"If we're gonna heal, let it be glorious."
Chapter 36
Friday 20th January
The snow was drifting in the wind, it howled around Elsie's ears and the smattering of white hit her full force in the face as she plodded up the hill. She could feel a thin slick of sweat between her skin and the sweater beneath her waterproof. Exhaustion was taking over.
She reached up to once again tug her woolly hat over her ears; it was too small, she couldn't find hers and had borrowed Becky's in a rush.
In the distance, she could hear a dog barking and, despite her many years of working on the farm and seeing animals as commodities, she felt a pang of concern for its wellbeing. Her mother waved to her from the top of the hill and she quickened her pace, raising her hand in a return gesture.
She hadn't spoken to her and the storm had grown before she could.
"Where's the dog?" She called but the wind and snow swallowed her voice. She upped her pace again, her long hair flapping in her face; a whip.
Her mother waved again and held out her hand, grasping Elsie's frozen fingertips as she pulled her up the last steps.
"Where's the dog? Is it a hunter?" She asked again and her mother turned and pointed. Elsie followed the line of her arm and, across the field, leaning against the fence, she could make out the impressive figure of a man. His broad shoulders served as a resting place for the snow and his wax jacket covered his face. "I can't see," Elsie said, shielding her eyes from the snow, "Mummy, I can't see."
She turned when somebody tugged the hem of her coat, bending and smiling to the little boy who stood before her in his pyjamas, bare feet upon the snow.
"Alife, sweetheart, did you come to see the dog?"
Alfie pulled his hand from his pocket, slowly unravelling each finger and thrusting his palm into Elsie's face, "It's dead!"
She woke with a thud. Frantic. Heart scrambling.
Her body was floating, mind racing, and there was a weight on her chest as if she was being crushed. She grappled about in the dark for the switch on the lamp by the bed, but there wasn't one there. Her heart pounded in her chest, like she was weightless, and her arms wouldn't work.
Her fingers caught hold of the edge of her phone and she pressed that instead, blinking at the sudden light.
"Wha..'ss wrong?" Charles mumbled, his hand falling on her hip. "Elsie?"
"Didn't know where I was," she said, falling back onto her pillow. "Just… didn't know." She sucked in air. "Forgot. And then I…" she closed her eyes, shivering, "I don't know."
He tugged her body back against his momentarily.
"Thought about Blue."
He kissed the back of her head, breathed in the scent of her hair, "I know."
"I don't remember falling asleep."
"We both consumed a fair amount of alcohol last night."
"Is it still night?" she asked, tilting her head up and back towards the window; odd to have it behind them, but then it was rather nice too. She flicked the curtains with her fingers and caught the scent of the sea. "Still dark." She said softly. "And frosty, the pane is damp."
"Mmm," Charles mumbled against her head. "Go back to sleep."
"Something woke me. Made me jump."
"A dream?"
She made a sound in the back of her throat and closed her eyes again.
"Hey. You can tell me anything."
"I know." She moved to sit up, "Just a dream. I need the bathroom."
Charles flopped onto his back, lifted the edge of the curtain with his thumb and gazed out at the sky. It was clear, and the inky blue seemed to stretch on forever.
"Looks nice," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Different." He let the curtain fall back and stretched his legs; it was good having Elsie in the bed with him, but it was still awkward when he was trying to so damned hard to give her space – his legs didn't allow for it.
His eyes had fallen closed again by the time she returned to the bed, and her feet were cold as her toes brushed his legs.
"Sorry," she whispered as his leg involuntarily jerked away.
"S'alright."
She fussed with the bedsheets, tugging on Charles' dressing gown which he laid over the bedclothes to keep them warm.
"You cold?"
"A little," she turned onto her side, her back to him, shuddering just once and pulling his dressing gown high around her shoulders, tucking it beneath her chin.
"What's this dream?"
"Nothing. Being stuck in the snow."
"Fitting," he mumbled, twisting his head towards the bedside clock; the green light cut into his eyeballs: 3:47. He groaned, stretching again, his heel hitting the bottom of the bed. "Ow, shit!"
"You need to ask for a larger bed when you book a room."
"I didn't book it," he turned onto his side, staring at the back of her head, the place where her hair curled on the pillow; delicate strands like candyfloss. He reached a hand across and toyed with the ends, his fingertips caressing it without her even knowing. "Tell me why you were upset."
"I told you," she mumbled into her pillow, though she was wide awake; there was an unsettled feeling in her chest now, that feeling of being lost and alone that she couldn't shake. "I thought of Blue. I dreamt of Alife, he had the dead kitten in his hand."
"Christ," he moved closer to her back, "that's macabre."
She rolled her eyes, "My mind." She swallowed, listening to the sound of his breathing behind her, the warmth of him as his body seemed to melt forward towards hers. "We buried him, at the back of the garden, near the hedgerow, you know where the cherry blossom falls… I mean for real, not the dream."
He nodded.
"I put that pot on top of it, the pretty plant that grows every year – purple flowers… We said a prayer."
"You did?" He'd never known her to be religious.
"Alfie wanted to, said they did it at school when the hamster died."
"What did you say?"
"Nonsense, I don't know. I'm shit at these things."
"I'm sure you weren't, sounds like you handled it well."
"Maybe," she breathed deeply again. "Charles?"
"A-ha."
"Will you hold me?"
"God yes," his hand was instantly on her hip, slipping over her stomach as he moved against her, instinctively kissing the back of her head. "Darling…"
She cut him off, "Don't say nice things."
