartbreak or the lovemaking of young couples. Rows in its high-ceiling rooms; childish yells down the halls.
There's a sense of it closing down now, drawing in upon itself. It is old and even great houses, like great men and women, must have their day.
Elsie is dreaming. In her mind she can hear the familiar creaks of the beams above her, running high into the attic. The rattle of roof tiles as the wind whips around the corner of the house. It is all second nature to her; she was once part of this building and its upkeep and she knows it well.
Behind her Charles sleeps soundly, pressed against her back, his arm around her waist, a heavy weight. The many sheets are pulled up high over his shoulder, draping down over Elsie's slight frame. The beat of his heart is against her shoulder blade, his deep even breathing in her ear.
The face of the man is different but she knows him by his stature. By the way he holds himself, the movement of his chin, the twitch of his hand in mid-air. Even his breathing perhaps, the way she knows Charles'. Only this makes her feel different. This makes her feel small inside, like her stomach has dried up and shrunk and there's no room to breathe.
She can hear his feet on her carpeted floor, the press of his toes, she can pinpoint where his feet land. And then he's there, a looming dark figure at the side of the bed.
Elsie's body jerks forward with such force Charles shouts a warning to would be assailants as he instantly wakes and reaches out for her.
"What?! Who's there?" He grips her arm, feels her trembling and quickly moves to switch the lamp on. "Elsie?"
She blinks wide-eyed into the sudden brightness, mechanical almost as she scans the room, moving in a circular motion to make sure no corner is missed. "Somebody was there, a man was there."
"Where?"
"By the bed."
"Darling there's nobody here, just you and I." He assures her. "Do you want me to check the house?"
She stares at him, the image so clear in her mind she can't quite shake the fact it wasn't real. "I saw him."
Charles threw back the sheets, "I'll go look around."
"No," she shakes her head, "No, I mean I saw him earlier today."
"Who?"
"Geoffrey."
Suddenly there's a lump in Charles' throat, "Where?"
"At the supermarket. He was watching me; I saw him in the rain and I… I locked the car. I panicked and locked the car."
His hand is on her arm again, "Why didn't you say?"
"I suppose I wasn't sure. And then just now, I must've dreamt it, that he was standing right here beside the bed. I could see him so clearly."
"But he isn't here."
"No, I know." She laid down again, her face pale, eyes dark. "It was just a dream. Things playing on my mind I suppose."
"You sure you don't want me to go check?"
"No, it's fine. Really."
Now wide awake Charles turned off the lamp and lay on his side beside her, gathering her body into his arms and kissing the side of her head. "You know I'd never let anyone hurt you, never."
"I know."
"You seem scared."
"I was just… it unnerved me, seeing him like that, staring at me. If it had been a different situation then I would have been okay but it just seemed odd."
"You're not scared of him?"
"He's an old man now."
"That doesn't mean you can't be scared of him. Were you ever scared of him, back then, I mean?"
She reflected on it then shook her head, "No, not afraid. I was fucking him; I wasn't afraid of him."
He grimaced at her choice of language, "Don't say that."
"It's the truth, as plain and basic as human need is."
"Perhaps, but don't say it, I don't like to think of it."
"Does it make you see me differently? The thought of me behaving like that?"
He licked his lips; he doesn't like it when she gets in this mood, she's tetchy, on the edges of an argument. "I just don't like how negatively you can view yourself, that's all I mean."
She huffed, screwing her mouth up before adding in a gentler tone, "I was afraid of my feelings, afraid of being caught out by someone, but not of him. I think it's more the memory of the guilt he brings, of how much I hated myself." She turned onto her side to face him, "I'm sorry I woke you."
"That hardly matters. And you know… I do understand, how you feel about it. The guilt. I've been there too. Still there, at times."
"Your son?"
It's been so many months since she's mentioned it, a part of him hoped she'd forgotten.
"I still feel such shame over it."
"But that does nobody any good," she said gently, her fingertips pressing into his shoulder. She smiled with realisation, "Pot calling kettle."
"What a pair," he kissed her forehead again. "When Sybil died I kept thinking of him, of how if anything ever happened to him like that, like with Tom, that I wouldn't be able to help. I'm nothing more than a distant family friend."
