Lots of time shifts here as we deal with pregnancy, house renovations and the difficulties that come with moving!

Chapter 36

Tapping the side of his glass with the edge of a pound coin Charles glanced nervously up and down the bar before turning and scanning the room for Anna. He wasn't accustomed to waiting around in bars for women and was even less accustomed to having to talk to young women about pregnancy.

He'd wanted to meet her though, though he apologised for his abruptness on the phone, and make things right in person. Elsie had offered to join him and provide support but he'd insisted he go alone. So after Sunday lunch, when he'd usually go to sleep watching some afternoon movie, he'd left her working and gone to the pub.

It was fairly crowded, only just after two and busy with families enjoying a roast dinner, children making the most of the fact it was still dry in October and running around the park area – back and forth, in and out of the pub – he wondered how he'd cope with that, children causing havoc. They never kept still, they hardly ever shut up, they were needy and intensely selfish and yet there was something about them, something he thought he'd like to be part of.

"Charles?" He heard a tiny voice say by his ear and he turned his head, looked down slightly to see Anna watching him, her head tilted to one side.

"Oh, hello."

"Hi," she smiled.

"Hi. Would you…erm, like a erm, well I suppose you can't drink can you?"

She shook her head, "I'll have a diet coke please, or Pepsi, whichever they have."

He turned back to the bar, suddenly wondering what people might think of some old guy buying a young, pretty girl a drink. People could be judgemental. Jump to conclusions.

"And nuts?" He said, gesturing to the bar tender.

"Sorry?"

"Would you like to share some nuts?"

"Oh," she bit her lip, in that endearing way she'd picked up from her mother. "I would but I don't think I'm meant, are you meant to eat nuts when you're pregnant?"

"I have no idea. Crisps?"

She nodded, "They sound safe."

"Cheese and onion." They both said in unison and laughed.

"It is the best flavour." He agreed. "Do you want to grab a table?"

"Yeah. I can manage that."

He carried their drinks over a few minutes later and laid two bags of crisps in between them. "Don't tell your mum," he said, opening his bag. "She banned them from the flat when she found out I was having a bag a day with my sandwich at lunch." He paused, munching on one. "Says I have to have fruit instead."

"That's her teacher side coming out."

He chuckled, "Yeah, I've encountered it on a few occasions."

"You know, you didn't have to do this." Anna said, ripping open her own bag. "Meet me," she shrugged, "you didn't have to, if she got bossy."

"Oh no! Your mum didn't make me… This was my idea."

"I kinda figured she'd…"

"No," he interrupted, shaking his head, "No, I wanted to talk to you." He circled the rim of his glass with his thumb, "I felt bad, for leaving like that. It's not like me, and certainly not like me to lose my temper, I'm not used to it… And I apologise, I feel disgusted over my behaviour. You must have thought I looked ridiculous."

"No. No of course not," she reached and briefly brushed the back of his hand with her fingers, "to be honest I expected mum to do that."

He smirked, "Yes, the irony of that wasn't lost on me. Bit of role reversal."

"It's kinda sweet, that you cared so much. But you shouldn't be angry with John."

"Well, I am going to be, he's older and should know better."

"I'm hardly a shrinking violet Charles, and we can't change it now, not all protection is 100%."

He felt his cheeks instantly redden, "Oh goodness, I am not comfortable discussing those types of things."

She giggled, "No, me neither." She looked up as a baby started crying, watching as its mother lifted it out of its pram and held it close to her chest. When she looked up again Charles was watching her, his eyes soft and kind. "A bit scary all this, I can't believe I'm going to be a mum, that I've got to take responsibility for another human being. I'm going to have to grow up pretty damn quickly."

"Oh, I don't know, you already seem pretty grown up to me. Look at how you've supported your mum over the past few years. You had to be grown up with that, for a long time I'm guessing."

"I think you've been the revelation there, she would never have been strong enough to go to therapy before you. Believe me. Dad would still have been picking her up every now and then and using her. As horrible as it is to admit that."

He felt uncomfortable at the very suggestion, like some small night creature was crawling in his chest. "She's a strong woman, I always thought that."

