Chapter 5

I'd like to be able to say I was thoroughly contented. I was – sort of – happy, but at the same time quite frustrated. Having slept rather badly most of the night, I was actually quite deeply asleep when Helen woke. The first I knew of it was waking to her pummelling my chest with her fists. I couldn't have made any rational response, I just reacted automatically, my arms closing around her and holding her against me. She struggled for a minute or so, then went limp in my arms and burst into tears. I continued to hold her as she wept, soaking the front of my t-shirt until she wound down, then handed her a handkerchief. She blew her nose – noisily – and looked up into my eyes.

"Oh, Ted, I'm so sorry ... so, so sorry."

"Sweetheart ... don't be sorry. I'm not sure I understand, but I'm not surprised. You can wake me the same way for as long as it takes to find peace, just as long as you stay in my life"

That produced another flood of tears.

"What am I going to do?" she asked.

"Do you mean, today, or for the rest of your life?" I smiled.

"Erm ... both?"

"Well," I said, "it's up to you, but I'd really like to spend the day with you. Take you home to change your clothes, catch a bus out to Fox House, get some lunch at Longshaw Lodge and have a walk. Come home, change again and go out for supper. Then ... it's up to you."

"And ... the rest of my life?"

"Well ... when you're ready, I'd like to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you."

"Oh..." She rested her head on my chest. I could smell a trace of her shampoo mingled with her own scent; I breathed it in deeply, my heart thumping in my chest. "Bump, bump, bump," she murmured. "Thank you. I accept."

"What?"

"Both. I accept your offer of a day out with an open end, and I accept your offer of marriage."

"Oh ... wow! That's ... incredible ... fantastic ... marvellous."

"Ted, I said before I'm not being fair to you. It might be hard for you, but you're the first man I've felt able to trust; the first I've wanted to trust. I want you to promise that if it's getting really too hard for you, that you'll talk to me before losing patience?"

I nodded, not that she could see, "yes, of course. And it works the other way round. I'm not going to just wait for you to set the pace, so I want you to tell me if I'm pushing too far and too fast."

She looked up at me and grinned. "before we get up and get on with the day," she said, "I'm going to make things a little harder for you..." She sat up and did that weird contortion women do; her bra fell away and she tucked back in beside me, took my hand and pressed it against her exposed breast. It felt ... incredible; I groaned, partly in pleasure and partly in frustration, stroked and squeezed it. "That feels good," she sighed.

Her hand slid down me and found my erection (which she certainly had made hard for me); she held it gently, then squeezed, getting a jerk in response. Still looking into my eyes, hers darkened somehow. Releasing me, she slid up and brushed her lips against mine, pulling away then and getting out of bed. I watched, entranced, as she moved; she picked her bra up and put it back on. Strangely to me, as erotic a movement as removing it. When she left the room I shook myself and got up; pulled on some trousers and went downstairs to put the kettle on.

When Helen came downstairs, she was still only in bra and panties, and didn't come right into the kitchen.

Ted, I've been thinking. Have you got any joggers, or something I could put on instead of my dress?"

I thought for a moment, running through the contents of my wardrobe in my head.

"Upstairs," I said, following her. I dug out a fairly respectable outfit with elastic cuffs and a draw-string waist in grey, and a clean white t-shirt I thought wouldn't be much too big.

"Thanks," she said. "At least it won't look as though I'm going home after having been out all night, even if I have!"

"I'm going to shower, quickly," I said. "I've boiled the kettle and there's a selection of tea in the cupboard over the sink. Cereals in the pantry, and bread. I'm sure you can find the fridge."

I don't take long in the shower, at least when I'm on my own, so she was only half-way through her breakfast when I joined her.

I kept looking at her as we ate. Glossy, dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, oval face – so, so sweet. At some point our eyes met; there was almost a shock.

"Sorry..." we both spoke together ... and laughed.

"Ladies first," I said.

"I couldn't help looking – I just can't believe ... how lucky I am that Philippa found you."

"Funny ... I was just thinking I couldn't believe such a lovely young woman would want to be with a dull man old enough to be her father."

We both laughed.

I had a phone call to make, but thought it would be best to leave it a little later in the day.

The bus stops outside a pub called the Fox House, and the Longshaw Estate begins just across the road. By the time we got there, time was getting on, so we headed straight for the visitor centre for lunch, walking through a small area of woodland to an estate road, then along to the café. where we both had soup and a roll – they do a very good home-made soup – before setting off to walk.

Longshaw is a mixture of open moorland – sometimes very wet – and mixed woodland. The open country is usually grazed, mainly by sheep, but sometimes Highland cattle, and a good variety of wildlife is there to be seen if you take the trouble. I confess I wasn't much bothered by wildlife that day ... I was strolling in the country with a woman I was beginning to think of as my soul-mate. I'd been happy with Katherine, but somehow there was something more in my connection with Helen.

As we walked, the sky was clouding over; I started to get a little worried, and steered us toward Nether Padley; we were just near the Grindleford Station café when the rain started. We couldn't have done much better, really. Instead of catching the bus, there was a train at a quarter to five and we had the shelter of the café (and coffee and cake ... not a small consideration).

We could hear the rain; if we turned we could see it beating on the window. It eased off slightly, but when we had to leave to be sure of catching the train was still what I call 'wet rain' – steady and heavy enough to soak clothing – and by the time we were on the train we both needed a change of clothes. It wasn't too difficult to decide on a taxi rather than using the tram or a bus and a consequent walk, so we were back at Rossington Road by a quarter to five.

Helen looked at me on arrival. "Do you mind waiting and holding the taxi five minutes?"

I wasn't sure why but replied, "not a problem for me..." turned to the driver, "can you hold here five minutes?"

"Sure, if you don't mind paying for the time."

I have never expected any woman to possess a sense of time. Okay, maybe that's a bit chauvinist ... or more than a bit ... but my experience (limited, I agree) is that 'five minutes' means anything between ten minutes and half an hour. I received a very pleasant shock, though, when Helen reappeared after only six minutes (close enough for government work?) still in her damp walking gear, and carrying a small case.