Rose spent much of that night wide awake. She lay in bed, frozen in a foetal position, the hot Greek air staying as warm in the dark shadows of the night as it was during the day. Rose wished she could go back to the beach, watch the sun rise in reverse, see Jack's tears roll up his cheeks and vanish into his eyes, watch that smile re-appear on his face, and instead of running away, she would stay with him. She knew now that running away was not the right thing to do. In the past, the past being three decades ago, she would have run into Jack's arms, feeling safe and secure. Tonight was the first time she had ever run away from his embrace, and the more she thought about it, the more she thought it was because Jack seemed like the weak one.

For once, Jack was the weak one, and that scared her. For some reason she had not quite discovered yet, it scared her. He looked so sad, so desperate, so needy. His hand reaching out to her was not one of comforting or even flirtation. Instead, it was the anxious grab of a lonely and broken man. A man who wanted his returned dead lover all to himself. A man who wanted everything Rose couldn't give him.

Rose was married. She had two kids who she loved more than anything in the world. She was settled and she knew where she was in life. She didn't have to worry about what the future had in store. She was happy... she was content. Throwing Jack into the picture, and a very unstable and needy Jack at that, was surely going to turn everything on its head. That was the last thing Rose needed, especially when she felt things were already rather unstable where Richard was concerned.

He hadn't done anything wrong, not that Rose knew of anyway, and she certainly hadn't done anything wrong, and yet there was a feeling between the two. That sense of something needing to be said, but neither of them wishing to be the first to say it. Quite frankly, Rose didn't know what had to be said. They had been married for many years now, over two decades, and they had never had trouble with communication before. Now, there was such a lack of communication that Rose couldn't remember the last proper conversation she and Richard had. Saying goodbye wasn't as heartfelt and romantic as Rose would have liked when departing to Greece from LA. It was more of a quick and friendly, "See you in a week!" There was a spark gone from the marriage, but Rose was not willing to throw it all away for an old flame.

Jack was back. By some strange, miraculous, wonderful, unbelievable chance, he was back. But the Jack she had missed and longed for over the past 30 years was gone, and in his place was someone else. He looked the same, more or less, and he sounded the same, more or less. But that feeling was gone. The feeling Rose once felt. The feeling of wanting to run away into the sunset and leave all of her cares behind. The desire to start a new life with a beautiful stranger and forget about your tight lipped mother and ball and chain of a fiancée. That was 30 years and a lifetime ago. That was a different feeling for a different girl, and a different boy. They were grown-ups now. He was a man, and she was a woman.

"You can still be his friend, Rose."

Rose jumped with a start, brought out of her trance as she sat at the breakfast table. She turned over her shoulder to see Desdemona, standing in the doorway, her long white hair dancing in a warm Summer wind. "How did you know?" Rose asked quietly.

"I have been on this Earth long enough to read people's faces with ease. Yours is a very distinct type of look." She walked over silently, and then sat at the table. "I also saw you on the beach. You ran away from him."

Rose felt her cheeks go hot. She felt embarrassed. "You must think I'm such a fool. I go so long without him, and then when I have the chance to see him again I run away."

"Foolish? No. It's a lot to take in at once. To have even went in the first place shows great strength."

"I just don't understand. I should be ecstatic to see him again, which I am... but it's shadowed by this irrational fear and confusion, and I just can't shake it." Rose ran her hands through her blonde hair, stressed by her inner conflict.

Desdemona reached out and took Rose's hands, clasping them in hers gently. Rose felt a cool, calm and collected energy suddenly go through her. She kept her eyes shut, and somehow, her mind became blank. "Jack likes to sit by the edge of the fountain in the town square every lunchtime, about one o'clock. He sometimes sketches what he sees in front of him."

"He still sketches?" Rose's head was suddenly filled with the beautiful memory of her younger self, laying nude on a couch, with a boyish faced Jack drawing her curves with a piece of sharpened charcoal.

"Yes, he has a wonderful talent. He's been kind enough to show me some of his work." Desdemona smiled when she saw Rose's eyes light up, happy memories obviously flooding back into her mind. "He is a brilliant man, Rose. A kind, caring and helpful soul... but he's hurting, Rose. He has seen things that no man should be made to see."

Desdemona stood up with a bit of effort, and walking towards the door, she continued to speak, "This war is turning gentleman into shells of themselves. They said it would be over b Christmas... and here we are 5 years later." As she reached the door, the sun reflecting off of her white flowing hair, she turned over her shoulder to say, "Jack's a soldier, Rose. He's been lucky to make it this far. Don't throw away what precious time you have with him... God only knows what day could be his last."

Rose took this in, the sombre reality truly hitting home. Now she understood why he was the way he was. It was no wonder he seemed needy. He was a broken man. So much had changed, not only in the world but within him. To have seen Rose again must have been like one little piece of perfection, a little reminder of how the world used to be. Rose no longer blamed him for seemingly wanting to cling onto her. She was all he had left of a happy world.

"Thank you, Desdemona." Rose said, feeling quite emotional after processing her words of wisdom.

Desdemona nodded and replied, "You're welcome." And then she left. They way she spoke, the way she looked, even they way she moved, Desdemona was like a beautifully aged and learned spirit on this island. Rose had never met this woman until a few days ago, and yet felt like she could trust her with anything.

Rose knew now what she had to do. She had to find Jack and apologise for the way she had reacted. She had to be patient, and understand that whilst Rose has had it easy since 1912, Jack hasn't. But before she did that, she had to find Emmanuelle and apologise for leaving her alone on stage. Emmanuelle was her friend, and had been for a long time. They sometimes clashed due to their differing personalities, especially the older they got, with Rose being more maternal than wild, but Emmanuelle had always been there for Rose, and Rose had to do the same for her. They were a double act after all. They had to have each other's back.

Down in the town square, in a bar filled with the smell of sweat, beer and smoke, Emmanuelle was making out with two men at once, a hand sliding up her dress. It wasn't even mid-day yet, but that was the way she liked to live. Pulling her tongue out of the Scottish man's throat, she wiped her red lips and excused herself, downing the half pint they soldier had in his glass.

She rose from the other soldiers lap like a confident black cat, moving in and out of the soldiers expertly, casually brushing against them seductively. She made her way into a little room behind the bar with a pay phone. She inserted some coins and waited... and waited... and waited.

Finally, the person on the other end picked up, and she began to speak. "Hello, can you hear me. It's Emmanuelle. How are you, baby?" She twirled the telephone wire in her hand and licked her lips, tasting several men at once. "I know honey, I miss you too. It won't be long til I'm home and we can break the news to her." She listened to the deep American voice on the other end, smiling to herself. "She's still clueless, but she was acting a little off yesterday. Ran off the stage and left me standing there like an idiot halfway during our song!" She pouted, feeling awfully sorry for herself. "Okay, well I better go. My public awaits... bye bye Richard... I love you more."

And with that, she hung up, ending the call, and ready to end a marriage.