Time Knows No Boundaries ~ Chapter Sixteen

I have died every day waiting for you
Darling, don't be afraid
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more
And all along I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I'll love you for a thousand more.
'A Thousand Years' – Christina Perri

.:*:.

Martha had not encountered her ex-boyfriend at all since his brief visit to the flat to collect the rest of his belongings which had wended their way into her home. One evening, about a week after the most nightmarish afternoon she had ever been forced to endure, she was meandering from room to room armed with a cardboard box to gather together Elliot's possessions for him. She was just making her way around the living room when she came across – her heart gave a dull pang when she saw it – his cricket bat. Reminders everywhere. Immediately, a fleeting image of herself wielding the bat like it was a sword as she believed James had been some sort of crazed burglar floated to the surface of her mind. She allowed herself a wistful smile although tears involuntarily welled up. It felt like a thousand years ago now...

Eyes stinging, she glanced up and found herself looking straight into the soft, intelligent gaze belonging to Joey. She had now hung the painting of the handsome red bay up on the wall above her desk. Perhaps it was her imagination at play but it looked as if the shine which had been managed to be captured so brilliantly by means of James' wonderful skills with a brush had vanished from the horse's dark eyes. She traced her fingers over the signature at the bottom of the picture.

"Do you miss him, too?" she murmured to the horse. Realising what she was doing, she shook her head and rolled her eyes, "Oh great," she muttered sullenly, "now I'm talking to a painting...I really have lost the plot..."

She tore her eyes away from the portrait, dropped the cricket bat into the cardboard box with the rest of Elliot's things with a clunk, and let out a slow, heavy sigh past her lips. She turned to wander without aim towards the window, folding her arms across her chest in a gesture as though to warm herself and gazed out listlessly over the forbidding urban landscape without really focusing upon it. The view seemed bleaker than ever with the presence of angry-looking leaden clouds. Winter always did have that despicable habit of dragging on far too long for her liking at the best of times but now it seemed like it would never end, as though it were mocking her. However, the steely clouds in the skies above were absolutely nothing compared to the heavy dark cloud constantly looming over her that was the loss of her greatest, most beloved friend.

The days that followed his departure had been amongst the worst of her life. Some were easier to face than others but more often than not, Martha found herself immersed in apathy so great, she could not seem to struggle her way out of it. Nothing would hold her interest anymore; she could no longer concentrate on her work or even indeed the most mundane of activities. This was not helped at all by the fact that she wasn't sleeping properly and whenever she did, it was fitful and would be plagued by horrible dreams.

The worst thing about it all was how overwhelmingly lonely she suddenly felt. Apart from her father, she had nobody with whom she could share her sorrow, nobody she was able to talk to, nobody who would understand. Even so, Greg felt himself at a bit of a loss; he grew increasingly worried about his daughter but no matter how hard he tried to support her and not to offer meaningless platitudes of "it was for the best, at least he's not suffering anymore", Greg was not altogether certain how he could go about comforting her... How on earth did one help somebody who was grieving for a person who was already dead? Her mother, Charlotte, on the other hand, having been clueless to James' existence at all, thought Martha was merely nursing a broken heart over her and Elliot's breakup and insisted she would soon "snap out of it" and meet somebody new. Martha did not want to meet somebody new and highly doubted she would ever snap out of this.

She had stumbled across the beautiful case full of artists' materials which she had given to James for Christmas, including his sketchbook and she would sit poring over the pages, over and over, as if it were a favourite story she wished would never finish. The first time she had done this was the day after his departure, and she had turned a page and experienced a feeling as though she were having her heart being mercilessly stabbed. There were sketches of herself inside the book. Martha had had no idea when James had taken the time to draw these but seeing herself represented in charcoal pencil in such loving detail, she could not help but dissolve once more into tears.

