My darling readers! Do I still even have readers? I am SOOOOO So SO sO sorry that I haven't updated this story in such a long time.

Life has just been super crazy busy for me ever since I moved house, mixed with a lack of inspiration and crisis of confidence. Whenever a new review or a fav/follow alert pops up, I'm torn between bouncing up and down with joy and feeling terribly guilty for not updating. Your comments are completely amazing though, I can't thank you all enough! You're all so wonderful!

Shout-outs to: Namei, Newgeminis, Sara, Sesshomaru's Babydoll, Anne, 'Guest', KylieBlakely, Moongrl088, Beloved Daughter, IheartStewart20, BitStrange, spirit scout, stagepageandscreen (for all your reviews!), ThatAwkwardCrazyAuthor, Roses-and-Cinnamon, DarkEnigma322, ZabuzasGirl, Constance (your review actually made me cry!), Timberlou22, themurrayone, Scribbled Truth, Kaah Reis, MsWolfProtector, theladyofthelost, duchessloki, megumisakura, 'Guest', AussieMaelstrom, LadyAntoinette, PhoenixCrystal, OnTheBrightSideItsSunnyToday, ApolloNico24601, Felicia Felicis, immysaurus, nnnnnnancy, prettytimemachine, xxyangxx2006, legolover, seasidewriter1, IceQueenForLife, jackiemack916, The Ginger Midget.

Wowsers...that's a lot of people. Thank you all SO much! And now I shall keep you no longer, so without further ado, here is chapter 10...


Time Knows No Boundaries ~ Chapter Ten

Comparisons are easily done
Once you've had a taste of perfection
Like an apple hanging from a tree
I picked the ripest one, I still got the seed
You said move on, where do I go?
I guess second best is all I will know
'Cause when I'm with him, I am thinking of you
Thinking of you, what do I do
If you were the one who was spending the night
Oh, I wish that I was looking into your eyes

'Thinking of You' – Katy Perry

.:*:.

Martha stirred a little in her sleep. She felt something warm in the bed next to her. Eyes still closed, she snuggled closer to this warmth, hands reaching out blindly to find the strong outline of a male torso. She opened her eyes slowly to see James' form lying beside her, his face turned towards hers but he was still fast asleep. Smiling, Martha nuzzled herself even closer to him, her pale hands travelling the contours of his slim but well-defined chest, her lips seeking his to gently kiss him awake. After a few moments, James let out a sigh, rousing himself. With his eyes still remaining shut, he reciprocated the kiss enthusiastically, entangling his long fingers into her hair, a content and sleepily serene smile blossoming upon his face. His other arm reached out to snake around her waist to pull her tighter against him, burying his nose into the crook of her neck, breathing her in...

"Meg..." he whispered sleepily.

The dream Martha's eyes flew wide open...

...and so did the real one's as she was jolted awake from a deep sleep and back into the real world.

She blinked several times to rid the bleariness, and rolled onto her back, the name "Meg" continuing to echo all the way around her brain as though someone had just bellowed it right into her ear. She glanced over at her bedside clock which glowed 6.34 am in luminous green at her in an almost mocking manner. Normally, she would have preferred to have a lie-in on a Saturday morning, especially as she could see that it was still dark outside, but Martha didn't think she could go back to sleep now even if she tried.

After another twenty minutes or so of continuous tossing and turning, she eventually gave up. Huffing out a little sigh, she pushed the duvet off herself and got up, despite it being a miserably dark winter's morning and her body clock screamed its protest at this unnatural time to wake up. The dream that she had just experienced unsettled her, and Martha wasn't certain which she should feel more disturbed about...the fact that she was dreaming about her and James in bed together, or the fact that he had called her Meg.

She quickly decided she needed some air to help clear her head, so she shuffled around her bedroom, dressing clumsily in the darkened room, leaving an oblivious Elliot to his snoring. By the time a tousle-haired Martha left the flat and trudged out into the frosty air, it was around seven o'clock; the inky sky was beginning to show signs of waking itself up. The little local convenience shop on the corner was only just having its door unlocked by its yawning proprietor, so Martha popped inside to buy a newspaper and some milk.

