Those Memories Made on Teardrop Lake – (97) At the Christmas Market

Memories of William Horton’s childhood flashed through his mind as he approached the Christmas Market in Shallowfield.

Although the memory that filled his head was a distant one, in more ways than one, as it happened many years earlier when his father was an Army Colonel stationed in Berlin.

Their Nanny Gisela took them to the Spandau Christmas market and she indulged them with food and drink, he could almost taste the spicy sausages, fried onion and tangy mustard, the recollection was so vivid.

He knew that the Shallowfield Market was a pale imitation of its German counterpart but he wasn’t there for Gluwein or spiced sausage nor was he looking for marzipan novelties or tawdry decorations.

His interest was in the centre piece of the market, the Christmas Tree, a mighty thirty foot evergreen dressed to honour the season and when he got his first sight of it, it made him sigh.

 

It was a magical place for him and looking upon it brought him back to the moment he had last seen it a week earlier and he felt the joy of that moment instantly, when he kissed Georgia for the first time in the glow of the trees lights.

But that kiss had not been repeated since because he was a soldier of the Downshire Light Infantry like his father before him, and he had been away with the regiment, but a promise was made to meet again, a promise he hoped they would both be keeping.

 

He stood by the tree and scanned the faces in the crowd looking for a tall willowy red head, but after ten minutes he began to think she was going to let him down. 

But then he felt a tug at his elbow and when he turned around Georgia was smiling at him.

“Hi” she said

“You came” William said

“Of course” Georgia retorted and kissed him as the Snow fell softly and the lights of the tree twinkled and their hearts became entwined.

 

Mornington-By-Mere – (97) A West Bank Cottage Christmas

 

The James family lives in the village of Mornington-By-Mere, which is a small country village lying in the Finchbottom Vale nestled between the Ancient Dancingdean Forest and the rolling Pepperstock Hills.

It is a quaint picturesque village, a proper chocolate box picturesque idyll, with a Manor House, 12^th Century Church, a Coaching Inn, Windmills, an Old Forge, a Schoolhouse, a River and a Mere.

But Mornington-By-Mere is not just a quaint chocolate box English Village it is the beating heart of the Finchbottom Vale and there were a number of cottages and small houses on the Purplemere road and Dulcets Lane which form the part of Mornington Village known as Manorside where the James’s lived in a small two bedroom cottage in the row of West Gate Cottages on the banks of the River Brooke.

 

Wilson James was 18 years old when he fell in love for first time and it happened at Christmas at the next door neighbour’s house while he was home from University.

He hadn’t intended to, he wasn’t even looking for a girlfriend, he was far too busy and struggled to fit in all the student socializing as it was.

In fact he didn’t even want to go to the Craven’s house that night and he had never even given Deirdre a second look.

Mainly because she was just a kid, after all she was also only 15 when he went away, but also she wasn’t his type, although he had only met her a couple of time as the family only moved in at Easter.

But he did at least remember that she had a crush on him but he shrugged that off, because a lot of girls that he met seemed to feel that way about him.

So under sufferance he went next door with his parents a week before Christmas and when he went in the house and the pleasantries were exchanged he realized that the immature 15 year old who had a crush on him had turned into a dazzling young woman and all at once she had his full attention and he thought that if he couldn’t find a way to fit Deirdre into his life, there was something wrong with him.     

They only had eyes for each other from the first moment and over the next week they were inseparable but on Christmas Eve she and her family were driving to Nettlefield to spend Christmas with the Grandparents.

So on that morning shortly before the Craven’s set off the love struck couple exchanged presents, he gave her a locket with his photograph in it, which she loved and then she gave him a beautifully wrapped gift box and said,

“This is for you”

“Wow” he said and was a bit embarrassed and felt a bit guilty because it looked so much more than what he’d got for her.

But he opened the box anyway and found it was empty.

“Is there supposed to be something inside the package?” he asked and she smiled
“It's not empty” she said “I blew kisses into it until it was full”
“That’s really sweet” he said and kissed her

“I got you a proper present as well” she said and handed him what appeared to be a CD “That was just a bit of fun”

He loved the CD because she had chosen it for him, and even though she said it was only a bit of fun he kept that gold box by his bed while she was away and whenever he missed her he would
open the box and take out an imaginary kiss.

 

 

The Girl Who Never Slept

 

I first met Olwen Carmichael on a grey murky day in October when I had been into the village of Upper Oakham to buy some essentials, milk and bread etc.

It had been sunny and bright when I left Honeysuckle Cottage that morning so I decided to walk the two miles into the village and took one of the many paths through the woods.

However by the time I was leaving the village store with my essential purchases it was raining, and it was that fine drizzly rain that soaked you in an instant and from a distance it gave the illusion of being a mist.

In fact due to its inherent ability to obscure landmarks it was to all intents and purposes a mist.

 

My name is John Gallen and I’m a writer although no one in the Oakham’s would have heard of me, but under my nom de plume of Neil K Fitzgerald you would be hard pressed to find anyone who hadn’t.

For under that name I had written a series of successful thrillers, six in all and a seventh was now well over due.

I was recently divorced, though not my choice but my darling wife had cheated on me, with my best friend to boot so it couldn’t be avoided.

But since the divorce I had struggled with the latest book in the series, it didn’t even have a title yet and I was fast approaching a crucial deadline.

I decided the best thing to do was to get away, right away where no one knew me and where there were no distractions.

