Chapter 3

I could have happily stayed there, holding her, indefinitely, but it was still early in the year and, despite the sun, there was still a chill in the air.

"My place or yours?"

She looked at me, blankly.

"Sweetheart," I said gently, "it's a bit chilly and I'm getting hungry. Believe me, I know that you ... have a lot of healing to do. You don't overcome the sort of thing that's happened to you overnight. But I want to be a part of your life. Not to push you faster than you want to go, but to be there for you. Right now, I'd like some lunch. We can walk through the park and either get something in a café, or go back to your house or mine and cook."

"You can cook?"

"You'll have to be the judge of that. I haven't killed anyone yet..."

"Why don't we walk and see how hungry we are when we get to the Park Café?"

"Sounds like a plan," I agreed, standing.

We'd walked a few paces when I felt her hand slip into mine; I gave it a little squeeze. I felt ... I was going to say, I felt like a teenager, but that wouldn't be true; I hated being a teenager (but that's another story). But I had that weird feeling – if you've felt it, you know what I mean, if not, no description will work. 'Butterflies in the stomach' or 'my heart turned over'... 'I was walking on air' ... they all touch but don't encompass that feeling. Her hand in mine ... I just ... felt wonderful.

Don't misunderstand me. I knew perfectly well our relationship wasn't going to be plain sailing from then on. As I said to her, no-one bounces back from a background like hers overnight.

We walked through Whitely Woods, aware of the sound of the brook flowing over its rocky bed and the birds declaring their territory around us. A little way down the path, we were on our own and she stopped and turned to look down on the stream. I stood behind her and wrapped my arms around her; she leaned back against me. She took my hands and placed them on the swell of her breasts; right hand to left breast, left hand to right, so I was holding her against me.

"Do you like that?"

"Very much," I said.

A large dog, a black Labrador, bounded into sight, followed by an elderly but obviously vigorous woman striding along behind. My companion tried to pull my hands away, but I resisted and I was stronger than she. The woman passed behind me.

"Good morning! Lovely day!" Her voice held definite humour.

"It is," I replied looking round to smile at her.

"Especially when you've got good company," the woman added as she walked away.

My companion twisted in my arms to face me, blushing bright red. "You ... you..."

I dipped my head and kissed her. She resisted a little for a few seconds, but then relaxed in my arms, her arms folding round me in turn. When we broke the kiss, she rested her head against me and we just stood for a while.

She pulled away a little, "That was so embarrassing," she paused, "but you made me feel desirable."

"That's good ... because you are."

"But ... it's going to take a while for me to get used to that. Charlie, you also make me feel safe. You won't let me run away from ... becoming what I could be."

"Sweetheart..." I said slowly, "I don't know what to call you..."

She cocked her head. "Well ... what do you want to call me. What comes naturally?"

I thought for a moment. "Fiona," I said.

"Okay! I like that. Every time you say it I'll be reminded of you calling out to me as I ran away."

We started walking again, but this time her arm was round my waist and mine round her shoulder. It slowed us down, but, after all, we had all the time in the world.

They do say the path of true love is never smooth and certainly our relationship hadn't developed smoothly. The next obstacle I still believe to be my fault, but Fiona insists it was hers. Elaine insists it was just an accident. The valley, the park, is divided into sections by roads crossing the brook. Leaving Forge Dam, the first section is Whiteley Woods, containing one Dam, 'Wire Mills'. It also has a rookery. It ends at a road – Whiteley Wood Road. Crossing there is no problem. The other side of the road is Bluebell Wood, much shorter, ending at Hangingwater Road. The valley at that point is narrow, and the road descends steeply, with a sharp corner each side of the bridge. Considerable care is required in crossing.

I ... we ... were neither alert nor careful.

I had, barely, enough time to push her back, away from me; the driver swerved, so I only got a glancing blow, but I was briefly aware of pain before my head hit the ground and everything went black.

I came round in hospital, my leg immobilised, a thumping headache, dry mouth, sore throat and generally feeling like something the cat dragged in. The nurse couldn't or wouldn't tell me anything about what happened, whether Fiona was okay, only that I had a broken leg (which I could have worked out for myself) and concussion (ditto). She cleaned my mouth with some fairly unpleasant mouthwash but wouldn't give me anything to drink, relenting only to the extent of giving me a couple of slivers of ice to suck. I admit, it did help.

The doctor was a little more forthcoming. I had broken my right tibia and fibula. They hadn't wanted to give me a general anaesthetic until they'd assessed my concussion, but they'd 'fix' the bones as soon as they were happy my brain was okay. I asked about Fiona.

"Your girlfriend asked to be kept informed of your progress, but she was very upset about the accident," was the sum total of what he could tell me.

My first visitor was from the police; I just said that, as far as I knew I'd just been careless stepping into the road. My memory was not that clear; I was far more concerned about 'my girl'.

The next was Elaine. She didn't have to probe ... I was happy to tell her everything that had occurred since we last met. Incidentally – the hospital called her. I have an 'ICE' number ('In Case of Emergency) in my mobile contacts list. It used to be Shirley, of course, but I changed it – eventually – after she left, to Elaine's. She was, after all, my closest relative.

Elaine asked me how I felt about 'Barbie'.

"I'm calling her 'Fiona'," I said. "Her name's Catriona Fiona O'Donnell. I think ... my life would be empty and meaningless without her."

"Good enough," she said.

I need to tell part of this at second-hand. Elaine got Fiona's number from my phone and somehow persuaded her to meet with her. Listening to what she didn't say, the persuasion was not easy. She took her to a pub on the outskirts of the city and proceeded to ply her with alcohol. She must have trod a very careful line, managing to get her inhibitions down without incapacitating her. When Fiona dissolved into tears, Elaine gently escorted her out to her car and listened as what she described as 'an emotional boil' discharged. A lot of really nasty stuff that I'm glad I didn't have to sit through. Don't get me wrong ... I would have, gladly, to help Fiona, but I'm just as glad I didn't have to.

When she'd wound down, Elaine gently held her.

"Be honest, now, Fiona ... do you want my brother?"

"I'm not fit, I'm..."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you wanted my brother. I suppose I might ask, 'do you love my brother'?"

Elaine waited patiently for what she said seemed a very long time before Fiona answered.

In a very little voice, she said "Yes. I want him, and I love him. But..."