It was now November and winter had most certainly got into its stride. The maple trees which were dotted around the grubby estate of flats which Martha called home had shed their scarlet leaves which had clothed them during the autumn, leaving them bare and skeletal-looking. A persistent biting wind whipped around the huge buildings, so none of the residents lingered outside for long, all bundled up in jackets and thick scarves, and would dash immediately for the warm sanctuary of their homes.

Ever since the day that Elliot had returned from his travels, Martha had not seen hide or hair of her ghostly soldier friend. To say that she missed him a lot was an understatement. Where had he gone? She didn't expect him to be around all the time but still... Now that Elliot was back, had James disappeared for good? Now that he found out what he wanted to know about his fiancé, had he just left her? Without so much as a goodbye or a cheerio? She felt very let down and hurt by this. And not just hurt but also...what? Abandoned? He wouldn't do something like that, surely...

So much for not getting attached... she thought to herself as she headed back towards home, shaking her head.

By the time she had returned to her flat, Elliot still had not emerged but then again, it was still quite early. Discarding the paper she'd bought on the dining table, Martha had the spontaneous notion to make a start on making some bread. Baking was one of the things which seemed to help soothe her in times of stress. She was a little over-zealous, kneading the dough within an inch of its life. After venting her aggravation on the unfortunate mixture, she left it to prove, eagerly anticipating the time when it could be placed in the oven and her home would be filled with the glorious, enticing smell of baking bread.

Elliot still had not stirred himself, so Martha sat at the dining table with her laptop, munching on some toast smothered with marmalade for her breakfast, and set about answering some emails for work.

In order to try and take her mind off James' sudden absence, Martha had thrown herself heartily into her reawakened love for writing. Upon his return, she had begun to tell Elliot that she had at last had some inspiration for a novel, and although he had said that he was pleased for her, he hadn't really sounded all that enthusiastic about it. In fact, he seemed far more intent on "catching up", as he had put it. The memory of this made Martha stab at the letters on her keyboard far more aggressively than was needed.

A little while later, she skim-read the response she had just typed out to one of her poor anonymous readers seeking guidance.

'Dear Martha,
I would really appreciate some advice about going to uni next year. But it's two hours away from my family and boyfriend. They're part of my daily life, but to be honest, I really want to be out on my own and this also seems to be the only way. I found a course I'm passionate about and I think I want to pursue it. However, can you please be honest with me and tell me if it's going to be hard? And what are the good and bad things? Thanks a lot!
One Very Scared Person x

Hello there, One Very Scared Person,
There really is no reason to be scared. Every university is so different and experiences vary widely, but as they say – it's all about what you make of it! It can seem really daunting to leave your family and relationships that were part of your daily life before and step out by yourself, but it's the opportunity to grow as a person and find your talents, lifelong friends and greater confidence in yourself! ... '

Martha paused for a moment, staring into the distance, lips pursed, contemplating how best to phrase her next few sentences and how else she could advise this individual, when out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something move. She looked around sharply. A pencil was moving around, point-down, across a sheet of paper seemingly of its own accord. She blinked once, and the outline of Captain James Nicholls shimmered into being right before her very eyes.

Martha gave a start of surprise as the ghost suddenly materialised sitting at the table opposite her, sketching and looking for all the world as though he had always been there.

"Hello, Martha," he smiled at her in greeting, "You look very lovely this morning..."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere," Martha answered flatly, once she had got over her initial surprise, keeping her eyes fixed resolutely on the screen before her. Though deep down, she couldn't help but feel a teensy bit pleased; the red sweater she wore was brand new. Ignoring this, she added irritably, "And I'm not talking to you."

"Haven't you just done so?" pointed out James drily with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. At the stony silence he received, he sighed and asked, "Why aren't you talking to me?" Although he thought he could rightly guess the reason.

"I don't feel like telling you," was the redhead's stubborn reply.

"Aren't we a little old for these types of games?" James said, idly twirling his pencil between his fingers.

