Chapter 5.

The shoot in the Highlands came to an end; everyone was delighted with the results ... except Siobhan, who actually felt very little at all about it. It was assumed that she would return to London, but she hesitated. What was there in the city for her? Coming to a decision, instead of London by plane or by train, she rented a car, a Fiesta, and set off southwards. Thinking of Mrs. Dunn’s friendly little hotel in London, she eschewed her usual large chain hotels in favour of small bed-and-breakfast places. Taking things very gently (she wasn’t used to driving herself any great distance and wasn’t in a hurry) she stopped at Pitlochry and then just outside Edinburgh. Driving less than a hundred miles a day, she had time to stop for views, visits to various places of interest ... but most importantly, she had time to think.

It took her four days to reach Berwick-on-Tweed. By-passing the town, however, she made her way to Lindisfarne. She had a couple of hours to wait for the tide to recede before she could cross the causeway; it was evening before she was settled in another tiny B&B. The causeway giving access to Lindisfarne is covered by water nearly half the time; safe access to the island is available about six hours twice a day. Most visitors come only for a few hours while the tide is out; there is a very different atmosphere to a visitor when it is an island. Not for nothing is Lindisfarne called ‘Holy Island’. You do not need to be a Christian to be affected by the spiritual ambience of the place ... Siobhan was no exception. She spent hours wandering the island, or sitting looking out at the sea, and thinking.

Instead of moving on the next day, she stayed and took sandwiches out to the far north east of the island, where there is ... I’m not sure what you’d call it – a sort of obelisk. She sat in front of it, looking out at the sea, to eat her sandwiches and continued to sit there long after she’d finished.

“Are you troubled, Daughter?”

Startled, she looked round to see a ... monk? In a brown habit with a rope girdle. His deeply tanned face and head were in stark contrast to a white beard and fringe of hair round his bald dome. Blue eyes sparkled with life.

“Just thinking,” she said, not really pleased at the interruption of her admittedly aimless cogitation, but intrigued by this character.

“Indeed,” he said, “it’s a good place for thinking. I do a lot of that here. And is your thinking leading you anywhere?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I just seem to go round in circles.”

“Would you like to talk about it? Sometimes laying it out for someone else helps you to clear things up in your own mind.”

She opened her mouth to say, ‘no thanks’ but found herself saying, “Why not? I’m not getting anywhere on my own.”

“So?”

“Life, the universe and everything?”

“And the answer is forty two? ‘DON’T PANIC’. No, daughter, you’re avoiding the point.”

“Of course. That’s why I’ve been thinking in circles.”

“So...?”

Siobhan, to her amazement found herself telling him, really, the story of her life, right up to parting with Mike.

“And is there any reason ... No. Wrong question. What would you like to happen?”

Siobhan frowned.

“I’m not going to judge,” he commented.

“I miss him. But it couldn’t work; we’re such different people, from different worlds.”

“But ... other things being equal...?”

“He’s the only man I’ve met who treated me as ... a valued person in my own right.”

“Tell me ... do you believe in a creator God?”

“Well ... I suppose so.”

“Very well, then. Suppose I tell you something I believe...?” he glanced at her with a raised eyebrow; she nodded slightly. “I believe,” he went on, “that men and women were created to complement each other. Not to dominate or control, though I believe on the whole it is a masculine function to lead, to be the head. But that isn’t the point for the moment. The word ‘complement’ implies that man and woman complete each other. That, separately, we are less than we are together. Which, in turn, means that individually we lack something our partner provides. Do I make sense?”

“I suppose. But if so, what about you?”

“You mean ... what’s a celibate monk doing lecturing on male-female relationships? I was happily married for twenty years before my wife died and I entered the Community fellowship. Since then, and a monk or nun is a very special case, I am completed by my relationship with God and my Brothers. So ... differences are to be expected ... as long as you share the same expectations, enjoy similar things and are prepared to compromise. Of course you’re different; otherwise there’d be no point in being together.”

“So I should go and take a chance?”

“That’s up to you. From what you were saying, you think you fit together personally. The problem in your mind would seem to be social; associated with your job. How important is your job?”

“It’s really the only thing I’ve done since school.”

“And your present lifestyle? Is that essential to your job?”

Siobhan opened her mouth to say ‘yes’, but shut it again and thought about it

“It’s important for the ... prestige assignments. I wouldn’t get the top paid ones if I wasn’t prepared to travel. At least...” she paused, thoughtfully, “I don’t think so. I definitely wouldn’t get some.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her face as a succession of expressions crossed it.

“But, you know – I just realised I don’t mind. The reason I’m here is that I’m bored with the social round that’s been my life for, what ... seven years? Perhaps I need a change!”

“There you go,” the monk smiled. “I didn’t need to tell you anything, did I?”

“And I don’t even know your name ... I’m Siobhan.”

“And I’m Brother Peter. Go with God, Siobhan.” He turned and walked away, leaving her with, the sea, the sky and her thoughts.

She decided to return to Sheffield; she felt she needed to talk to Mike, but sitting there, having made the decision, she was at peace. The sounds around her, natural sounds of wind and waves, gulls and distant sheep, all helped her to relax; it was late before she rose and left the spot to stroll back to her accommodation for supper., following which she found a B and B in Hathersage, near Sheffield, and booked a room for the next night.

The run to Sheffield took all day – she was still not rushing – and she did lose her way finding Hathersage, but was settled in by supper-time. That would be Thursday night. Now you might think she’d give Mike a call. Certainly that would have changed what happened, but she decided a surprise was the order of the day on Friday. In view of Mike’s erratic schedule, it was not a good decision.

Parking her rented Fiesta near the park, she took a bus into town and spent the day browsing the shops, galleries and library. At three o’clock she didn’t want to wait any longer and made her way back to Mike’s house. Ringing the bell produced movement within the house and Siobhan’s hopes rose, only to plummet when the door was opened by Fiona.

Fiona recognised the subject of the photo almost instantly and opened her mouth to say something. Siobhan saw a young woman, slightly plump but very pretty with bright red hair, green eyes and freckles; not to mention what might be described as a ‘generous’ figure. She paled, turned and made her way hastily down the steps, stumbling slightly.

Fiona took a few moments to respond, but set off in pursuit, closing the door after her. Siobhan’s long legs and distress made it difficult for Fiona to catch up – they were both well into the park before Fiona called out, rather breathlessly, “Siobhan!”

The taller woman stopped short and turned slowly to face Fiona, who was gasping for breath.

“How ... do you know my name?”

“Easy. Mike told me about you. A little, anyway. You’re easy to recognise.”

“I am?”

“You are. I would have bet that photo was enhanced, but it wasn’t, was it? You’re every bit as beautiful ... more so. It didn’t do you justice.”

“He ... told you about me?”