So I rented a house in the country, a holiday cottage in fact almost two miles from the nearest neighbour.

As it was out of season I managed to book it from October to March though I only planned to stay until I completed the book which I thought I would manage in a month, away from all the everyday distractions of a town.

So that was why I found myself living in the nauseatingly named Honeysuckle Cottage.

Which was as the name might suggest a pretty little cottage.

It would have originally have been a two up two down but it now had a single story extension which housed the kitchen

Upstairs was a small bedroom and the bathroom which was equipped with a good old fashioned man sized bath. While downstairs in addition to the kitchen there was a sitting room and another bedroom.

 

Well I had been walking back towards the cottage with my head down to protect my face from the slanting rain and making slow progress on the woodland path in my unsuitable shoes.

When I eventually lifted my head up I didn’t recognise a single tree and was completely disorientated and as I  wasn’t that familiar with the woods I didn’t recognise anything.

As the rain continued to fall I was starting to panic when a voice behind me said

“Are you alright?”

I turned around and saw a little creature of indeterminate age in a parka with a fur trimmed hood.

“I am embarrassed to say it but I appear to be lost” I said

The figure stepped forward and pushed the hood back from her face to reveal a young woman in her mid-twenties no more than five foot tall.

“You’re lost?” she asked in disbelief and smiled broadly

“Yes” I said even more embarrassed

“Where were you going?” She asked

“Honeysuckle Cottage” I replied

“Oh you’re the writer” she said

“Yes” I said “John Gallen”

“I’m Olwen Carmichael, and we’re neighbours”

“Are we?” I asked

“Yes” She replied “I live in Cherry Tree House, just along the lane from you”

“Well I am pleased to meet you Olwen” I said

“Come on I’m going your way” She said and she walked with me all the way to the cottage, she wasn’t the chattiest person I had ever met but I rather liked her.

“Here you are, safe home” she said smiling.

“Thank you for rescuing me and for walking me home” I said “come in for a coffee”

“I can’t I have to be somewhere” she replied

“Another time perhaps” I suggested

“Yes” she replied and hurried off.

 

A few days later I had to drive into Northchapel to do a more substantial shop to stock the cupboards.

I had exhausted the meagre supplies I brought with me when I moved in plus I need some more appropriate footwear for the country.

Instead of going in the direction of Upper Oakham I drove the opposite way down the lane which would take me to Lower Oakham and I drove past Cherry Tree House where my nearest neighbour lived.

It was roughly two miles from my cottage and despite being called a house it was also a cottage though it was much bigger than mine.

I drove slowly as I passed it and I was surprised to find myself disappointed that there was no sign of life.

Beyond that were another three houses before the lane reached the Northchapel road, one of which was the home of my landlady, or at least the woman I was renting the Cottage from, Sandra Brown, who right on cue came out of her front door and waved.

I slowed down and waved back and I was about to drive on when she flagged me down.

“How are you settling in?” Sandra said

“Fine” I replied “I’m just going into Northchapel to stock up on groceries”

“I won’t keep you then, but Pop in for tea on the way back” she said

 

With a boot full of Tesco’s finest tinned and dried goods I returned to Upper Oakham and didn’t really feel like stopping for tea with Mrs Brown but she had invited me and I thought it would have been rude not to, so I pulled up outside The Villa.

As we sat in her lounge drinking from her best China I related the story of my getting lost in the woods and being rescued by a young woman called Olwen.

“Oh she’s my niece” Sandra said with a mixture of pride and a little sadness “I worry about her”

“She seemed very sound when I met her” I said

“Oh she is but the poor girl is an insomniac, she hasn’t slept properly for four years or so” she said “She only ever cat naps”

“Why is that?” I asked

She was thoughtful for a moment and then she said

“More tea?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pry” I said

“It’s ok Mr Gallen” she said “It just makes me sad”

“I understand but please call me John”

She nodded and went all thoughtful again before she said

“Olwen always had a small problem with sleeping after her grandmother died in her sleep when she was 12, but she seemed to grow out of that in time” She paused to take a sip of her tea.

“Then when she was at university her best friend Gina suffered an embolism and died one night.

Olwen was absolutely devastated but I think she would have come out the other side had it not been for the Kirby’s”

“The Kirby’s?” I asked

“Yes they were a family from the village who died in a house fire.

It happened in the early hours as they slept, five of them, it was so tragic.

Olwen knew the family very well and she had even baby sat the children.

It was the final straw for her and ever since that night Olwen has had a morbid fear of sleeping”

 

As I arrived home, or at least my temporary home I reflected on how candid Sandra had been, after all she could just have said she suffered from insomnia and left it at that.

I suppose not being honest might have failed to explain her irregular hours and her habit of walking the woods at all hours of the day and night.

I could relate to that in some ways as I was prone to keeping irregular hours myself.

But I was pleased Sandra had told me everything as a writer I was naturally nosy but there was something about Olwen that struck a chord with me.

 

I continued to see Olwen walking the lane or one of the many woodland paths though she never stopped to talk but she did occasionally wave.

I did wonder what on earth she did with herself.

There must be more to her life than walking the woods.

One day towards the end of October I was in the Upper village on a milk and bread run when I bumped into Sandra again.

“John” she said “how’s the book?”

“Hello Sandra, slowly I’m afraid”

“Well I won’t keep you from it then” she said and laughed

“Don’t worry I need to rest my brain for a bit” I replied “in fact why don’t you pop in later and I will return your hospitality, I have cake”

“Well in that case I would love to”

 

On the way back to the cottage I wasn’t sure if I had given Sandra the wrong impression and my invite might have been misconstrued.

