As always thank you SO much for your support. I can't believe we're twenty chapters in!

Just a few scenes of domestic living - past and present - a contrast of Elsie's life then and now.

Chapter 20

Domestic Scenes

Two and half years ago

It wasn't exactly how Elsie had planned for things to go. In fact it was so far removed from her expectations she was having trouble understanding it.

She'd been on her own for three months now, rattling around the large family home, starting to clear things into boxes. Every now and then she'd find more of Joe's stuff and have an odd few minutes of staring at it before making a conscious decision and boxing it all up, storing them in the garage.

She didn't really mind being in the house alone, she could hardly claim she was lonely – she'd spent years living with a man and had felt more lonely at times with him than she did on her own.

Therefore it was a shock one Saturday night to find him unlocking the front door and walking into the kitchen whilst she was making bread, as normally as if they were still together.

"You made me jump," She said, turning from the mixture in the bowl to face him.

"Sorry," he threw his keys onto the kitchen table. "It'd seem weird to knock."

She supposed he was right; they'd lived there for over fifteen years.

"How are you?" She asked returning to her kneading.

"Not bad. You know." He opened the fridge door, found a half drunk bottle of wine and poured himself a glass and one for Elsie too.

"What are you doing here on a Saturday night?"

She heard him swallow the wine, push a chair back at the kitchen table and sit down. "Nothing much happening. Thought I'd pick up that stuff you texted me about."

She wondered what his new home looked like, what it was like to be living on the farm after years of renting out the house, what Sarah was like, what he was doing here.

"It's in the garage." She said. "All ready."

He sucked wine between his teeth, "Great."

She scraped the mixture from her fingers, covered the bowl in cling film and a damp towel and went to wash her hands.

"Why are you doing that now?" He asked.

"I want fresh bread tomorrow, Beryl's coming over for lunch."

He rolled his eyes – he never did like that woman, interfering and nosy.

"Do you ever think…" he said, watching as she washed her hands, filled the sink to do the dishes.

"Do I ever think what?"

"Did you ever think we'd get to this civilised point?"

"I am civilised." She said pointedly. "And I should be the one who isn't, after all, you walked out on me."

"Maybe a mistake."

She looked sharply over her shoulder at him, her hands stilling in the hot water. "Why?"

He shrugged, "Because you're you and… well, Sarah's not."

She huffed, "Bit late for that now. Thank you for leaving the house out of procedures by the way. I really don't want to sell it yet."

He was on his feet, she could hear him behind her, finishing his wine, bringing his glass and laying it on the counter beside the sink.

"I understand. It has good memories."

She felt him touch her back – thought it a mistake at first – but then his fingers slid down her spine and she knew it wasn't.

"Joe," she warned, "Not a good idea."

"None of my ideas are."

She felt him tug at the tie on the back of her dress, loosen it and then let it fall open.

"Joe…" she warned again. But his body was pressing against her back, his lips placing delicate kisses on her neck and it had been so very long since anyone had touched her. Since he had. She remembered his smell. The weight of his hands on her body.

She twisted her head to look at him, which had been a mistake, because then he was kissing her, gently at first and then his tongue in her mouth. His hands were around her waist, pulling her back from the sink and turning her in his arms and she moaned as the roughness of his jacket brushed against her breasts.

Within minutes she found they were in their bedroom – her bedroom – and he had stripped her naked. Part of her was screaming this couldn't be happening, another part glad to have him back, no longer alone, no longer the 'dumped' one. Part of her was confused and scared.

She sat back on the bed, watched as he removed his own clothes, he had that dark intensity to his eyes that came when they had sex and her mind was a blur of old feelings and new freedoms. It was too late to stop it now.

When he had her in bed and was pounding into her she realised what a mistake she'd made. She should have changed the locks. She should have told him to leave. She should have pushed him away when he'd touched her.

Oh but god hindsight is a great thing.

He had her hands held above her head, his elbows in the pillow by her face and she'd always hated it when he did that, holding her down, trapping her. His mouth on her breasts, and it was hard and fierce as he fucked her. There was no other way to describe it, because that's exactly what he was doing. And then the old lines crept in, his whispered voice by her ear, 'You're mine, nobody can do this to you like I can.'

And she was biting her lip as he commanded her body to obey his will. She hated her body at that moment – it seemed separate from her heart, from her soul, and was responding to him, to what he knew exactly how to do to get her to respond. Because then she was climaxing in a horrible, tight way and shouting out as he smiled, bit on her neck and came inside her.

"Just like old times," he said, breathing heavily.

