And so, we can get back to their New Year 2014 trip. I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter so much, because I have adored writing this particular bit. I did away with the 39b bit because I can't deal with the numbers not matching on the scroll bar! (I know theoofoof will smile at that!)

Hopefully the end of this chapter should tie in with the start of EB and their feelings towards one another. Somebody so kindly pointed out my continuity error in the previous chapter (that was sooo nice after 40 chapters and 250+k words...) but do not fear that has been fixed!

As always thank you for the lovely reblogs and reviews. And I want to give a special shout out to theoofoof and Chelsiesouloftheabbey - without whom I may have given up on this epic! x

Chapter 40 - And then Elsie

New Year's Eve 2014

Elsie had debated what to wear the entire time she showered. Trousers would be the logical option – they'd be outdoors for the majority of the night and it would be very, very cold. But then it was New Year's Eve and they were going out and she wanted to dress up and flirt with him and have fun.

She couldn't lie to herself, she'd always found him easy to talk to and perhaps over the years she had flirted with him too. There was no denying his attraction to her, and he was such an upright, serious type (though over the past couple of months she'd noticed that particular trait changing) that whenever their conversations had ventured into anything vaguely resembling flirtation he'd slipped into the realms of nervous wreck.

Maybe it had been dangerous to encourage him but somehow, within all the misery in her life, it had been nice to feel there was somebody who just liked her. That was it. Simple.

As she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel and glanced in the mirror her decision was made - she opted for a dress. A dark green dress (wool, of course) and her shiny, patent boots (and thick, black tights).

She was singing as she laid out her clothes and stood in front of the mirror applying her make-up, listening to Charles in the shower. When she saw her reflection, the smile on her face, the rose in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, it surprised her. It had been quite a while since she'd looked at herself and noted anything other than dark circles, worry lines.

Dare she even think it – she felt happy. And something behind that, that slightly overwhelming pulsing of adrenaline you got when you were on a rollercoaster or during take-off. Anxiety and excitement and an element of the unknown.

An element of relying on somebody else.

Was she even ready for that?

Did she even want that?

Charles whistled as he entered the bedroom, stopping and pausing to take in her appearance, "Now that's what you should wear." He said appreciatively noting the black negligee.

"Under my dress, to keep me warm," she waved her mascara at him. "As you very well know."

"I like your hair like this too," he said moving behind her, his eager hands sliding over her stomach, his chin on her shoulder. "All untamed."

"It's still wet."

"Hmm," he kissed the side of her neck and she watched them in the mirror, how affectionate he was with her, how gentle.

"We best get ready or we'll miss our table." She said, breaking to mood.

"You're right, and as good as that pudding was my stomach's been rumbling for ages now."

She turned round and patted his tummy, "Well then, quicker you get dressed, quicker we can go out and party."

"Good Lord, party, me?" He flopped down on the edge of the bed reaching for his socks; "We both know I'll be dressed and ready before you even get your jewellery on."

"Ah well, you see already halfway there – earrings on." She boasted, moving her hair to show him.

"Race you then."

"Race me?"

He stood in front of her, "We both have our underwear on. First one to get dressed."

"Most couples race to get undressed you know."

"That comes later…" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Promise, promises. Alright," she placed her hands on her hips, mirroring his posture. "Though dressed means clothes, not jewellery or shoes or finished hair."

"Right."

"Right. And let's make a bet of it, loser buys the drinks."

He nodded, his body poised, hand in mid-air ready to go.

"3. 2…" she smirked. "You do realise I have tights to get on."

"A-ha, I have a tie."

She smiled, her fingers already curling into her palm as she eyed where her tights lay on the bed, "…1!"

She made a dash for them, throwing his tie over the other side of the bed as she did so.

"Bloody cheat."

"You didn't say anything in the rules about hindrance."

He grabbed her waist, hampering her ability to pull her tights on as he reached for his shirt, stretching across to where it hung on the wardrobe door.

"Stop it, Charles, this is unfair." She had one leg in and was toppling forward.

"No rules about hindrance Mrs Hughes."

"I'll damn well give you hindrance," she slapped his arm away, getting loose and sitting on the side of the bed so she could get her other foot in, then standing as she inched them up her thighs. "Some bastard of a man designed these I'm sure."

"They look kinda sexy when you pull on the bottom half, then past the knee it just looks difficult." He'd fastened up his shirt and was slipping his trousers from their hanger.

Elsie moved past him, unhooking her dress and pulling it over her head, she wiggled it down, fussed with where the waist hung and then shouted, "Done!" at the exact same moment he did.

He looked at her sheepishly, his shirt hanging out and incorrectly fastened.

"You bloody well are not done! Look at you – no tie, no belt," she flipped her hand over the front of his shirt, "Not even done up correctly."

"God you're picky." He kissed her nose, "Got you dressed quickly though."

"Ha ha. I win, you get the first round of drinks."

"I can manage that. Think you can do your hair whilst I get my tie on?"

"Of course – I'm a fast worker you know."

They walked hand-in-hand to the restaurant, the streets were alive and heady with celebrations and they couldn't help but be swept up in it.

Charles could feel the giddiness radiating from her and it was pleasing to see her so caught up in having fun; over the five months they'd been dating that light, fun side of her showed up every now and then but then seemed to close in on itself. Over the past couple of days that side of her had been the one present, with little signs of being pushed away or deliberately subdued.

"Now I'd like this steak and Stilton pie, and chips, not fries…" Charles said as he held the menu in front of him, eyeing the waitress over the top of his glasses.