She was an attractive woman some ten years my senior but nonetheless attractive. And a ten year age gap wasn’t unheard of after all.

There was a knock at the door about 3 o’clock that afternoon and when I opened the door I saw it was Sandra in a grubby Berber jacket, dirty wellies and mud spattered jeans which put my mind at rest.

She was hardly in the mode of dress for a woman who thought she had been invited for a tryst.

“Is it alright if I leave the dog in the porch?” she asked as she slipped off her wellies.

“Bring him in” I said

“Are you sure?” she asked “there is nothing worse than the smell of wet dog”

“Nonsense bring him in” I said

“Come on Skipper” she called

Skipper was an American Cocker Spaniel, very wet, very muddy and very friendly.

He paused briefly for a stroke and then went straight to the hearth.

I made the tea and took it into the sitting room.

“No china cups I’m afraid” I said

“That’s good I prefer a mug” she responded

I gave her a look because she had served tea to me on her best china.

“I know” she replied to my unasked question “I blame my mother”

We both laughed, my mother was like that as well.

As we drank our tea I found myself quizzing her about Olwen again.

The nosy writer again I supposed,

“I see her in the woods or on the Lane a lot” I said

“Yes she has a lot of time on her hands” Sandra replied

“She can’t hold down a job because she doesn’t sleep regularly but she is prone to nodding off from time to time”

It seemed that financially she was set, her house was hers out right and she had an annuity from her parent’s estate which was enough for her to live on,

She led a very modest existence.

“So what does she do to fill her days?” I asked

“She’s an avid reader” she replied “She’s reading all of yours at the moment”

“Really?” I said

“Olwen is also a bit of a movie buff especially classics” Sandra said “and of course she likes to walk”

I nodded

“It’s silly isn’t it that she feels safer walking the woods in the middle of the night that she does in her bed”

“It is” I agreed

“She doesn’t eat properly either” she added with a lump in her throat and I thought how wonderful it was to have someone care about you that much.

 

It was Halloween and that time of the day when in my home town there would be a constant stream of expectant children knocking on the door.

Due to the remoteness of the cottage and the foulest weather I had seen for many a day, so I wasn’t expecting even one.

So imagine my surprise when there was indeed a knock at my door.

I opened the door and the sight that greeted me was as fearful a sight as you could imagine on any Halloween night.

It was a drowned rat, caked in mud, and looking very sorry for itself.

“Hello Olwen” I said “what on earth are you doing out in this?”

“It wasn’t this bad when I started” she replied

She looked like she had been on manoeuvres with the SAS.

“Come in, come in” I said “what happened?”

“Don’t laugh” she said “but I fell in a ditch”

“My God you are actually squelching” I said “get your coat and boots off”

I left her and went to get a towel when I came back she was walking towards the warmth of the fire and she was still squelching.

She stood in front of the fire in her squelchy socks and shivered.

I went upstairs and started the bath running and put fresh towels on the rail and went downstairs again.

“Right you need to get out of those wet things” I said in a fatherly tone

“I’ll be fine I just need to warm up a bit” she said

“Well you won’t warm up if you’re wearing wet clothes” I said “so do as you’re told, the bath is running”

Olwen tried to protest but I wouldn’t let her

“Throw your wet things on to the landing and I’ll put a change of clothes in the spare room for you”

“Ok Mr Gallen” she said like she was addressing a teacher.

I went downstairs again and turned my attention to my dinner.

I tended to only cook from scratch once a week but I always made more than I needed and the extra would be frozen and ready to use whenever.

On that particular day I was cooking lamb stew.

I gave it a stir and went to the airing cupboard in the spare room and looked for something that would be suitable for Olwen.

It wasn’t easy choosing from a selection of clothes made for a six foot tall fifteen stone man and find something that would do for a tiny girl barely 5 foot tall and less than seven stone soaking wet.

The only thing I could find was a rugby shirt that was a bit long even on me so it would be like a dress on her and a pair of football sock that would reach her thighs.

I lay them on the bed and picked up the pile of wet clothes and carried them down stairs with me.

Once downstairs I set up the clothes drier in front of the fire and draped her things over it and almost immediately steam started to emanate from her socks.

Her boots were already on the hearth and her coat was draped over the back of a chair.

About half an hour later Olwen appeared in her oversized Harlequins Rugby shirt and black football socks fiddling with her tousled damp hair.

“Do you feel better now?” I asked

“Much better thank you” she replied

“I’m sorry about the wardrobe” I added “it was the best I could do”

“Its fine at least I won’t get cold” she said and laughed

“Well sit yourself down and I’ll get you some food”

“No don’t worry I’m really not hungry” she said

I gave her a look

“Ok I’ll have a little bit” she said

“A wise decision” I said and went out to the kitchen.

I returned a few minutes later with a steaming bowl on a tray.

“Lamb stew” I said

I thought back to the conversation I had with Sandra about Olwen not eating properly and Olwen’s own statement not half an hour previously when she said

“I’m really not hungry”

Well for someone who wasn’t really hungry she did extremely well to polish off three bowls of Lamb stew.

While we ate we watched an old Cary Grant movie called “Holiday” and when it was finished she said 

“Well thank you for looking after me and entertaining me but I’d better Change my clothes and get home”

Said Olwen

I got up and went to the front door and when I opened it the rain was still coming down like stair rods.