"Elsie," he smiled, "I love you, of course I'm going to say nice things. I want you to feel better." He kissed her again, comforting her, soothing her.
"I feel alone," she stated, staring into the darkness of the room.
"Why?" His voice was broken; he never wanted that, it hurt him to think it.
"I just do, I've felt alone most of my life."
"I'm right here." He said, in a weak attempt to reassure her, then he re-thought it. "I know what you mean. I've felt it too."
"Like you don't quite fit in?"
"Yes, because there's nobody who understands. Because everyone is married or a parent and happy and fulfilled…"
"Or so it seems."
"Or so it seems," he repeated. "But you don't have to feel that now." He swallowed, feeling nervous, "When I'm with you, I don't feel it. Whole for the first time ever."
"Even when with Alice?"
He understood why she needed to ask that, "I think being with her made me feel even more alone. Sometimes, I often thought there was this gaping blackness inside, and no matter what I did – working endlessly, drink, food, whatever, it would never be filled. Then I met a certain woman," he kissed the back of her neck. "I know I've made mistakes, Elsie…"
"I dreamt of my mother," she said quickly, cutting him off. "It unsettled me, seeing her." Charles remained silent, she very rarely spoke of her mother. "I was a girl again, up on the farm in the snow and my mother was waiting on the hill for me – you know, across from the house, that time you met Becky? She was coming down over the hill."
"I remember it well."
"We climbed it on the day you proposed."
"Yes," he said again, a whisper against the back of her head.
"She held my hand, there was so much snow and she just kept smiling at me, my mother had these pale blue eyes, I always felt like she knew everything about me just by looking at me."
"A bit how I feel when you look at me."
"Dad always says we're alike. I always thought Becky was…" she shrugged, slipping her hand down over his on her stomach. "There was a man."
"Where?"
"In the dream."
"Your father?"
She shook her head, "I couldn't see his face. I think he was a dog."
"What do you mean?"
"There was this barking, in the distance…" she closed her eyes again. "The first time I had sex with Geoff there was his dog, a German Shepherd outside the barn barking incessantly because he'd left it outside."
"Oh… …I get it now. And your mother?"
"I don't know." She said helplessly, "She pointed at him, but the snow was too bad. And then Alfie was there with Blue dead in his pocket." She licked her lips, "Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Course not. I think you drank a lot, and you're emotional, and it was a scary drive here in the bad weather." He squeezed her, "You want to talk about your mother?"
"I don't know why I dreamt of her. She's not even been on my mind. God," she groaned, "I always make such a mess of things."
"No, you don't."
"I don't want to lose you," she gasped, "I feel like I've lost you."
He turned her over, pulling her into his embrace. "You haven't. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you. Do you fear that?"
She nodded, "It makes me feel helpless," she hiccupped, trying to talk through her tears. "I don't like it, I hate it. You can't trust anyone because they let you down or use you or… and it's always been just me."
"Because you can rely on you, I get that too. But not now."
"But you let me down."
"I know, I know. And I never meant to. But sometimes Elsie, people are just human and they make mistakes. We can't be perfect. It doesn't mean I don't love you, that I don't want to spend eternity with you," he smiled, trying to hold her face, make her see he meant it. "For me, that gaping loneliness is gone, and… and it hurts me to think for you it isn't. That I'm not enough."
She started crying again, "I never said that. I never said…"
"Shh," he held her tighter, moved onto his back and held her body against his. "Things going on in your mind we need to talk through, both of us have things we need to talk through but rest now. It's 4:00 in the morning. Get a few hours sleep." He rubbed her back, kissed the top of her head, "My darling, try and rest. Let it all go."
When she woke again, Charles was gone and the bedroom was bright and still. She lay on her back staring at the ceiling. It was a little like being in an igloo; everything was white, eerily so, and so quiet, no birds, no rustling of trees, no traffic. She moved her legs, rustled the bedsheets just to make a noise and hummed to herself.
"I was following, I was following, I was following…" She repeated in a bare whisper of a voice, moving her hand back and forth to watch the play of light upon the ceiling from her ring.
It was unlike her to be so lethargic, so melancholy. She'd been there once, many years ago, when making it to the age of thirty seemed a distant dream because making it through every day was agony. She lived for years with the feeling that she wanted to strip away her own skin and crawl out to the ocean and just disappear. Who would miss her really, if she just ceased to exist?
It had taken a long time for her to shake off that feeling, that shell of a person, and to remember who she was, before men and manipulation and sex and heartbreak.
"…following the pack all swaddled in their coats, with scarves of red tied round their throats…" she sang, stronger this time, amusing herself with the imagery of red scarves against white snow. Perhaps they would go out today and walk a thousand miles holding hands in the world of white.
"You're awake," Charles said, as he came into the bedroom.
"You're dressed?"
He smiled, "You sound disappointed by that."
She moved to sit up, squashing the pillows behind her, "No. Just surprised."
"It's after eleven."
"What?"
"You needed the rest, clearly," he flicked on the kettle. "I'll order room service. Here," he tossed her the menu from the side, "take a look."
"Not sure I'm hungry."
"Just get toast, something at least."
"Where did you go?"
"Quick chat with Steven, we needed to make decisions."
"And?" She rested the menu on her knees.
"He's going to call next week's group and send apologies; we're meant to kick off tomorrow night with the welcome thing and there's no way people will get here."
"What's the news say?"
