Hello, my lovelies! Not so long between updates this time which is a miracle. I'm a little nervous about how you're going to react to this chapter... Thank you to all who've read, favourited, followed this story. I'm very grateful for the kind comments on the previous chapter, you're wonderful and it makes me stupidly happy!
Shout-outs to: Moongrl088, jackiemack916, CaptainArwenPond221B, renwhir, TenebrisSagittarius, The Ginger Midget, canis lupus familiaris, Anthro23, kaia, MaraJade13243, megumisakura, immysaurus, RisingofObsidian, Tempest1444, cbrstrshp, and last but not least, Fairyflights.
Time Knows No Boundaries ~ Chapter Fourteen
Every now and then
We find a special friend who never lets us down
Who understands it all, reaches out each time you fall
You're the best friend that I've found
I know you can't stay, a part of you will never go away
Your heart will stay
I'll make a wish for you and hope it will come true
That life would just be kind to such a gentle mind
If you lose your way, think back on yesterday
Remember me this way
'Remember Me This Way' – Jordan Hill
.:*:.
"Rise and shine, sleepy head!"
Martha was startled awake at the sound of the voice but did not immediately open her eyes, wishing heartily that she could sink back into that blissful realm of sleep once more. However, a truly delicious smell greeted her and she could not resist inhaling deeply: a glorious scent of fresh coffee and sweet bread. Her stomach churned out a loud grumble in response, making her realise just how hungry she was. Reluctantly, she forced her eyes open but unfortunately, once again, she had momentarily forgotten about falling asleep on the sofa. Sure enough as she rolled over – yet again – she toppled straight onto the laminated floor with a great thump.
"Oooowwww..." Martha sat up, bleary-eyed, rubbing her head, "Really need to have carpets fitted," she muttered under her breath, an oath she vowed every time this happened but of course, nothing ever became of it.
Eyes still heavy with sleep, she squinted in the pale wintry sunlight illuminating the living room and looked up to see that James was holding out a hand towards her. He wore an amused, oddly contorted expression as though he was trying to force himself not to laugh. Martha accepted his hand with a small sigh, feeling a little embarrassed at being found in such an inelegant state and let him help pull her to her feet.
"Good morning to you, too," she grumbled at him, barely stifling a wide yawn.
"Afternoon is more like it," James teased, once he was satisfied that she was reasonably unhurt by her tumble off the sofa. She noticed he had removed his jacket and cap, the sleeves of his khaki-green shirt rolled up to his elbows.
"Why, what time is it?" she asked, running a hand through her mess of tangled locks and wrinkling her nose. Yesterday's downpour had made her hair go frizzy.
"It's almost noon," he informed her.
"What?" she groaned, looking taken aback, "Aw heck, I didn't mean be asleep for so long..."
"I didn't like to wake you. I thought you could do with a decent sleep after - " James hesitated, gazing at Martha concernedly, gauging her reaction in the aftermath of Elliot's betrayal, " - after yesterday," he finished. When Martha bowed her head slightly, tucking her hair behind her ears and made no reply, he added gently, "How are you?"
Martha could tell that this question did not only mean he was simply enquiring after her general health. She considered her answer but if she was honest, she was still not entirely certain how she felt at the moment.
"Well, I'm not going to throw myself out of the window in a fit of depression if that's what you're worried about," she answered drily.
"I am very relieved to hear that," James nodded.
Not wishing very much to dwell on this subject, Martha inhaled appreciatively once more. "Something smells good!" she said in a far brighter tone, looking around for the source of this delicious scent.
The Captain, dutifully taking note of the abrupt change of topic and heeding her unspoken wish that she didn't want to talk about the previous evening, also glanced towards the direction of the kitchenette with a wry smile.
"Yes, and I'm hoping very much that it tastes just as good as it smells..." he said.
Martha looked back round at him in surprise.
"You have made me breakfast?" she asked, unable to keep the tone of surprised scepticism out of her voice.
"There is no need to sound so horrified!" he told her, "I have managed to pick up a few pointers during my time here in the twenty-first century. After all, it was from you that I learned that comfort food is the perfect remedy in times of distress. Now..." he placed both hands on her shoulders, "go and take a shower, freshen yourself up or it will be burned into a cinder..."
Martha raised her hand in a mock salute. "Yes, Captain!"