Elsie hid her smirk behind her menu, crossing her ankles and forcing herself not to laugh. He was unintentionally amusing to her, even after five months of dating she was still adjusting to his manner, and he to hers she supposed. Where he was often quiet she was loud, where he was reserved she could be extrovert, where he came across as rigid and set in his ways she was more than open to change.

"And for yourself ma'am?" The waitress enquired.

"Oh, for me," she closed her menu, smiling up at the girl. "I rather like the sound of this Indian platter thing you've got on the special board."

"An excellent choice ma'am."

"It sounds delicious."

"And to drink?"

"Can we have some water for the table?" Elsie asked.

"And wine, number 47 sounds good, Elsie?"

She nodded, folding her hands beneath her chin. "You choose, I'm sure it will be wonderful."

The waitress moved away and Charles refocused his attention on Elsie, finding her regarding him with an amused expression.

"What? Was I rude?"

She gave a slight shake of her head, "No, not really. Just… very English."

He straightened his shoulders, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I embarrassed you?"

"No, of course not." She smiled warmly.

"I just don't like how we're starting to alter our language to fit in with the rest of the world – chips are chips, they should stay that way."

"And so they should." She chuckled.

"Sorry. Proving myself worthy of my stick-in-the-mud status."

"Dance with me later tonight and you'll shake off the label." She held her hand out across the table to him.

Chuckling, he reached across and shook it. "Deal." He flipped her hand over, "You know this is the first time I've noticed your nails."

"Ah I had them done specially see," she waggled her fingers at him, the light catching the flecks of gold glitter. "Sparkly."

"Beautiful." He kissed the back of the hand as the waitress returned with their wine and she pulled back, feeling slightly embarrassed, though she had no idea why.

"Should I pour Sir?" The girl asked politely.

"No that's fine, we can manage, you seem rushed off your feet." He said, redeeming his earlier stuffiness.

She gave him a grateful smile, "We are. Thank you."

Charles took the wine from her and poured. There was a candle on the table which Elsie had pushed to one side and they were situated by a window, on the smallest table imaginable for two.

"That was very nice of you."

"Haven't you heard, I am nice?"

"Clearly." She glanced to where his feet lay by the side of her chair. "How are your legs doing, folded up as you are?"

He handed her glass across, "I may have to get up every twenty minutes and stretch them."

"Oh dear," she smiled, "it's what comes of being so big."

He coughed on his wine, covering his mouth with a napkin.

She laughed loudly, "How very presumptuous of you Mr Carson!"

"I didn't…" he rolled his eyes, "I see your new goal in life is to tease me mercilessly."

"Well, if you will jump to conclusions." She sipped her wine, "Reminds me of my daughter's nickname for you."

"What?" He chuckled, open-mouthed (he'd never even met her, how could she have a nickname for him?). "What do you mean?"

Elsie blushed; she hadn't meant to reveal that. "It's not… well, it's a nickname for me actually, she's teasing me, not you."

"I wonder who she gets that from."

She bit on her lip, suppressing her smile, toying with the stem of her wine glass. "One day she just came out with this idea that there was an Elsie BC –,"

"As in?" He interrupted.

"Before Charles." She admitted.

He smiled broadly; perhaps her daughter had witnessed a positive change.

"And then of course we have Elsie AC. After Charles. Makes me sound like a bloody battery."

He leant back in his chair, a little proud of himself, he'd never been known to have any kind of overwhelmingly, notable positive influence on a woman. And this woman… this one he'd admired and (to be honest) lusted after for so many years.

"Your daughter must be very perceptive."

"Hmm, that or intensely irritating. You see whenever she calls me, and we talk every other night, she'd always start by asking what mood I'm in – because if work is stressful then I have a tendency to be so too."

"Understandably."

"Yes well, now, because I'm 'dating' – which she finds most amusing – she simply starts by asking if I'm BC or AC."

"Why does she find it amusing?" He asked, holding back his smug grin.

"Because she never thought I would." She folded her arms, leaning her elbows on the table to close the gap a little between them. "Only thing is Beryl overhead this little 'nickname' one Sunday lunch in the pub and she rather thought BC stood for Big Charles."

Now he did laugh, a full-on throaty belly laugh.

"No need to look so pleased with yourself."

"Oh believe, from where I'm sitting there's every reason." He watched as she sat back and sipped her wine, the candlelight on her face, the way she scanned the room taking in the goings-on. "I'd like to meet her you know, your daughter."

She glanced at him, a flash of something he couldn't name in her eyes, "She's not often home these days, especially with it being her final year."

"Perhaps when her exams are over."

She nodded, "I can't bear to think about it – final exams. I think I'm more nervous than she is."

"But you're very proud, I can tell, you always speak of her so…" he waved his hand, searching for the words.

"You mean I always talk about her, you can say it! I've been known to." She shrugged. "She's my pride and joy, there were times she's been my only reason to get up in the morning."

He knew that feeling. He wanted to ask her why, what happened with Joe, why they'd divorced after such a long marriage. But at that moment in time it didn't matter, he could only thank whatever Gods had given him this opportunity.

"So, why teaching?" He asked, eager to break the silence, to keep her engaged.

She seemed caught off guard by the topic change and leant back, "Erm, I'm not sure… haven't we discussed this before?"

"Don't think so."

"Maybe I'm just used to people asking."

"I shall try to be more interesting."

"I didn't mean that…" she smiled, feeling his leg brush hers as he shifted in his seat. "Aching?"

"Twinge in my lower back."

"You want to swap seats?"

He shook his head, he was positioned with his chair against a wall, he could stretch his legs right out by the side of Elsie's chair, if they swapped he'd be even more cramped.

