"The water was clear…"

"Snork!"

Tommy looked up. "Pardon?"

"Snnnoooorrrkk!"

His smile threatened to become a chuckle. Barbara was slumped against the arm of his leather couch with her mouth gaping open and her head bumping against the backrest with every loud snore.

Tommy put his silver bookmark between the pages and laid the book carefully on the mahogany side table. He went over to Barbara and gently inserted a cushion under her head.

"Ra umph ger"

Tommy smiled then softly kissed her forehead. "You're welcome."

He went upstairs and found a spare blanket. When he returned, Barbara had tucked her legs up on the seat and had rolled over to cuddle the cushion. Tommy wished there was room to snuggle up next to her. He arranged the blanket around her then settled back in his chair to watch her sleep.

"Sir? Where am I?"

"You're safe, Barbara." Tommy was instantly awake. "You're in my lounge. You fell asleep and I didn't want to wake you."

"Ta." She blinked at him in the dim light. "You were reading to me. I remember now. But you didn't have to sleep in your chair."

"I did. You might have woken and wondered where you were."

Barbara laughed which made Tommy laugh. "Yeah, I see that logic. I should go to bed so you can too."

"I don't mind. I like watching you sleep."

She tilted her head to one side and looked at him. He knew she was searching for an answer to a question that went far deeper than ensuring she was not disoriented if she woke alone. "Why?"

He shrugged and gave her what he hoped was an innocent grin. "You make the most incredible noises."

The cushion flew across the room. It missed his head by inches and crashed into the table lamp. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed the antique before it hit the ground.

"Oh! I'm soooo sorry. I was… well, I thought… I should go to bed." She stood and hurried from the room.

Tommy extricated his arm from the electrical cord and hastily put the lamp back on the table. "Wait on."

He caught up to her at the top of the stairs. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, thank you, Sir. You're an excellent host."

Tommy followed her into the spare bedroom. "I just… want to be sure you're alright."

She smiled and frowned. "I'm fine. Now go to bed, Sir."

Tommy had no way to stall any longer. He already felt lonely. He smiled as generously as he could. "Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

"Goodnight, Sir."

"Goodnight, Barbara." He bowed then left, feeling her rolling eyes behind his back.

In the state between waking and sleeping there is an awareness of your surroundings that seems unreal, detached, indeterminate. Barbara stopped breathing and listened. Someone was in the room. This time the presence was good. A few minutes ago she had hidden from a menacing evil that was trying to harm her. An image of a witch doctor dancing in a voodoo trance flashed across her memory. Whoever was here now meant her no harm. "Tommy?"

Soft fingers traced a line down her cheek. "It's okay. I'm here. You were screaming in your sleep."

"Was I? Sorry. I was… being stalked by a… doesn't matter."

"The doctor said you might have nightmares. Do you have a headache?"

"Yeah. Right across here." She touched the area above her eyes where there was a egg-shaped lump.

Tommy hopped up and returned quickly with paracetamol, water and a warm, wet washer. "Here, Panda-bear, take these and then lie back with this over the bruising."

"Panda-bear?"

"At the moment it suits you."

"Stop reminding me."

"Sorry. Would you like me to stay for a while?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It was your fault anyway with that book. All those creole dancers."

To her surprise, Tommy lifted the covers and climbed in beside her. The cool silk of his pyjamas wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I should have picked something else. If it's any consolation that book haunts me too."

"None at all."

"Sorry."

"So you should be. It haunts you so you thought you'd frighten me with it too?"

"No! Not intentionally. I thought… maybe you can help me understand it."

"Me? Literature was not my strength at school. I had this horrible teacher with stringy hair, bad breath and a drug habit, so I skipped a lot of her classes. And I think she had incontinence problems."

Tommy hugged her closer. "Your blunt assessment of people never ceases to amaze me."

She frowned at him. "Why does the book haunt you?"

"Do you remember Jane Eyre?"

"Yeah, kinda. One of Jane Austen's books?"

"Not quite. It was Charlotte Bronte using the non-de-plume of Currer Bell."

"Yeah, because women writers were not taken seriously."

"So you did learn something. Yes, sadly that was true."

"Mostly still is, except maybe for J. K. Rowling, but even she had to use her initials so people would not dismiss her."

Tommy sighed. "Yes, unfortunately it still happens."

Barbara looked at him. He had something on his mind. "So what about Jane Eyre?"

"Jane was an orphan who was mistreated by her family and has a childhood full of torment and suffering. At an orphan school she was wrongfully accused and, along with the others, was subjected to deprivation and utter misery until the principal was sacked after many of the children die and a new school was built."

"I'm glad you didn't choose that one to read to me. It sounds very depressing. Actually, I think the whole 1800s were bleak. Look at Dickens's books."

"For many people, they were. His books are an accurate representation of the time, especially in London. Anyway, instead of becoming embittered, Jane beats the odds and becomes a teacher and then takes a role as governess at Thornfield Hall teaching a French girl."

"Good for her. Were her employers any kinder?"

"She didn't really meet them at first. The girl was a ward of Edward Rochester, a somewhat attractive but aloof and troubled man. Jane meets him one night when he falls from his horse. At first he thinks she is unattractive and annoying but he soon becomes fascinated with her straightforward manner. She is nothing like any other woman he has met. Slowly, they become friends."

Barbara was beginning to understand the connection. "Well, I can sympathise with her. Attractive rich men are notoriously difficult."

"Really? I didn't know that." Barbara groaned but Tommy seemed oblivious to her meaning. "Anyway, Edward Rochester had his own demons. As the younger son was sent by his father to Jamaica to marry a rich woman so that the estate could be left to the eldest son. At first he fell under the woman's spell and was besotted with her. He believed he loved her. But madness ran in her family and she became, let's say, erratic. He denies her her identity and changes her name to Bertha then takes her back to Thornfield where she is confined to the attic. He embarks on a series of unsuccessful and hollow affairs."