She did indeed feel horridly grimy after falling asleep last night still wearing her day clothes. One welcome shower later, freshly made up and a change of attire into black jeans and a green sweater, she began to feel decidedly more human again. Returning to the kitchenette, Martha found James was setting her a place to eat at the island which separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space. She could not help but be strongly reminded of that very first morning when they had met and it had been she who had served him a breakfast of her home-made bagels in that very same spot. The irony of the situation had not been lost on James either; on that occasion, he had been the one who'd felt so lost and disorientated, and she had done her utmost to put him at his ease. Now it was he who was returning the favour.
"Your breakfast is served, m'lady," he said with a little bow, gesturing widely and sweeping out a stool for her to sit upon in a playfully theatrical manner.
Martha could not help grinning at his antics and played along, bobbing an exaggerated curtsey in return.
"Thank you, kind sir!" she replied with a giggle, accepting his hand and perching herself on the stool.
She knew he was trying his best to cheer her spirits and she was greatly touched by it. She watched him place a bottle full of gooey maple syrup upon the countertop in front of her, and a feeling of immense affection and warmth for the man before her bubbled up from the bottom of her toes and spread throughout her whole body like a delicious hot beverage warming the pit of her stomach on a chilly winter's day. It filled the empty chasm left by Elliot's deceit which had been weighing her down since yesterday. It was one of those feelings which she wished she could bottle up, keep and treasure for the rest of her days.
James had set before her a mug of steaming coffee and a plate piled high with pancakes and fresh blueberries. The pancakes were rather over-done and a little on the burnt side but Martha smiled fondly at them as though they were a precious gift.
"They're nowhere near to your standard, I'm afraid," he said apologetically, nervously awaiting her reaction. She looked up at him, beaming, and James realised just how much he had missed her smile even in a short space of time.
"Awww, I'm sure they're great," she assured him, "Thank you, Jimbo!" On impulse, she leaned forward and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. "You're a sweetheart."
Even though he knew it was a friendly gesture on her part, James could have sworn that his face burned at the place where her lips had touched his skin.
As he took a seat on a stool opposite her, Martha added more seriously, "And also...thank you for being there with me last night. For looking after me when...you know."
James smiled at her.
"What are friends for?" After a moment's pause, he asked, "What will this mean for you and Elliot now?"
Martha did not answer immediately. She prodded thoughtfully at a blueberry on her plate with a fork.
"I don't think I can take him back now after what he did," she said quietly, "I know some couples can work it out but I can't be with somebody I don't trust. It's broken now...and I don't think it can be fixed. And if I'm perfectly honest, I don't know that I even want to fix it..." She popped a mouthful of syrupy pancake into her mouth, chewing slowly, "This is scrummy, by the way," she added, "Well done, you."
She wrapped her hands around her coffee mug and lightly blew to help cool it enough for her to take a sip. James continued to watch her for a moment. He supposed he ought to own up about his haunting of Elliot.
With a sigh, he began, "Martha?"
She peered over the rim of her mug at him. "Hm?"
"I have a confession to make – "
However the rest of his sentence was cut off short by the sound of the doorbell suddenly buzzing. Martha swallowed her mouthful of coffee and held up a finger.
"Hold that thought," she said, hopping off the stool and making her way to the front door. She reached out a hand to turn the handle but she froze halfway and turned back slightly to James. "What if it's Elliot?" she asked, sounding nervous. She did not think she had the energy to be able to cope with him right now.
"I don't think he would be fool enough to show his face yet awhile," James told her reasonably.
Martha nodded, reassured and pulled open the door. It wasn't Elliot at all...To her slight surprise, it was her father, Greg.
"Oh! Hi, Dad," she greeted, pulling the door wider to let him enter the flat.
"Hey, Carrot Top," he smiled warmly at her, hands shoved into the pockets of his suit as he sauntered over the threshold. Martha never could get used to the sight of her father in an official-looking suit because it always seemed such a far cry from his buoyant personality. He was in charge of an accountants firm in an office in the centre of Taunton. "I was just on my lunch break and I thought I'd pop in to see how you are..." Martha looked at him questioningly and he elaborated wearily, "I heard about you and Elliot. I'm so sorry, love...I couldn't believe it, is it really true?"
"You mean, is it true that he's been sleeping with his teaching assistant for months? Yes, I'm afraid it is," said Martha with a sigh, to which Greg let out a growl and wore an uncharacteristic expression of fury.