“Just put your coat and boots on and I’ll run you home” I said

“No you’ve been too kind already” she replied

“I’m not having you getting soaked to the skin again” I insisted

“You’re very bossy” she said with a smile

“I know” I said “That’s probably why I’m divorced”

I drove her the two miles up the lane to her cottage and she thanked me again and got out but before she closed the door she said

“Don’t get lost on your way home”

Then she laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her life.

 

It was a day later when Olwen “popped in” for the first time and for the first of many times over the coming weeks we shared a conversation and a drink of coffee across the kitchen table.

The “pop ins” happened at any time of the day or night partly because of her insomnia and in part because I was a writer and kept irregular hours myself.

Sometimes when the muse was with me I would just carry on writing until I couldn’t see straight, so I had no set time to go to bed or to get up in the morning.

According to my ex-wife it was one of the things that contributed to the breakup of our marriage.

 

As we moved slowly through November the “pop ins” increased exponentially as we raced headlong towards December and I was disappointed on the days when I didn’t see her.

 

Once we got into December I was no longer disappointed as I saw her every day.

It began on the 1^st of the month when she helped me to put up the Christmas decorations and as we were hanging the last of the garlands she said

“I love Christmas decorations”

“Me too” I said “I’ll help you put yours up when we’re done here”    

“No thanks” Olwen replied

“Why not?” I asked

“I never put decorations up at home” she said

“Why not?”

“I don’t know really” she mused “it makes me sad I suppose, it reminds me of a happier time and I suppose that makes me sad”

“But you love decorations?” I said

“Yes”

“You love these decorations?” I asked

“Yes”

“Do they make you sad? I asked

“No”

“Why not?”

“Because I wasn’t a child in this cottage” she replied

“That’s nuts” I said

“I know” Olwen said “what can I say”

 

Anyway Olwen came to the cottage every day to enjoy the decorations, watch classic Christmas movies and eat my stew. 

But we had kept most of her visits during normal hours until Christmas Eve.

I was burning the midnight oil because I was stuck on a tricky chapter the first of three chapters which needed to be submitted to my publishers by New Year’s Day.

It was partly Olwen’s fault I had gotten behind but she was such a pleasant distraction.

But to be perfectly honest she had become more of a distraction when she wasn’t there.

 

So it was just after eleven o’clock on Christmas Eve and rewriting the same section for the umpteenth time when Olwen knocked on the door.

I could tell it was her before I opened the door by her unique knock.

“Hey” I said

“Do you mind me popping in on Christmas Eve, I don’t want to upset your artistic flow” she said

“No flow to interrupt at the moment I’m afraid, this chapter is giving me a lot of trouble” I replied

“What is it, writers block?” Olwen asked

“No I’m not blocked, I’m writing ok, it’s just not very good” I said and laughed

“I could use a break” I lied

 

We sat on the sofa watching an old movie on cable, we chose it because of the title, “the Dream of Olwen”.

About half an hour into it she yawned and rested her head on my shoulder

I assumed it must me one of her infamous cat naps.

Half an hour later she was still sleeping.

I could tell by her breathing, even though I couldn’t see her, that she was properly asleep.

So I placed a cushion on my lap and gently lowered her head onto it.

Her legs were already on the sofa as she had been sitting in that side saddle fashion that girls have.

So I dragged the edge of the throw from the back of the sofa and draped it over her slender body.

I watched the end of the movie and then switched off the TV.

Olwen was still sleeping so I reached for the A4 note pad I kept on the end table and resting it on the arm of the sofa I began writing and the words flowed from my pen like an inexhaustible stream and after three hours of furious writing I had put the troublesome chapter to bed.

I looked firstly at the sleeping girl with her head on my lap and saw she was still sleeping soundly and then up at the clock which told me it was 6.45am,

Not that the time was relevant but I desperately needed to pee.

I slowly extricated myself, being careful not to wake Olwen and settle her onto the sofa and then tucked the throw around her.

As soon as I was up I realised the temperature had dropped so before I went to the loo I revived the fire in the grate and put some more wood on.

I then partly closed the door, I didn’t want her to wake up in a strange place and panic.

After having a much needed pee I went into the kitchen to make a drink

Which was when there was a knock at the door

 

I couldn’t imagine who would be knocking on the door at 7 am on Christmas morning.

I opened the door to find Olwen’s aunt, Sandra standing there.

“Happy Christmas Sandra” I said

“Happy Christmas John” Sandra said but without any real conviction.

“Have you seen Olwen?” she asked “I saw her coming this way last night when I was walking the dog”

“I went to the cottage to wish her happy Christmas and there’s no sign of her and her bed hasn’t been disturbed” she continued pacing the small hall way.

“All the lights are still on but there’s no sign of her and I’m really worried”

“Shhh” I said putting a finger to my lips “Come here Sandra, she’s asleep in the lounge”

She crept to the door and had a glance through gap into the sitting room.

“How long?” she asked

“Over six hours” I replied

“She obviously feels safe with you” Sandra said

“I won’t wake her” I said

“I’m sorry you have been disturbed like this” she added

“Nonsense, I enjoy having a beautiful girl for company at Christmas”

“You think she’s beautiful?” she asked

“Of course, doesn’t everybody?” I asked

Sandra smiled at me and kissed my cheek “happy Christmas John” she said

“Christmas Dinner is at 3 o’clock”

 

After Sandra had left I finished my drink and the lack of sleep suddenly caught up with me and I knew I had to sleep.