"Worst snow since 2005. I remember having to walk to my mother's then, it was just below my knees and I took her milk and stuff; ended up staying with her for days just to make sure she kept warm."
"My boiler broke," she said. "I was sleeping under five blankets every night."
"Nobody to keep you warm?" He asked quickly, without thinking, and was then relieved when she laughed.
"Mr. Carson, really," she closed the menu. "Think I'll have a bacon sandwich actually."
"Good choice. Me too."
"And I was dating an Italian guy then, as it happens, hence my recipes."
He raised his eyebrows, "Now that's going to ruin things for me, next time you make that wonderful baked ziti."
She laughed, "Why?"
"Because now in my mind he taught it you whilst naked and flirting in that way Italian men have."
Her laughter grew harder, enough to make her get out of bed and wobble towards the bathroom. "You've made me need to pee," she touched his elbow as she passed him. "And cooking was his best talent, by a long way, believe me…"
He shook his head as he carried their tea to the bedside table, listening to her rinsing her face as he kicked off his shoes and laid on the bed. "I'll ring for breakfast."
"Alright, what's it like out there? Could we go out?"
"Maybe. Oddly enough I didn't pack my wellies."
"Well, me neither," she was standing by the bathroom door patting her face dry. "But I think our walking boots are still in the car."
"Oh yes, so they are."
"In the boot tidy you made me get," she got back into bed. "Remember that?"
"I do. What can I say? I'm a tidy man. Which reminds me," he sipped his tea. "Where are we on this cleaner business?"
"Oh," she stretched her legs out beside his, "you know I only said that to wind you up. I don't really want one, or think we need one, I just wanted to pick a fight with you."
He nodded; this was not new information but good to have it clarified nevertheless.
"Because I could, and I needed to argue with you."
"I know, and I understand."
She fiddled with her teacup, suddenly feeling rather anxious; she felt anxious much of the time at present, like there was something coiled in her lungs stealing her breath. "Did you call for breakfast?"
"I'll do it now."
"Alright. I'm going to give Ethel a ring, I want to see how the kittens are, and Alfie."
Charles chuckled as he dialled for room service, "Loving the snow in our back garden no doubt."
She waited until he'd finished ordering before she rang home, using Facetime so Ethel could show them the kittens snuggled up in their basket against the cold, Kate in there with them.
"If the kitchen is chilly put them in my bedroom, Ethel, yes?"
"Will do. But actually, it's fine in here, really snug."
"I got that underfloor heating put in a while back, seems to work. Where's Alfie?"
"Still in his pyjamas watching cartoons, hang on…" Ethel called her son and Elsie positioned the phone between herself and Charles as they waited for him to appear.
His chubby little hand gripped the screen and it wobbled as he turned it round and blobbed his tongue out when he saw them.
"Mr. C!" he yelled. "It's snowy!"
"I know, here too, I thought you'd be out in it."
"I'm just watching Batman then I will. Mummy says I need to find my wellies out first because they're packed up."
"Don't forget a hat neither, Alfie," Elsie added. "And gloves. Need to stay warm."
"I will Mrs. C. Are you alright?" He asked softly and she smiled and nodded.
"I'm fine sweetheart, are you?"
"Yep, I sat with the babies last night and read them my school book. It was an adventure story."
Elsie gripped Charles' knee and squeezed it.
"That's really nice of you, kiddo," Charles said, "really kind, I bet they liked it. And you know I might have a little something for you when we get home."
"Is it rock? Mrs. C said they have rock in Brighton."
"It isn't, that stuff will cost your mum a fortune in dentist bills. No, think again."
"Mmm…" he rubbed his chin, "a cape?"
"No."
"A new engine?" He suddenly gasped excitedly.
"It might just be."
"Ahhhh! When are you coming home?"
"Maybe in a few days, soon as we can drive up there."
"Do it quick."
"We'll try. And listen, you be good for your mother, help out with the baby and the new house and things."
"Aye aye Captain!" He said saluting then giggling. "Don't get a cold nose so it falls off."
Charles frowned, "Same to you. Bye."
"Bye, bye Mrs. C."
"Bye darling, have a good day."
"Mrs. C indeed," Charles said as Elsie put the phone aside.
"Well, he's only young, he forgets," she snuggled down in bed again. "Glad the kittens are okay though."
"I know, me too." He glanced at her, "You look comfy."
"I don't much fancy doing anything at the moment other than being lazy."
"Fair enough. No better time for it. I'll go search for these boots after breakfast, just in case we do decide to go out."
"Alright dear…" her eyes were closed and he smiled at her relaxed expression, reaching over to brush her fringe from her face.
"Food's here," he said. "I'll go get it at the door. And make more tea."
"Good plan," she mumbled, entirely comfortable.
"Good God!" Elsie sighed, kicked the quilt aside as she put her iPad down.
"What?"
"I have actually just watched an advertisement on here for 'Food Huggers'."
"Which are?"
"Some rubber device that you pop over food when you've cut it in half – tomatoes, apples, cucumber etc." She flopped back against her pillows, "It kinda resembles a diaphragm to be honest."
"A what?!"
"You know – female cont–,"
"I know what one is," he said abruptly. "I don't much fancy one on my tomatoes, think I'll stick to Clingfilm."
She laughed, "And just when I begin to forget how stuffy you are!" She dropped her legs out of bed, "Gonna make some more tea. You want one?"
"Sure, but I'll make it," he went put his book aside.
"No, I'm up. Plus, I rather like this Teasmade thing, reminds me of one my Gran had by her bed."