He pulled out, sat up and looked down at her and she squashed her knees together, her arm over her breasts. "Never gets boring." He said and got up going into the bathroom.

Her only thought was how to get him to leave.

"How could I have been so stupid?" She cried on Beryl's shoulder the following day. Great hiccupping cries as Beryl held and soothed her friend, rubbing her back. "It was just to prove he still could, to brand me as his… and this disgusting mark on my neck."

"We can cover that, I have a trick for taking down the swelling. Don't worry."

"He just used me. And I let him. Why am I so stupid, so bloody weak?"

"You're not." Beryl pushed Elsie back from her, took hold of her hands and squeezed them tight. "You listen to me, you are not weak. Now, we're going to get those damned locks changed so he doesn't come in here unless you're with someone. You hear me?"

Elsie nodded, her eyes bleared with tears.

"I don't want to be here anymore."

"Then sell it. Call an estate agent tomorrow and get the damned thing on the market, come stay with me if need be. Get rid of it. Get rid of him."

Charles had decided he was going to have to alter his sleeping patterns. Now he and Elsie lived together he'd found his old routine no longer worked. On weeknights she liked to be in bed by eleven, in fact after the ten o'clock news she was starting to yawn. She was usually up at six, showering, dressing, then off. He was trying to convince her to eat breakfast before she left but that mostly required him being up and preparing it – she was happy to call at some take-away coffee place and eat a muffin or bagel at her desk, he wasn't sold on the health benefits of that.

But then he liked to sleep in. The shop didn't open until nine and he was only upstairs so it hardly required him to rush and he never had many customers before 10:30 anyhow. So usually he'd stay up late, watch an old film or read until his eyes were sore. He'd always liked being up when it seemed everyone else was sleeping – it seemed the world was still around him.

For the first four days he'd lay in bed wide-awake as she slept and in the mornings struggled to raise his head from the pillow, as she'd been getting ready. He'd drifted in and out of consciousness, then felt her kiss his forehead and go.

This morning was different (twelve days into their new arrangement). His body was readjusting to the pattern and he woke even before her alarm went off, 5:30 and the sun peeking in already. He loved the summer months for that fact – no more dark mornings and dark nights. She was curled on her side beside him, her back to him, and he turned, sliding his hand over her hip, down to rest on her stomach.

She mumbled something and he moved closer, kissing the back of her neck, whispering, "Good morning" by her ear.

"Mmm, not time to get up yet." She mumbled again but turned, flopping onto her back, her eyes still closed.

Her hair was mussed on the pillow and she looked incredibly soft and warm and inviting. He kissed her forehead, her hairline, her cheeks, until she was twisting her head and nudging his nose with hers as she sought his mouth.

She felt his hands on her, eager yet tender, the rustling of sheets pushed aside as his mouth travelled over her breasts, her stomach, and down further until she gasped, her fingers curling into his hair.

"Charles…" she breathed, "we don't have time."

He kissed her stomach, her belly button, "Your alarm hasn't gone off yet, plenty of time."

And who was she to argue, he was already between her thighs, his wonderful mouth doing wonderful things to her body. Her mind was spinning, still clouded with sleep and pleasure edging in – sweet and delicious.

She tugged on his hair with one hand, her other squeezing his shoulder. One leg over his arm, lifting her, carrying her. "Oh god," she breathed, slowly exhaling, her throat dry in the early-morning.

Such blissful sensations as his tongue danced over her, stimulating, tasting, testing – driving her closer and closer to the joyous inevitability of release.

He was certainly in no rush, his fingers teasing until she was rising up off the bed seeking his touch. "Charles… oh honey… yes…"

He loved the sound of her voice in those moments, the way she mumbled and murmured and gasped his name in a hundred different ways. The way her endearments would spill forth without the usual filter of respectability.

A slow, heady rush of heat filled her and he felt her thighs tighten momentarily against him before falling limp, the fingers in his hair stretching, her entire body melting before him.

He made his way slowly back up the bed, kissing up her legs, tickling behind her knees, his mouth over her hip, across her stomach, the tender point on her ribcage where she always shuddered against him, suckling on her breasts, adorning her chest with kisses, affectionately licking up her neck – until he reached her mouth.

"Good morning," he whispered. Her eyes were closed and there was a delicious smile playing across her mouth.

"Mmm, good morning." She slid her hands up his arms, over his biceps, gripping his shoulders – delectable man. "Good morning, good morning."

He chuckled, kissing her forehead, pushing her hair back from her face.

"That was even better than when you make me breakfast."