I didn’t want to leave Olwen to wake up on her own but I was too tired to sleep in an armchair.

I thought for a moment and then went into the bedroom and got out the spare duvet before returning to the lounge.

I carefully drew back the throw from around her small frail frame and then picked her up.

“Hmmm” she murmured as I held her, then I carefully carried the beautiful featherweight little creature into the bedroom.

I laid her on top of the duvet and covered her with the spare.

I then went out and turned off the lights and locked the front door before returning to the bedroom and gently slipping between the duvets to lay down beside Olwen.

“Hmmm” she murmured as she snuggled in against me, so I put my arm around her and drifted off into a contented sleep.

 

It was remarkable how life can surprise you, when I rented Honeysuckle Cottage it was only ever intended as a short let.

But I knew when I woke up in bed next to a smiling Olwen on Christmas morning I knew I would never leave the village.

The book was well under way now and I could easily have moved back to civilization.

But while I had struggled with a particularly troublesome chapter she had become my muse and my love.

 

And for Olwen who had for so long held the world at arm’s length and avoided forming emotional attachments of any kind for fear they might lead to her heart being broken again.

Never imagined the course events would take after she rescued the panicky man lost in the woods.

She certainly never imagined she would wake up in his bed three months later or that she would have fallen in love with him.

 

When we woke up we just lay beneath the cosy comforting warmth of the duvet and talked for an hour, all the unsaid things we had wanted to say in the weeks preceding Christmas when we had lost our hearts.

Before we reluctantly agreed that we needed to move as we couldn’t disappoint Aunt Sandra.

I got up first and showered shaved and dressed then Olwen showered while I warmed up the car.

When she had redressed I drove her to her house where she finished getting ready and I waited in the house.

It was the first time I had been in there and it had an almost museum feel to it, no wonder she was always wandering.

Then we left the car outside Olwen’s house and prepared to walk the hundred yards or so to Aunt Sandra’s when it began to snow.

“This is the best Christmas ever” she said and took hold of my hand

“It’s a perfect Christmas” I concurred and kissed her

 

The moment we walked in through the front door of the Villa I realised the wisdom of leaving the car at Olwen’s because I would not be using it anymore that day as Uncle Norman thrust a cocktail of gargantuan proportions and indeterminate strength into my hand and I had no reason to suppose it wasn’t to be the first of many.

Oh I almost forgot I finally decided on the title for the latest book.

“The Girl Who Never Slept”

IF I GREW A BEARD OF WHITE

If I grew a beard of white

On the off chance that I might

Have a chance to advance my cause

By appearing to you as Santa Claus

And you would have you tell to me

As you sat upon my knee

What it is that you most desire

And to what hopes you most aspire

And if those secrets you told to me

You might find them beneath your tree

Loving Christmas Linda – The Special Embrace

 

51-year-old Paul Hartley found himself stranded in a strange town with less than a week to go before Christmas.

Although to be fair an unfamiliar town would have been a more accurate description, but nonetheless he was stranded almost a hundred miles from home in Abbeyvale, with a seriously sick car in the garage and a distinct lack of will to contemplate traveling home to the north by train.

In truth he was in no hurry to return home to the empty soulless house that he was once happy to call home, which now held no comfort for him.

Paul’s wife of twenty-five years, Elaine, had died earlier that year, finally losing her battle with cancer.

Their three children were all grown up now with homes and families of their own so there was only him in a house full of reminders.

The house would be full at Christmas, full of noise and hustle and bustle, and the usual mix of love, laughter and tears, but for now it was cold and empty.

So he booked himself into the Abbeyvale Court Hotel for the weekend and he would drive home on Monday once the car had been resurrected.

Finding himself in a strange (unfamiliar) town just a handful of days before Christmas and with more than a little time to kill he decided he could fill part of his day by doing some last-minute Christmas shopping.

So after breakfast on Saturday morning he left the Hotel and as Paul stepped outside he shivered, the day was cold, grey and damp and clouds scudded across the December sky, it was the kind of day that chilled you to the bone.

He made his way towards the high street, which was only a five-minute walk, the receptionist had assured him with a smile, as she jotted down some brief directions.

In an effort to warm himself up he walked briskly following her directions down the narrow almost Dickensian lanes and alleyways, passing picturesque Victorian and Tudor buildings, well mock Tudor at least, as he went.

It was indeed five minutes when he emerged onto the busy cobbled pedestrianized high street which was a curious mixture of the ancient and the modern.

At one end of the street a Norman Church was visible and at the other was what appeared to be a municipal building with rather pretentious Georgian columns.

There was still evidence of a row of Edwardian shop fronts but much of the street was modern with a little too much sixties influence to be easy on the eye in Paul’s opinion.

The street was crisscrossed along its full length with festive lights and decorations which did their best to brighten the scene.

Paul decided to familiarize himself with what the town had to offer in the way of shops, so he turned left and joined the throng of shoppers, with gloomy faces to match the weather, and headed towards the Georgian pillared building which turned out to be the public library.

As he dodged between the Christmas Lemmings Paul made a mental note of the shops that interested him, which he would return to.

His progress was hampered by erratic shoppers who appeared to move independently to any logic.

Some seemed to zigzag everywhere and very few possessed the ability to walk in a straight line for more than a few paces and others would take a few steps and then stop for no apparent reason, then after a few moments pause carry on, normally in the same direction.

