Chapter 4

You'd think at my age, I'd have got over the jitters about asking a woman for a date. I thought back to my discussions with Philippa and snorted. 'It's a man thing' indeed! Was it such a big deal that I was (I'd worked it out) give or take, twenty-five years older? What was I so worried about? The worst that could happen was that she'd say no ... wasn't it?

This became an obsession. I was still lugging my lap-top around, but I certainly wasn't getting much writing done. I'd even resorted to solitaire; sad, or what? I'd visited Philippa and Helen – regularly, in fact – and tried to maintain my usual demeanour, though not (as I was to find out) very successfully.

It was in early October when I had to invigilate a phase test – actually, two, one after the other – and had some lunch afterwards in the Uni cafeteria. Having eaten, I was sitting staring at an almost blank page on the lap-top, my coffee cooling, when I was shocked by the pressure of lips on my cheek and the sensation of hair tickling my skin. It was Philippa, of course. She'd changed, a lot.

"I'm glad I saw you here." Her voice dropped, conspiratorially, "it's Mum's birthday next Thursday. We want you to come to tea with us. She likes classical music ... but not opera, very much. Come about five o'clock."

I looked at her; she grinned, gave me another peck on the cheek, and left to cross the room to a bookish young man at another table, whose face, when she sat opposite him, lit up like a searchlight. She reached across the table and took his hand, and his expression somehow managed to become even brighter. Their hands parted, he gathered his things, and they left; hand in hand. My eyes prickled and I resisted the urge to mop my eyes dry, instead packed up and left my tepid coffee on the carousel with my plate.

I left the campus, with a new determination, heading for the City Hall booking office. Okay, Sheffield is a city, but the administrative centre is the Town Hall – the City Hall is a ball-room and concert venue. It turned out there was a concert on the Friday; the Hallé orchestra, with a programme including the Bruch violin concerto and some Mozart; I bought two tickets ... and spent a week wondering if I was doing the right thing. So of course, by the time Thursday rolled round, I was in a fine tizzy.

Philippa answered the door. "Come along in," she ordered cheerfully, and steered me into the lounge, where the bookish young man was sitting, not really at ease, in one of the armchairs. He leapt to his feet as we entered.

"This is Sam," she told me. "Sam, meet Ted Pearson, Ted, meet Sam Davies." We shook hands a little uncomfortably.

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir," he said, "Pip's said only a little, but it's obvious how important you've been to her."

"I'm glad to meet you, too. What are you reading?"

He coloured slightly, "I'm going to be an accountant," he said, "so, business studies."

I smiled at his embarrassment, "don't be apologetic," I said, "it's important work – my accountant has saved me lots of money over the years. If you like it, and you're good at it, good for you."

"Thanks," he said, "it's just that the profession has ... a reputation ... for dullness."

Philippa left the room somewhere around that point.

"My accountant is something of a comedian, and spends his winters skiing," I said, "I don't think anyone would describe Andy as dull. I couldn't be an accountant – I have trouble balancing my current account. But, just to be clear, I'm very fond of Philippa, and I'd take a dim view of anyone who made her unhappy."

He met my eyes steadily. "She's really special," he said, "I wouldn't want to do anything to hurt her."

"Good," I smiled, "then I won't have to go and buy a baseball bat!"

He looked worried for a moment, then held out his hand, "I understand, sir."

I took it and squeezed firmly, but not hard. "It's Ted," I said, "unless we meet in an exam, then it's Mr. Pearson."

We settled to talking about work generally and how different people each had their own gifts and abilities, each being important in the great scheme of things, until Philippa returned with Helen. She was dressed simply – please don't ask me to describe it, I had eyes only for her face. Her hair, glossy brown like Philippa's, was pulled back into a sort of plait that was coiled round her head, so accenting her slim, elegant neck and sweet oval face, but then I met her eyes.

Now, I hate heights. When I looked into Helen's eyes, I felt the same sensation as I had when looking vertically down the stairwell of the Royal Hallamshire Hospital fire escape – nineteen floors. It's trite to say it, but ... time stopped. Or at least, slowed to a snail pace.

Then, she was moving toward me, her arms were around me, and she was hugging me – hard.

"I'm really glad you came, Ted," she said, and her eyes were bright. "I'll apologise to both of you, though I think Ted at least will understand, that our tradition in this house, which Philippa insists on, is a birthday tea, crackers, silly hats and finger food. We won't inflict children's games in you, though ... although maybe... " she trailed off, looking at me, teasingly. "Anyway," she said briskly, "come into the dining room and eat!"

We sat at the table and pulled crackers, sharing the usual really awful jokes and wearing the tissue-paper party hats, drinking fruit juice and ginger beer, nibbling sausage rolls, sandwiches and cup-cakes. It was childish, well, sort of – we none of us were children, and lacked the innocence to be properly childish! But it was fun. There came a point when none of us could eat more, and Helen suggested we move into the lounge and have something alcoholic to drink.

Once settled with a drink, Philippa started the present-giving. Tearing open the parcel, Helen found a silk square – jade green with a discreet pattern in gold; Sam's was a CD of piano music, including the Grieg piano concerto. Philippa was thanked with a hug, and Sam with a kiss on the cheek. When it got to me, I was still uncertain, but really had no choice but to go ahead and hand her the envelope. I'd found a card that I'd thought nearly good enough, and tucked the tickets inside.

"Sam," said Philippa, "would you give me a hand clearing the table, please?"

The poor lad was just a tad slow on the uptake, but did 'get it' and followed her out.

Helen watched them leave. "Very circumspect, my daughter," she said, wryly.

"I ... hope you enjoy them."

"Oh, I will, I will; if, that is, you were planning on using one of them?"

"I didn't want to presume, but it would be a pleasure, Helen."

"Ted, you silly man, I've been hoping you'd ask me out ... oh, since I first met you. Of course, Phil needed you and I didn't want to interfere and derail what you were doing for her, but once she'd decided to branch out on her own ... I was beginning to get worried you didn't like me."

I didn't want to try to say more – I didn't know what to say, or how to say it, so I just took her in my arms, said 'happy birthday', and kissed her. She even kissed like Philippa ... except ... there was something more. I kissed her again, and she responded, and our relationship would never be the same again.

The concert was very good. We held hands as we listened, and had a glass of wine in the interval. Earlier, I'd asked if she wanted to go for a nice meal. She smiled, shook her head and said, "I'll tell you what I want on the way home." We left City Hall, just two among the crowd, and set off along Division Street.