How could he ask of her not to mourn for him? Everywhere in the flat, there were reminders, no matter which way she turned. Only now that he was no longer there did Martha truly realise just how much James had managed to ingratiate himself into almost every corner of her life. She had come to rely upon his presence to always be there no matter what and without fail. Sometimes – if only for a split-second - she even forgot that he was gone at all. There had been a couple of occasions where she had caught herself asking him a question and received nothing but a resounding silence in answer; often, she would look up and expect to see him sitting at her table, heavily absorbed in his sketching... Even if she was out walking on the street, she thought she caught a quick flash of khaki green...or perhaps glimpses of a tall, slender man with fair hair from behind and her heart would leap with excitement and hope. Only for her to come crashing heavily back to earth with a cruel bump when she realised it was not him at all and knock her back to her senses.

He's gone, she reminded herself firmly when this happened for what must have been the thousandth time, he's gone and he isn't coming back...

The buzz of her doorbell made Martha start slightly, pulling her out of her morbid thoughts. Knowing that it would be Elliot, she took a slow breath to compose herself. Without turning round or leaving her vigil at the window, she called out, "It's open!"

Elliot shuffled into the flat with a rather sheepish expression on his face, as though apprehensive of how his now ex-girlfriend was going to behave toward him, fearing she would begin shouting at him once more. He saw her standing rigidly by the window with her back to him, waiting for her to speak first.

"I put your stuff there on the table," Martha told him, keeping her eyes trained forward.

"Oh, right..." Elliot mumbled his thanks as he ventured over to the coffee table to pick up the box containing his possessions. He glanced furtively over at her, "Surprised you haven't put a bomb in here," he said at a brave attempt at light-heartedness, "Can't say I'd blame you if you did."

"I really don't have the energy to fight with you anymore. What's done is done," said Martha tonelessly, continuing to address the windowpane.

Her grief over losing James seemed to have eclipsed her anger towards Elliot. She could not bring herself to go so far as to forgive him for what he had done; the damage was far too great. But she felt she should at the very least part ways with him on civil terms. Not for his sake but for her own. Holding on to feelings of bitterness was not doing anybody any good. If her time with James had taught her anything at all was that life was too short and far too precious to be wasted on such things.

Elliot eyed her slightly hunched figure and noticed immediately the change in her. Perhaps he would have preferred it after all if she had shouted at him. Anything was better than this lack of response, this listlessness; she sounded so lost and distant. He experienced an awful hollowness as something like guilt squirmed in his stomach, thinking that he was responsible for it. She seemed much smaller than usual, her stance morose and despondent, arms hugged against her chest as though she were trying to shield herself from some unknown force.

"I've uh...ended things with...I mean...Zoe and I are no longer a thing..." Elliot told her uncomfortably.

He saw her noticeably stiffen at the mention of Zoe's name and immediately regretted that he had done so.

"You mean she's cottoned on to what a lying, cheating tosspot you are and she's dumped you as well?" she said, more harshly than she intended.

"Yeah..." Elliot looked down at his feet, "I deserve that," he conceded, with a slight jerk of his head.

"Yes, you do," Martha agreed with a nod, glad to see that, unlike before, he was at least no longer denying that he had done anything wrong.

This whole situation all felt very strange. Here they were exchanging a few stiff, oddly formal words of conversation as though they were nothing more than mere acquaintances and not past lovers. It was like she was speaking to a complete stranger. It was odd and awkward...and also rather sad. Before he took his leave, Elliot turned back to face his former partner.

"Martha?" She turned her head slightly to let him know she was listening. "I am sorry, you know..."

Martha turned around properly away from the window to face him for the first time, her expression impassive and regarded him thoughtfully.

"What is it you're sorry about, El?" she asked quietly, "That you cheated or that you got caught?"

Elliot sighed heavily and gave a half shrug, "Both? You do deserve better. I'm just sorry about...well - everything really."

"So am I," she murmured, "but I think it's best that we don't see each other anymore, don't you?"

Elliot opened his mouth to say that he had hoped that it did not have to come to that but he changed his mind. Finally, he nodded at her. "Fair enough..."

