Chapter 2

Durham. I'd never been there before... "And a time will come at last when I ... will take the hidden paths that run, east of the moon, west of the sun..." I'd always had a destination, a purpose. I wasn't sure I had Tolkien's words right, but the spirit was there, I thought. I found a Travelodge, anonymous, convenient, economical. I found an indifferent restaurant, ate a passable but infinitely forgettable meal, thinking of Bella's soup, trying to remember what she looked like, my memory oddly blurred, images sliding away. Why was I bothered? Wondering at Zeke's words. Why would she need me?

Back in my room firing up the laptop, checking my emails ... spam except for one from Phil, my boss.

"I've put the word out, NO WORK communications. I don't want to hear from you for a fortnight at least."

Thinking of that interview. "Andy, you've not taken a break in eighteen months. I can see you're strung out, tighter than..." she frowned. "As your employer, I don't want to lose your skills and experience but right now I don't want to take a chance on you really messing up. As your ... friend, I don't want to attend your funeral any time soon. Joe's worried too. Get on that old bike of yours, go get lost for a couple of weeks. Get laid ... something."

Meeting her eyes, seeing the determination, knowing it was futile arguing that I had nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to fill my life with except work. Handing over my work mobile. Packing a couple of changes of clothes, dressing for a cold drive. Setting off after lunch, turning off the A14 ... no point in sitting in stationary traffic.

The crash.

Bella.

Zeke.

Bella.

I can't say I slept well; it felt as though I was awake all night. Truthfully, I expect I was dipping in and out of a shallow doze, but I gave up about six o'clock, had a shower, made myself a cup of instant coffee ... I needed the caffeine ... and tried to find out something about Durham. At seven, I went out, found a small café and indulged in a real breakfast with real coffee. Wasn't as good as Bella's, though. Why was I thinking about Bella?

I'd had plans to spend a couple of days exploring the surprisingly attractive, ancient, small, university city, but I got no further than the cathedral. I hadn't expected ... well, I just hadn't thought that cathedrals are also churches, with daily services. Despite my substantial breakfast I was there at a quarter to nine as matins began. I sat, alone, letting the words, music and movement wash over me. For the first time in ... I don't know how long - maybe ... most of my life - I found my mind had stopped; that's the only way I can describe it. I missed the midday service – my insides were grumbling and I went in search of food, but I was back for the afternoon. I couldn't say what I did or saw or heard, but after evensong (There was a choir from a local school. They were very good) I found some supper and returned to the hotel knowing what I had to do.

I slept rather better, but was still leaving the room at seven again to get some breakfast and I was on the road by nine. Somewhere near Worksop, bored, cold and hungry, I had to stop to eat and top up with caffeine. A couple of hours after eating, I was scouring Peterborough for flowers and chocolates, and an hour after that I was heaving the Triumph onto its stand outside the bungalow.

Bella opened the door but just stood and gaped at me. I looked at her. How could I have thought her plain? Why hadn't I remembered, the image burned into my mind, of the beautiful woman in front of me? The subtle wrongness I thought I'd seen when we first met were just not there.

"Um ... I wanted to drop by and say thank you..." I got out, nervously.

"Oh!" There was another long pause, "Andrew! You surprised me; won't you come in?"

I handed her the flowers and she fussed about, finding a vase, crushing the stems and putting them in water.

"I ... didn't expect you back so soon..." her voice had a sort of forced cheerfulness that I didn't believe.

"I promised Zeke to call back," I explained, "how is he?"

She ... collapsed. Oh, not physically; she stayed on her feet, though she slumped. But her face crumpled, and tears flowed down her cheeks. I didn't know what to do, so I just gathered her into my arms and she sobbed against my chest.

"Bella might need you..." He knew. Of course he knew he was dying, Bella knew he was dying. But she was in 'professional' mode, at least in some way. She hadn't allowed herself to think about his death, concentrating on doing the best she could for him in the here and now. Now he was dead, she had nothing to distract her from the loss of her father.

I spoke into her hair, slightly distracted by her scent; warm woman and citrus scented shampoo. "Have you any other family ... friends?"

Her head shook against me. After a long pause, "Mother died ... years ago. I've no work contacts any more, I've been looking after Dad full time for a couple of years. No-one comes out this way, except the Vicar ... once a year. We're not members, but he tries to visit all his parishioners at least once a year. We're neither of us ... we're neither of us really ... churchy people."

Well, that seemed to leave the ball firmly in my court. I was, you might say, painfully aware of the woman in my arms. I reminded myself she'd just been bereaved, there was no significance to her embrace beyond her need for comfort. It didn't help much.

"Have you eaten?" I doubted that she'd thought of it.

"Oh... ! I'm sorry, you must be hungry!"

"I'm ... okay. I had quite a large lunch, partly to warm up after a really cold ride. I was asking about you."

"I suppose I ought to eat ... There's only soup I made last night for Dad, but there's plenty of it. You'll have some too, won't you."

"Of course I will if you're offering."

"I'm offering." She gently released herself from my arms and went to start heating the soup. "I could make dumplings..." she mused, thoughtfully.

Perhaps the activity was the distraction she needed as she seemed to be transformed back into the efficient housekeeper I'd met before. I sat at the kitchen table and watched her work, thinking she ought to have a queue of men wanting to court her. Even as I was thinking, she seemed to blur momentarily and then I shook my head, because she was once more the plain, not quite ugly, woman I almost remembered but hadn't been able to picture.

"How do you do that?" I blurted it out.

"What?"

"I can't describe ... when I was in Durham, I tried to picture you, but I couldn't. I remembered your hands, how gently you looked after my leg. I remembered your voice, which is lovely, but I couldn't describe you. When I first saw you, I thought ... I don't want to insult you, but I thought you were ... plain. While you were in the room with your father, I couldn't quite... see you, somehow. When I arrived here, I thought you beautiful and couldn't understand why I thought you ... plain ... before. Now, suddenly, you're looking the way I first saw you. What gives?"