"Ah well, I'm going to do that too now."

They were interrupted by the alarm on her phone bleeping, she reached over and touched the screen and it stopped.

"You're being awfully nice to me this morning."

"I am always…" he kissed her mouth, "…awfully nice…" kissed her nose, "…to you."

She was giggling, her fingertips on his neck. "That is true. Awfully, awfully nice."

She stretched beneath him, sighing, "I wish we could spend all day here."

"Maybe Sunday?" He said, snuggling her neck again.

"I thought we were having lunch with Richard and Isobel."

"So we are, and I must go to church, I haven't been for three weeks."

She bit her lip, she didn't particularly want to join him – getting up early to sit in an old draughty building wasn't her idea of fun – but then again she sort of liked the idea of joining him there, seeing more of his life and acquaintances.

"I have to go shower," she said reluctantly. "Come talk to me?"

He rolled from her, lying back and watching as she sat, her hair falling against her bare back, the freckles that decorated her skin – just when he thought he knew and had mapped every inch of her body he noticed something new.

There was a time Elsie would never have considered walking around naked, but with age came a new kind of release and freedom and now she didn't particularly care what he saw. If he didn't like it tough – and besides, she had a feeling he liked it very much.

She opened the wardrobe, took out a skirt, top and jacket and hung them ready.

In the bathroom she showered and he washed his face, chatting to her as he shaved.

"So, you have your book group this afternoon?" She asked.

"Yep. First time back with the old dears, we'll see what they make of the changes."

"Are you going to make them all lattes on your fancy new machine?"

"I'm certainly going to give it a try. And I'm making an apple pie this morning, in fact I want to go and get fresh cream before I open up."

She switched off the water and opened the shower door, "I feel rather jealous. If I come home and find you in bed with one of the purple rinse brigade I'll know your apple pie went well."

"As if, I'm rather occupied with a certain other lady." He rinsed his face and she stood behind him, watching him in the mirror, a towel around her.

"I should hope so." She kissed his shoulder and went to dress.

In the kitchen Charles made a pot of tea and sliced the apricot and walnut bread to toast – she'd made it at the weekend and it was sublime. Completely sublime.

They sat together at the kitchen table eating.

"I'll cook tonight," she offered, "you'll still be with your group I should think when I get in. Oh, and any luck booking that folk player?"

He screwed his face up, "You really think it a good idea?"

"I'm telling you it is, they had one at that coffee shop on the other side of town one evening and made a small fortune in cake sales – Beryl bakes for them and she told me she was inundated with orders after it for whole versions of the sliced stuff they'd sold that night."

"I'll try emailing again."

"I better go," she said getting up. She slung one bag over her shoulder, picked up the other bag of books from beneath the table and leant to kiss him. "Good bye Mr Carson, thank you for my exquisite start to the day."

He smiled, "Bye… Ms Hughes."

The problem with having such a wonderful start to the day was that little else could live up to it in quite the same way. And of course, she was distracted by thoughts of him.

At 9:30 she was invigilating an exam. In a hall with three hundred students, four other staff members and nothing but the sound of pens scribbling, heels tapping on the floor and the ticking clock.

She had a pile of papers sitting before her needing marking but she couldn't focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the morning, and she'd get flashes of his mouth on her skin, his fingers on her body, and her stomach would tighten in response – a fleeting second of pleasure and she felt guilty for it.

But oh it was wonderful to feel this kind of guilt, for daydreaming about her man.

In the shop Charles found himself whistling along to the radio, opening letters, replying to emails, dealing with customers.

Every couple of hours he'd try another coffee out on his machine, he'd just about worked out how to successfully froth the milk and had a particular fondness for the hot chocolate – though Elsie had warned him no more than once a day, less if possible.

His pie was in the fridge ready to serve, he'd arranged the new area – comfy chairs and coffee tables – and awaited the old women who had frequented his shop for many years.

A new book. Nothing too scandalous.

Things were good. He couldn't recall a time when they'd been better.

"So, you're home this weekend?" Elsie asked, her phone tucked beneath her chin as she tried to continue the conversation and select carrots at the same time. "One second, I can't hear you." She bagged the carrots and dropped them into her trolley before finding a fairly quiet spot where she could talk properly.

"Sorry sweetheart," she said to Anna. "I'm listening now. So you're home this weekend?"

"Yes, probably Friday night. What are you doing?"

"Shopping. I want to make Charles steak pie for dinner."

"Ooh, with that wonderful sauce you make?"

She smiled, "Yes. With that. He hasn't tried it yet but he loves traditional flavours."