There was another extremely uncomfortable silence which stretched on between them for far too long. Elliot cleared his throat and adjusted the box in his arms to maintain a better grip so he could back out of the door. Martha closed her eyes briefly as she felt her heart give a horrible little clench when she realised for the second time in the same week, she was saying goodbye to yet another person she had once loved.

"Take care of yourself," she found herself calling out to him before he left.

Elliot paused, looking back over his shoulder at her. He gave her a lop-sided if not slightly awkward smile.

"You too," he said sincerely with a nod of his head.

Without another word, Elliot Fielding turned and disappeared down the corridor, out of sight...and out of her life for good.


Time passed. Winter's reign reached its end at last, finally abdicating so that spring could assume the seasonal throne in its stead. It was the season heralding fresh beginnings and new life. While there was still not a day which elapsed where Martha did not feel James' loss very deeply, a welcome distraction from her grief arrived in the form of a new direction in her career...

Every once and a while, she returned to that same patch of woodland at Thurlbear where she and James had said goodbye. Hating to see the place he obviously loved very much looking so terribly neglected, she had managed to clear away much of the invading brambles and ivy from the stone bench, hoping that this would allow room for any spring bulbs to emerge. Much to her immense satisfaction, bluebells and primroses were now sprouting around the bench, adding delightful splashes of colour and scents to the clearing. She would then sit down, bring out the pocket watch which she had taken to carrying around everywhere with her like some sort of talisman and run her fingers tenderly over the initials engraved there. She had no photograph of James and no grave to visit, so to speak and so this was her way of being near to him. She knew that it was ridiculous, knew it was absurd but it made her feel less alone and sometimes she would sit there for well over an hour, simply talking to him...telling him everything and nothing.

One sunny morning at the end of April found Martha sat cross-legged amongst the dreamy haze of bluebells and once again, was gently fingering the outer rim of the pocket watch as it glinted dully in the dappled sunlight.

After glancing carefully about to make absolutely sure she was alone, she murmured, "Hey, Jimbo... Sorry I haven't been to visit for a while. I've been super busy...which is a good thing, I suppose... I've been letting quite a few things slip lately, especially with my advice column. I haven't been able to write a single word since..." She broke off, swallowing with difficulty; she had indeed found that her inspiration to write anything had vanished into thin air along with her friend, "Well, I've already had a warning from my editor if I don't buck my ideas up, I'll be out of a job," she grimaced and made a face but then almost immediately perked up again.

"Hey, you'll never guess what? Looks like you're not the only one who's a fan of my bagels. The cafe where I work – I got promoted! I'm not only a waitress any more, I'm now an "Assistant Caterer" " Here Martha held up her fingers in imitation of quotation marks around the job's title, "...The woman who normally provides our baked goods has carpal tunnel trouble and can't do it anymore...at least not for some time. Holy moly, my boss was going bonkers, thinking he'd have to look for another caterer...so just on the off-chance, I offered to bake some bread for him to tide him over until he could find somebody else. So I made some of those bagels and foccacia I do sometimes...and guess what? The customers really loved them!"

Martha took a moment to reminisce over the way the customer's eyes had lit up when they had tasted her home-made foccacia sprinkled with oregano and sea salt. The demand was so great that she had to dash home in the middle of her shift to make more...and more so besides: various types of muffins, loaves, pastries and cakes. Word was already beginning to spread and gradually over time, more and more people were frequenting the cafe than usual, just to sample her bakes. Nobody was more surprised than Martha was herself. She had always known she had enjoyed baking, bread being her particular favourite specialty; she found it extremely therapeutic and others often said how delicious her creations were. But never had she truly considered it as a choice of career! Her job at the cafe was initially only meant to have been a casual position to help pay the bills. It had been the first time in ages that she had felt proud about something and had put a smile back on her face.