"I'm curious," she said, a half smile on her face, tilting her head to one side as she regarded him and her hair fell over the right side of her face. "All those years mum was coming into the shop, you knew she was married?"

He nodded.

"And you just… what? Liked her from afar?"

"Something like that." He swallowed. "You know there was nothing untoward taking place –,"

"Oh I know that!" She interrupted, "I never thought differently. But its just, well, that's a long time to like someone with no promise of anything happening."

He took a sip from his drink, licked his lips, "I guess so. I never thought of it like that I suppose. At the time, she was a customer I liked, she was always…" he smiled, "it sounds childish, but she was nice to me, she took the time to talk to me. We got on. You know they say people just 'click', I'd not really had that before." He sighed, "I'm a bit socially awkward, always have been. John and I never really got on, he's so much younger than me and we didn't grow up together and besides… he had our dad with him, I didn't. I hardly knew my dad."

"Are you angry with John because of that?"

"No, goodness no, that was over a very long time ago. I'm too old for regrets. At times I regret that I haven't had a lifetime with your mother but we have now and I don't want to waste it on regrets." He drained his beer. "Going to be odd though, I mean I'm what – step-grandad? Half-uncle?"

Anna laughed, "We could probably qualify for Jeremy Kyle when you put it like that."

"That's that awful show on ITV isn't it?"

"Yep, a real pile of shit. But we'd fit right in at the moment, stepdaughter sleeping with her stepfather's half-brother… it's the stuff of soap operas."

"How life works hey."

"Yes. How life works."

They were silent for a while, Charles toying with the idea of getting another beer, Anna watching the mother feed her baby.

He followed her gaze, scrunched his empty crisp bag up in his hand.

"I don't know anything about babies." He said softly.

"No, neither do I." She admitted.

"Well then, perhaps we'll learn about it together. I've got a section on pregnancy in the shop, plenty of books for us to work our way through."

"The key to all knowledge." She smiled.

August 2014

For their second date Charles had purchased theatre tickets, Elsie had insisted on meeting him in town and they'd had a quick drink before taking their seats. It wasn't until the second half of the production of 'Hamlet' that he realised what a mistake the choice had been.

In the theatre he couldn't talk to her, they couldn't share ideas or life stories. He couldn't watch how her eyes sparkled when she spoke of her daughter or regaled him with stories from her career. He couldn't watch how she'd worry her bottom lip (a trait he was increasingly enamoured with) as she listened to him. He wondered if he'd get bored of staring at her face, or if it was odd that he was already contemplating what her hair would feel like against his cheek.

So, for the third date he was better prepared.

A late August picnic in the park on a Sunday afternoon. He'd borrowed a basket from Isobel and packed salad and crackers and pate and fruit and a bottle of wine and two large, thick blankets.

If she were surprised by his suggestion she didn't show it, nor did she show if she found it overly romantic. In fact she was suitably summery – emerging from her apartment in a flowing dress and sandals, her hair clipped up out of the way and dangly earrings that swung brightly as she waved from the door to him.

He felt his heart jump as she came towards him and he couldn't remember the last time he'd experienced such a sensation.

"Hi," she said as she got into the car, a bright smile on her face.

"Hi. You ready to picnic?"

"Absolutely, let's go, the weather's held out for you."

"Thank god," he said, putting the car in gear. "Worried it would have to be a carpet picnic."

As he spread out the blankets in a quiet spot beneath a tree she took off her sandals, he watched as she wiggled her toes in the grass. "Hope there's no ants about." She said, her toenails were painted some sort of sparkly orange colour and he imagined her sitting and painting them of an evening whilst she watched television.

"I like the polish…" he said, as he watched her.

"The…?" She questioned, then followed his gaze to her feet. "Oh, tangerine it's called, I thought it had a summer vibe."

He chuckled, "I guess it does."

It struck him how different they were – whereas his language was precise and measured, hers was relaxed and decorated with touches of American slang, idioms and exaggeration. He supposed much of it came from dealing with teenagers day in and day out, their language choices influencing hers. And beneath it that soft Scottish lilt, stronger on certain words, almost obscured with others.

"So, I brought both wine and soft drink, just in case." He said. "Unless you'd prefer the two combined, Rose and lemonade and we make spritzers?"