"That lying little weasel!" he burst out vehemently, "I'll kill him if I ever set eyes on him ag -!"
"No, please, Dad, just leave it!" Martha begged him, laying a placating hand on his arm before staring at her father with great curiosity and surprise, "But how did you know anyway?"
"The neighbour in the flat below Elliot's heard the row between you...who then told his friend who works at the petrol station, who then told Lauren Patterson - her daughter goes to the school where Elliot works – and her mum, Mrs Patterson works at the greengrocers who told me when I popped in there first thing this morning on the way to the office..." he reeled off, counting each person off with his fingers as he spoke.
Martha stared bemusedly at him. So much for Elliot wanting to keep his philandering under wraps. There really was no such thing as secrecy in a town like this.
"Elliot was right," she said dazedly, "the gossip in this place really does make social media look – "
But she never reached the end of that sentence for her words were suddenly drowned out by a sound which made her blood run cold: a terrible cry of pain followed almost immediately by the sound of crockery smashing on the floor. Momentarily forgetting about her dad, Martha wheeled around to see that James, who had still remained seated in her kitchenette, was doubled over, one hand clutching at his chest, clearly in a state of extreme agony.
"Jim? Jim!" She dashed over and was at his side in a matter of seconds, "Jim, what is it? What's wrong?" she urged, staring panic-stricken at him.
"It is nothing! It will pass – it usually does - !" he gasped out. But even as he said it, James had never known the pain to be as terrible as this before. He was still doubled over, shaking uncontrollably. With one hand still on his chest over the place where his heart should have been, he reached out with the other to grasp hold of the shiny kitchen countertop to support himself.
"You call this nothing?" Martha cried, "Jim, you can barely stand! And what d'you mean "usually"? What's happening to you?"
"Christ, is he having a heart attack or – or a seizure or something? I'll call an ambulance!" Greg said, pulling his phone from his pocket quickly.
"I don't think an ambulance is going to be much use, Dad, trust me," Martha told him hurriedly but then she suddenly realised what she had just said and turned to gawp at her father in amazement. Despite himself, James did the same.
"You...you can see me, sir?" he asked the older man, his brows furrowing.
"How can you see him?" Martha gasped incredulously.
Greg was staring back and forth between the two of them, looking utterly bewildered as though fearing for their sanity.
"What're you on about? 'Course I can see you. And why did you say he doesn't need an ambulance?" he demanded, gesturing to James, who had just let out another hiss of pain, "Look at him, for God's sake! Who is he, anyway?" he added, eyeing James' uniform curiously.
"Um..." Martha was completely flummoxed by this unexpected turn of events. She looked between the two men. "This is...uh – this is James Nicholls. Jim, this is my dad, Greg. Meg's grandson."
"I am very pleased to meet you, sir. I'm only sorry that it had to be under these circumstances..." James gave an involuntary wince even as he spoke.
"What are you talking ab - ?" Greg was looking entirely nonplussed.
"Jim, what's going on?" Martha asked him, now extremely terrified to see her friend in such a state.
"I'd quite like to know that myself!" Greg piped up.
James hesitated; the pain had abated a tiny amount, though not very much. At least for the time being...
"It's alright...it is not so bad now... I'm so sorry, Martha, that I didn't tell you before but – "
"Tell me what?"
"Anyone?" asked Greg hopefully, his head turning from one to the other as though he were watching a fast-paced rally in a tennis match. But he was ignored.
"I suppose I was trying to convince myself that it wasn't really happening..." continued James.
"What wasn't happening?" cried Martha.
"If it's not too much trouble," interrupted Greg loudly in a would-be calm tone, trying to make himself heard once and for all, "would someone please explain to me sometime this week what the heck's going on?"
Martha bit her lip and exchanged looks with James. He had become particularly adept at reading her expressions, having unconsciously committed every single one of them to memory as they both reached an unspoken agreement that telling Greg the absolute truth was probably the best solution all around.
"Okay...Dad, promise you won't completely freak out?" This was asking a lot of her father really, considering her own reaction when she had encountered the Captain for the very first time, "Actually you might want to sit down but you have to believe what I tell you is the truth..."
"Go on," her father said, sounding wary as he heeded his daughter's advice and sat down upon a dining table chair.
"James is...well, he's...he's a ghost," she began.