"...and not only that, I got a pay rise!" she continued enthusiastically, "I still waitress as well but now I get to spend all day, every day baking and get paid for it! Great, huh? I know I said I wanted to be a writer – and I still do! But now I've been thinking of possibly applying for college to study a culinary course next year and maybe do a creative writing one later...? Well, it's just a thought, is all," she finished, shrugging a little, "Funny the way things turn out, isn't it?"

"I had a good, long talk with Dad after you - " She paused and swallowed back another lump in her throat, "after you left... I mean, he's the only one I can talk to about you, seeing as he's the only other person who met you. He reckons maybe you were some sort of guardian angel and that once you had helped me out then it was time for you to move on... but I dunno..."

She trailed off into silence for a while, listening to the glorious medley of birdsong and lazy hum of bees amongst the wildflowers around her. A robin landed on the grass a short distance away and Martha could not help smiling at the sight of him.

"Hello, pretty robin," she greeted softly.

He was a frequent visitor to this spot whenever she came back to Thurlbear and she wondered if it was the same bird she'd seen there before during the winter. The robin hopped closer, letting out a series of lovely warbling notes.

"Ah, I know what you're after," she said knowingly, reaching into her pocket for a plastic bag containing a couple of stale saffron buns left over from yesterday's bake which had not been good enough to be served at the cafe. She broke one up into pieces with her fingers and scattered the burnt offerings on the grass, "Here you are, little friend...saved these just for you. Enjoy!"

The robin hesitated a moment or two, eyeing her beadily with his head inclined. Then quick as a flash he snatched up a piece of the bun and gobbled it down. He took another piece in his beak and promptly flew off into a nearby tree. Martha sat back and gazed up into the bright green canopy of leaves above her that were stirring gently in the light spring breeze.

"It's so beautiful and peaceful here," she murmured, continuing her one-sided conversation with James, "I can see why you and Granny Meg loved it so much. It's a good job there are hardly any people about; if someone hears me talking to you like this, they'll have me carted off to a padded cell. I know it's pointless and stupid and you probably don't have a clue that I'm even here but it's the only thing that's keeping me sane anymore...that convinces me that you weren't just a figment of my imagination. Sometimes I – I miss you so badly, it hurts..." At this, Martha broke off again, scraping back tears which had formed in her eyes, trying to hold them back, "All I know for sure is...I wish you were here to hear me say that life was so much better when you were a part of it, James Nicholls..."

She took a deep steadying breath to compose herself. The robin was now helping himself to some leftover crumbs in the grass.

"God, listen to me rambling on..." she muttered, popping the pocket watch open to check the time. She had finally got around to getting the piece fixed once and for all. "I'd better get going...there's something I need to do that can't be put off much longer... See you, Soldier Boy," she whispered in farewell, and closed the watch again with a click.

Pocketing both the watch and the now empty carrier bag, she rose from the grass and turned to leave the clearing, leaving the robin to enjoy the rest of his meal.


The something which could not be put off much longer took Martha to her next port of call in Taunton's town centre. Her motorbike rumbled to a stop outside an old-fashioned office block. Stepping onto the pavement, she slung the strap of her helmet over one arm while with the other, she fished out a slightly crumpled letter from the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She hesitated, gazing down at the letter in her hands for a moment, then glanced back up at the offices but she did not venture inside. She leaned back against her parked motorbike again, biting her lip and tapping the sealed envelope against her fingers in nervous agitation. Perhaps she should have just emailed it instead...?

"Hello, stranger," a familiar voice called out, and Martha looked up in mild surprise to see her mother, Charlotte walking along the pavement towards her, "Have we been introduced?" she continued drily as she drew level with her daughter, "I'm your mother, ring any bells at all?"

Martha only rolled her eyes a little at her mother's sarcasm. Charlotte held out her arms wide expectantly and Martha obliged her wordless request for a hug. Charlotte and Martha Burton looked nothing alike; whereas her offspring was short and curved with a head of coppery hair, Charlotte was tall and whippet-like in stature with her dark brown hair falling about her narrow face in flyaway waves.