He rolled his eyes, "Sorry about the hotel, bit old fashioned."
"I hardly mind that."
"Yes, but not quite the luxury of Spain, is it?"
She pressed the buttons on the ancient machine, "Again, am I supposed to mind that? The weather's shit too but I'm sure you can't fix that neither."
"Don't be too certain of that."
"Oh, your butlering powers stretch to that, do they?"
He laughed, "If only."
"It doesn't matter, Charles. I didn't expect some grand welcome, top class service – that was a treat, but treats are usually rare. And this is fine, comfortable, nice view of the icy sea. Besides, it's a new business. Is it a business?"
"I guess so."
She poured milk into the tea, "It would sound odd if we just said you're 'providing a service.'"
He rolled his eyes, "So very droll, Ms Hughes." He laughed, "I've missed your humour."
"Oh?" She carried his tea to him, let her hand linger as his fingers touched hers. "I didn't realise I was that funny."
"You're kidding, right? Our laughter was one of the first things that made me fall for you."
She let his comment pass, and carried her own cup of tea over to the window at the opposite side of the room, peeling back the corner of the curtains and watching the snow fall. Everything was still, silent.
"Looks beautiful out there."
"Bet it's not so beautiful being in it." He closed his book. "So much for my big advances into the world of training; snowed off."
"You sounded wonderful though," she said, glancing over to him. "I'm not sure I said that last night. I was mightily impressed."
"Were you?"
"Of course. Throw me a pillow." He did so and she sat on the floor by the window, "These low windowsills in old places; what do you think this is? Edwardian?"
"Think so. Tell me what you thought."
"I thought you sounded professional, knowledgeable."
"Not too boring?"
"No, not boring. You're an impressive speaker, you must know that, you've got presence, your voice for a start." She sipped her tea and turned to look at him again, "I'm not even interested in going into service but I was engaged. Though I admit, my interest was partially based on attraction."
He smiled at that, "Glad to know it's still there."
She cocked her head as she regarded him, "As if you could doubt it." She licked her lips, lowering her voice, "Have you heard from William yet?"
He shook his head, "I don't want to push him. I can wait, until he's ready. I've waited this long, after all." He picked his mug up, "I did get a call from Alice though."
She exhaled, "Oh."
"I didn't answer. I pressed the thing… the red button."
She raised her eyebrows at that, "Sulking with her?"
"Elsie…" He said softly and she turned away from him, hiding half behind the curtain as she watched the snow flurries. He licked his lips, determined to get somewhere with their conversation. "Look, that day I went to see her. Well, it wasn't pretty."
"You argued?"
"Quite loudly."
She turned around again, leaning against the frame, "I don't think I've ever heard you be that loud. Except when we've argued. Sometimes."
"Well, that's different. That's frustration because I care too much, passion, all of that. You can drive me mad…"
"My speciality."
"…But you're forgiven within five minutes too."
She smirked, "I wouldn't know."
"That's because you're more likely to sulk."
She nodded, she couldn't disagree with that. She was a sulker; she'd rather sulk in silence than talk it through with him. "So, what happened? You don't have to tell me, I mean, if you don't want."
"Of course I want. I've wanted to tell you everything for weeks, it was just… always too hard. Just on the tip of my tongue but too hard to find the words."
She realised she was frowning, her chin resting on her knees as she watched him. She wanted to respond, felt the need to defend herself, but instead kept her mouth clamped shut and listened.
"When I went over, I was resolute – I'd get the information from her and be done."
She held her hand up, "You're not going to break my heart and tell me you kissed again, are you?"
"God no, Elsie, really." He shook his head, "I would never. Is that what you think?"
She held his gaze, "No, not really. But I don't know entirely what to think." She screwed her mouth up, "What did she try? You said she tried. Tried what?"
"Her usual tactics, relying on my feelings for her, my attraction. I wanted to be fair to her, do you see Elsie? I wanted to be decent."
"Because you are."
"I don't want to cause anyone trouble or bother, certainly not any kind of scandal." He swallowed, rubbing her a hand through his hair as he thought. "I lost my temper, she wouldn't give me his address and my patience was lost. I think she realised that my feelings for her were no longer there, well, not what they were. I was drunk on New Year's Eve, dozy, surprised by William's engagement. But I was clear headed when I went to see her that day." He took another long breath, "I love you, and I told her I loved you. And I guess we went our separate ways."
She watched as he drank his tea, noted his trembling hand against the cup.
"Let's go out now, go get some air." She got to her knees and pushed herself up, "I'll put my jeans on and brush my hair. I think we need the walk."
"Yeah. Be good to get out of the room I guess. And breathe."
The flurries had ceased and, as often happens on winter days, the sky had cleared and the misty sun had put in a lacklustre appearance.
"Do you think people think I look a dick?" Elsie said, her arm tight around Charles' as they walked. "My jeans tucked in my boots?"
"I'm not sure it matters what they think."
"Course it does. Way life is."
He shook his head, "You really shouldn't worry what anyone thinks."
"Maybe not, but I do, only occasionally now. I care what you think."
"Well," he paused as they went to cross the road, then remembered it was silly to, after all the fact there was no traffic was the very reason they were here. "I only ever think the best of you."
She laughed – a short, sharp sound.
"You think I'm kidding?"
"I think you'd be hard pressed to always think the best."
"I certainly never think the worst. I wish you'd tell me things though."