"Ooh, yes please." She said as she sat on one of the blanket, her legs stretched out in front of her, her hands spread wide on the ground to support her as she leant back and let the sun dance over her face.

"Your freckles are out," he said as he watched, then worried she'd think him intrusive for noting such a thing. "I mean erm… they seem…"

"It's the curse of having fair skin," she smiled, opening her eyes to look at him. He was wearing a Panama and she thought he looked very much the English gent.

She watched him as he prepared their drinks, when he'd first asked her out for dinner she'd mused on the fact he wasn't what she'd usually go for, not that she'd really ever had a type – she'd dated a few young men as a teenager before she met Joe and that was it. She was married. She didn't have a type.

But Mr Carson – Charles (as she was having to get used to calling him) – was rather lovely, as it turned out. All those years finding him mildly amusing as he'd gone about the business of serving customers and ordering her rare books. He'd often seemed almost annoyed by the fact he even had customers, he could be short and she'd noticed he often corrected people on grammatical errors. In the early years, when he still worked with his mother, she'd thought him almost ridiculous, something of a relic.

Now, after years of growing used to his manner, and then these past few tentative dates, she found him sweetly old-fashioned and perhaps desperately in need of affection.

As he sat down beside her, offering her glass to her, she wondered if perhaps she should kiss him today. She certainly wasn't averse to the idea, he was a nice man, a good man it seemed, and it wasn't as if he were unattractive, just perhaps not classically so. But then they'd only had three dates and still wasn't sure where it was going – if anywhere – or what it all meant. But it was nice, and it was summer, and it was good to have somebody to share beautiful days like this with.

"So, I feel like you know a lot about me…" She said lightly, sipping her spritzer.

"And I'm not revealing much about me? Is that it?"

"Not too much, no." She flashed him one of her full smiles, "Tell me more about your family."

He popped a cracker into his mouth, "There isn't one to speak of. You knew my mother."

"Yes… but no aunts, uncles, siblings, cousins…?" She was stretched out on her stomach, her legs crossed at the ankles as she bobbed her legs back and forth. The sun was setting and the golden streams of light picked up the highlights in her hair.

He lowered himself next to her, supporting his head on one arm. "An uncle somewhere in Surrey, perhaps a distant cousin or two alive somewhere." He swallowed, "And my brother, half-brother, John."

"I always thought you were an only child."

"I am. I think mother gave birth, took a long look at me and decided no more!"

"Oh no, don't say that," she giggled, briefly reaching over and touching his arm. "I'm sure that's not the case."

"I'm sure it is." He laughed, placing his glass down and laying back on the blanket. He folded his arms beneath his head; above him the sky was pure blue, only a whisper of clouds and the gentle flutter of the leaves on the tree above him. "Perfect English summer day," he said gently.

"Mmm, it is." She glanced around before lying down beside him. "Do we have strawberries?"

"We do. Of course. Picked myself too."

She twisted onto her side to watch him as they chatted, "You grow them?"

"Lord no, don't have anyway to do so, if I ever buy a house with a garden I'd love to have a green house."

"You would?"

"Absolutely. Tomatoes, peppers, that kind of thing."

"When I was young I didn't have the patience for it, but I've found as I get older that I enjoy pottering in the garden – or rather I used to, not much call for it in an apartment."

"I sometimes feel like I've spoken to you about this kind of thing before," he smiled, turning his head on the blanket to face her.

"Do you mean I'm repeating stories?" She laughed, "I have a tendency to do that."

"No. Not at all." He turned his body completely now, lying on his side to face her. "What I meant was, I find it comfortable talking to you, it's easy."

"I'll take it as a compliment."

"Do."

She smiled again, her cheekbones prominent, eyes bright, tendrils of hair curling over her forehead.

He felt the urge to kiss her, to delicately brush his lips across hers, to rest his fingers on her shoulder. But perhaps a third date was too soon. He didn't want to rush things. Presently, he knew little of her background, her marriage, but he knew it had been messy from the way she'd sat melancholy in his shop on more than one occasion.

It had to be her decision, the first kiss, he'd leave it to her.

"Shall we see what other lovely things you have in that basket?" She asked, her voice light and amused.