"Okay, I get it - I haven't been to see you for ages," Martha sighed, "I'm sorry, Mum, I've just been busy."

"Yeah, busy moping," Charlotte answered but it was not meant unkindly.

"I've not been moping!" said Martha indignantly, frowning up at her as she pulled away.

"Well, you've not been yourself since you and Elliot broke up. Sweetheart, you really need to move on. It's been months now..."

Martha did not even bother to correct her. Her mum did not understand. Nobody did except perhaps her dad; Greg was the only one who had any inkling at all of how much James Nicholls had come to mean to his daughter.

"Have you put on weight?" Charlotte demanded suddenly, eyeing her daughter's figure up and down critically with her keen hazel gaze.

"So what if I have?" said Martha in defence, feeling nettled but her mum did not deign to give her an answer and instead began to scrutinise her face.

"You're looking very peaky as well. Are you sleeping alright?"

Her tone was brusque but Martha knew that this was just her mother's way of showing concern. But the truth of the matter was as much as she tried to keep herself occupied and busy during the day, there was nothing she could do to control what happened during her hours of slumber. More often than not, she was continuing to have dreams about James. Her most recent one had involved him teaching her to ride a horse. She had been sitting on the handsome steed's back with James sat just behind, his torso warm and strong against her back, his arms wrapped protectively around her as he helped her to guide the reins...

"Are you heading in to the office?" Charlotte's voice burst forth into her daydreams, yanking Martha back harshly into reality. It took her a moment to realise what her mum was talking about. She glanced back at the office block before her.

"Um – yes...but I'm handing in my notice," Martha admitted, holding up the envelope in her hand which contained her letter of resignation,"Well, they've already threatened to fire me, so I thought I might as well get in there first," she added with a shrug.

Charlotte stared round at her in astonishment, "Why on earth would you do that? I thought you liked that job so much?"

"Yeah, well...things change," Martha muttered, her eyes unfocused as she looked at the letter, "and anyway, what with all that happened with Elliot, it doesn't feel right somehow dishing out advice to people. It makes me feel like such a fraud."

"Actually, I would've thought your experience would help make you more relatable to your readers," her mother told her wisely, "Lets them know that you understand their problems all the better - you've been in the same boat as they have...Makes you more human and not just words on a page."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Martha confessed, frowning slightly. But then she straightened up and said determinedly, "No, Mum, I've made up my mind. Anyway, the cafe takes up all my time now and you know what? I enjoy it."

"Well, good for you," her mother said briskly, "I never thought I'd see the day that you were the type of girl who'd sit around and mope over a man of all things..." Martha chose to ignore this statement but her mother pressed on eagerly, "Anyway...your dad and I are having a few friends round for dinner next weekend. Why don't you join us, eh? It'll do you good to be out and socializing again, I'm beginning to think you're turning into one of those hermits... One of my friends who's coming, Jo – you remember her, don't you? She's got her nephew staying with her..." There was a sudden cunning gleam in her eye as she spoke; a gleam which Martha only knew too well and did not especially like. "I could persuade her to bring him along too. He's about your age and definitely unattached – "

"Mum, please stop matchmaking!" Martha pleaded with her, "I'm really not interested."

Charlotte raised neat eyebrows and spread her hands innocently.

"I'm only saying...there's no harm in fishing – "

But Martha's attention was caught suddenly by a commotion further along the road; a fire engine had just roared past them, its sirens blaring and blue lights flashing wildly. As Martha stood on tiptoes and craned her neck to watch, it screeched to a halt outside the parade of shops further up the street from the office blocks and a team of fire-fighters leapt out and dashed across the pavement, unreeling hoses at rapid speed.

"What's going on over there?" she said quickly to distract her mother.

"A fire, I'd imagine," Charlotte said drily, "and don't deliberately change the subject!" she added in chastisement.