She paused, allowing this statement to sink in. Whatever explanations Greg had been expecting to hear, that was not one of them.
"I'm sorry – he's a what?" he said slowly, staring wide-eyed at her.
Martha took a deep, steadying breath, "It started back in the autumn... I was at an antique shop in town looking for something for your birthday..."
And so the whole story came out. With James' assistance, Martha told her father everything from the beginning. From how she had purchased the pocket watch at that poky, dimly-lit antique shop...hearing the mysterious voice which seemed to be coming from the watch itself...how she had first come to meet the ghost of Captain Nicholls... finally working out the connection between them by means of the painting of Joey the horse and James' relationship with their own Granny Meg when she was a girl. It was actually a blessed relief to be able to tell someone else at long last...
"Blimey..." Greg finally murmured when the story was finished and a quiet fell upon them the three of them, "I just can't take it in... " He ran his hand distractedly through his greying hair in a mannerism so endearingly reminiscent of his daughter that James, in spite of everything, almost felt the bizarre urge to smile. "No wonder you went all weird when I showed you that photo of Granny Meg when she was younger..." He gazed over at James, "You really are the same James Nicholls she was engaged to? Who she had lost in the war?" At the younger gentleman's nod, Greg passed a hand across his eyes. "Holy fu – "
"You said you wouldn't freak out," Martha reminded him quickly.
"I'm not freaking out. Who's freaking out? Nooo...it's perfectly normal that your daughter's housemate is a one hundred-year-old ghost who was once engaged to your granny..." said Greg in a falsely airy manner. He looked back at his daughter, "But why on earth did you not say anything before now...?"
"Look, that doesn't matter right now!" Martha said hastily, holding up her hands in agitation and turning back to James, who was clearly still in distress, "Jim...please tell me what's going on..."
As best as he were able, James explained to both Martha and Greg how he had been experiencing this pain since Christmas, how he deduced that the time for his spirit to pass on was fast approaching; and the longer he was putting it off, the worse it was becoming. After his story, Martha stared at him, aghast. She felt like a horse had just kicked her in the stomach, knocking the air out of her lungs.
"You mean the longer you stay here, the worse it'll get? Oh God, tell me this isn't happening," she murmured, burying her face between her hands, "Tell me this is a bad dream."
James watched her sadly, hating himself for causing her further misery.
"The reason I've been putting it off was...was because I..." He let out a laboured sigh, "it meant leaving you..."
Martha gazed back at him over her clasped hands, eyes swimming with tears. He had been enduring this torture for her?
"You stayed for me?" Now tears were beginning to fall down her cheeks, "I'm so, so sorry," she wept, "I didn't mean for any of this!"
"Oh, my dear, it's not your fault," James assured her, reaching out to take her hands and giving them a squeeze.
"But if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be in this state at all!"
"No, don't think like that! I promised myself I was going to repay you for releasing my spirit from the pocket watch. I could not merely stand by and have you continue believing Elliot was the good man you imagined he was... I only wished to make sure that you were alright."
"And I'm so grateful for that...really I am," Martha told him sincerely, taking his arm gently as though she feared inflicting further damage to him.
"But that is not the only reason for me wanting to stay..." James whispered, bringing up a hand to lightly stroke the side of her face, "...I wanted to stay because I loved being with you. These last few months with you have been amongst the happiest I've ever known."
Martha brought up her own hand to rest on top of his as she looked up at him, watery-eyed.
"And it has for me too, more than you know...but in the meantime, look at what it's doing to you!" After a moment's hesitation, she asked quietly, "Are you in terrible pain now? Be honest," she added as he opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to gallantly insist he was not.
There was little point insisting that all was well and in light of recent events, James knew she would not thank him for not being truthful with her.
"It's agony," he admitted in a whisper, "I don't have long...maybe a day or so...maybe only a matter of hours."
"Hours?" she repeated faintly.
Martha's mind was racing as she let the truth of the matter sink in. How on earth could she continue living her life as normal knowing what he was going through? As awful as it was, she had to admit to herself that something like this was bound to happen eventually. It was foolish to believe that he was going to remain there with her forever. No matter how much she tried to fight it or find a way around it, there was no alternative path. There was only one thing which had to be done when somebody you loved was suffering so... She had to let him go. A dull pain flared in her own chest just at the very thought it. She wanted to scream, it was so unfair. It was the very last thing in the world she wanted to say and yet she heard the words tumble out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Taking an enormous breath, she said, "Then...you have to go. Now." James stared at her in shock. She pressed her lips tightly together, tears continuing to splash down her face, "You and I both know deep down that this is the best way. I can't bear the thought of you being in such pain! No, it isn't right..." Her voice wobbled, "You-you suffered enough when you died, your soul is entitled to be at peace now...you deserve it."