"Yes. Let's."

They ate as they chatted, and spent the remainder of the sunny afternoon enjoying the other's company.

As the sun started to drop they packed away and returned the basket and blankets to the car.

"Would you like to take a walk?" He asked nervously as she stood by the passenger door. He noted the surprise in her eyes, "Unless, you have plans this evening, that is…"

"No, not at all. A walk would be nice, whilst the weather's still nice enough to walk in the evening."

"That's what I thought."

He turned back towards the park, feeling her move alongside him, waiting as she slid her cardigan on.

"You're cold?"

"No, it's just chillier, not cold."

But he noted, rather delightedly, that she was walking closer to him as they set off and her arm brushed his.

"So, you walk often?" She asked after a while.

"Sometimes. I bike more, and play cricket."

He was surprised when she laughed, "I'm sorry, it's the hat, I guessed cricket. Either playing or watching."

He allowed himself a smile, more at the sound of her laughter than her observation, "So, I'm a cliché?"

"More like quite the sports man, clearly."

"I wouldn't say that, I don't have this belly," he patted it, "for being an athlete."

"Oh, don't do that, put yourself down. You can be quite self-deprecating can't you?"

"Can I?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, "I guess I can."

"There's no need…"

He almost fell over when she slid her arm through the crook of his elbow and tugged him closer to her side.

"…You're a lovely man Charles."

At that moment he felt more like a bumbling idiot.

"So, how long have you been playing cricket?"

"Goodness, well, how long have I been alive? Probably since the year dot."

She chuckled, "Really, since you were a wee lad?"

He loved the hint of accent as she said it.

"I don't think I've continued anything that I did as a child, maybe reading, I always had piles of library books on my bedroom floor."

"It's a shame about libraries, so many closing down. I feel like we're losing something precious."

"I suppose so, but then you have to accept times have changed, forty years since I visited the library on a weekly basis. Time moves on, you have to keep up."

"Perhaps. But then sometimes I feel like a dinosaur, the very ground beneath me is shaking and I'm not sure of my place in the world anymore."

"That's quite an honest admission," she said gently, squeezing his arm with her hand.

"I'm being too melancholy for a beautiful summer evening."

"Not at all, it's nice to talk about these things with someone who cares. I'm not saying yes let's burn the libraries down and be done with it, I'm saying that people should have realised way back in the nineties that books, and reading in the traditional sense, has changed and we should have done something to change with it. Like all these record stores that closed over the past ten years, people don't buy music how they used to."

"No. Now we have the internet and Amazon, sending small businesses like mine into dire straits."

"But small businesses like yours have a different draw than larger, corporate machines, a draw that keeps bringing people like me back to them."

He laughed, "And I'm very glad you did." He patted her hand, and she shifted her head slightly, giving him a whiff of her perfume as she did so, she smelt fresh and enchanting and he wanted to bury his face against her neck and let her fill him.

"You're not worried about your business are you?" She asked, considering it for the first time.

"Not really, not at the moment, but I sense a change in the air. If I let myself dwell on it I might worry."

"Then don't dwell on it," she stopped, turning to face him, a bright smile on her face. "Shall we go have a drink, isn't there a pub not far from here, overlooking the river?"

"I think so."

"Good, then we can continue this chat there."

"On why Amazon is the devil and your plans for saving libraries."

She smiled, "I do have a plan actually, but the government would never listen and besides I wouldn't tell them because they're Tory and I'm not a stuck up prick." She covered her mouth, "I'm sorry, I've gone too far, I don't think before I speak a lot of the time."

But he was laughing. "So, am I a stuck up prick?"

"I think not." She laughed too, her chest close to his, "I never meant to imply that." She shook her head, momentarily covering her face, "way to ruin the date Elsie."

"Oh I don't think you could, it has been quite a perfect day."

Somehow he felt the earth breathe for a moment as the words left his mouth, and she was staring at him, her eyes wide and bright, a warmness to her expression. Then she leant in and delicately kissed his cheek.

"Shall we go get that drink?"

"Yes," he swallowed, his throat tight, "I think so."

Present Day

Late October, in the midst of renovations and seemingly endless days of time wasting and red tape, and Elsie had a stinking cold.