"Maybe we should have brought your cushion!"

"Makes me feel like an old man," he complained, rubbing his back.

"The cushion! I bought that especially for you."

"No, this, my back."

"I don't think the miniature table and chairs help."

"I was told this was a decent place, great food."

"I suspect it will be but it's New Year's Eve and very busy so they're squashing folks in."

"True."

"What about you?"

"Sorry?"

"The book shop, was that what you wanted to do?"

"God no, when I was seven I wanted to be a clown."

She giggled, resting her chin on her hands and scrutinising his face.

"What are you doing?"

"Imagining the make-up."

"My face was a tad smaller then and I looked darn cute in the make-up."

"Of that I have no doubt."

"I learnt to juggle, spin plates, put on little shows for my mother."

"That sounds very sweet, what made you give it up?"

"I realised I'd have to live in a caravan and constantly travel." He shrugged. "I like my bed to be stationary."

"Well, that sounds very sensible for a seven year old."

"I always was."

There was a lull in their conversation as their food arrived and Charles refilled their wine glasses.

"So, after your ideas of being in the circus faded, what next?" She watched as he ground salt and pepper onto his food, the way he took a long drink of water before he started to eat. He seemed happy enough with the chips/fries, she thought wryly.

"Well, of course I went the normal route of space, figured I'd be an astronaut. My mother had dreams of my becoming a Doctor. For a while, in my teens, I worked at one of those old, grand houses. You know the type, open to the public now and there's a gift shop and restaurant attached, a farm shop. I was there from about sixteen to nineteen and I did think about just sticking there but Violet would've killed me."

"What did you do at University?"

"Business. Couldn't think what to do. Would've liked to have done History but no idea what to do with it and of course mother had moved on from medicine and settled on me inheriting the business."

"As good as any career though, must be nice to be your own boss. I often wish I worked for myself, less people to please or be accountable to."

"That's the positive. The downside is nobody to carry the burden neither. Perhaps if I'd had a wife and children it would have been different but as it is…"

She lifted her wine glass, sipping the liquid as she watched him. He'd always struck her as a very lonely man, someone in need of getting laid is what Beryl would have said (well, she'd more than taken care of that particular problem), but there was more there. A deep-set loneliness, one nurtured over many, many years until it was almost his friend, his companion.

She deliberately moved her leg, her foot rubbing his ankle affectionately. He glanced up at her, "No good?"

"Sorry?"

"The food?"

"Oh, no, it's quite lovely actually." She picked her fork up again; clearly he thought the physical contact little more than a misplaced foot, how unusual it was for him to receive any. "You know I read that people who eat spicy food every couple of days are less likely to suffer from illnesses such as arthritis, Alzheimer's, that kind of thing."

"Really?"

"A-ha, something to do with the chillies."

"I always thought these tribes that exist without western intervention have a way of surviving illnesses because of what they eat, their lifestyle, you know."

"I do. I agree."

"I've had this little dream since I was a kid of owning a farm, I don't want to actually run a farm you understand. But to look out your window and see nothing but fields – bliss." He put his knife and fork together, satisfied. "But I forget, you grew up on a farm."

"I did."

"And was it bliss?"

She swallowed, reaching for her wine and taking a gulp. "I wouldn't choose that word, no. Hard work. Cold, a lot of the time. It can be quite isolating."

"I guess so." He felt he'd touched a nerve; her demeanour had altered just slightly. He filled their glasses for a third time. "You see you can tell I read too much, I'm a fantasist, I believe in the pastoral idyll."

"That's a nice place to inhabit, the real world can be rather a kick in the balls in comparison."

"Ouch. That was rather blunt."

"Sorry," she pushed her empty plate to one side. "I mean…"

"I'm joking, you don't have to apologise, I know what you meant. And I wholeheartedly agree. Do you want to have dessert?"

"I noticed on the menu they have those sharing ones."

"So you want to share?" he scanned the room for the Specials Board. "That'll be nice."

"Anything with chocolate in I'm thinking."

"What about that giant, fishbowl of a sundae that couple have over there?" He indicated with his chin where they sat.

She twisted her neck to look, "Oh yes, that looks fabulously over-the-top. Though I may be sick when we dance later."

He sat back, folding his arms, "I'd almost forgotten about the dancing."

"Don't worry. I won't let you."

23:45, and a moment of stillness amidst the wonderful madness of the night. They stood embraced by the crowd, the darkness cut by the flash of phones and lighters as they waved in unison and Sam Smith's voice cut through the cold air.

Elsie closed her eyes for a moment to take in the atmosphere. It may have been icy cold but she hardly noticed anymore – though that was probably down to the fair amount of alcohol they'd consumed as the night had passed. A bottle of wine in the restaurant then Brandy with coffee following dessert. Then they'd wandered through the market, tasting and trying various liquors as they'd gone. They'd just purchased mulled wine and drank it as they found a space in the crowd to watch the fireworks.

She felt Charles' hands tentatively press against her hips so she leant back, giving him permission, and his arms slid around her, hands looping over her stomach, his chin on her head.

'Can I lay by your side? Next to you. And make sure you're alright? I'll take care of you. I don't want to be here if I can't be with you tonight.'

"Nice song," he whispered by her ear, then kissed her cheek, "nice moment."

She nodded her agreement, it was more than nice, it was perfect.

She felt him sway their bodies slightly, finding the beat in the slow song.

"Does this count as dancing?" He whispered again, his breath hot against the shell of her ear.

"You're not getting out of it that easily," she tapped her fingers against his hands. "I want one of those glow stick things the kids have got."