She frowned, twisting her head to look at him, "Me tell you things? Getting information out of you at times is like drilling for oil in the back yard. Your hand for a start."
He stopped, his heel slipping a little on the snow. "What?"
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? That I hadn't? Honestly Charles, we live together, we share the same space, I think I notice when you're ill."
He grumbled low in his throat, resuming their walk, heading towards the sea wall, his boots crunching in the thick snow.
"I didn't want to talk about it."
"Why?"
"Because then it makes it real and I don't want it to be."
"You can't force something away by sheer force of will."
"I can try."
"Charles," she was caught between irritation and sympathy for him. "You can't accuse me of not sharing with you and then hide something like this."
"Why didn't you ask?"
"Because you're a private man and I figured you'd open up when ready."
He huffed, taking the corner carefully and leading her down the slight incline. "Careful," he instructed, gripping her hand in his.
Surprisingly, the sea was calm; flat and even and reaching out to meet the sky. Brighton Palace Pier was decked in white and they stood side-by-side staring at it, watching excited children chasing their dog through the shallow snow on the beach. There were more people out and about than Elsie had expected and there was something reassuring about being out with him in public again, amongst other human beings.
"I like this," she said.
"Being outside?"
"Yes. That. But I meant being with you, just passing the time of day."
"Rough few weeks," he admitted. "I've missed it too. And I appreciate you holding on in there with me, I know it hasn't been easy."
"For you neither, I do know that." She squeezed his hand as if to make a point.
"Essential tremor, is what the Doctor says, and it's a family trait. Nothing much to worry about right now, avoid stress and the like. Exercise. Stay healthy." He huffed again.
"What?"
"Falling to bits. Why would you want to waste your time with some creaky old git?"
"Because you're mine and I love you very much. Creaks and all. But I do worry, I think I have a right to."
"Might affect work, he said, but it made me make some choices.
"Oh?"
"Barrow and I will go fifty-fifty, I can be the silent partner if I want. And it might go that way. It's the part of the reason I pursued this, give me something to aim for, it might not make any money but I can get by. I won't be a drain."
"As if I'd ever consider that."
"No. But I would. We're not married and…"
She groaned.
"Don't make that noise at the word."
"Don't bring it up. Married or not we're still partners I hope, to me living together and sharing the bills is far more important."
He exhaled slowly, "I understand what you're saying. I disagree, but I understand."
"Why do you disagree?"
"Because marriage changes everything. Of course it does."
"How do you know? You've never done it."
"Let's not argue right now."
"We're not arguing, it's discussing..."
"Yes, and disagreeing."
"We can't always agree."
"No, but I don't spend my entire time with you bickering over every detail."
She turned her back on the view so she could face him, leaning against the railing. "We don't bicker." She smiled slightly, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm sorry about your hand."
"Thank you."
"You know I'll help however I can."
"I know."
"Shall we walk again?" She asked, "My toes are setting solid."
"Not really got the right socks for snow."
She nodded.
"And with those jeans tucked in to your boots you do look a bit foolish."
She playfully slapped his arm, "I told you I looked a dick."
Elsie kicked the snow with the toe of her boot, sending it into the back of Charles' leg.
"Oops. Sorry."
"I don't think you're sorry at all."
"Maybe not…" she kicked again, giggling and he turned to face her this time.
"If you don't stop it madam."
"You'll what?"
He bent forward, scooping the top part of the snow where it was still soft and feathery to the touch. "My hands are larger than yours, you do know what that means?"
She eyed him, his mischievous eyes, the palest blue, almost grey. For a moment, she remembered his hands on her; the way he'd cup one breast in his palm, bend to pay her nipple focussed attention; the other hand on her hip, or her bottom, or in her hair.
Her body shivered and closed in around her.
"You cold?"
"Not really," she smiled as he dropped the snow.
"Childish game," he said.
"I started it," she strode forward, gripping his arm again. "Good job you're here, you hold me up, I've not got much good balance."
"Nice grammar."
She elbowed him, "And there was me paying you a compliment – tall, sturdy Mr. Carson. I don't think anything could bring you down."
"Is this some kind of metaphor?"
"Oh goodness," she stopped, pulling on his arm and he jerked backwards.
"You trying to test the theory?"
She let go of his arm, moving to the shop window, "Look at these, wonderful pieces."
"Painting?"
"I wish I could, you can, I've seen, you're good."
He moved beside her, "Haven't done it for years. Maybe in the spring, might get out in the garden, dig out my easel."
"I like the trees." She said, lifting a finger and pointing at the glass, "That path through them looks like it goes on forever. I'd like to walk it, dappled sun through trees. You can almost hear the birds, can't you?" She said softly, leaning against his side. "I wonder how much it is."
"Price doesn't really matter if you like it." He stood on his tiptoes, scanning for a price tag. "There, hanging from the corner." He stepped closer to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes so he could squint at the handwritten tag. "2… 2 something. Let me see, definitely three numbers to it so two hundred and something."
She made a hissing noise as she sucked air between her teeth, "Maybe not for the downstairs loo then."
"Course not." He started to remove his gloves, "Hallway, I thought, when you come in you can stare at it as you take your shoes off, which is what you always do first."
"Do I?"
"Yes. You slip your shoes off," he was digging around in his coat pocket for paper. "Then you like to take your tights off, stockings, whatever it is, and stretch your feet as you walk around barefoot. Even through the winter you've done it."
She found herself smiling at his description and then he snapped his fingers at her, "You got any paper in that handbag?"