James did not know what to say even though he knew that she was right. He hated that she was right. He wrapped his hands tighter round hers, bringing one to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. After what felt an eternity, he finally nodded his agreement; the simple gesture feeling like his own death sentence all over again.
"There's somewhere I would like to go first..." he told her, making his mind up there and then, "Somewhere I'd like to share with you..."
Greg phoned his office to let them know that he wasn't going to be returning to work that afternoon. It was one of the few joys of being the boss, he said. He gave Martha a lift in his car, heading for the destination of James' last wish. She knew that her father must have had a lot more questions to ask of her but for now, he did not badger her with them and for that, she was highly grateful. Except for one...
"So...you say that until now you've been the only one who could see him?" he asked as they drove. When Martha nodded mutely, he continued, "So how come I can see him too, then?"
"I don't know," she murmured, turning her head away to look out of the car window.
She did not know the reason why her father could see James and honestly at that moment, she did not much care. It did not seem very important just then.
The redhead shivered, even though the car's interior was warm. She felt absolutely sick. It seemed impossible mere hours ago, she and James been enjoying breakfast together. Each moment that passed felt like an age, arriving and leaving impossibly slowly; yet this both quelled and irritated her growing dread and sadness. On the one hand she did not, in any way whatsoever, wish to face what lay ahead, praying desperately for time to decelerate further. Yet she also knew in her heart of hearts that this was how the situation should be – for all concerned – and she knew it could not be avoided.
Martha sighed. Why did this have to happen? she demanded silently. She had done the very first thing which she had promised herself that she would not do: she had become attached to the ghost...Oh, come off it, you've become way more than attached...
Soon enough - far too soon for Martha's taste – Greg slowed the car, finally bringing it to a halt. Martha broke out of her reverie and looked up to properly take in their surroundings. She saw that they had stopped at the edge of a woodland. An aged sign on a nearby wooden fence read Welcome to Thurlbear Wood. With the absence of noisy traffic, all was peaceful and quiet. All that could be heard were birds twittering sweetly in the trees. At any other time, she would have appreciated the tranquillity of it.
"You okay, sweetheart?" Greg asked her quietly. She did not answer. She was about as far away from "okay" as she could possibly get. Her father sighed heavily, "Stupid question. Shut up, Gregory... Look, I can't say I fully understand what's going on here...but I do know this is going to be difficult for you...it's never easy saying goodbye to someone...but you are doing the right thing, you know. He can't stay here forever."
Martha tried to nod in agreement. She did know deep down James' spirit could not stay for good but knowing that did not make it any easier. Legs shaking, she opened the door and stepped clumsily out of the car into the cruel winter air. At once, the wind whipped strands of hair around her face and stung at her eyes.
As James had said there would, a weather-beaten wooden gate was nestled, half-hidden between the unkempt hedgerows of hawthorn. She passed through it, its hinges creaking as she let it swing closed behind her. The hood of her jacket her only barrier against the biting temperature, Martha began to tread the well-worn path, taking care to avoid slipping on any frozen puddles (which for Martha, was a miracle in itself!). Dead leaves speckled the ground, dancing in circles whenever the icy wind caught them.
As she walked, a hand wrapped itself around her gloved one, cold yet still oddly comforting. Martha knew without looking that James had materialised into being (though she heard him give a quiet exclamation of pain when he did so) and had fallen into step beside her, his boots not making so much as a sound upon the frozen earth. Martha squeezed his hand so tightly as if she'd never let go.