The sound of cheery Christmas songs and carols could be heard from every shop he passed though the cheeriness of the music was clearly not reflected on the faces of the shoppers going in and out of them.

As he passed one shop Noddy Holder screamed “it’s Christmas” to the outside world, just in case any of the reluctant shoppers were in any doubt.

When Paul reached the other end of the high street where the Norman Church stood there was a little square, which he wasn’t able to see before, in the center of which was the war memorial, and to its left was a magnificent Christmas tree, festooned with a myriad of assorted baubles, ornaments, tinsel, lights and surmounted by a beautiful angel.

Assembled around the tree was the Salvation Army band and Paul took a few moments to admire the tree and listen to the band and while he listened he was taken back to a distant time and place where he and the love of his life had held hands as they sang along.

The clock chimed, and he was brought back to the present and he took a few more moments while he decided on his first port of call, not realizing at the time just how important a decision it would prove to be.

Paul decided on Woolworths, always a favorite of his at Christmas, but on this occasion, it also happened to be the closest, so he walked briskly towards the store and pushed open the door.

As he prepared to enter he paused to hold the door open for a woman coming the other way and he waited patiently as she put her purse away into a huge handbag and he wondered what response he would get for his trouble.

Paul had found that the older he got the less women appreciated courtesy, the simple act of holding open a door could provoke a wide range of responses, a smile, a thank you, a nod, a sneer, a tut, an accusation of male chauvinism or a colorful mouth full of abuse, and he couldn’t always tell who was going to do what.

When the woman had finished fiddling and securing her bag she moved to step through the open door and as she passed Paul she looked up and said

“Thank you” followed by a broad smile, and then she stopped in her tracks as Paul returned her smile and then he too just stood there.

Both of them stood motionless on the threshold as slowly the recognition set in and they were both dumbstruck, not believing their eyes.

Neither of them were sure how long they stood looking at one another for, but long enough for a queue to form behind each of them.

When they realized what they had done they both blushed and excused themselves and stepped out onto the street away from the door apologizing profusely.

When they were clear of the crowd neither of them knew what to say, and still couldn’t believe their eyes, but Paul knew in his heart without a doubt that he was looking at Linda Parsons, who he had last seen 30 years before being driven off in a taxi, disappearing off through the snow, with her palm pressed against the glass as she craned her neck to keep sight of him through the snow spattered window until the very last moment, until the cab had gone from his sight.

But here she stood before him as beautiful as ever she was in his eyes, the soft curls of her light brown hair, which hung beneath her hat, still danced about her shoulders, it just had fine strands of silver threaded through it.

Her smile was still able to melt his heart, even after all those years and her smiling eyes still had the same sparkle and he thought the years had been kind to her and less so to him.

As he studied her he was fumbling for the right words to express his joy at seeing her when she reached up and hugged his neck, kissing his cheek at the same time, and spoke softly in his ear.

“Paul, is it really you?”

He simply said “yes” and they stood in a long comfortable embrace, and he didn’t know how long they stood there, not wanting to let go before she relaxed her grip and he kissed her forehead

“It’s so good to see you” he said feebly, and she put her head on his chest, squeezed him and sighed.

Linda released her grip and pulled away slightly and put her hand up to his cheek and caressed his grey beard.

“Do you have time for coffee?” She asked almost pleadingly

“Of course,” Paul said, and she put her arm through his and led him across the high street, asking quick fire questions as they went.

Paul explained about his car breaking down and that he was staying at the Abbeyvale Court Hotel as he was in no rush to return home

She responded with “oh really” and “oh dear” internally delighting in his misfortune as they walked into the nearest coffee shop, Café Société, and sat on a large comfortable sofa and over coffee they told the tales of their lives spent apart.

And throughout Paul looked at her with adoring eyes, periodically pinching himself, expecting to awake from a dream, as he had done so very many times before.

He told her about his wife and children and she told him of her marriage to Daniel and the subsequent divorce.

The good man that Paul gave Linda up for turned out to have feet of clay and degenerated into a violent drunk, they had no children, which although unsaid was clearly a regret for her.

With the aid of several cups of coffee they managed to talk away the entire morning and Paul suggested they might spend the rest of the day together and have dinner together at the hotel.

Linda readily accepted the invitation to dinner with a delightful smile but then she looked at her watch and suddenly jumped up in alarm

“Look at the time, I have to go” she flustered then she said she had a prior commitment

“Lunch with mum” she added rather unconvincingly, saying it was something she couldn’t get out of as he helped her back into her coat, the smell of her hair evoking memories of their past embraces.

She fished out her mobile phone as they left the coffee shop, from her huge handbag and they exchanged phone numbers, and firmed up the details for the evening, then with a hug and a kiss she was off.

Paul stood and watched her walk away, her coat tails swishing behind her, she stopped briefly and turned to give him a smile and a wave, then with the phone to her ear she hurried off again talking animatedly and he stood watching until she disappeared from sight before he went back to his Christmas shopping and treated himself to a new shirt for the evening.

Paul bought all the gifts he was looking for, plus paper, tags, cards etc. and with all his shopping complete he returned to the hotel for a late lunch.

After that the rest of the day seemed intolerably long, and in an effort to kill some time he went for a swim, used the gym, and then went for a walk.

He got a haircut, even though he didn’t need one, he even wrapped the Christmas presents he had bought that morning, but the time passed so interminably slowly.