"You know you're whatever you want to be. Alice doesn't have sway. If you want to be in William's life as his father then that's up to you."
"It would damage so much." He shook his head, "It would be selfish of me."
"Sometimes we need to be selfish. There were times, when Tom was sobbing on my shoulder, I thought 'I wish it were me', not Sybil."
"God no, never that," he held her even tighter, kissing the top of her head. "That is selfish of me, I know, but I need you."
"I need you too." She slid her hands around his back. "I'll support you, whatever you decide to do with William."
"I know." He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, "Which is why you can talk to me of anything. If things are bothering you… being here, seeing that man, painful memories… you can tell me anything. It won't change how I feel about you, or how I view you. I just can't stand the thought of you hating yourself."
She nodded, "I don't like to remember."
"Neither do I, I hate remembering the mistakes I've made. I hope I've learned from them but not always."
"Well exactly, I seem to make the same ones. The men over the years may have been younger than me not older but it was the same, in a way, looking for something in the wrong place. I shudder when I think of him touching me, that I let him touch me."
"I think sex comes with a side helping of guilt."
Her eyebrows rose, "Us?"
"Not sex." He said firmly.
"But it was, at the start, I was repeating my same pattern."
"Maybe. But I wasn't. And it's still different because it's you and I, and that makes it different."
"True. I suppose you're right."
"I always am, you just don't always want to accept that."
She chuckled at his teasing expression.
"Your hair's growing so much longer." He said, pushing it behind her ear with the pads of his fingers.
She pulled back a little, blinking up at him in the dim light. "Sorry, is it in your face?"
"No, I just want to see your face," he kissed her nose, "you're so beautiful, you know that." He pressed a kiss to her mouth, "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"I don't believe that," she smiled, drawing her hand up over his arm, "But I like hearing it all the same."
He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her again, "Nothing's like this," he whispered, his heart singing with joy as she pressed her warm body against his. "Nothing could ever be like this."
"Thank you for staying here with me; I'm glad of having one last night here, after so many years away, but I'm even happier it was with you."
"The end of an era?"
"I suppose I am not that farm girl anymore. I haven't been for a very long time."
"Life changes us, things happen, we react, we adapt."
"Do you think we've adapted to being together? In the nicest possible way, I mean that."
"In a romantic way you mean," he smiled, his thumbs rubbing in circles along the back of her neck. "I think we've made it work. There have been times we could have walked away, not called, let it just quietly die."
"It isn't what I expected. Love, I mean."
"Do you mean that romantically too?" He teased and she pressed her hands against his chest.
"Of course. But I mean it isn't all being swept away; it is, some of it, I have been swept away. But it's practical too, in many ways, it's about finding ways to make things work even when you'd rather be stubborn and petulant and walk away."
"Well, I'm glad that fusty old Carson could still sweep you off your feet in some ways."
She laughed, "In many ways sweetheart," she leaned up and kissed him, her fingers sliding up into his hair.
He drew her body flush against his and she settled her head beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart alongside the creak and pull of the house.
"I keep crying over Sybil, at random moments, like a silly child." He suddenly whispered into the darkness, "I'm not used to that. It seems like losing control and I never do."
"There's nothing silly about it," she assured him, her hand rubbing his chest "It's just grief, I do the same."
"You do?" He shifted his head a little to listen to her, glancing down to her face.
"Of course. But I suppose I cry more for Tom, for his loss, and the baby and what she'll never have."
"I'm not a crier," he huffed, "never have been. Quite surprising to me, feeling like this. Maybe it's age."
"Maybe it's me."
He kissed her head again, "It's definitely you."
Elsie moved again, turning over drawing her face level with his, "I would certainly never have imagined you being quite such a romantic, when we met I mean."
"I think it rather surprised my friends too." He placed both of his hands to her face, brushing back her hair and pulling her to him to kiss her deeply. His fingers slid down her bare back as they continued to kiss, her light breathy moans filling his mouth as the tips of his fingers enjoyed the silkiness of her body.