He lifted his head from her shoulder, eyeing other attendees, some with children, some in gangs, some old, some young. They were a good fifteen metres or so from the main stage and before them lay a sea of dancing golden and silver lights – and glow sticks, fluorescent in yellow, pink and green.

Again he scanned the area, there was a cart a little way to the right, light up sticks, headbands, plastic sparkler things – it all looked like cheap rubbish to him but if she wanted one he'd get it for her. He loosened his arms from her waist.

"Where are you going?" She asked, twisting her neck.

"To go get one of these… glowy things."

Her mouth twisted into an amused smile, "Oh Charles, you don't have to."

"Do you want one?"

She bit her lip endearingly, "Yes." She admitted shyly.

"Then you shall have one. Here," he handed her their shopping bags, purchases from the street markets, "Hold these whilst I venture forth."

"Be quick."

"Don't lose our spot." He winked and disappeared into the crowd; she wondered how he'd find her again.

She felt her phone buzz in her coat pocket and dug around for it.

'Happy New Year Mummy! Getting in first ;-) Hope you're having a fabulous time babe! Definitely Elsie AC I'm thinking! X'

Clearly her daughter was drunk. She hastily typed a reply, 'Happy New Year to you too darling. Here's to 2015 being a great year for you. Love you! xxx'

She slipped her phone away, glancing up to the front and the countdown clock; she twisted her neck around, standing on her tiptoes to search for Charles. A young man carrying two beers in plastic cups bumped into her side as he passed, mumbling a hasty, "Sorry," as he went on.

When she'd righted herself again she'd lost sight of the cart he'd headed towards, there were three, almost identical, quite close together.

The phone in her pocket rang and she hastily dug her hand down and gripped it.

"Hello?"

"Can you wave for me?"

She raised one arm and did so, "I'm tiny, you'll never see me."

"Wave something."

She dug into their shopping bags and pulled out a book he'd purchased earlier in the evening and waved it in the air. "I feel a total tool doing this." She complained. But then she spotted him, waving back and heading towards her. She put both the book and her phone away.

"So, I wasn't sure which could you'd prefer so I bought all three." He said breathless.

"Oh goodness, you're an angel." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much. I'll pay you, they must have been expensive."

"It's no bother," his breathing had slowed to deep pants now.

"Here, have one."

He raised his eyebrows, "Really? Me?"

"Yes, you. Come on," she foisted the green one into his hand, then swapped it for the yellow one, deciding green and pink together would look better for her. "Wave it come midnight."

"I'm drunk but not quite drunk enough."

She kissed him, "Oh but you will be before we go back to the hotel." She waved the glow sticks at him. "Yay, countdown time."

"You're positively crazy."

"I am indeed."

She turned away again, bouncing on her heels to see and shouting along with the rest of the huge crowd as they all counted down to the New Year chimes. When the clock struck he reached for her, turning her back to face him.

"Happy New Year Elspeth."

"Nobody ever calls me that." She was about to protest but his mouth covered hers and for the first couple of minutes of 2015 she was lost in kissing him.

"Happy New Year to you too," she said when they paused.

"Yay!" He teased, the word having a considerable lack of energy as he said it and simultaneously waved the glow stick.

She smiled, shaking her head, and then they were moved by the crowd, crossing arms and joining in Auld Lang Syne – he thought of the rest of the country celebrating, the rest of the world, and realised there was nowhere he'd rather be at that precise moment, glow sticks and all.

Charles had never been a dancer. He wasn't ashamed to admit it. Being the centre of attention meant to him absolute disaster and humiliation. As a young man he'd been able to participate – alcohol and the possibility of some girl liking him key reasons for such a venture. As the years had gone on he'd decided just to abandon the whole thing.

But then Elsie.

That night in the pub when he'd watched her walk to the bar in a tight skirt and heels and the thought of holding her body close to his had been fuel enough to get him on his feet and swaying with her. He wasn't ashamed to admit he was no kind of dancer but he also wasn't ashamed to admit that hormones (young or old) had also played a major part in most of his dancing activities.

Tonight it was easy to get caught up in the exuberance of it all. Everywhere was so busy, so loud, that there was no chance of talking or enjoying a quiet drink. But it also meant he didn't fear he'd make a fool of himself and all and sundry would be watching. On the contrary he'd witnessed quite a few people with even worse co-ordination than himself.

And Elsie.

Beautiful. Intoxicating Elsie. All curves and softness and fragrance and that smile and her body against his. It was heaven, he kept thinking that, he realised – what a cliché he'd become, and at his age too when he should know better.

Of course she was a better mover than he (of course) and he let her guide him. Her back was against his chest and her bottom was rolling around in places it wasn't safe to! He closed his eyes, his hands on her hips, breathing her in, glad the place was dark.

"You need to stop that." He whispered hotly by her ear.

Her mouth twisted into a smile and in seconds she spun round, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. "Why?" She mouthed, then stood on her tiptoes to whisper by his ear in return, "Don't you like it?"

"I like it a bit too much."

They were both drunk, he knew that, but drunk enough to make fools of themselves on a dance floor at two in the morning? Possibly never.

She caught hold of his hands in hers, "Let's go." She said above the noise.

Grateful he followed her, pausing by their table to collect their things – coats, bags, hats – and then out into the bitter January air. He thought of Mrs Dalloway – the air like the flap of a wave against his face. The kiss of a wave.

Beside him Elsie tucked both of her arms around his.

"Put on your coat, it's freezing."

"Yes sir." Her voice was hoarse from singing, her ears ringing, and she had that slightly naughty, dirty feeling about her that she used to get as a teenager when she snuck out with friends to clubs.