"It's not about games. If you don't know the reason, I'm not telling you 'cause you ought to."

Martha looked up at him expectantly. At first, he did not deign to give her an explanation, and only continued to sketch.

"So...where have you been?" she asked him, trying not to sound accusatory, but merely curious. "Not one word from you. I thought you'd disa – " She broke off and stopped herself. She did not want to admit aloud what she feared he had done.

He did at least have the grace to look a bit ashamed of himself as he sighed.

"I felt that you and Mr. Fielding might appreciate some... privacy," he said delicately if not a little uncomfortably. Martha's eyes snapped to his for a couple of seconds before flushing and averting her gaze. "Even we ghosts have a certain sense of discretion, Martha," he smiled at her, which he noticed she returned rather feebly.

"You could've still said something. It's not like Elliot can see you," she said quietly.

"I am sorry..." James answered, "It was wrong of me."

He had suspected that Martha would not have taken too kindly to his absence. But he did not much like the idea of being the third wheel. But he did feel a little ashamed. Perhaps he had been wrong in keeping his distance. He just did not know how he could break it to her about what her partner was up to – if he was up to something, that is. Ever since that phone conversation he had overheard, the deceased soldier had felt so conflicted. He had after all, found out what he needed to know about Meg. He knew that she appeared to have been very happy for the remainder of her years. So really, what was stopping him leaving the land of the living so that his soul could move on and rest in peace? And yet...he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He knew why. Martha – and this situation with Elliot. Something was amiss about this man. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself (so to speak) if she got hurt in any way and he might have been able to prevent it. Perhaps he should stay awhile. He felt he owed it to Meg in a sort of way; Martha was her family, after all. He told himself he should not interfere until he was certain of all the facts.

Martha had noticed James' less than enthusiastic expression at the mention of Elliot's name and frowned at him.

"Okay, what's with the face?" she asked, leaning heavily back in her seat, "Do you disapprove of my boyfriend or something?"

James did not answer her straightaway but kept himself occupied by perfecting a certain aspect of his sketch. However, he knew he couldn't put it off much longer and he raised his head to look at Martha directly. Once again, he experienced that most peculiar sensation of his heart giving a jolt, even though he no longer had a working heart, as she turned the full brunt of those beautiful sage-green eyes upon him. The effect was most distracting.

With some effort, he tore his gaze from hers and focused instead on the fact that a dusting of flour still coated her features. The sight made him smile slightly.

"You've been baking," he observed, and before she could answer, James reached a hand – rather boldly - across to gently brush some of the flour off her freckled nose. Martha felt a sudden tingling sensation rush up and down her spine at the contact, which wasn't altogether unpleasant on her part.

Mentally shaking herself, she said, "Stop changing the subject."

After a rather lengthy pause, James finally asked, "Have you noticed Elliot behaving...oddly at all?"

"Oddly?"

"Out of the ordinary," he elaborated.

Martha looked flummoxed at the question and only shrugged.

"No more than usual," she replied, "Why?"

James hesitated, wondering how best to voice his concerns without sounding like some overbearing and interfering parent. He rolled the pencil between his long fingers uncomfortably. Pull yourself together, Nicholls, he reprimanded himself. He had delivered much worse news than this to the men in his regiment whilst he was alive.

"Are you certain that Mr. Fielding is entirely trustworthy?"

Martha's eyes widened in disbelief. "I'm sorry?"

"I just have this...feeling, shall we say, that he's not entirely...suitable..."

"Suitable? What are you on about? Where's this even come from?" she demanded, leaning forward again as she stared at James.

"I just feel he isn't right for you," James said quickly, knowing as he said it just how feeble that explanation was.

"And you came to that conclusion from seeing Elliot in the space of what – two minutes?" When he did not respond, Martha folded her arms and carefully avoided his gaze as she added, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded jealous."

Snap!