Charles had expected her to join him at the house after work but she'd never showed and he hung around doing bits of cleaning and painting until the light dropped (they were still without electricity there) and he had to throw in the towel and head back into town.

By the time he got home he was starving and exhausted.

"Hi," he shouted from the hall as he hung his coat and scarf up.

The flat was rapidly turning into a storage unit, boxes were stacked either side of the entrance hall and the lack of pictures and mirrors on walls created a rather gloomy atmosphere. He hadn't admitted he was starting to feel a sense of nostalgia about leaving it, he figured she didn't need to hear that going on her current mood.

"Els?" He called again, following the light into the kitchen. Her back was to him and she had her head over the sink, a towel over it. He smiled at the sight – at the way her backside stuck out in the long black skirt she wore, and the fact she was only wearing her bra on the top half.

"Oh dear," he said gently, briefly resting a hand on her back. "No better then?" He heard her huff in response. "You should take the day off tomorrow, try and rest." He knew she wouldn't, to him she was only just into the new school year and yet she was deeply entrenched. It seemed he still had things to learn about how it went – there was no preamble, September meant immediately into the hard work, and he'd remember that come May things might start to ease back a little.

He opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of ale, flipping off the lid and taking that first heavenly mouth full, he felt the dust clear from his throat as he drank.

"So, have you eaten?" He asked, leaning back on the counter and waiting as she slowly stood, slipped the towel from over her head and wiped the condensation from her face with it.

"I couldn't face anything." She sighed, looking at him for the first time, "I can't taste any way."

"You should eat though, are you drinking plenty?"

"I'm not stupid Charles." She said, turning from him and tipping the steaming water away.

He closed his eyes just momentarily, "I never said that. I see we're going to have another lovely evening."

"I might just go to bed."

"We haven't seen each other for days."

"I came home early today."

"Yes, I thought you were coming to the house, remember, to help?"

She avoided him by occupying herself hanging the towel over the radiator, they'd be snipping at each other for days now, it was to be expected with everything that was going on, but difficult nevertheless.

"I didn't feel well enough for it, paint and dust, I can hardly breathe as it is."

"You know I haven't been in the shop for days."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Just saying."

"I haven't forced you into it…" she paused as a tickle in her throat caused her to cough and splutter.

Charles filled a glass with water and handed it to her once she'd calmed.

"Sorry," she said gently, sipping it.

"I am. Go lie on the couch and watch television and I'll make you some chicken soup."

"Chicken soup? There's nothing in the fridge, neither of us has shopped."

He huffed, "I'm starving."

"Go get take out, it's not late."

"I suppose so, how far is that nice Chinese place you used the other week when John and Anna were here?"

"A ten minute walk, if that."

"I might go on the bike."

"Good idea, I'll have chicken soup." She patted his chest, "menu's in the top drawer," she snuffled, "I gotta go put my dressing gown on and snuggle on the sofa."

"Yep. I'll handle it." He was already rummaging around in the drawer for the menu.

When he returned – Chinese curry and chips for him, soup for her – she was half asleep on the couch. He set the food down on the coffee table, already considering having her soup for a starter, when she jerked awake.

"Didn't hear you come back." She mumbled, rubbing her face.

"You're exhausted, go to bed."

"I can't, I haven't even looked at my timetable for tomorrow yet." She forced herself to sit up, pushing a pillow behind her. "Could you get my laptop before you start eating…" she glimpsed his food, "curry and chips! Charles! It's only Wednesday."

He smiled, taking the lid off her soup, "Then I'll have this tonight and forego my usual Friday night treat. Here, eat this, then I'll get you your laptop."

She shrugged, "Fair enough," and accepted the soup. "Oh this is wonderful. Feel like I haven't eaten in days."

"You haven't stopped in days," he observed, digging into his food, "neither of us has."

"The joy of moving house."

"You will come by tomorrow though, won't you? Because we need to get these tiles picked. And I could do with some help on choosing paint," he chewed and swallowed. "Well, on just reassuring me that what's been done so far meets with your approval."

"Don't say it like that."

"You know what I mean. Thank god Anna can manage the shop, otherwise I don't know where we'd be."