They walked in silence back to their hotel, watching the revellers, avoiding the drunken arguments and those collapsed on the sidewalk. Despite what Charles might like to believe life, unfortunately, wasn't a fantasy.

Elsie found their key card and let them into the hotel room, there was lamp on by the bed but the room was dusky and warm. She shed her coat, turned to watch as Charles hung the 'do not disturb' sign and then locked the door. Before he had chance to move too far into the room her mouth was on his, her hands forceful on his chest as she pushed him back against the wall.

His head was spinning – a heady combination of rich food, alcohol, fireworks, excitement and lust. His erection was almost instant and she was unbuckling his belt before he had chance to think straight. The things she did to him. The things she made him feel. He wanted nothing more than to give her pleasure, as much as he longed for that very thing himself.

A distant part of his mind wondered if he could even manage it in this state, but then her hand was inside his boxers, cool against his heat, and any thoughts of failure disappeared. His own eager hands reached down beneath her dress, hastily pushing down her underwear, the damned tights causing him an issue.

Giggling, she stepped back slightly, and he watched as she took them off herself then moved back into his embrace, pushing his coat to the floor. She was so petite compared to him, five foot something and every inch seducing him.

Desire took over and he lifted her, turned until she was back against the wall, her legs eagerly curling around him. He'd never done this, he couldn't remember ever doing this, and his mind raced as he tried to figure out the machinations of how it would work. If he was strong enough to carry it off. But she seemed more prepared than him, easing his trousers aside, pushing up the skirt of her dress.

"Wait…" he panted against her mouth, "we need to just get a…"

"Don't." Her tongue was in his mouth and he couldn't ever recall feeling this turned on, he wanted to crawl beneath her skin.

"Oh god," he grunted as their bodies joined. There was no pace setting, no build up, this was pure lust and he went with it, despite what years of trying to date and make love to women had taught him about the female orgasm. Elsie seemed as far gone as he though; he could feel her tight, hot, her moans unbidden in the back of her throat. A continuous hum of 'yes' and his name mingled together – how he loved to hear his name on her lips in this way, that she wanted him, desired him – there was no better aphrodisiac.

She climaxed first, just, her legs tight around his waist, her nails against his shoulders, digging through his shirt.

"Ohhh god!" he groaned, losing control, "god, god, god. Elsie." He sought her mouth, kissed her frantically and then she was laughing and he found he was too. "Elsie."

"Yes…" she smiled, stroking his face.

"You're just…"

"Yes?"

He could hardly breathe. He shook his head, astounded by what had just occurred – against the wall in a hotel room.

"Perhaps I should have a nickname, Charles AE. Because lord knows I've never done that before you."

"CAE. For short." She loosened the grip of her thighs, dropped her feet down until he lowered her, his moans indicating his disappointment at the loss of touch.

"Let's open one of those bottles we bought tonight and toast 2015."

"That was a hell of a start to it," he said, leaning back against the wall and breathlessly watching as she crossed the room towards the bathroom, a distinctive sway to her hips as she went, the ease with which she lifted her dress over her head and threw it to the bed.

Later, they sat on cushions on the floor in front of the window in the darkness, sipping the whisky Charles had purchased and watching as the celebrations continued. Fireworks across the city, music and parties.

"What are your thoughts on sex?" She asked, swirling the liquid in the bottom of her glass.

He coughed on the spirit. "What?"

"What are your thoughts on it?"

"I think it's great, obviously," he grinned foolishly, like a boy seeing a naked woman in a biology lesson. "Why?"

She turned her head, resting her arms on the windowsill and her head on top of them as she looked at him. "I mean, what does it mean, sex, control, pleasure? All interchangeable."

His brow furrowed, "Did I hurt you?"

"No of course not."

"Then I don't understand what you mean."

She closed her eyes, "It's okay. Neither do I. Forget I said anything." she turned her face back to the window, back to the view. She was drunk and tired and, she suspected, almost incoherent.

He copied her position, stretching his legs out and pulling the blanket they'd stolen from the bed closer around them.

"I think sex should be part of a relationship, it isn't always, but it should be – in my opinion. I think you need to trust your partner and you need to want to pleasure them. I don't think it's about control, but maybe I'm just not into that type of thing." He grinned and she looked at him again, his hopeful expression.

"I wish everyone thought like you." She said gently, leaning forward to kiss him. "What time is it?"

He glanced over her head to the clock, "Almost four." He stroked her hair, attempted to reassure and soothe whatever unknown fears she had just by being there.

"Take me to bed. I'm so tired."

She slept almost immediately, curled up against him, her head on his chest. For Charles it took a while longer, there was something about her, something he couldn't quite grasp – she felt almost elusive at times, no matter how hard he tried. In fact the harder he tried the more elusive the thing seemed to become.

Everything was so good, so right, almost easy between them. But still, there was something there, something niggling. And he was quite sure he never wanted there to be Post Elsie – he wanted this to last.

The irritation of background noise dragged Elsie from a deep sleep. Her mouth felt like something had died in there and every limb ached.

Her eyes flickered open and for many minutes she lay staring at the crack of windowpane she could see. A slight slither of light came through the side of the curtain where it didn't quite meet, she stared at that gap as her mind slowly awoke.

Groaning she lifted her head slightly, felt a sharp stabbing pain shoot through her brain, her neck cramp as she moved. She was on the edge of the bed, her head half on a scrunched up pillow. She twisted to the right, forced her body to move and flop over. As she lifted an arm to steady herself her elbow crashed into a rather large object.