"What a charmer."

"It's complicated. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Rochester and Jane fall in love but he doesn't tell her why he can't take it further, and she hides her feelings. He can't bring himself to tell her about Bertha, possibly because he is ashamed."

Barbara looked at Tommy then looked away. "Ashamed of his marriage or his behaviour towards his wife?"

"Both. And ashamed of falling in love when he is committed to another."

"Why? You can't help who you love, no matter how hard you try not to love them."

"But it wasn't fair on Jane. She was principled. She would never have been his mistress, and although he had others, he never wanted her to be one. He wanted to love her properly, as she deserved."

"I see."

"Do you? Do you understand?"

"Yes. So how does this tie in with the book you were reading to me? It hasn't mentioned his name yet."

"Although it was published in 1966, Wide Sargasso Sea is an early example of what people now call fan fiction, where the characters and storylines of a novel are used by another author."

"Sort of like hip hop sampling."

"Sorry?"

"Sampling where one artist takes and reinterprets the work of someone else."

"Yes, I suppose it's a similar process."

"Right. So Wide Sargasso Sea is about Rochester's early life?"

"Theoretically, although it is not technically accurate. Jane Eyre was set in the 1820s but Wide Sargasso Sea is set after the 1830s emancipation acts, so can hardly be truly representative of Rochester's early life. All done for theatrical effect, of course, and because Rhys wanted to explore the theme of colonialism and its impact."

"Yeah, right, okay. Whose child was it?"

"The girl was allegedly Rochester's, although he refused to acknowledge that and believed his French lover had the child to another man. Nonetheless he took care of the girl."

"So let me get this straight, Edward passionately loves a mad woman, locks her away and chases skirt, may or may not have fathered a child, then meets his soulmate in Jane but can't marry her because he is already married."

"Essentially, yes."

"So they are star-crossed."

"No, Bertha burns the house down and commits suicide. Rochester goes blind and loses his hand in the fire trying to save her, and when Jane returns after visiting her dying uncle, she marries him and they live happily ever after. He even gets some sight back to see his first born son."

"Good old Jane, picking up the pieces."

"She did love him."

"I'm sure she did, but he knew that. He wouldn't have done anything about it if Bertha hadn't Killed herself though, would he? Why did he still love Bertha?"

"I don't know if he did, or whether he remembered their passion, or whether he was basically just a good man."

"Hmm, he still went back to her. I mean he went to save her."

"Yes. I don't know why. Perhaps because he made a vow."

Barbara nodded. "So… you decided to read it to me because you need to know if I think you are Edward."

Tommy blanched then looked at her. "In a way. I think I need to know if you are Jane."

Barbara sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Should we be having this conversation?"

"No, probably not. I'm sorry. I thought if we read the books, it might fall into place and you'd understand."

"Understand what exactly?"

Tommy sat up next to her. "That I'm in love with you."

They both looked straight ahead. Barbara pulled the duvet up around her chin. She was too afraid of what she might say to speak. She had understood his hints. It was sweet and in a way they were a bit like Rochester and Jane. A lot like them. That said, he had been free for months and yet waited until she had been knocked senseless before telling her. "Bloody hell!"

Tommy finally looked at her. "It's true. I'm sorry."

"Your timing is… bizarre."

"I know. I'm sorry, but the way I felt after you were injured… I can't just pretend any more. If you had… I needed to tell you. I understand it might be… confusing or…"

"Confronting?"

"Hopefully not totally unwelcome."

"I need time to process everything."

"I wasn't going to say anything and I'm sorry if I've upset you, but… I should go and let you sleep."

"I'm tired but… I don't want to be alone to think about all that."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't know. Stay. Just… can we not talk about this any further tonight? Can you just be my friend?"

"Of course, Barbara. First and foremost we are friends." Tommy lay down and gently pulled her shoulder. Feeling numb, yet also as if she had found something she had lost years ago, she slid down into his arms.

The next morning Tommy woke to find Barbara was not in bed with him. He sat up quickly and checked his watch. It was after ten o'clock. Her bag was still in the corner but he had no way of knowing if she had simply dressed and left.

He raced into the corridor and down the stairs two at a time. She was not in the kitchen. His heart rate soared as he thought of all the worst possibilities. He flung open the door into the lounge. "Barbara?"

"Good morning," she said cheerfully as she looked up from a book.

"Oh, thank God. I…"

"What? Thought I'd run away after last night?"

"Yes. I behaved selfishly and boorishly. I'm sorry."

Barbara smiled at him. "That's okay, Eddie."

"Eddie?"

"Eddie Rochester." Barbara held up the book. "I've been reading Jane Eyre. Once you get used to the language, it's not bad."

He walked over and sat beside her on the sofa. "So you've decided I am Rochester?"

"No, not yet. One thing I did learn in school is that there are only really nine unique stories, both in books and life, and we are all living variations of them. The same thing with different settings, different characters, different time periods, but the same basic plot. So, yes, you probably are Rochester. Although it sounds like the name you give a vicious dog that you are pretending is a real dog. And Edward doesn't suit you."

Tommy arched his eyebrow. "But Eddie does?"

"Well if Tommy does, then so should Eddie."

She was toying with him, and he enjoyed the way it made him feel. "I see. Well, in that case Panda-bear, you may call me Eddie, although I would prefer Tommy."

"The doctor said I'm not to make any major decisions for a month remember."

"I don't think finally deciding to call me by name counts as major."

She looked at him very seriously. "On the contrary, it is the most major decision I can make."

"Then for the next month, call me Eddie."