"We don't have to rush everything," she said, putting her dish aside.

"I want to move in sooner rather than later."

"I know," she yawned, "can you pause and pass me the laptop now, I'll plan quickly and go to bed."

He sighed, putting his plate aside, "Alright."

He ate the rest of his meal in silence as he flicked through the newspaper and listened to her tapping away as she worked.

Charles spread out the tile samples across the kitchen counter, rubbing a dust-covered hand across his face. He glanced at his phone, it was already way after five and Elsie had promised she'd be there for 16:30. It was the third day in a row she'd promised that and the third day she'd either not turned up or turned up late.

He flicked the switch on the kettle and rinsed a mug in the makeshift sink. The room he stood in was nothing but a shell now, the wall he'd wanted gone had disappeared and the space he occupied was more of a rectangle shape than the previous square. They were still waiting to hear about the extension and until they got the go-ahead things seemed to be at a standstill, which annoyed him no end.

The least they could do was get on with the other rooms; everywhere had been stripped back to it's base form, the walls bare, they still had to choose colours before the decorators could get in but a new bathroom suite was being installed upstairs and the electricity cables and pipework was almost done. They needed to choose tiles before they could continue or even get started on the en suite.

Finally he heard the spray of gravel outside and glanced through the back window to see Elsie's car pull alongside his. He braced himself; they'd done nothing but snipe at each other for days now. House renovation really tested the relationship business.

The kettle boiled and he made an instant coffee – he hated the stuff but there was little in the way of supplies at the house, something he'd need to address.

"Hi," she called as she came through the back door, heels clicking on the bare floor as she climbed over a pile of rubble. "Sorry I'm late, I almost gave up and went home."

He huffed, turning to face her, "Well, thanks for that, I've been waiting ages."

"Traffic was terrible and I have an awful headache and loads to do when I get home. So, what are we looking at?"

"Wait a minute – how about, hi Charles, sorry I'm late, at least I turned up today."

"I don't want to argue Charles, I've only just got here. What is it I needed to come here to do?"

"Oh god forbid you take an interest."

"That's not fair, it's not like I have a choice on whether to work or not."

He held his hand up, frustrated, "No, that's not the case. All I've asked lately is will you help choose paint colour, tiles, doors, you know these things we need to get done if we're going to move in here this year."

"It's you who feels the desperation to get in here before Christmas, to rush things."

"Desperation?" He paused, shaking his head, "I'm trying my best to get this done, you know, our home."

"Stop trying to make out I don't care." She glanced around the naked kitchen. "We certainly can't live here in this state, we can't even cook and clean, there's nowhere for a fridge."

"We can put a fridge in the garage whilst the kitchen's going in, I've worked it out."

She placed a hand over her stomach, pausing and leaning against the one remaining counter left in place.

"You in pain?" He asked gently.

"Really heavy period, the first in a while, and this niggling cold. I have to go to the Doctors but I know what she'll say – I'm getting old and this will part of the course now until I dry up completely."

"Why didn't you say?"

"That I'm having my period?"

"You know what I mean. Why are you being difficult?"

"Why are you? What are we picking?" She said abruptly, aware of the sharpness of her tongue but anxious just to get things done so they could go back to the flat and she could have a bath and a lie down.

He sighed, "Shall we start with bathroom tiles." He indicated the samples on the side, "Here, we need to decide if we want the entire room in the same tile or different ones on the top and bottom." He sensed her discomfort. "You don't like any, do you?"

"Not really." She glanced up at him, "Don't pull that face, I'm not doing it on purpose."

"Waste of another week."

"Well, we'll just go to the store together and pick there. It'll have to be Saturday."

"As I said, waste of another week."

"Bloody hell Charles, it's not the end of the world. Am I picking paint too? I thought we just said white."

"That's fine apart from there's about thirty different types of white now."

"How can that be true, white is white!"

"No. White is Jasmine White, or Mint White, or Icy White… or whatever other stupid bloody name they try to assign. So forgive me if I can't just 'pick a white' but I certainly don't want to screw it up and upset madam and be made to change it at a later date."

"Oh fuck you, I'm going home." She scooped up her car keys from the side.