But Martha was already making her way along the pavement towards the crowd of people who had congregated outside the shops to avidly gawp at the band of fire-fighters - partly to stop her mum trying to set her up on an unwanted date and partly because she was genuinely interested to discover the source of the clamour.

"Well, while you're there - see if you can find yourself a dashing fire-fighter!" she heard Charlotte call after her but Martha ignored her words.

As what seemed to be the norm whenever there was some sort of catastrophe happening, a swarm of people had gathered on the pavement around the barriers of tape cordoning the area. As Martha approached, a man in a fluorescent jacket was calling to the crowd, chivvying them away, "Come on, guys! Back up now, nothing to see here! Nobody was hurt, the fire's under control, move along now...!"

It was only when the rising cloud of dark smoke cleared a little as the fire-fighter's hoses extinguished the last remnants of the fire, only when she was right outside it as she jostled her way through the onslaught of people, that Martha recognised the little shop whose exterior was now completely ruined by the flames. Where once had been a window display of an Aladdin's cave-esque treasure trove which had delighted her so like a starry-eyed child in a sweetshop was now a blackened and charred mess. Martha's hand flew to her mouth in shock. The very place where she had first purchased the pocket watch was now nothing more than an empty burned out husk...all of those wonderful antiques inside lost forever.

Somebody bumped her shoulder slightly as they hurried past but because Martha was taking so little notice of the rest of her surroundings, it caught her completely off guard and she went tumbling onto the pavement before she could gain control of her wayward limbs. However, she did not even bother picking herself back up again. For some ridiculous reason, tears were blurring her vision and she scraped them back impatiently with her wrist. God, how embarrassing... But she could not help it...it was yet another place connected with her dear friend, yet another reminder...and look what had become of it! The sight of the shop totally destroyed was an unexpected blow. Just when she thought she was beginning to master her grief and then something like this happened... She heard a pair of footsteps approach and stop beside her but Martha did not take the slightest bit of notice.

"Are you alright?" a voice close by asked her.

"Yes, I'm fine," she choked out automatically, waving a dismissive hand, "I'm forever falling over stuff, don't worry..."

"Well, it is such a relief to see that some things never change," continued the voice in what might have been amusement but it was laced heavily with emotion.

Martha froze. She knew that voice...

From her spot on the ground, her eyes slowly travelled from a pair of shiny boots, up, up, up to a face she never imagined she would ever see again in her waking hours. The chatter and clamour of noise from the surrounding crowd seemed to ebb away. Had she been knocked into delirium by her fall after all? Hardly daring even to breathe, barely aware of what she was doing, she allowed herself to be guided back onto her feet.

This is impossible! Her mind screamed. How could he be here?

He looked like the James Nicholls she remembered and yet... He seemed younger; gone was that pallid, shadowed countenance, now there was healthy colour to his cheeks. Those eyes which had been haunting her dreams for months were right at that moment crinkled in a beaming smile. But his eyes...they were no longer gaunt and deadened-looking but a twinkling bright blue, like sunlight creating sparkles on waves at sea. It was as though an old favourite black-and-white film had been restored into full glorious colour. With a shaking hand, she reached up to tentatively touch his cheek. It felt warm beneath her fingers.

No, no, this isn't happening...I've got to be dreaming again...if I am, please don't wake me up...

"Are you real?" she whispered uncertainly, fearing that if she spoke too loudly, it may just cause this dream to shatter and disintegrate.

In answer, he took the hand resting against his cheek in his and lifted it so that her palm was pressed flat against his chest. Martha gave a shuddery gasp as she distinctly felt a strong and steady heartbeat thrumming beneath her fingertips.

"Very much so," smiled James in reply.

Martha's eyes flew from the spot where her hand was rested against his heart to meet his endless cornflower-blue gaze where so many emotions swirled, hardly daring to blink just in case he suddenly disappeared again.

"But – but – " she stammered out, "How?"