Eventually, the path widened and the pair found themselves in a little clearing. James looked around. He always did hold Thurlbear Wood very dear to his heart. It had been here where he had spent many a happy, treasured hour while he was alive; he had proposed to Meg here...it had been where she had first given him the pocket watch. It was also, as he learned from Martha, the place where Meg's ashes had been scattered. This was the reason he very much wanted to share this place he loved with Meg's descendant as well. As Martha had quite rightly said when she had first discovered that Meg was in fact her own great-grandmother, Thurlbear was now a nature reserve. The trees here were perhaps wilder than James remembered but aside from that, little had changed from his memory. The trees' branches were bare and skeletal-looking, creaking slightly in the wind. Even in the winter's bleakness, there was still something very beautiful about this place, though James felt it such a pity it was not the springtime. He liked it best at that season when the whole area would be completely transformed into a haven of wildflowers. The woodland would be lush and green and carpeted with a stunning display of bluebells.
Martha was watching a robin sitting on a nearby branch, who was eyeing them with bold, bright eyes. He puffed out his feathery red breast and trilled a most delightful cheery little tune and Martha wondered what on earth he had to be so damned cheerful about. An idea sprung to James' mind and he turned suddenly, his keen eyes scanning the undergrowth.
"I wonder..." he murmured thoughtfully as he searched, striding through the long grass.
"What are you looking for?" Martha asked, turning away from her observation of the robin to watch him.
However, her question was answered almost immediately as she followed James to a particularly wild clump of thorny bushes. Almost entirely hidden amongst some brambles was an old stone bench with beautiful patterns carved into its back now worn with age and moss.
"It is still here," he said in disbelief, "This was where Meg and I used to love to sit, where I got down on one knee to propose..." He wondered to himself how many other couples had discovered this lovely, secluded little corner over the years. James surveyed the woodland surrounding them, "I am so glad that I had the chance to see this place...one last time..." For a time he listened to the birdsong echoing through the trees.
" 'There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore...there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more...' "
He did not quite know what had compelled him to recite those lines, though Martha had watched him as he did so, enjoying the sound of his voice; it always did have such a calming effect on her. James glanced towards her face; she was the one who looked as pale as death itself.
"Keats?" she asked him.
"Lord Byron."
"Oh. Right, of course..."
He turned back to face her fully and she simply gazed at him, suddenly at a loss for words. It was strange. There must have been a hundred and one things that she wanted to say to him and yet nothing would come. She had had no time to prepare herself for this moment. Martha could now imagine and fully appreciate how it must have felt for Meg when she and James had had to say goodbye to one another all those years ago. The agony her great-grandmother must have experienced, not knowing whether she was ever going to see him again. She sighed, her breath mushrooming out in a misty cloud before her.
"So admit it..." she spoke finally in an attempt at lightening the mood even if inside she was completely falling apart, "the twenty-first century...not as bad as you thought it would be, huh?"
"It was an...interesting experience, I'll give you that," he said, nodding, "The world has changed greatly, both for the better and worst. There are some things that I certainly won't miss. The noise...all those new-fangled gadgets... But I'll tell what I will miss..." he continued more soberly, "I'm going to miss your delicious bagels...and your terrible singing..." he added with a soft laugh.
Martha made an odd noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"I'm going to miss dancing around your living room with you in my arms," he whispered to her, gazing at her intensely.
Tears began to fall afresh down Martha's cheeks; her lip trembled and before she knew it, she was sobbing with desperate abandon. James immediately took her in his arms, wrapping them around her, holding her close to him as possible. He could feel her body shake with renewed weeping.
"I'm going to miss you so much!" she said between ragged sobs.
His eyes shut tightly as he tried with every ounce of his being to stop his own tears from escaping that were desperate to burst forth. He wanted to yell out at the injustice of it all, how horribly unfair it was... But he knew that it was no use, that there was nothing he could say to comfort her. He just held her.
Martha's fingers clung to her beloved friend as if she thought keeping a tight hold on him might prevent him leaving. She buried her face against his chest, breathing him in, the coarse material of his jacket tickling her nose. She wanted to lose herself in him, in that wonderfully strong embrace where she always felt so safe and protected. Neither knew how long they stood there in that woodland, simply holding one another. It might have been forever and yet that still would not have been long enough. At last, like calm after a raging storm, Martha's cries quietened as James stroked her hair. Leaning back slightly, he soothed her hair away from her face, knowing every minute that ticked by was a minute closer to it being the last time he would ever see it.
"Martha, before I go...I just want to thank you...for not only freeing me from my old pocket watch but also... even though I am already dead, you have made me feel more alive than you could possibly imagine."
Martha took a deep, steadying breath, tears still running silently down her face though not as thickly as before.