"Fuck me?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that great."

"You're behaving like a dick."

"And you're behaving perfectly logically, but okay, I'll be the one in the wrong, I am the man after all."

"See. Like a dick."

He caught the sleeve of her top as she turned away from him, moving his hand around her wrist and pulling her back to him. They were somehow caught between the counter and a stack of bricks and bags of plaster, which pushed her closer to him and when she tried to move she hit her back against the counter and felt trapped as he stood – tall, broad, strong – in front of her, his bulk blocking her exit, his face close to hers, eyes dark with anger.

"Look around…" he said lifting his hand and waving it about.

"No, please don't." She gasped, shielding her face. "Don't."

He felt his chest constrict, his heart pound and breath caught somewhere between his irritation at the argument and his realisation of her fear.

"God, Elsie." He inhaled, "You know I wouldn't… I never could…"

She let out the breath she'd been holding, felt him let go of her arm as she shrank back from him and finally escaped across the room, putting space between them.

"I'm not him Els, I would never hurt you."

She looked away from him; it was painful to hold his gaze so instead she stared at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Tentatively he stepped toward her, reached to hold her upper arms, "May I? Look at me darling."

She did, felt a mixture of shame and regret sweep through her as she met his kind eyes; how had a silly argument over wall tiles led to this dark moment of fear?

"Elspeth, you know I would never hurt you, you do know that don't you?"

She nodded, feeling tears threaten. "Yes. I know."

"Then why, why did you think I was going to? What did you think I was going to do?"

She gulped, looked away again, covered her mouth as a strangled sob escaped, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He finally touched her, resting his hands gently on her upper arms until she leant into him, her chest against his. "Don't be sorry, just don't be scared of me. I couldn't bear that."

"I'm not." She mumbled against him, sobbing again. "It was just a moment… I just felt, for a moment, trapped."

He instantly let go of her, stepped back, giving her space. "I don't want you to feel intimidated by me. Scared of me."

"I'm not."

"We need to talk about this."

Her eyes were wide, startled. She didn't want to talk about it. She wanted to forget it, pretend it hadn't happened.

"We can't just let it go."

She nodded, "I know. But it was just a moment, a slip."

His brow furrowed, "I'm not him Elspeth. I can't put that any other way. I am not him. I would never lay a hand on you, never hurt you…" he paused, "we may argue but nothing would ever push me to that."

"I know that." She straightened her back, rubbed the memory of the tears from her face, feeling herself return – not the timid, shaky person she used to be with Joe, the person that had momentarily surfaced. "I do know that. It was…" she let out a low breath, clasped her hands together to try and steady herself. "…we've never argued like that before, you've never held me like that."

"No, we haven't argued like that. But I suppose in all relationships…"

"…Yes I'm not stupid, I know we'll argue, we're both passionate people… It's not like I expected us not to."

"I'll remember."

"You'll remember what?"

"Not to touch you again during an argument, I'm sorry I did it, I'm sorry I grabbed you."

"Thank you. I'm sorry I turned up here in a bad mood and took it out on you."

He nodded, "Stressful time, don't they say moving house is the most stressful thing you can do?"

"I think they do. That and get married."

"And we're doing both."

She closed her eyes momentarily, "And running a business and holding down a full time job, and on the verge of becoming grandparents and traversing a fairly new relationship…" she allowed herself a small smile as her hand glanced over her stomach, "and apparently going through menopause as well now."

"So we can allow ourselves the odd argument?"

"Yes. I think we can."

"But don't ever be afraid of me."

"I'm not Charles. Really."

He stepped closer to her again, nervously, testing her response, "Because even when you're calling me a dick I still love you more than anything or anyone on this earth."

Now she smiled, her clasped hands dropping to her side. "I know."

"In the universe," he emphasised with his hands aloft, a grin on his face.

She stepped forward to bridge the gap between them, her hands resting on his chest, "I love you too." He pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her, holding her safe.

Mid-November

Charles glanced over the top of his newspaper at Elsie, folding the page down slightly and wrinkling it with his thumbs.

"Darling."

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Dusting."

"I can see that." He watched as she pushed the television forward on its stand and started spraying the cupboard it stood on.