"Whatever for?" She found an old letter in there and let him have the envelope; he scribbled something on the back. "What are you doing?" She asked again.
"Note to the proprietor, instructing him not to sell this painting as I wish to purchase it before I leave Brighton. Then my name and number."
"Charles –,"
"Don't argue. I don't always say the right thing, I usually can't find the words, but I want to get this for you. Whether I'm around or not to see it."
"Goodness don't say that," she grasped his arm. "You'll always be around."
"Elsie," he pulled his gloves back on. "We don't know what'll happen."
"This hand business lead to death, does it?"
He rolled his eyes, "No, but death isn't what I meant."
"I know what you meant," she said firmly, "And you'll always be around."
She had only meant to kiss him gently, but when he'd groaned against her lips she felt like she was giving him life, breathing air into his lungs until they expanded and filled every inch of his body with light.
He grasped her to him, his hand wide against her back, fingers scrunching into the material of her coat.
She clung to him, both arms winding around his waist, content to be held by him.
Charles' mouth opened hers and their tongues met; delicate hunger as they danced together. This was not the kind of kiss Charles Carson did in public; his airport kiss was the most forceful she'd known so far.
"I missed you," she found herself mumbling, gasping for breath.
"Missed you too," he nudged her nose with hers until she kissed again, her face wet with tears.
Charles strode on through the snow, bundled up against the elements. He wore his father's jumper, the one his Grandmother had knitted: burgundy wool, a thick rope collar, the slightly wonky sleeves. He bent his head forward, trying to shield his eyes from the onslaught – icy pinpricks against his skin.
"Come on," he looked up at the sound of a voice, "hurry up, keep up."
"Elsie?" He shielded his eyes, "Wait, let me catch up."
"You're always a step behind," his mother said and he was suddenly at the top of the hill, his mother on a bench watching him as he gasped for breath and panted with exhaustion.
"Where's she gone?"
"Elly?" His mother scolded, "You were too slow. Fooling about." She held out her hand, "Help me up, let's go."
"Wait a second," he could hear the sea in the background, a barking dog. "Where's she gone? Mother? Help me look."
"There's nothing left to look for."
He grasped at something and blinked at white – one, two, three, four – his knuckles ached and his mouth felt tight. There was shadow moving and he realised he was staring at the ceiling.
"Did you nod off?" Elsie said gently, leaning over him, her shadow casting on his body. "Thought you were just resting your feet before we went down for dinner."
"Yes," he searched his brain for a memory of making plans for the evening. "Elsie," he reached for her hand.
"Hm?"
"Don't go."
"I was only going to brush my hair, change these wet jeans."
"Let's not go down to dinner, let's eat here. I don't want to have to talk."
"I assume you mean to other people and not me," she squeezed his hand. "I'll put the kettle on then, not bother dolling myself up."
He squeezed her hand, "We can eat in here, will you mind?"
She shook her head, "Glad to be alone with you, truth be told." She tilted her head to one side, "You okay? Look kinda… shaken."
"Odd dream. And I'm hungry." He turned her hand over in his, rubbing her palm with his thumb. "Walk knackered me."
"What do you fancy eating?" He quirked an eyebrow and she laughed, "Really! That's not like you."
He smiled, "Fish and chips maybe, you?"
"I really fancy an Indian, you know."
"I could go for that, but where would we get it?"
"Absolutely no idea. Something to look forward to, when we get home? That little place on the High Street with about three tables in it."
"And the overzealous owner."
"We'll take-away."
"Fish and chips then, from the restaurant downstairs."
"Done."
They sat on the bed eating, the news on in the background. The room was slightly too warm and the smell of the food only made it seem more claustrophobic.
"Better chips on the coast, don't you think?" Charles said, adding more vinegar to his. "Out of those Styrofoam tray things and with wooden forks."
"I hate wooden forks," Elsie said, "I worry about cutting my lip."
"I once dated a girl who wanted to do a fish and chips trip?"
Elsie frowned, reaching to remove her socks before stretching out her legs.
"She had this list of the top 20 around the country, and she thought it'd be fun to drive to every one. Write little reviews."
"I take it you didn't?"
"God no, we broke up before I left on another trip."
"There are worst things to do, I guess." She returned her plate to the tray, her food half uneaten.
"Than break up?"
"Than take a trip to fish and chip shops."
"Oh yeah, I guess so. Could've been something really dull – pencil factory. Or plates, thousands of the same plate being printed."
"Bizarre conversation," she got up from the bed, "you can have the rest of mine, if you want."
"I'm alright."
Elsie pulled back the curtain, rubbing the condensation from the glass, "Mind if I open the window?"
"Course not, getting warm in here. Is it dark out?"
"Getting there." She stared out at the view, listening as Charles cleared their dinner things away and moved the tray into the hallway. "Odd isn't it."
"What?" He returned to the bed, turning off the bedside lamp and the volume on the television.
"Being here, the two of us, after the year… After it all." She pressed her palm against the glass, watching the heat from her hand imprint on it.
"You always said relationships were messy."
"I did, didn't I?" she laughed harshly, "Which is why I avoided them."
He swallowed, throat tightening, an odd feeling in his chest as he heard his mother's voice and thought of walking a snow-capped hill; a walk that leads to nowhere.
"And now?"
Elsie shrugged without looking at him. Surprisingly, the snow seemed to be getting heavier; she could hardly see the road below, just outlines of streetlamps, the steely sea beyond. Shapes of cars and buildings along the main street looked like outlines in an incomplete sketch.