 

Paul walked into the hotel bar at 7 o’clock, an hour early, partly for some Dutch courage and in part because he had run out of things to do so he ordered a drink and then sat at the bar.

Even though he wasn’t expecting her until eight, every time the door opened he turned to look for her and when it wasn’t her his self-doubt crept in, and with every false alarm the doubts got worse, what if she doesn’t come? What if she changed her mind? What if she never intended to come? What if? What if? What if?

Then at a quarter to the hour the door opened and there she was, the love of his life, and every bit as beautiful to him as ever, in spite of the passing years.

Linda was wearing a simple black knee length dress, black tights or stockings and four-inch stiletto shoes, and he thought her legs were as shapely as he remembered them.

In fact he thought that everything about her was as wonderful as he remembered, even though she was thirty years older.

She held a black leather clutch bag in her hand and her face looked a little anxious until Paul stood up and then it lit up with the most radiant smile.

Relieved to find him there, she walked towards him almost tottering on her heels and that made her laugh.

“Hello” She said, and he responded “Hi” and took her hand as she climbed onto a stool.

Paul kissed her cheek and the fragrance of her perfume was quite intoxicating, going straight to his head like a strong spirit and the combination of her scent and his desire for her almost made him swoon.

He ordered her a drink and they nervously made small talk, like two strangers on a blind date, until the waitress led them through to the restaurant.

“How did your lunch with your mum go?” Paul asked once they were seated at their table and she blushed the deepest red in response

“The lunch date was a little white lie” she admitted

“Oh?”

“Because I needed the afternoon to get ready” she said, “for this”

“And the animated phone call you were having when you left?”

“Was to my sister, to rally the troops and get me presentable” she confided and they both laughed and any awkwardness between them was gone.

“Well, all I can say is that it was time well spent” he said, and she blushed again at the compliment.

Over dinner they talked with such an easy familiarity as if her departing taxi had only been a week earlier rather than 30 years.

By the time they had finished their coffee the restaurant was empty except for Paul and Linda and a very weary waitress waiting to clear their table.

The evening seemed to have passed by in the blink of an eye and had all too soon come to an end.

They got up and made their apologies and Linda went through the door to the ladies while Paul signed the bill.

“Good night” he said, “and I must apologize again for keeping you so late”

After leaving a large tip on the table he went in search of Linda through the same door she had used, and he found her standing by the Christmas tree.

She had retrieved her coat and scarf from the cloakroom, which were draped over one arm, and her bag was in her hand.

Linda stood with her back to him gazing out of the window, but she could see his reflection in the glass and smiled at him and he gasped at the beauty of her and pinched himself again.

He wanted to kiss her so much, but he was afraid, afraid to break the magic of that special kiss, that perfect moment when they kissed in the snow all those years earlier when he let her slip from his grasp.

For 30 years he had revered that moment, reliving it whenever on a winter’s night he heard the Salvation Army play, or when the snow fell during Christmas time, or when he felt a snowflake on his skin, or stood in a taxi queue on a winter’s night.

For 30 years he had wanted to be back there in that moment holding her in the snow, and there she stood a few steps away from him, yet he was hesitant.

But as if sensing his turmoil, she turned away from the window and he took those few steps to face her.

They stood beside the Christmas tree for a few moments just looking at each other, then she smiled her most heart melting smile as she caressed his cheek before she pulled him to her and kissed him gently on the lips, a warm sensitive and tender kiss.

When their lips touched electricity ran down his spine and it was as if they were young again.

When their lips parted she smiled at him coyly and flushed a deep shade of pink and a second later they met again, and her kiss became more intense, more passionate.

Her coat, scarf and bag fell to the floor as their arms enveloped each other and they stood locked in passionate embrace as the tree lights twinkled beside them.

Linda pulled away for a moment before burying her face in his neck and then softly spoke in his ear.

“You see, that was as good as the first time”

“How could I have doubted it would be perfect?” he responded and cupping her flushed cheek in his palm before he slid his fingers beneath her soft brown curls and caressed the soft downy hair on her nape as he pulled her head toward him, so he could kiss her sweet lips again.

The next time they paused she put her head on his chest, still holding on to him so tightly as Paul kissed the top of her head and smelled her hair.

He held her and didn’t want to let her go, and then he said

“Please stay, I can’t watch you disappear from my life again in another taxi”

In response she lifted her head from his chest and looked at him and said

“I’m not letting you go again, not now, not ever”

Then she smiled at him coyly and blushed like a virgin before she buried her face in his chest again.

A moment later she scooped up her coat, scarf and bag from the floor and took his hand and they walked in silence to his room.

Outside in the corridor she looked deeply into his eyes and kissed his mouth before Paul opened the door and let her walk inside.

She immediately dropped her coat and bag onto a chair and turned to face him as he followed her and she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear

“I never stopped loving you”

Paul’s arms enveloped her and pulled her close to him and then they kissed, at first soft and tender but then more urgently and he began to un-wrap his most special Christmas gift, wrapped in lace and silk instead of paper and ribbon.

Caressing her body from neck to lacy stocking top and their love was at last made absolute.

When their act of love was complete, and their dreams realized they lay holding each other in the afterglow, silently content until they drifted off to sleep.