"You, you wonderful, darling girl, that's how!" he cried ecstatically, cupping her face between his hands and quickly planting a kiss on her forehead in sheer delight.

"W-what? I don't understand," she babbled, "What do you – ?"

"All will be explained to you fully in due time, my love..." he told her, "Suffice it to say, that I was wrong, ludicrously, foolishly wrong to think it was my time to go... I've been given another chance to live and I am taking it! And I am also decided that I'm more than willing to take on this confounded century so long as it means that I am with you...That is, of course," he added uncertainly, his smile faltering a little as he looked into her eyes, "if you will have me - ?"

There was a clatter. Martha's motorbike helmet had been dropped onto the concrete pavement, followed in quick succession by her resignation letter fluttering to the ground, completely forgotten about. The next thing James was aware of was that his vision was obscured by a large quantity of red hair. Martha had jumped up and flung her arms around his neck, knocking his hat flying. Where to, he neither knew nor cared. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist, hugging her tightly to him as close as was humanly possible, lifting her off the ground. Everything about her in that moment was soft and warm; her hair tickling his cheeks, her face pressed against the side of his neck, and James tightened his grip, caging her in his embrace, longing to feel all of her. How he had missed this! Oh, how close he had been, so full of a terrible fear that he were to never have this chance to hug her to him like this ever again and he sent a fervent silent thank you up to the heavens.

Martha pulled back slightly to kiss him briefly but amid her giddy excitement, it was more a clumsy bumping of cheekbones rather than an actual kiss.

"You really have to ask me that?" she said to him breathlessly, "I just can't – b-believe – " Tears were streaming down her face again but this time out of joy, pure unadulterated joy, " – I just can't believe you're really here... I can't believe you came back to me!"

"Well, I had to come back, don't you know?" James teased quietly as he held her to him, bringing up one hand to brush away her tears, "For I never got the chance to do something..."

"What?" Martha asked curiously, frowning slightly.

He only smiled at her, a truly dazzling smile which left her with a lovely warm tingling all the way down to her toes. He gently lowered her back onto the pavement. Then, cradling her face between his hands – his wonderfully warm hands – he ducked his head down to brush his lips ever so tenderly against hers. And there was absolutely nothing clumsy about it this time.

Martha's eyes slid closed as she melted into him, losing herself completely in that kiss. His lips were soft and inviting as she curled her fingers into the front of his jacket to pull him ever closer. She could feel him smiling against her lips; his kiss had been hesitant at first but was very quickly gaining ardour, and she reciprocated eagerly as his hands slid down to come to rest at her waist, tugging her against him. The lovely warm tingling escalated into delirious happiness and Martha felt as if she were floating. If there was any other point in her life where she had ever felt happier than she did right now, then it paled into utter insignificance. She suspected she may just explode with the feeling... He was real and he was here and there was absolutely no way that she would ever let him go again.

Around them, the crowd was gradually beginning to disperse now that the initial drama of the fire appeared to be over. There was an assortment of amused expressions at the sight of the couple, disapproving tutting and mutters of "time and a place" and even a wolf whistle from a few people nearest them. Martha's mother, Charlotte, who had followed her from a distance now stood a few feet away, rooted to the spot with an absolutely priceless look of utter dismay on her face. Her mouth had fallen open in shock, clearly under the impression that her daughter had gone completely mad, enthusiastically kissing an apparently total stranger in the middle of a crowded street.

James and Martha were aware of none of this. To them, nobody else existed. It was only they two.


Did you really think I wouldn't give these two a happy ending? I was honestly tempted not to but I just couldn't do it to them, I'm not that heartless! :P I just didn't find any satisfaction in an ending like that and I suspect I'd have some unhappy people on my hands if I did write it that way. I really don't care if it's cheesy. I like cheese, it's delicious. I'm a sentimental sap! And I know it was a bit late in the game to introduce Martha's mum when she'd only been mentioned in passing before but hey ho. Only the epilogue to go now!