Glancing up she realised Charles was pressed tight against her, his arm heavy over her waist but her movements hadn't woken him. She'd leave him like that, a deep sleep is just what he needed if his head was anything like hers.

Lifting his arm she slid out, wobbling as she stood and leaning back against the wall. She rubbed her eyes, smiled when she saw the state of the room, and the fact they had this huge bed and had slept right on the edge of it, squashed up on one side.

Stumbling to the bathroom she rinsed her face in cold water before digging about in her make-up bag for aspirin. She swallowed two, used the loo then dressed in there. Jeans and a jumper. It was after eleven, breakfast was long over and she needed something to take off the nausea.

Finding her boots and coat she finished dressing. Pulled her hat over her messy hair and slung her bag over her shoulder.

Charles was awoken by the cold cloth being placed on his forehead. Mumbling his annoyance he attempted to open his eyes then blinked and groaned in pain.

"Am I dead?"

He heard Elsie chuckle, "No, just hung over. I suspect for the first time in many years."

"Why are you waking me?"

"I fetched coffee and food."

He opened his eyes at that. "What time is it?"

"Almost quarter to twelve. You want to try sitting up."

He did as she asked, grateful for her plumping pillows behind him. "I ache from head to toe."

"I know. Me too." She pushed a glass of water into his hands and tablets.

"You're dressed."

"I told you I fetched provisions."

He dutifully took the painkillers, watched as she undressed and climbed back into bed with him in just her underwear, and eyed the Starbucks bag on the side.

"What have I got?"

"Coffee, how you like it, just a splash of milk, you need to add sugar." She tore open the bag, "Croissants."

"New Year's Day and I'm in this state."

"Along with most of the country." She bit into her croissant. "The smell of it was bringing on a swell of nausea but she needed something in her stomach." She glanced across at him, smiled at his closed eyes and pained expression. "You know this is like a milestone in our relationship." She said.

"Waking up hungover together?"

"Yeah, we either potter along nicely together feeling like crap or kill each other."

"I'm happy with pottering."

"Mmm," she took a sip of her coffee, grateful for the hot liquid. "And I think I need more sleep."

"I'm so glad you said that." He stretched his arm out and she settled down against him, closing her eyes and sighing. "I don't know how you managed the walk for coffee." He said, resting his chin on her head.

"Sheer will. Oh wait," she sat up again, removing her bra, "I can't sleep in this."

She threw it aside and settled down against him again, exhaustion immediately taking over, she let it invade her body, closed her eyes and fell thankfully into sleep.

When Charles woke again it was to the sound of rain, heavy and insistent upon the window pane. For a long time he laid listening to it, lulled by its steady rhythm. He was lying on his side facing the window, Elsie behind him, her arm hanging over his side as she pressed up against him.

He ran his hand over hers, enjoying the shape of her fingers in his, the texture of her skin, the fact she was holding him for a change. Five months of being with her seemed so much after so very many years carrying a torch. And yet it was so little, they were still in the early stages of getting to know each other. He still found her sense of humour surprising at times, a little too edgy for him. But then perhaps she found him too conservative at times, too rigid in his old-fashioned beliefs.

He smiled as she murmured in her sleep - she was still with him though, and presently things appeared to be going from strength to strength.

Lifting her hand away he rolled forward and out of the bed, his head shaking as he moved but in no way aching as it did earlier in the day. He needed to shower, God knows what he looked like, and then he'd wake her, maybe suggest a walk - he could do with some fresh air.

When he emerged from the shower he felt considerably better, much fresher...and able to face himself in the mirror. He was just setting himself up to shave when Elsie knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

"Are you done? I really need to pee."

Chuckling he dropped his razor back to the sink, of course she did.

"Ooh, you look better." She said, rushing past him. "I'll have a very quick shower too." She swung the door closed after her.

"Can I finish shaving first?" He asked, leaning against the wall by the door.

"Why don't you do it as I shower?" She opened the door again, "Unless of course you're nervous of me watching you do it."

His mouth twisted into a smile, "Not at all."

"Good. Where are you taking me for dinner, I'm starving?"

He followed her back into the bathroom, how could she be starving? He still felt like at any moment the meagre contents of his stomach would escape.

"Erm, you choose." He said, doing his best to ignore her naked in he shower behind him.

When she opened the door and reached for the towel he nipped his chin, "Ow! Damn it!"

"Oh dear, you okay?" She wrapped the towel around her and moved to look at the cut, pushing his fingers aside. "It's just a small cut," she assured him dabbing it with a cloth. "Still handsome." She smiled brightly.

She'd piled her hair up on top of her head but the ends were still damp, he found it endearing.

"What?"

He shrugged, "Not often I get called handsome."

Smiling again she leant forward and kissed his cheek, "Oh but you are. Now I'm going to get dressed, then can I have the mirror to do my make-up?"

He nodded, staring after her, at the damp footprints she left on the bathroom floor. "Sure."

They ate at a small pub, simple but delicious pub fare - sandwiches and a shared bowl of chips and lots of water, no alcohol!

The mood was somewhat flat compared to the previous nights hilarity so they left as soon as they'd finished, not even having coffee, and instead walked for a while through the city.

"You know it's about minus 10 degrees." He said shivering in his coat, the collar turned up against the wind.

"Oh it is not." She hooked her arm through his, "It's about 2 degrees, exaggeration." She rolled her eyes. "At least it's stopped raining."

"But it's damp and cold."

"Are you feeling sorry for yourself Mr Carson?"

"Yes." And she was sure he pouted.