"I hope wherever it is you're going to, you'll find peace at last," she told him, "You're the most wonderful friend I've ever known and I'll never forget you...I'll remember the time we spent together for always...until my own dying day."
James reached out to gently brush a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling softly.
"Which I hope won't be for a very long time to come," he said, "Martha...my dearest Martha... I wish you every happiness in the world. Will you please do something for me?"
"Anything."
"Please don't mourn for me - at least not for long," he added at her slightly disbelieving expression, "Be happy... Live the life I cannot have. Go and find yourself that cottage by the sea that you spoke of... astonish the world with your writing...and I hope maybe one day you will find someone else far worthier of your love."
She sniffled and said shakily, "Nahh...who says I even want another man anyway? I fully intend being a crazy cat lady who owns at least ten..." There was a pause and then ever so quietly that she wasn't sure if he would hear her but he caught every single word, "I don't want anyone else...there's only one person who I want..."
"Please...please don't say things like that," James begged of her in a whisper, grasping both her hands. She was making this so much harder by saying such things. The backs of his eyes were burning horribly. He was finding it more and more difficult at holding it together, to stop himself from breaking down completely.
"Let me see that smile of yours...one more time," he asked, enveloping her hands in his, "Please..."
Smiling was the very last thing she felt like doing. It was like he had just requested she try to keep water in her cupped hands but no matter how hard she tried to stop it, it just trickled away. But she would do it for him; she did not wish for his very last memory of her to be one of complete despair and heartbreak. Holding back fresh tears, she worked her muscles furiously, willing them to cooperate. At last, she managed it. It was tight and strained but nevertheless, she was smiling. But it faded almost immediately when she noticed something.
"You're getting fainter!" she said in a panicked whisper.
Indeed, it was like she was looking at him through a veil. Even as she watched, he was more opaque, as insubstantial as smoke. She could see straight through him to the trees on the other side of the clearing. James' mind was reeling...he was running out of time fast. He had to let her know of his feelings for her before it was too late! There was one thing he really wanted to do more than anything and knew if he did not do it now, he would not have the chance ever again...even if meant that it was to say goodbye.
Martha saw his eyes flicker towards her lips and back up again. Seeing him lean in towards her, she quickly realised what he was about to do and – her heart racing frantically - unconsciously tilted her own head up and closed her eyes. She waited. Nothing happened. The only thing she felt caressing her lips was nothing more than an icy gust of wind which made the grass at her feet ripple. She opened her eyes. All that she could see were the trees waving in the wind and that old stone bench.
He had disappeared.
Martha's breath shook in the bitter air.
"No...no, no, NO!"
The last word rose to a scream, startling a few sparrows out of a nearby bush. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she turned around and around on the spot in the futile desperate hope that somehow he would reappear in front of her once more...just like he had so many times before. He did not. At last...at long, long last...she was forced to come to the harrowing conclusion that he was not ever going to.
She had no idea how long she remained there, shivering in that frosty clearing, her breath coming in quick, painful gasps. Time failed to have any meaning. It was some while before she registered there was a slight weight of something small in her hands. Uncurling numb fingers, she looked down to see what it was...
Martha let out a howl of anguish and sank to her knees upon the grass. More birds took fright at the loud noise and fluttered up into the darkening sky, while back on the ground was left a woman whose heart was shattering into a thousand pieces.
Greg glanced at the clock on the car dashboard to see that well over an hour had passed since Martha had left him but she had not yet returned. He drummed his fingers absent-mindedly on the steering wheel, his brow furrowed in thought. Making up his mind, the older man stepped out of the car and followed the path between the hedgerows. It did not take him long to find her. She was sitting quite motionless in the middle of the clearing on an ancient-looking stone bench. As he approached her, Greg could see that she was trembling violently, whether from the harsh temperature or emotions, it wasn't entirely easy to tell. Dried tracks of mascara adorned her cheeks but she was no longer crying. She was gazing down at something in her glove-clad hands. Greg spotted a glint of silver. It was the pocket watch, engraved with the former Captain's initials.
"Martha?" he said gently.
She started at first before realising it was her father who had spoken.
"He's gone, Dad," she whispered, her voice hoarse and sounded as though each word cost her great effort, "He's gone..."
The greatest friend she had ever known...the man that she had come to love was gone.
It's not over yet! So don't go pelting me with rotten vegetables just yet... *runs away and hides behind a cushion* But a review would be lovely!