James looked down to see that the pencil which he was using had broken in half, he had clenched it so hard. Steeling himself and trying to remain composed, he answered,

"Of course I am not jealous. I'm only saying this because I'm concerned for your well-being – "

"Are you though?" Martha spoke over him, "Are you saying it for my wellbeing, or - or because you feel obligated to look out for me because I'm Meg's great-granddaughter?" She was still feeling extremely rattled about the dream she had had earlier, when he had referred to her as Meg. "Jimbo," she continued in a tone like she was willing herself to remain calm and not succeeding, "I'm happy for you that you've now found out about Meg, I really am. But...I wish you would stop comparing me to her - "

"I am not doing any such – " James started hotly, but Martha cut him off, her voice rising.

" - because I'm not her, James, no matter how much I remind you of her!"

"Hey, what's with all the noise?" asked a sleepy-sounding voice through a wide yawn. Martha jumped violently in her seat and looked round. Elliot had made his appearance at long last, shuffling into the room in his blue dressing gown, dark hair askew and eyes still shadowed from sleep.

"Oh, uh – uh," Martha stuttered, caught completely unawares. She looked back and forth between the two men, frantically trying to think of a feasible explanation. "The uh, the telly – Jeremy Kyle," she rambled out quickly, gesturing at the television, which she realised too late was not even switched on. "You know how much shows like that wind me up..." she trailed off meekly.

However, it seemed that Elliot was far too concerned with getting himself some breakfast to be really paying attention to her rather weak lies. Feeling a bit flustered, Martha sprung up from her seat.

"I'll make you a coffee," she said quickly to gloss over the awkward moment as she bustled into the kitchen.

Elliot, who had taken a seat on one of the stools, spared a glance at Martha's appearance.

"Thought you said you were gonna be working from home today," was his only comment through a mouthful of buttered toast.

Martha shot him an annoyed look but it was missed because Elliot had disappeared behind the newspaper she had bought.

"I am," she answered in what she hoped was a bright tone, "But that's no reason to not make an effort. It's very easy to sink into dressing sloppily around the house when working from home."

Placing a steaming mug of espresso for Elliot in front of him, she decided she was in the mood for a smoothie, so she reached into one of her cupboards for her blender and then began rooting through the fridge in search for some fruit.

"It's stupid dressing up for home, a complete waste of time," said Elliot absently, his eyes still on the paper.

"Someone might call in at the flat. I don't want to look like something the cat's dragged in," Martha replied.

"Why bother dressing up at the off chance that someone calls in?" Elliot asked, "You always look okay."

Martha's hand stopped reaching for the strawberries, her fingers as frozen as the red fruit in her grasp. Okay? She always looked...okay? Why did that sentence have the ring of death about it? Why did Elliot's tone of voice mirror his professional one? "Your son's work is fine, Mrs. Thing, not thrilling but okay."

Martha did not want to look okay. She could not help but think of James' words earlier...he had called her lovely... Already feeling ratty after her little spat with the ghost, she set her jaw, grabbed a handful of strawberries and practically threw them into the blender. Had her boyfriend always been this insensitive or had it happened recently? Martha tried to keep her composure in check. It really wasn't like her to let things like this get to her.

Spinning around on the balls of her feet, she determinedly faced Elliot with a smile.

"Do you want to go out somewhere later on?" she asked him, "Go out to the cinema or get a Chinese or something? Or both? We haven't done something like that together in forever."

Elliot looked up from his paper and pulled a face, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression of regret.

"Aw, I'm so sorry, babe, but I'm up to my ears marking essays," he said as he took a slurp of his coffee.

"But it's the weekend," Martha protested feebly, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I know but they all need to be done for Monday, first period. I can't put them off any longer. Some other time, yeah?" He reached out a hand to ruffle Martha's fringe in what was meant to be a gesture of affection. Yet Martha couldn't help noticing how his touch didn't give her any pleasant tingles...unlike when James had touched her just now.

"How long is that gonna stay there?" asked Elliot suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts to see that he was gesturing to the painting of Joey as he stood up to deposit his mug in the sink. The beautiful portrait of the russet-coloured horse was now resting upon the sideboard, leaning against the wall.

