Chapter 8

Hank and Bridget met at the pub at Willingford. Their initial conversation was easy and relaxed. Once their meal had arrived Hank remarked as casually as he could,

"The more I get to know you the more surprised I am that you have never married."

She smiled mirthlessly at him. "I knew that question would come at some stage. I had a partner for eleven years and, before you ask, he did not want children. He was a fellow teacher and felt that he saw enough of children without having to come home to them in the evenings and at weekends. In the end, he got a headmastership and a secretary. He ditched me for her."

"That's awful," said Hank aghast.

"It was pretty unpleasant but we were drifting apart. I did want children but not against his wishes and it became a bone of contention. Of course, not being married I had to rely on his generosity as regards maintenance and, with him having a new woman, he wasn't feeling particularly generous towards me. Life became a bit of a struggle and so I wasn't able to socialise and meet a replacement until recently."

"Do you still want children?"

"Part of me does but I have to be realistic. First of all I'm probably too old for a first child now and secondly I don't think it would be fair on a teenager to have sixty year-old parents. Frankly, I'm not sure I could even face looking after a toddler now either."

Hank smiled. "I think I've done my bit of child rearing," he said.

"You haven't really told me what you do with your leisure time."

"I don't have a lot. With my tiddly staff I work long hours. I also coach cricket and rugger. Generally speaking by the end of the day all I want to do is sit down with a drink and relax."

"Do you read much?"

"I've normally got a thriller on the go but I'm a crossword fiend."

"So am I. Which one do you do?"

"The Times."

"A bit difficult for me. I do the Telegraph."

"I doubt it would take you long to adapt."

"Possibly not. What about your weekends?"

"Well Grace probably descends on me once a month but we both enjoy walking and in the summer sailing. Then there's golf all the year round but I'm becoming more of a fair weather golfer. Then in the winter I go out with the shoot most Saturdays."

"You shoot!" It was more of an accusation than a confirmatory question.

"Yes."

"How can you?"

"I enjoy it: fresh air, camaraderie, the skill of shooting and the pleasure of working my dog."

"And what about the poor wretched birds, bred for slaughter."

"Rather like the chicken you're eating," Hank teased and then realised that he had put his foot in it.

"They are humanely reared and slaughtered."

"So actually are our pheasants. It's not as though we're one of those huge commercial shoots rearing pullets in quantity which are subsequently put up to fly low over massed guns. There are probably only a dozen of us out on a Saturday and the birds are beaten out of hilltop woods across valleys so as far as we're concerned they're flying high and are not easy to hit. The bag is rarely more than a brace apiece."

"You haven't convinced me. I loathe blood sports. I suppose you supported the Countryside Alliance against the Anti-Hunting Bill."

"Yes."

"Oh dear! You'd never give shooting up."

"Most unwillingly."

"It would be a bone of contention either way if we were to get together, don't you think?"

Hank nodded.

"It wouldn't be like not having children but it would still rankle or niggle."

"Yes."

"What a pity because we seemed to be getting along rather well."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Hank, but it's something I feel very strongly about."

"Which you're quite entitled to do."

"But that doesn't entitle me to force my opinions on you."

"No, Bridget." He smiled. "I too have listened to all the arguments a fair number of times and they've never convinced me."

She shrugged. "Chacun à son goût. This is the parting of the ways then."

"I think so: at least as far as romance goes but I'll always be there if you want me for something."

She put her hand on his. "I knew you were a sweet man, Hank. Thank you."

Their conversation continued in a friendly way and they did not rush the rest of their meal. They walked out together to the car park after dinner.

"Au revoir, Hank," she said and kissed him chastely on the lips.

"And you." He squeezed her hand.

On the drive home he found himself faintly relieved. He had still sensed that lack of warmth but could not put his finger on it. He mentioned it to Barbara a few days later.

"Yes," she said. "It could have been because she never married but I rather doubt it. After all she did have an eleven year relationship. My guess is her 'bone of contention' and her separation hardened her. In addition, having made her mind up about something she's immovable. Good for her but that could make her appear to lack warmth. I have an old, old friend who I was at school with who appears very bossy and businesslike but actually her heart is marshmallow. She is capable of great love and self-sacrifice. Her husband would be the first to tell you."

"So was I right to ditch her?"

"Of course you were and you know it."

Hank smiled forlornly. "Yes but I liked her."

"Fine, see her again as a friend. She'd like that."

"So, am I stuck with Fiona?"

"No, you poop, and you know that too. Why are you being so wet? If she doesn't work out there are stacks of others: new ones who hadn't advertised before. Come on, Hank. What's made you so indecisive and weak? You're not being yourself at all."

Hank shook his head. It was both an expression of his disbelief in himself being indecisive and a feeling of compassion for lonely women.

Barbara read his thoughts.

"Hank, dearest, stop being silly. You can't cure the cruelties of the world on your own and you must never, ever ally yourself to someone weak and wounded however appealing she might be. She'd milk your life blood: not wilfully but she would. You've got to find someone as strong as yourself. She may be in trouble but she's got to show you she's got the guts to come out of it, one way or another. If one way involves you fine, as long as you really feel, know you can cope with it. And I mean really, really. Anything else would slowly destroy you and you wouldn't get any sympathy from me, I promise you. I'd punish you for being stupid. And you're not stupid, Hank. You are a strong, sensible and gentle man but there are times when you let your compassion overwhelm you. Be strong and let your mind overrule your heart until such a time that you feel your heart bursting with love. Then surrender.