 

Paul awoke to find Linda stood silhouetted against the window, gazing out into the night, wearing his shirt to cover her nakedness and she turned her head to look at him and said

“It’s snowing”

Paul slipped out of bed and joined her at the window, and standing behind her encompassing her in his arms they watched as the snow settled on the courtyard and she hugged his arms and said

“How perfect is that?”

They stood for a few minutes taking in the snowy scene, both thinking back to the last time they enjoyed the snowfall together then she inclined her head, so he could kiss her and when his hands moved from her soft belly and cupped her breasts she led him back to the bed and they made love again.

 

He woke early the next morning and lay in the half light and held Linda’s sleeping form in his arms and as he lay there he thought how good the fates had been to them that weekend.

If his car hadn’t broken down, and had he not rejected the idea of taking the train, he would not have been shopping on that cold grey morning.

He thought about the moments he spent admiring that tree in the square and listening to the Salvation Army band, and what thought processes made him do what he did.

Was it destiny that he chose to start his shopping at Woolworths, and at the very that moment Linda was preparing to leave, or just blind luck?

They could have chosen any one of the five doors along Woolworths frontage but they both chose the same one, surely that had to be fate.

Although it didn’t really matter to him, all he knew for sure was that 24 hours before that day his life had been so sad and empty and now it was full to overflowing and he was finally with his soul mate.

Linda was in Paul’s life at last and he wanted her never to leave it again, but if fate decreed that the special embrace on one special night of that special weekend was all they could have then he would have been content, but he didn’t have to.

Those Memories Made on Teardrop Lake – (96) Crazy in Love

 

Shallowfield sat on the southern edge of the Finchbottom Vale and was bordered on the other side by the Dancingdean forest and the town’s fortunes had always relied largely upon forestry and agriculture for its survival.

In the post war years with rationing and a shortage of work a lot of people moved away from the area and it only just survived and the community around Teardrop Lake fared even worse.

Only a few of the houses around the Lake were thriving, a lot of the houses had been rented out and those that hadn’t were in a poor state of repair, some too such an extent they were little more than ruins.

But by the 70s however things were beginning to change, thanks mainly to tourism as a result of an increase in leisure time.

This trend was reflected by the fact that the previously derelict Shallowfield Lodge, which had been inherited by a young couple from Lincolnshire, Rob and Sheryl Brown, was being turned into a Hotel.

From then on Shallowfield went from strength to strength which was echoed by the fortunes of the Claremont Hotel.

It was once the home of a wealthy Downshire family but like so many similar great houses in the county it fell into disuse as the fortunes of the owners suffered after the Great War.

It had had many reincarnations since then, particularly in the years between the wars and had been used for many things over the post war years but it wasn’t until the 60s that it became the Claremont Hotel.

However things had got tough in the Hotel trade with the success of Travelodge, Premier Inn and Holiday Inn Express and so places like the Claremont needed to offer something extra to attract the guests which was why Clara Davits was in Shallowfield, because she was an events manager and in December there was an awful lot of scope for such things and Clara was good at her job.

She was also exceptionally hard working, and that December she was working even harder than ever although that was due in no small measure to the fact that she needed distracting.

That was because her husband Owen was a sergeant in the Downshire Light Infantry and was currently on exercises with the regiment firstly in Brunei for jungle operational training and from there to Canada for battle training on the prairies of Alberta.

It was a three month absence which was passing agonizingly slowly for her.

She was able to skype him occasionally and he messaged her when he could but it wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing.

However the two back to back deployments meant she wouldn’t see him until the New Year and as that would have been their first Christmas together she had been very down, which is why she threw herself into her work.

Despite that however she was prone to bouts of daydreaming as she unpacked the Christmas table decoration.

She knew she should get busy on the rest of them to meet her target but she was overcome with tiredness so she decided to have a mug of coffee instead to try and wake herself up, so she sat down on one of the sofa’s to drink it and promptly fell asleep instead and had a long luxurious nap.

When she awoke it was two am and the place was in darkness, obviously someone had come along and thought the room was empty and turned out the lights.
She was still feeling tired so she decided to go outside for some fresh air so she donned her coat, hat, scarf and gloves and went outside.

The snow that had fallen on and off all day had petered out and when she looked up at the night sky she could see breaks in the cloud and the multitude of twinkling stars beyond.

Clara looked back at the hotel where her Christmas lights were visible and then up to the stars again and she addressed them curtly

“Yes I know you’re beautiful, but you’re just showing off”

She walked around the grounds for about half an hour through the fresh fallen snow and when she was done she made her way back towards the hotel when her phone vibrated in her pocket.

Even if she had been able to retrieve it from her pocket with her gloved hand she wouldn’t have been able to operate it so she waited until she had tromped back across the terrace to the warmth of the hotel before she removed her glove and checked her phone.

The source of the vibrating was a text message so with her un-gloved finger she selected “unread messages” and her heart skipped a beat when she realised it was from Owen.

The message seemed to take an eternity to open but when it did she couldn’t believe her eyes as she read,

“Just landed in London, exercise cut short, unexpected ten day leave, see you in 36 hours, counting the minutes”

“Me too” she said and hugged the phone before she ran back outside and she began to laugh out loud as she ran around like a child experiencing its first sight of snow culminating in her falling backwards into a virgin bank of snow.

 

Despite the lateness of the hour she was seen by one of the guests on the second floor.

“Look at that crazy woman, making snow angels at this time of night” he said to his wife who agreed wholeheartedly that she was crazy.

And Clara would not have disagreed, she was crazy, crazy in love, and her love was coming home for Christmas.