"Why do you ask?" Martha said, noticing the edge to his tone.

"It creeps me out," Elliot muttered, wrinkling his nose as he picked up the picture with an expression of obvious distaste. "That horse looks like its eyes follow me around the room..."

"Will you have a little bit of respect please," Martha murmured, remembering the story James told her of his death. Irritated, she walked over and took the picture from Elliot's grasp, hugging it to her in a rather protective manner before replacing it on the sideboard. "That's a piece of my family's history you're talking about there..."

"Alright, alright, no need to be so touchy," Elliot answered, holding up his hands. "I'm gonna go get dressed if that's the sort of mood you're in today..."

Ten minutes later, after Elliot had kissed Martha goodbye and left the flat, Martha looked back round pointedly at James, who was trying his best to arrange his face into a neutral expression.

"That doesn't mean anything," Martha said, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder at the door where Elliot had just disappeared through, "He said he had some marking to do..."

"I'm not saying a word," said James, which for some reason seemed to irritate Martha all the more.

"Oh, I'm going out," she huffed, abandoning her smoothie. She grabbed her jacket, bag and keys and stomped out of the flat without a backward glance.

The heels of her boots clip-clopped on the frosty pavement as she walked with no particular destination in mind, stewing over the morning's events. She was annoyed at Elliot. She was annoyed at James. And she was annoyed at herself. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so harsh towards James. She had missed him so much during his absence and when he showed up again, she had a go at him? It really wasn't like her to be that way. But what had he meant by saying that Elliot wasn't trustworthy? What right did he have to say that? He didn't even know him...

Martha ran a hand through her hair in frustration. Oh, she felt all over the place and so confused about her feelings lately. Whenever she found herself in a passionate clinch with Elliot, more often than not, she would find herself imagining what it would be like if it were James that was with her instead. God, this has to stop! He's dead! she scolded herself for about the hundredth time. She had accused James of comparing her to Meg...but really, wasn't she doing the same thing in a sort of way, by comparing Elliot to James?

"I'm such a hypocrite," she grumbled under her breath.

"First sign of madness, talking to yourself," chirped a voice, jolting into Martha's thoughts.

The redhead started and looked round to see her neighbour Cath in a nearby shop doorway leaning against the frame, smiling at her with amusement. Martha realised she must have just walked past the elegant facade of Cath's beauty parlour without even noticing.

"Oh, hey, Cath...didn't see you there."

"I just made a brew. Got time to pop in? You look like you could do with one." At Martha's hesitation, she added. "Aw, come on! Let me give your nails a freshen-up or something. We haven't had a proper chat in forever."

"Sure you're not busy?

Cath waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, it's dead today."

Martha stepped gratefully out of the chilly November air and into the warm haven of La Vie en Rose, a beauty business which Cath had built up completely from scratch. Cath Fitzgerald was a tall, statuesque thirty-year-old with hair the colour of a raven's wing, and notoriously bad luck with men. Martha wasn't a particularly vain girl but she still enjoyed the occasional pampering session at the parlour. Plus, the mate's rates were an added bonus!

"Do you want your usual or do you fancy something different?" Cath asked cheerfully once Martha was comfortable with a mug of tea next to her.

But Martha wasn't really listening. She was staring out of the window but not really looking at anything in particular, her mind far away.

"Okay..." she murmured absently.

"Something a bit bolder, maybe?" Cath suggested. "What about this green one... 'Forest Nymph'...goes really nicely with your skin and hair colouring..."

"Okay..."

Cath tilted her head slightly to one side to look at Martha, a little frown creasing her brow before straightening up again.

"I'm thinking of giving up beauty work, y'know, and becoming a professional lap dancer..."

"Right... " Martha continued in the same absent tone. Then she whipped her head around to stare at the now grinning woman beside her. "What did you just say?"

Cath's Cheshire cat grin grew impossibly wider but there was a knowing look twinkling in her eyes as she began neatening her friend's nails with a file. "Okay, chickadee...out with it. Something's obviously bothering you, so spill! Tell Auntie Cath everything!"