"Well that I didn't expect. The man who made me walk along a cliff edge in October half term."

"The weather was fine that day."

"It was Autumn in Whitby, it wasn't fine."

He stopped their walk, turning to face her, "You said you enjoyed that weekend."

She smiled lightly, he was so insecure at times, worse than a woman. "I did Charles, very much."

"Mmm good, because I thought it quite lovely."

"It was wonderful." She leant forward to kiss him and his demeanour immediately softened.

"I'll never know how I managed to keep my hands off you all weekend."

She giggled, pleased with the newly returned mischief in his eyes, "You didn't, you held my hand, remember."

"So I did, how very brave of me."

She laughed again, "You want to go back to the room then?"

"Of course I bloody well do, I'm freezing and I ache from head-to-toe."

They were lying side-by-side, mirrored postures, one arm supporting their heads on the pillows, sheets pushed down to their waists.

"Feeling better?" She asked.

"Much. The fog is finally clearing." He smiled, reaching forward to brush her hair back from her face. "And you?"

"Yes. Though I don't think I'll be drinking again in a hurry."

"Me neither. Good fun though," his face had almost a childish, impish grin on it. "Wasn't it?"

"It was. Definitely a highlight as New Year's Eve go."

"Definitely."

He was still touching her she noticed, his fingers had trailed down to her bare shoulder and his thumb was lightly stroking her in small circles. She recalled their earlier ventures into 'touch', their first kiss, the times they'd snuggled on her couch – or his – where hands had wandered, testing the limits, learning the other.

The internal battles she'd waged with herself over how far she was ready to with him. Testing her own boundaries.

But then he was no Joe, there'd been no guilt, no recriminations if she suddenly put a halt on things. And in time she'd felt comfortable enough to let it happen – as clumsy as that first time had been.

"You're smiling." He stated, doing that exact thing himself.

"Am I?"

"You are, what are you thinking about?"

She bit down on her lip, he watched as she rolled it between her front teeth, how it flushed white then rosy pink again. "Our first time…" She admitted.

His cheeks reddened, "Oh don't, I was disastrous."

"Hardly." She smiled. "Just nervous, perhaps?"

"Terrified." He admitted.

"I'm so glad I provoke such feelings in you." She laughed.

"No, you know…" He blustered, "You know what I mean." He noted the glint in her eyes, she was amused by him. He huffed, "I'm not used to discussing such things, being open about these things."

"Working with teenagers kinda makes you open to discussing most things without blushing."

"You think it'd loosen me up?"

"Oh I don't know," she shifted her face the few inches closer to his, nudging his nose with hers. "You seem pretty 'loose' at the moment."

"I'm not sure how I should interpret that…" But she cut him off with her lips on his, teasing him into a deep kiss. Her hand slid over his side, heavy against his back, holding him to her.

When they parted he felt breathless, he couldn't remember ever having that feeling before, not even with Isobel.

Smiling she returned to her earlier posture, tucking her arm back beneath her head to support herself. Internally shaking his head Charles did the same; she already had such a hold over him, he wondered if she realised just how deeply he was falling for her.

"What were you like at school?" She asked, her voice almost a whisper in the dark, still room.

"Mischievous. Too smart for my own good." He shrugged, "I worked hard I guess, as I got older and it got more important. But I was more interested in being on the field with a cricket bat in my hand."

"Did your father get you into cricket?"

"No, my er… my father wasn't around. He left my mother when I was young,I didn't see much of him after that, he was in Ireland, remarried. He sent cards, Christmases, Birthdays, you know the kind."

"I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. You didn't know."

"Do you talk to him now, keep in contact I mean?"

He swallowed, kept his eyes fixed on hers, "He died. Years ago now. So no, we didn't really rebuild any kind of relationship. I tell myself I never got a chance to." He shrugged again, "Who knows."

"I'm sorry for that too."

He nodded, reaching a free hand across to tiptoe down her arm, his eyes drawn to her cleavage, the fair skin adorned with freckles, "And your family, your parents. Did you get on with your father?"

She surprised him by rolling forward, pressing her mouth hard against his and kissing him deeply, her tongue teasing his. He was moaning almost instantly, especially when she rolled on top of him, her thighs parting around him as she straddled him.

Her movements were so sudden they caught him off guard. But as they kissed the moment slowed again, into something like a dream, relying on nothing but senses – the sounds she made, the feel of her body against his, the brush of a hand, the taste of her mouth.

She giggled at his hand at the base of her back and he mentally noted it as a ticklish spot. And then they both groaned as his erection brushed her pubic bone and he felt her lips smile against his.

She started to move, rising above him, his hands slid down to her hips, eyes searching in the dim light, eager to see every bit of her. The sweetness of her pressing on him, her hips moving ever so slightly, drawing him into her a millimetre at a time.

He could quite easily dissolve into a quivering mess. She seemed almost ethereal in the dusky light, her hands coming forward to fold with his, and he wondered – very faintly and for the first time – if this was what love felt like.

Reaching down to grasp her waist again he shuffled backward, his pillows bunching behind him, until he was half sat, enough to give him strength for movement.

Closing her eyes and leaning her head back Elsie drifted away as his mouth moved over her neck, his fingertips gentle up and down her spine. Like this it was so easy to just let things happen, natural. It had been so very long since she'd felt worshipped like this, like he made her feel, years, a lifetime.

His hands slid beneath her bottom, lifting her until her legs were curled around him and his strong arms were supporting her.

They moved together, finding the right angle, a knock of elbows and her knees pressing into his pillows until they were settled and comfortable. And then that delicious first moment where one body welcomes the other and everything fits as perfectly as its meant to.