"Funny," she said, thinking aloud, "who knew I'd still be such a pushover. I thought I'd consigned that particular quality to my youth."
"There's a difference between being kind and generous, and a pushover. You're being incredibly kind to Ethel."
"What makes you think I was referring to her?"
"Ah," he realised the meaning behind her words. "Me."
"Us," she said. "Am I being silly here, Charles? Chasing after you, driving all the way down here because I couldn't stand not to be with you when things seem so… such shaky ground. I feel I've gotten myself into a mess I can't get out of."
"And, do you want to get out of it?"
"Surely, that's the question I keep asking you, that I've been asking you for weeks."
"And I keep telling you 'no', as firmly and honestly as I can."
"Really?" She was genuinely surprised that he thought he'd been clear with her.
"I don't want out of us. I don't want anyone else. I'm not sure how else I can say it."
"Perhaps this is one of those cases where actions speak louder than words."
"I asked you to marry me, Elsie, what clearer action is there?"
"But why? Why did you ask, Charles?" She shrugged, sitting with her back to the window so she could look at him as she spoke. "Because you loved me? Or to provide some sort of security, to tie me to you so I couldn't walk away like Alice did? Or to make some kind of point to her? To make her jealous?"
"Don't be so childish," he snapped, "There are so many things wrong with that statement I'm not sure where to start."
She pushed her hands against the glass, turning to face him, "What's the phrase – lie quickly?"
"Oh bollocks to that Elsie, bollocks to it!"
She paused at the foot of the bed, leaning against the old wooden frame for support; something in his tone unnerved her.
"So I've made mistakes, so I've been mixed up over some things, emotional, distracted… Haven't you been there before?"
"I never shut you out."
"Didn't you? And besides, we're different people. My mind doesn't work like yours does, I don't find it easy –,"
"I know that! I'm not stupid."
"Listen to me, I proposed because, quite honestly, I don't want to lose you. I want to spend every waking day of my life with you. We couldn't buy a home together because we don't need to; I needed something permanent. Some kind of commitment between us. So yes, okay, something to 'tie us together' – is that so bad? When I'm dead and buried I want a little slither of evidence that at one point in my life I was absolutely in love and loved in return. That I did something right." He shook his head, "I know the irony of that; this is that time and I've ballsed it up. I know that. I proposed and you scuttled off somewhere to hide from me, crying into your friends' skirts instead of to me."
"I never said anything negative about you to them, never, it was me I blamed."
"And I blamed me. You see, if we'd just talked."
"I kept trying…"
"You were silent with me for over a week. I kept talking to your shoulder in bed at night."
"And I listened, I took it in."
"Fuck's sake," he rubbed a hand over his face, "this is frustrating. Listen, I know I hurt you, I know that. But I keep trying to be totally honest with you so you don't think I'm hiding anything or lying to you and it backfires and my honesty results in the opposite." He was breathless, red-faced, his chest tight as he spoke, "I will always feel something for her – I've carried it too long. But it isn't love. It isn't on the same level, not even in the same category or on the same shelf as what I feel for you. Of what you've come to mean to me. I thought we said months ago that this was forever."
"It is. And it was in September, when we were in Scotland, when we said it," she said tearfully, blinking and looking away. "Oh God, I told you this was a mess. I feel like everything's all tangled up…"
His voice was softer, and, oddly, he felt physically lighter for having spoken to her about such things. "Then let's spend the time untangling it; we're hardy going anywhere soon. But don't stand there, it's cold –,"
"It's boiling in here. I've reached the change age, remember?"
He rolled his eyes, "Get in bed, I'll get us something stronger to drink than tea."
"We've got alcohol in here? You've been holding out on me."
She passed him as he got up from bed and she sat on top of the sheets.
"Steven gave me a bottle of red wine, expensive too, a thank you for coming on board. I guess he doesn't know he's doing me a favour."
"Tell me about it all," she said, before blowing her nose. "I feel like I've only been half involved."
"We can talk about that later," he pulled the cork from the bottle. "More important things I think." He rinsed their mugs and poured the wine in, "Here. Not the most elegant of delivery for such a luxury."
She settled herself against the pillows, reaching down to where his dressing gown lay on the bed and pulling it up over her legs. She watched him as he returned to the bed, how he found it difficult to bend down to such a low mattress. He was just a man after all, human, and she so wanted him with her for many years to come. To care for him.
"I got scared," she said gently.
"What of?"
"Never had to rely on anyone before," she swirled the wine in her glass. "It's not quite the same as relying on yourself."
"Ah, I'm not trustworthy?"
"That's hardly what I meant. And you must feel the same."
"At times, sometimes. You're…" he smirked, "At the start I felt like I'd been hit by a truck." He reached across, resting a hand on hers. "I never had this spark before, and I mean this feeling in me, the spark in me that lights everything else, that keeps me going. I guess I'm scared too, because if I lose it, things won't be the same. I won't be."
She shifted, resting her head against his arm. "As scared as it makes me, you know I never gave up on us. I wouldn't. I just needed time."
He closed his eyes, "I know, and I'm sorry I was distant. Everything happened all at once, this bloody hand for one – part of me hoped I'd skipped the family curse. I kept lying to myself, ignoring the odd twinge." He sighed, feeling her body curl against his. "I kept thinking of my old hand shaking on your body, how off putting that would be."
"Darling, nothing…" she faded off, holding his hand tighter in hers. "Some fucking curse."