Martha chewed at her lip for a moment, not sure how to go about translating into words how she was feeling right now.

"Cath...?" she said eventually, "Is it possible to have...feelings...for two people at once?"

Cath looked up and stared at her, not expecting this question at all, accidentally letting a drop of varnish drip onto Martha's finger.

"Oh, bugger... Sorry, Martha," she muttered, grabbing up a cotton bud to fix the error. Eyeing her friend beadily, she asked, "When you say feelings, do you mean romantic feelings?"

"Yes...No... I don't know!" Martha rubbed distractedly at her temple with her free hand as though to quell a headache. "It's too complicated," she groaned.

"Reading between the lines here, I'm guessing this isn't just a hypothetical question?"

Martha shook her head. She knew that she was going to have to be rather lenient with the truth.

"I met this guy. I met him at work...he comes and has coffee at the cafe where I work," Martha invented, "I haven't known him very long. We've chatted quite a lot, we seem to get on really well." She hesitated, biting her lip more violently as she considered telling Cath more. Aw, to hell with it... "I've even been having these dreams about him," she confessed.

Cath's eyes lit up like a Christmas display.

"Oooh, reeeally? Do tell! Are they kinky dreams?"

Martha was heartily gratified that she and Cath were the only ones in the parlour at that moment as she blushed furiously at the beautician's words.

"No! We're just kissing, is all..."

Cath rested her chin upon one of her hands, gazing intently at Martha, seeming to forget about her manicure.

"What's he like?" she asked eagerly.

"Lovely," Martha told her, "A complete gent. He's a soldier... "

"Is he hot?" Cath persisted, dark eyes agleam.

"Hot" was somehow never an adjective Martha had ever associated with James. But there was certainly no denying that he was exceptionally handsome. A rather reluctant grin slowly worked its way onto her face.

"He's gorgeous..."

"Whit-woo, sounds like a total dreamboat," Cath sighed as she resumed painting Martha's nails.

"But that's not why I like him," Martha answered, "I dunno...I just feel like, even though I haven't known him very long, I feel like we've been friends for years. There's just a slight problem, though..."

"He's married?" guessed Cath, scrunching her eyebrows sympathetically. "Typical. Welcome to my world!"

Try dead, Martha thought. Aloud she said, "No, he isn't married but he's still very much hung up on his ex." Who just so happens to be my great-grandma...

She felt rather mean for talking about James behind his back but if she didn't talk to someone about how she felt, Martha thought she would explode.

"What am I even talking about? I shouldn't be feeling this way, it's wrong. I'm with Elliot. I'm happy with Elliot – "

"Keep still, will you? You'll wreck your nails!" Cath chided.

" - I don't want to jeopardise all I have with him. Am I a terrible person?" Martha added, gazing at her friend beseechingly.

"What – because you've fallen for someone? Yes, you are a horrible person! No, honey, you're not... you can't turn your feelings on and off like a tap, it doesn't work like that. Listen... I'm absolutely the wrong woman to ask about this area, my track record with men isn't exactly peachy. But you can't plan who you fall for, it just happens."

"So, what do you suggest?" Martha asked quietly.

"Does he feel the same way about you?"

"No idea."

Cath paused as she waited for the first coat of polish to dry. Looking up, she said teasingly, "Y'know, for an advice columnist, you suck at this sort of thing, don't you?"

I've never had someone write to me saying they're in love with a ghost, Martha thought. No, no, it's not love...it's just a crush.

"I know...I can offer help for other people's troubles but when it comes to mine..." She trailed off with a heavy sigh, and added, "Look, are you going to offer me any words of wisdom or are you just going to sit there and take the piss?"

"Sorry – straight face now..." Cath mimed wiping her face with one hand and adopting a more sober expression. "Okay...well, for starters...don't get stressed about it all. That never helps. You can't think straight when you're all uppity, yeah? Step back and keep a clear head. Now just ask yourself, is this new man just a passing crush or could you honestly see yourself with him in, say, twenty years' time? Who do you trust more? Him or Elliot? Don't do what I've done in the past and make rash decisions, okay?"