She was smiling when they parted, her eyes bright with happiness. She tiptoed her fingers down his forehead and along his nose to his chin and he opened his mouth, nipping at her index finger. She giggled, tapping her fingers against his lips.
"Your nails are chipped," he said, kissing her knuckles.
"That's domestic work for you," she glanced at them, "I'll get them fixed when we get home. Festive ones."
"Does that mean glitter?"
"Perhaps, maybe just red."
He waggled his eyebrows, "Sexy."
"There'll be no sexy time over Christmas with the Brady Bunch living with us."
"Oh no? Not even Christmas Eve?" he squeezed her bottom, "Not even if we're exceptionally quiet, to the point of not making even a sound."
"Oh what could be sexier?" She teased and he groaned as her hand reached down between his legs. "You see, you can't be quiet."
"You caught me off guard."
"Did I now…?"
He tickled her waist and she giggled as he easily lifted her body, turning them over so he could lean over her.
"Stop it, that tickles, Charles," she gasped.
"Caught you off guard, didn't I?" He brushed his nose against hers and she tilted her head back, finding his mouth with hers.
How fitting it was, she thought as his mouth moved over her body, that her last night in this house was spent in the arms of a man who truly loved her. Things were shifting and changing, perhaps too quickly to really grasp what it meant. There were times she wished she could stop it, make everything slow down so she could stand back and appreciate the good parts, grieve over the bad.
His hands made things slow, his mouth, his kisses, the sweet heady feel of him inside her. The way he loved her.
She wrapped her legs around him, her hands on his back and Charles marvelled at how they fell into rhythm together. How wonderful this was.
"I love you," he heard her breathe life in the words, felt her mouth by his ear, the softness of her tongue. "I love you, I love you…" she said urgently.
"I know," he kissed her mouth, "I love you too."
"Don't stop," she searched his face, "you won't ever stop?"
His movements stilled and he searched her face; her eyes seemed to shine with tears and his heart ached for her.
"You know I won't. Do you fear that?"
She shook her head, biting down on her bottom lip. "I don't want to lose this. Don't want to mess it up."
"Elsie," he lowered his mouth to her, kissing her gently now, tenderly. "That won't happen. Ever."
"You left…" she said frankly and he realised that all that had happened over the past couple of months seemed to be coming together right here, in this old house that she was leaving behind.
"And I'm so sorry for that, I made a –,"
"– It hurt me," she cut in. "It hurt that you couldn't talk to me, you left instead."
He sighed, felt his body physically ache with the idea that he could have caused her pain. "I didn't leave you. I left the situation. Listen to me, I would never, ever, purposefully hurt you." He shook his head, "I'm so sorry Elsie, I suppose I'm still learning. I would never… We can't know where life is going to take us. But whatever happens, don't doubt that I love you. Ever."
Wednesday 6th December
The rain, thankfully, had worn itself out overnight and given way to clear skies. It remained frosty though, and Charles had slid more than once as he approached the car with the last few boxes and bags ready for transportation.
The house was nothing more than a shell now and when he'd woken that morning he'd found Elsie wandering from room to room, distracted by memories, entranced by them. Now she was all business, absolutely focussed on getting the job done; she was possibly the most efficient person he'd ever worked with. They seemed to complement each other and there was a part of him that had pondered, momentarily, on the idea of this business that she'd raised. They probably could work together; the question mark seemed to hang over whether he could work with Tom or not. But then who knew what Tom would want now. So much had changed.
"How are we looking?" Elsie asked, startling him as she approached from behind. "Is it full?"
"Almost. We may have to do two trips."
"I can sit with some things on my lap if it helps," she said eyeing up how he'd packed the back of the Range Rover, chewing down on her bottom lip. "Because we'll still have to come back and do a few trips to the refuse site."
"I'd forgotten that joy."
"Sorry," she touched his arm, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Worth it?"
"Mmm…" he hummed lowly, frowning and she chuckled.
"Killjoy," she said, squeezing his arm before she headed back across the yard, wrapping the cerise cardigan she wore around her body.
"Elsie?" A voice called and she turned again, shielding her eyes against the winter sun as she searched for the source of the voice. "I wondered if you'd still be here. Hoped to catch you."