"Yeah. Too many of them. What if he isn't my son, Elsie, after all this time? After all these years of dwelling. I keep praying, I want him to be. I so want some kind of slim chance to be something to him, even if it's private, even if it's hidden away. It would be something, you know."
"I do."
For a long time they sat in silence, leaning against the other, a support for the other's body. Outside the softness of snowflakes fell, like the soft fall of a hand upon the piano keys, resolute and measured, drifting into space and time. A note lost forever.
"It's terrifying, because it matters," Elsie whispered. "And it's beautiful, and still so fragile at times, this love we share." She breathed deeply, opening her soul to him. "With Joe, he found something in me when we were young, his home he said. That I was his home. But he was never mine, I tried," she swallowed, "I tried to make a home out of him but there was nothing there but a shell and I never understood it, what he felt. I never understood his dependency on me or need for me until I met you."
She stretched her legs, her body moving from his, "I used to think I was cold," he watched as she crawled across the bed and got up to close the window at the other end of the room. "That after Geoff and Alex, I had a right to be, that it justified my being cut off from any kind of emotional involvement."
"You're far from cold," he said, putting his glass down. "The kindest soul I've met. I waited an entire lifetime to find you, and do you know what? I'd wait a lifetime all over again if I had to."
She smiled, eyes watering as she climbed back onto the bed, in front of him now, her body moving to his as smooth and natural as the first time they met. Her fingers danced across his shoulders, broad and strong, as she climbed into his lap. "I do love you," she said, with utter sincerity. "I never stopped."
He held her secure, nodded once; becoming overly-emotional had never sat comfortably with him but sometimes, rare times, he let it into his blood. There were tears in his eyes as he rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her tight against him as he cried.
"I love you too," he mumbled against her neck. "I thought I'd lost you…"
She shook her head, her hands cupping his face and he let her instigate and guide the kiss. Her mouth gentle on his, her hands moving to his hair. There was still a part of his mind wondering just how far they would go, if all they'd said could possibly fix the hurt of the weeks gone by. If lovemaking was right at this moment. But as the kiss deepened and clothes were gradually removed, there was no doubt that this was exactly what both needed.
He whispered repeatedly as he held her, his mouth slipping to her neck, tender over her translucent skin. "I've missed every freckle," he said. "Every single second with you, you're everything to me."
He tasted of watery-salt, and it was somehow reassuring to her, to find that human side of him all over again. She gasped when he rolled her onto her back, when his hand moved between her legs and she found his name falling from her mouth. It had been too long and it always felt so good. Heavenly.
Elsie pushed back against the pillows, one hand scrunching into the bedclothes as his tongue travelled over her body, she closed her mind and tuned in to his whispered words of tender affection. And then his mouth was between her thighs and she jolted beneath him at the sensation. Falling back onto the bed and floating into oblivion as he took his time.
Every second was drawn out, every miniscule fraction of nothingness escalated and heightened until she felt like china beneath his attentions.
Charles committed each one of her sighs of pleasure and happiness to his memory, watching her face as her body squirmed at his touch, ignoring his own need and instead lavishing her with adoration. Her heel rubbed against his lower back as she gripped one leg around his body, her voice floundering to the heavens, rising in pitch.
"You feel so good," she inhaled, bit her lip, lifted her hips to direct him and then cried his name when he hit just the right spot.
Glorious, there was no other word for it, to watch her come absolutely undone at his touch. He wanted to do it over and over again, to take her to this place and bring her absolute pure joy. He wanted it to be about what she needed, not his own desire. Binding every slither of the wonderful moment to the photographs in his brain. Memorising the spot high on her thigh where if he breathed she jerked uncontrollably, or where she preferred his tongue, where his kiss enraptured her the most.
She stopped him with a hand on his head, "Too much," she panted, pushing the air out of her lungs. He kissed her belly, felt it quiver at his touch. She smelled like spring rain and he wanted to be buried in it. Languish in it until every part of his soul was healed.
Elsie moved slowly, turning her body up and over until he got her meaning and adorned her back with kisses. His hands tiptoeing; ghostly fingertips imprinting the silk of her skin to the pads of his fingers.
She twisted onto her side and he lay behind her, his hand moving over her belly and down between her legs again. She pressed her thighs together, held his hand there and smiled as he nipped her earlobe with his teeth.
When she turned over again it was to roll him on his back and move on top of him. A fluid, slick movement as she kissed him passionately. The deep velvet silk of her surrounded him; he gripped her hips, felt his head fall back, the strength leave his body. Bliss. Completeness. A desperate need to love her. Encapsulated in one tiny movement.
Eyes open again, he looked back to the window, noted the gathered snow on the ledge, and reached for Elsie's hand. Warmth.
She fell against him, her mouth finding his as their bodies moved together. He slid his hand into her hair, held her still as he looked into her eyes.
"The thought of ever losing you…"
She cut him off, "I know," she stilled her hips, felt him throbbing deep within her. "We did it to ourselves."
"Made mistakes?" He muttered.
"Or lessons to learn."
He watched as she slowly sat back again, both of her hands pressing against his, their fingers playing with the other's, palms pressed tight together. He opened his mouth, felt a long stream of air leave his lungs as his groin ached with need. He licked his lips and his voice cracked as he spoke, "Where do we go from here?"
Sorry for the delay. To be frank, we're at the arse-end of the school year and I'm on countdown until my exam classes leave so I can have a life again...
...Still, hopefully its nice to have a bit of Chelsie, despite the wait xx