Martha nodded slowly. "Okay..."

"Just go with what feels right," Cath continued wisely, "Trust your instincts."

Martha mulled this all over, not entirely sure if this guidance was of any use to her or not. She did not talk very much more as Cath finished painting her nails, thinking about what she had just said. Trust her instincts? That was much easier said than done. She and Elliot had been through a lot together, they'd been a solid relationship for two years now. But all the same, she couldn't help but feel extremely comfortable and so at ease whenever she was with James...even though he made her heart beat so fast it hurt and her stomach flutter. But she couldn't spend the rest of her life living with a ghost. It just wasn't fair – or particularly healthy -for either of them.

In a rather futile bid to make herself feel better, Martha decided she would treat herself to some mascara which promised thick, spidery lashes like some sexy French actress. Before she made to leave the parlour, Cath called out,

"This guy you like...it's not just a passing crush, is it? I know you. You wouldn't be getting yourself all worked up like this if it were."

Martha did not honestly know how to respond to this pronouncement. Instead, she merely asked, "Anything else, O Wise One?"

"Just one more little tip. Chocolate. It's helped me get over a man many a time. Never fails." She shot Martha yet another Cheshire cat grin as she waved her off. "Take care, honey."

"Bye...Thanks, Cath..."


.:*:.

Martha's journey homewards through the centre of Taunton meant that she passed the county town's war memorial. It was a landmark that she saw almost every day but did not always pay much attention to, much to her chagrin. Now, however, she sat down upon a bench directly opposite the great cross-shaped stone structure. Flowers usually adorned the memorial but at the moment, about a dozen or so wreaths of poppies had been placed around it. Carved into the weathered stone were the words:

"Lest We Forget

This memorial is dedicated to the lasting memory of the gallant men of this borough who gave their lives for their king and country in the Great War 1914 – 1918"

Below this and going all the way around the sides of the memorial, was an extensive list of names of all those brave aforementioned men.

"May I join you?" asked a quiet voice.

Martha turned her head slightly to see James had materialised beside her. His sudden appearance, of course, went completely unnoticed by any passersby walking to and fro. She noticed that he was watching her as though on tenterhooks and she felt her stomach squirm slightly with guilt.

Smiling softly, she said, " 'Course you can."

James returned her smile, looking rather relieved, and sat down on the bench next to her. The pair sat in a slightly awkward silence for a moment or two.

"Oh, of course...it's Remembrance Sunday tomorrow," murmured Martha, breaking the quiet as she suddenly remembered.

Looking around, she soon spotted an elderly gentleman of the Royal British Legion nearby, dressed in a uniform of blue bearing a tray and collecting tin. Looking back round at James, who was looking at her questioningly, she dug into her purse for some change.

"Wait a sec," she chirped, "I'll be right back..."

James watched in slight bewilderment as she scurried across the road to the uniformed gentleman, exchanged a brief, smiling conversation as she dropped some change into his tin and came hurrying back to the bench.

"Here..." Martha held out a little poppy, its petals made of scarlet paper and a stem of green plastic.

"What's this?" he asked her as Martha pinned her own little token to the front of her jacket.

"Every year on the run up to Remembrance Sunday," Martha explained, "these little poppies are worn to commemorate soldiers who have died at war. On the eleventh of November, on the eleventh hour, a two minute silence is held, and services up and down the country take place. It's to make sure people never forget that you and so many other brave souls gave your lives in the War so that we can live ours."

James looked down at the little poppy in his hand and twirled it slightly between his forefinger and thumb. He was completely lost for words but Martha understood perfectly. She wrapped her arm companionably around the crook of his elbow and took a deep breath.

"I'm really sorry about this morning," she said earnestly, "I guess I was just pissed when I thought you'd left without saying anything. " She decided she didn't dare mention about the dream. It was far too embarrassing for words. "Can we forget it happened?" she asked him hopefully and was mightily relieved when he favoured her with a gentle smile.

