Chapter 2

The exam season came to an end. I knew it was likely I'd get called in for odds and ends, but for the most part I was free. Free to use my bus-pass, free to walk, watch birds or just watch the water in the Derwent or Porter Brook.

I visited Padley Gorge to watch the Pied Flycatchers – several times, and ate enormous meals in the Grindleford Station Café. Then watched what I ate for a day or two after!

In July I downloaded David Weber's 'At all Costs' as an ebook and dipped in as a break from writing ... until I got so caught up in the story I had to finish it, which rather broke the flow of my own writing. It was almost a relief when my phone rang.

"Ted Pearson," I said.

"Mr. Pearson, it's Philippa Abbott."

"What can I do for you, Philippa?"

"I'd like to talk to you again. Could we meet?"

Did I want to? I'm a sucker for damsels in distress – Katherine knew, and loved me for it, but she also made sure I wasn't tempted to stray. I had no insurance, now. But yes, I did want to; there was something appealing about her.

"In town, or at Endcliffe, or Weston Park?"

"Endcliffe? In the morning? Would ten o'clock be okay?"

"Sounds fine. Meet you in the café?"

That night I dreamed of my wife. She was watching me, and smiling. I woke with my cheeks wet with tears.

I got to the café shortly after they opened, fired up the laptop and began writing. It always takes a little while for the coffee machine to warm up, and when it did, I had a coffee. Sometimes the writing just flows and that morning it did, so it was almost a shock when a quiet voice spoke my name.

"Mr. Pearson?"

"Philippa!"

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, please ... black coffee."

I saved my work and shut down the computer; I watched Philippa at the counter. There was something different ... duh! Skirt? T-shirt? She looked good. Long, glossy dark brown hair framing a sweet, oval face; nice figure, not spectacular, but ... definitely attractive. Legs. I do like a good pair of legs, and hers were perfect – at least from just above the knees down.

She brought our drinks and sat down.

"You're looking good," I said. "In fact, you're looking great."

She went pink. "Thank you. I thought about what you said. I didn't want to look, well, tarty, but I thought about how I could look more like a young woman, and less like a bookworm."

"You succeeded," I commented. "Did you just want to talk, or would you like a walk?"

Her face lit up. "I'd love a walk!"

"So. How're things with you?"

"Better. At least some of the guys are looking at me now. One asked me out, but ... I didn't feel comfortable with him, so I thanked him and said, sorry I had other plans."

"Good for you. Never date someone you don't feel comfortable with."

"I ... erm ... I feel comfortable with you."

"I'm glad," I smiled, "but I'm literally old enough to be your grandfather."

"Yes, but ... you aren't my grandfather, or, for that matter, my father."

I thought changing the subject would be a smart move at that point.

"What are you interested in, then?"

She thought for a moment while I sipped coffee. They do make a great cup of coffee...

"Do you always drink black coffee?"

"When I drink coffee, yes. I drink my tea without milk, too ... been doing it for years."

"Um, interested ... in almost everything, I suppose. I mean, I watch people, I like nature. I'm not a scientist, but I like watching science programmes on t/v ... history is fascinating, and I like archæology. I like most music, but not some contemporary compositions ... they just seem like noise to me. Art ... interesting, sometimes incomprehensible..."

"I know what you mean," I said. "I prefer representational arts, but sometimes an abstract has... something, and I like music that doesn't make me work too hard."

She laughed. "Are you lazy, then?"

"Absolutely! At least, I don't like working at something that doesn't interest me, or exercising just for the sake of it."

I suddenly realised our relationship had changed. Not only did she, importantly, feel safe with me, but I felt comfortable with her. I wished I was, say, forty years younger. I dragged my thoughts away from tracks that were quite inappropriate for one of my age and position.

"Penny for them?" Philippa spoke gently.

"Sorry, was I drifting?"

"You suddenly looked sort of pensive, and sad."

"Yes, I suppose I was. Forgive me ... if I don't talk about it right now. Maybe some other time." I swallowed the last of my coffee, which was tepid by that time, and watched her finish her drink too.

"Shall we walk?" I stuffed the laptop into my backpack.

"Do you carry that thing everywhere?"

"Oh, yes. It's got a library in it, and all my literary efforts, photos, too. I can use it to relax with a book, or I can unload to it. I keep backing it up regularly, so if it ever crashed or got stolen, I'll have nearly everything safe. Of course, if it was stolen, it could be embarrassing, but that's all."

"Sorry, let's walk then."

Sheffield used to be a dirty industrial city. With the introduction of the clean air acts, the environment improved slowly until it became - as it still is - one of the cleanest industrial cities in Europe. It has always been a friendly city ... many students come to Uni and never leave, but the Thatcher Government ripped the industrial heart out of it. There's still industry here, but it doesn't dominate the city as it used to. I suppose we're a university city, now. Young people come from all over the world to study here and whole areas of the city are dominated by student housing. One aspect that has grown is parkland. Twenty minutes walk from the city centre you can enter a park and walk through woodland until you're in the Derbyshire countryside, and Philippa and I were at the beginning of that park.

The park is really a narrow strip either side of the Porter Brook, so the footpath follows the Brook. Every quarter mile or so, there is either a pond or a level area where there used to be a pond. These are relics of the early industrial era – mill ponds that fed water-wheels that drove forge bellows, trip hammers and grinding wheels. If you know what to look for you can identify 'head goits' feeding water to the ponds, and 'tail goits' taking water away from where there used to be a wheel, and the weirs that enabled water to be diverted to the ponds from the river. Roads cross the river and the park at intervals, and houses crowd in until the top of Bingham Park, where there is a preserved grinding shop. Beyond there, the country doesn't exactly open out, because it's in a valley, but it's nearing the edge of the built-up area.