"Joe?"
"Surely it's not been that long, has it?" He laughed, "Come here," and scooped her into a hug.
Charles watched awkwardly, leaning against the open car door as he observed the friendly embrace.
"My how distinguished you look," Elsie said, leaning back, Joe's hands still on her arms. "When did you grow a beard?"
"Couple of years since; hides my wrinkles somewhat."
"Oh you're not wrinkly."
"I am." Joe said, "You, mind, look as stunning as always…"
Charles shut the car door and approached them.
"…Your hair was short last time I saw you, looks like you used to have it when we were kids now."
"I doubt that very much." She glanced to Charles' face. "Joe," she said, pulling her arms from his hold and reaching for Charles' hand, "This is my…" she suddenly laughed and Charles did the same. "Sorry," she said, "we had this joke over how I'd introduce him."
"She said I'm too old for 'boyfriend', truth be told." Charles said, holding his hand out, "Charles Carson."
"My man friend," she added, smiling delighted.
Joe shook his hand, "Bout time she brought someone home to meet the folks."
"Good to meet you Joe."
"She told you about me?" He jerked his chin towards Elsie.
"She er…"
"Don't make him feel uncomfortable," she said, her hand sliding around to rest on Charles' back. "But yes I have, he knows we were engaged and that I was a total bitch to you."
"I wouldn't call you that. Different time, we were both young. And it all worked out for the best," he stared at Elsie's face, "you never would've been happy, settled, and I suppose I always knew that. Was just holding on whilst I could."
"You're always so sweet to me and I'm not sure I deserve it."
"You're probably right," Joe teased. "How's Doug coping?"
"Surprisingly well, I rang earlier and he told me to stop fussing – they'd slept fine, managed to cook breakfast and were rearranging the unpacking I'd already done."
Joe laughed, "Sounds about right. Sad to lose this place I bet though," he glanced up wistfully at it and Charles wondered how he felt about it all really. Given other choices, a different time and place, this would've been his, as would the woman standing between them.
"And how is Ivy, and your children?"
"Good, yes, she's doing better thanks."
"Dad mentioned she'd been ill; I'm sorry to hear that."
Joe turned from the building to face her, "Not been easy Els, but she's okay now, getting there anyhow."
"Good."
"Everyone's been great, helping out… well, you know how it is here, everyone chips in."
"Yes, I remember." She licked her lips, looped her hands together in front of her.
"Well, I best get going, back to work and all that and you've got plenty to do," he pulled her into another hug, kissing her cheek. "You take care, won't you?"
"And you, and Ivy."
"Maybe have a drink with us next time you visit; you coming up for Christmas or anything?"
"Hopefully they'll be coming to us," She said.
"Us," he smiled at Charles. "That's good. And wow, Doug heading down south of the border, that's a first."
"Tell me about it, I'm trying not to jinx it. Becky's so excited."
"Of course. Enjoy it, have a good time." He backed away, "Good luck with the rest of today too."
"Thank you, take care."
"And you. Nice to meet you Charles."
"And you," he called after him, watching him wander off down the muddy lane. He really couldn't imagine Elsie being with him, if he was honest, not with a man in a flat cap and mud splattered clothes. "Nice chap," he said. "Broad accent."
"Hasn't he?" She said, heading towards the house. "Funny how you notice it now, I suppose when I lived here mine was as strong."
"Harder to imagine that," he followed her inside. "I like your soft Scottish accent."
"Of course you do, you like everything about me." She teased, turning in the great empty hallway to face him.
"Very true. You okay, seeing him?"
"Yes," she said softly, "we get on fine, we settled any awkwardness many years ago."
He moved closer to her, watching how the sunlight filled the space, catching the hints of gold thread in her hair; the specks of azure in her eyes reminding him of the water they swam in together in Spain. "Good. Nice man. Seems to be."
"He is," she slid her hands into Charles', "just not what I wanted. Didn't make me happy."
He felt her chest press against his, "And now?"
"Couldn't be happier," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, "the farm girl from back then could never have envisioned how much." She pressed her lips to his, kissing him warmly, "Some things are worth waiting for."