"Of course," He placed his cold hands in her newly-manicured ones. "I am sorry, too. I'm sorry if you feel I'm comparing you to Meg. What you have to understand is that I was very much in love with her – I was going to marry her, after all."

"I know," Martha nodded, gazing down at their entwined fingers.

"But that doesn't mean that I feel "obligated", as you put it, to look out for you. I say it because I genuinely care. Margaret's great-granddaughter or not, you're my dearest friend, Martha...and it would pain me most deeply to see you hurt."

Martha rested her head against his shoulder, smiling into the slightly course material of his jacket, only vaguely aware how strange she must have looked to anyone who happened to glance her way, but she found she did not care one bit.

"You make it impossible to stay mad at you when you say things like that. And I do appreciate it, you looking out for me, I really do...but it still doesn't give you the right to say what you did about Elliot. Why are you so against him?"

She raised her head again to look up at him. James looked back into those enchanting eyes of hers that were gazing so avidly at him.

"That is something you are going to have to discuss with him..." he answered quietly and with such a tone of finality, Martha could tell that the conversation was closed.

She opened her mouth to argue and ask exactly what he meant but stopped herself. She did not wish to fall out with him again. Realising that that was all the explanation she was going to get out of him, she decided to change the subject.

"Do you want to watch a film together later? Elliot's busy but I don't really fancy being on my own. You can choose the film, if you want."

"I would like that very much," James smiled, "But there is just something I need to see to first..."

James wanted to give Elliot the opportunity to be honest. All that he needed was the right push...


.:*:.

Later on that evening, in a shabby little apartment on the other side of Taunton, Elliot Fielding was whistling tunelessly as he took a shower. Emitting a contented sigh as he soaked his dark mop of hair, he laughed a little to himself with the air of a man who was under the impression that he had his life totally under control. Martha had absolutely no clue what he was up to, and the way things were going, nor was she ever likely to. Oh, yes...Lady Luck certainly seemed to be smiling down upon him...

No sooner had he thought this, all of a sudden without warning, both the electric shower and the bathroom lights went out.

"Aw, shit," he muttered irritably, after banging the side of the shower unit in vain. Sighing copiously, he stepped out of the warmth of the shower cubicle, wrapped a soft towel around his waist and tried the light switch. Nothing. And the rest of the apartment was in complete darkness too.

Elliot was just about to embark on a search for a torch to check the fuse box, when he heard a door slam. Freezing on the spot, he listened hard, his heart rate increasing. Burglars?

"Hello?" he called out warily, "Someone there?"

There was no answer. The air suddenly felt very cold, he realised. The power had only just cut out; the radiators wouldn't have cooled that quickly... He jumped as a pile of papers – the same essays he had lied to Martha about marking – were sent flying across the room as though caught in a gust of wind. But as Elliot's eyes darted to his windows, they were all very firmly closed. The fuzz on the back of Elliot's neck and arms prickled unpleasantly, as if he knew that he was being watched somehow...

"Who's there? What do you want?" he shouted, trying not to panic, even though he was thoroughly unnerved.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, all these peculiar happenings were all pointing to the fact that he was being haunted...but that was complete nonsense! He didn't even believe in ghosts!

Then almost at once, everything went back to normal. The lights flickered back to life and the air became milder again. The mysterious wind had died down. It was as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred at all. After checking that the coast was clear and were indeed no burglars (or poltergeists) in the apartment, Elliot let out a heavy, shuddery sigh.

Must've been a freak storm, he thought, shrugging.

Feeling reassured now that things had gone back to normal, he returned to the bathroom, rebuking himself for getting spooked over nothing. The lamp overheard was still flickering erratically, but the shower had come back on again.

Grabbing a small towel from a nearby rail, he was just about to rub his hair dry, when he spotted something...something which made the colour drain from his cheeks...

On the steamed-up mirror above the sink, somebody or something had drawn letters in the condensation:

TELL HER THE TRUTH
SHE DESERVES BETTER


I hope that you enjoyed this (very much delayed) chapter, my lovelies. Reviews would be most appreciated and loved. I love you all, beautiful readers!