"He'll love you even more."

"Ha ha. What are you up to?"

"Just packing up my room, kinda sad but kinda nice. I'm ready to move on."

"I know."

"You're still alright for the party next Saturday?"

"Of course, I'm very excited. We've booked a hotel, about ten, maybe fifteen minutes drive from the venue." She paused, biting down on her bottom lip, "Have you heard from your father?"

"Not for weeks. I don't know if he's coming. You still okay with that?" It had taken Anna a while to admit to her mother she'd invited him – partly out of loyalty, partly out of actually wanting her Dad to see what she'd achieved – and when she had Elsie had been quiet for a long time over the phone.

"Yes. As long as I don't have to sit with him, as long as we don't."

"You won't. I've put him and Sarah at the total opposite side of the room, and it's a ball room mum, not like a restaurant or something."

Elsie closed her eyes momentarily and nodded; hopeful his silence meant he wouldn't even show up.

"So, you want to come for dinner Saturday night then? I can do Indian food."

"I'm there, do those little Samosa things though, won't you?"

"I will," she smiled.

"And lemon sorbet?"

Her smile widened, despite her age Anna would always be her little girl.

"Yes darling, sorbet too."

"Excellent. I'll get some wine. What does Charles like – I should get him something, it's his flat."

"Er, our flat. You're sure you're okay sleeping in the apartment on your own?"

"I'll be fine mum. I'll see you Saturday."

"Alright. Bye. Take care."

The line went dead and Elsie stuffed it into her bag and glanced down to what was in her trolley; she'd need to go round again and get an entire new set of ingredients for Saturday night but she rather liked the fact that Anna was finally going to be visiting their home. It was important to her that she did. She'd know immediately how much Elsie had changed, in just a few weeks everything had changed.

Pushing open the door to the shop with her hip Elsie stepped inside, laden with shopping bags, her handbag over her arm and her car keys hanging from one finger.

"Hi," she smiled, seeing him behind his counter, the place she remembered him being when they first met, when she'd first laid eyes on him. And it felt so nice to come to him, to find him still there, solid and dependable and smiling at her in return.

"Hi, want some help?"

"I'm fine, you're serving." He was wrapping books up – the brown paper had been one of the things she'd insisted he kept. "They aren't heavy."

She moved closer to the desk, lowering her voice, "Going well?"

"Very well. Seven sales so far," he winked. "And I saved you a slice of apple pie."

"You're wonderful."

"Oh Mr Carson," one of the old ladies said approaching the desk.

"Mrs Stafford, this is Ms Hughes."

"Elsie," she insisted, doing her best to hold her hand out. "Very nice to meet you."

"And you, now Mr Carson, we were wondering if you could –,"

Elsie politely stepped away, disappearing around the side of the shop and through the door that led to the private stairs.

Pausing and thinking at the bottom she put the bags down, turned and re-entered the shop. This time she stepped behind the counter, next to him, stood on her tiptoes and stretched up to kiss his cheek.

He seemed surprised by the action and turned to look down at her, Mrs Stafford silenced.

"Two hours for dinner," she said gently, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. "Don't be late."

"I… er I won't." He stumbled, his face breaking into a sweet smile.

Elsie was sitting in her chair, a cup of tea by her side, her glasses on and marking essays by lamplight.

Charles lay out on the couch, sipping a sherry, watching Masterchef on television.

"All that bloody work for that tiny little thing." He complained, waving his glass at the screen, "I'd need about six to fill me."

"It is only a starter." She said, glancing at the screen.

"Maybe four then. And a full cup of that broth, not just a tablespoon's worth."

She sniggered, glancing over her glasses at him, "You do complain."

"Well, all this fancy stuff, can't beat the pie you made for dinner. That was exquisite."

"I thought you'd approve."

"Whole-heartedly. I mean look at this, that fish thing is meant to be the main course – it's just fish and sauce and he's spent seven hours preparing it."

"I think he said four."

"Seemed longer. And where are the potatoes, or green beans, chips for goodness sake?"

"It's disgusting." She finished scribbling a comment on the bottom of her last essay and slipped them into the manila wallet, sliding her glasses off. "Oh, my neck aches. I might take a bath, there's nothing interesting on is there?"

"Not really. If you're going in there I might watch the Snooker. You don't mind?"

She got up from the chair, collecting her things together and bending over to kiss his cheek. "Not at all."

"We're fitting in rather well Els, don't you think?" He said, tapping the remote control on his leg as he watched her pack her schoolbag.