"Els."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you dusting the television?"

"Because it's dusty."

"Sweetheart, it's 9:15 on a Friday night, sit down and watch the news or something, why is it important to dust now?"

"Because I want to."

He closed his paper. "You want to tell me what's bothering you instead."

"Not really."

"We move house tomorrow."

"Yes."

"And you're dusting a television we're leaving behind."

"That's another thing, can we afford to leave this?"

"Well, we agreed we'd have a new one for the lounge and you said you have yours in storage so we can use that for the moment."

She stopped dusting and looked up at him, "I'd forgotten that conversation."

"Elsie." He dropped the paper to the coffee table and got up, moving to her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "It's going to go fine tomorrow, smooth and easy."

"In your head."

"Put the duster away woman and come cuddle on the couch with me."

"How can we just sit around when we have boxes piled everywhere and…"

"And nothing. John and Anna don't have to move in tomorrow, immediately, we have the weekend ahead of us. And you have a couple of days off next week and we'll be sorted."

"With no kitchen and still arguing over tiles."

He enfolded her in his arms; "I like to think of it as discussing tiles rather than arguing."

"And this is what our life has become, discussions over kitchen tiles."

"Don't forget bathroom tiles and floor tiles and paint colour…"

"Did we pack the whisky?"

"I'll go pour us a large one."

By the time he came back, clutching two large tumblers, she'd put the duster away and settled on the couch waiting for him. He handed her glass across, took a seat and she curled her legs up and lay down, resting her head against his upper chest.

"Better?" he asked gently, sipping the liquor, she could drink him under the table, no problem – he'd learnt that during their New Year break in Edinburgh.

"Yes."

"Not worried about tomorrow?"

"Very but I'll cope."

"Didn't we agree after the other week we'd talk about our worries?"

"We did." She shifted her body, sitting a little and taking another sip of her drink. "I'm worried we're moving into a building site," she admitted.

"I guess we are. With no kitchen for the next few weeks and the prospect of me spending every day at home keeping an eye on them. But we'll get there, just got to be patient and pratical… and thoughtful of each other."

"I am thoughtful," she stated, a hint of amusement to her voice.

"Other concerns?" He asked, a wry smile on his face.

"That it'll be a rush to Christmas, that we'll be arguing more due to the stress of it. That Anna and John will really be living here together, like a proper couple."

He sighed, reaching out and stroking his hand across her shoulders. "Okay, one thing at a time. It will be a rush to Christmas but we agreed last week that from now on I handle everything with the house if you do Christmas shopping and replying to party invitations and all the stuff I'm rubbish at anyway. We might argue more…" he shrugged, "…but then I guess we get to make up."

She smiled, finishing her drink.

"As for Anna and John, they are a proper couple sweetheart, living here or not."

"I know."

"But Anna is smart and they seem to be doing okay. Despite the chronic morning sickness. Who knew it actually should be called day sickness."

"My poor baby, suffering…"

He drew his arm around her, pulling her into him again and kissing her head. "There are times in life when there's nothing else we can do but weather the storm."

"Who said that?" She whispered, closing her eyes.

"Charles Carson. November 2015."

She smirked, "He sounds a wise man."

"A damn handsome one.

"Mmm," she turned her head to kiss his cheek. "My handsome man."

Are you alright?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, this has been your home for a long time, must stir up a lot of emotions, the thought of leaving it."

He shrugged, "Maybe, but I'm more interested in my future than my past. Tell you what though, I do keep thinking of my mother."

"You think she'd have liked the new house?"

"Loved it. She always wanted somewhere with a view. She liked to watch the sunset."

"That's nice."

"She could be a miserable old coot but every now and then she had a soft spot. Poetry, that was a soft spot." He stroked his fingers back and forth over her shoulder blades, the back of her neck, listening to her breathing grow shallower as she moved towards sleep.

He closed his eyes, remembering Violet reciting to him as a boy, words that were etched into his memory, her eloquent voice resounding through the silent flat that had served as his home for so many years.

"How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day."*

*A. E. Housman

Well, do let me know what you thought, your reviews keep me going on this epic journey! That and gorgeous pics of Phyllis and Jim together ;-)