Charles had always preferred the term 'making love' over the rudimentary 'sex' or the vulgar terms young people seemed to use. But it was the first time he could recall feeling as if the word completely fit his actions. And it was one of the only times he'd wanted his orgasm to remain a distant destination, because getting there with her was so blissful he didn't want it to end.

It occurred to her, as she lay in his arms later – his breath against her neck, his heartbeat against her back – that Charles was only the third person she'd ever slept with. And yet it was the first time she'd ever known tenderness. And that thought scared her.

As Charles eased back in his seat and rolled his neck he caught sight of Elsie asleep in the seat next to him. They'd left Edinburgh only an hour ago but clearly the trip was already catching up with her.

Another hour and he'd stop at the services and they could get a snack and use the restroom.

They'd hardly spoken that morning as they'd packed and showered and dressed and paid their bill at the hotel. Not really talked, not like they had been. In fact the farther they drove away from the city the more he felt his serious side returning. Thoughts of opening the shop and removing his Christmas promotions and putting away the decorations.

As he slowed for road works he glanced at Elsie again, she rolled her head from facing the window to facing him, he worried her neck would ache when she woke. Realisation that he wouldn't see her every day struck him. He wouldn't wake with her snuggled up beside him. And it was quite the revelation to him to find how much he'd miss that. Now, after spending days with her, he wasn't sure he was content to go back to a date once a week, if he was lucky a Saturday night sleepover.

Twenty odd miles later she woke, stretching and groaning as she tried to sit up.

"Hello sleepy." He said, his eyes on the road.

"Hi." Her tongue swirled around the inside of her dry mouth and she reached into the glove compartment for a bottle of water. "Did I miss much?"

"Not really." Though he didn't admit her being asleep meant he could listen to Radio 3 on a low volume.

She held the water to him and he took a quick drink.

"Couple of amusing number plates and a child who thrust a teddy bear against the window of the car to wave at me when we stopped in traffic."

She smiled, "What kind of teddy bear?"

"Some yellow thing, massive eyes."

"They're called Minions."

"What are? Is that a nickname for rascal children?"

She laughed, "No Charles, but that sounds good doesn't it." She took another drink. "They're…well, characters I suppose."

"Of course I never watch children's television."

"They're from a film, Despicable Me, I had to watch it just before we broke up – snow morning and the buses were struggling to get in so we had students arriving in dribs and drabs, took until after 11 before we really got going."

"Seems silly to even bother."

"Exactly what I thought." She sighed, "Are we stopping soon?"

"Ten minutes or so."

"Good, I'm in need of a cup of tea."

"And a slice of cake?"

"I suppose we could share one, gonna have to get back into the normal routine now the holiday is over, which means not having dessert every day."

"That's bleak."

"Very bleak."

She settled her arm against the door, one hand supporting her chin as she watched field after field slip by. Acres of dull green, winter trees waiting for spring.

"So, what would you like to do next?"

"Sorry? You mean after the tea break? I don't mind driving for a while."

"No I meant next as in together, you know…" He pursed his lips together, why did he suddenly feel so awkward about it? "Our next date?"

She smiled, "Dating seems an odd term doesn't it?"

He let out a tight breath, "Yes. Especially considering the past few days. I'm not sure what else to call it."

"There's a film I want to see." She said finally, still looking at the view. "If you fancy the cinema one weekend."

"Saturday?" He said hopefully.

"It's Saturday tomorrow."

"Yes." He felt his stomach churn. 'I want to be near you,' is what he longed to say but instead he waited patiently for her response.

"I have to… Do things…" She turned slightly to face him, feeling clumsy as she spoke.

"Oh."

"I mean like tidy my house, prepare for work on Monday, see Beryl. I'm not sure if Anna is home neither."

"It's alright," he said, though feeling it was decidedly not alright.

"We could meet Sunday afternoon if you like, go out for coffee somewhere, final piece of cake before the January diet."

He brightened a little at the cheery tone in her voice. "That sounds good."

She noticed how quickly his demeanour altered, shoulders more relaxed than they were only seconds ago. Folding her arms she turned events over in her mind.

Days ago she'd been pacing her flat waiting for his arrival, memories of Joe clouding her mind. Was it only days ago? Everything seemed to have shifted now. She hadn't thought of Joe or being divorced and alone and a failure since he'd popped her travel bag into the boot of the car. Now those familiar doubts resurfaced. Things she felt Charles probably needed to know but she didn't know how to broach them. The way she suspected Charles felt for her now… in ways it filled her with joy, hope, yet there was that slither of fear running through her core. Doubt. Regret. Seclusion. Maybe it was easier to be alone. Maybe Charles was getting too close.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was her own fault, and she'd been guilty of the same too. Allowing herself to fall so easily into the role of partner, is that was she was? A girlfriend? And now what – where did they go from here?

The thought of a man having a hold over her again made her heart jolt.

She'd take a step back. It would be easy, returning to work and the rush of the next few crucial months of school as exams neared. And seeing him casually again, just as they had prior to this break. Once a week. Dinner. The movies or theatre or a Sunday walk. She didn't want to hurt him, of course not, he was so very lovely and more than that… She glanced at him… More than that, she didn't want to end it. She couldn't imagine not seeing him.

Perhaps she just needed to get used to this, move at a slower pace and in time the memories of her past would dissipate and then she could just see where she was with Charles. In time.

Well, back to present day next time and 2016! Please let me know what you thought of their trip and the extended flashback. I know I said only 10 chapters left a while ago but I've rather changed my mind, and the direction that the story is going to go... xxx