"We are." She zipped her bag up. "Not had our first argument yet though."

"We did!"

"When?"

"Last Friday, we had a thing over who had left the oven on all evening."

"Oh Charles, that wasn't an argument."

"We had words."

"We had nothing. You wait until we have a real argument, name calling, door slamming."

"Don't slam the doors, they're new."

She chuckled, "I think I'll win." She headed into the main bathroom, turned on the taps and dribbled in some of the bath essence Anna had bought her for Mother's day.

When she returned Charles was sitting up on the couch, waiting for her. "What?" She asked.

"Let's have a bet."

"On what?"

"On who will win the first argument."

"Dangerous bet," she said folding the blanket he'd thrown over the back of the sofa. "What if neither of us will back down?"

"Darling, you know I will." He smiled, endearingly.

"Oh you will, will you…?" She laid the blanket neatly on the arm of the sofa. "I think you're saying that to catch me off guard and take all my money."

"Never."

"I know how good you are at games night."

"Yes but you have all this going on…" he said waving his arm at her.

"All what?"

"All this, you just have to saunter in front of me in one of those sexy dresses and I'll apologise."

She laughed again, leaning over him to kiss his mouth, "No bets. Because neither of us should win."

"Fair enough."

"Now, I'm going for my bath. If you open any wine bring me a small glass, and I mean my small size, not your small size."

"You've used this bath a lot haven't you, since you moved in."

"I didn't have one in the apartment, just a shower. And it's big in there, I can float around."

"I had to order it especially, as if I'd fit in a normal size bath."

She pursed her lips, leaning against the back of the sofa, "Hmm, as if you'd fit…" And she did indeed saunter off.

"Think I'll skip the snooker." He called after several minutes. The television went off, wine was opened and poured and he followed her into the bathroom, finding her just settling back into the bubble-filled water.

"What are you doing?" She laughed as he started to undress.

"Testing the size of my bath."

"Charles, don't be silly."

"It's purely in the interests of science, or maths, or something like that." He said as he toed off his socks.

"Wait," she held up her hand. "If you're getting in here I want something in return."

"And what am I getting?"

She held her arms up, the soapy bubbles sliding deliciously down her skin, "This of course." She teased, laughing.

"Fair enough. And you want?"

"Read to me, I'd like that."

"I can manage that," he says, pushing his trousers down his legs.

The water is warm and silky, her body against his – smooth, honeyed, a gentle weight. His eyes are closed, head tilted back and his hands wandering over her skin, her fingers atop of his, tracing where he goes.

"You're meant to be reading," she says lowly, her voice heady.

"I will," he kisses her head, buries his nose in her hair.

She sits forward, his hands sliding from her stomach, across her hips as she reaches for her wine and takes a sip.

"This is a nice choice."

"Come back here," he asks, his arms open.

"You promised to read."

"And I will," he leans to the right, drops his arm over the side and searches for his book. "I'm going to be a cliché and read Shakespeare."

Smiling she settled back in his arms, kissing his arm as she did so, "Nobody has ever read Shakespeare to me."

"If somebody asked me for my favourite writer this would be him. Why we don't have a National Shakespeare day I'll never know, you have Burns night."

"Start a letter writing campaign in the shop."

"I just might. I could get my book group onto it."

"Charles."

"Hmm?"

"Read. Otherwise I'll have wrinkled up and have to get out."

He kissed her head again, "Bossy."

He turned immediately to the first one he wanted to share, a third of the way through the book, "Sonnet 29." He said grandly, the timbre of his voice caressing the words, and she closed her eyes, content.

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,

Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

Two years ago

"Mum, mum what is it?" Anna asked, seeing the shock on Elsie's face.

She watched as her mother sank back against the kitchen counter, surrounded by boxes, both of them scruffy and covered in dust, red-faced with exhaustion.

"Mum. You're scaring me, come on, it's not to do with this apartment is it, not now we've bloody well moved everything in here."

"No. No it's not that." She turned the letter in her hand, scanned the back and then folded it again.

"Well," she breathed in deeply, out slowly. "What a fitting day to get it."

"To get what? Do you need a brandy or something mum, you've gone really pale?"

"No. I'll be fine. It's just…" she turned the paper to Anna. "My divorce. Your father and I are now no longer legally married."

Anna took the paper, scanned it, "Wow, how do you feel?"

Elsie closed her eyes, shrugged, "I don't know." She looked at her daughter. "I really don't know."

Hope you're still enjoying living their lives! Please let me know what you thought. Next time it's Anna's end-of-University party... xx