in lofty literary magazines.’
‘I’m sorry, Ellie, but I don’t understand. Why did you give it up so completely? You could have taught that as easily as English.’
‘No!’ She yanked her hand away from his. ‘He said that, but I couldn’t. Art wasn’t something I wanted to give to other people. It was something I did for me.’ Hand clenched, she struck at her breast. ‘It was all about me. It was a totally selfish thing…’
‘All or nothing?’
She closed her eyes.
‘So you chose nothing and stayed in Melchester to be with him.’
‘I couldn’t leave him, Ben. He needed me.’
‘When he was alive, maybe. But you can’t live his life for him, Ellie. You have to be who you are. Let go…’
As she made to repeat the gesture, Ben caught her hand, turned her into his arms, held her while she sobbed for the loss not just of Sean, but of dreams she’d buried so deep that she’d forgotten them.
Held her, gentled her with meaningless sounds, comforted her with his body, his mouth, with the words that she needed.
Later, much later, when her cheek was pressed against his damp shirt, he said, ‘So, sweetheart, what are you going to do?’
‘About the column?’
‘About your life.’ Then, ‘
‘Make a bonfire,’ she hiccupped. ‘Burn the novel. Complete my contract with
‘She’s one tough lady. You won’t take up her offer?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m going to be too busy. I’m going to apply to Melchester Art College, see if they’ll take me as a mature student.’
‘You don’t want to try for London?’
‘It would be a tough commute.’
‘Commute?’
‘I’ve got an extended family to consider. Millie, Roger, Nigel…’
‘And Rufus. Have you met Rufus?’
‘I thought you didn’t do dumb red setters?’
‘He’s from a broken home, ended up in the rescue centre. I thought it was time we had a dog and I knew you’d pick him.’
‘Thanks.’ Then, ‘We?’
‘I’m your hero, Ellie. You said so.’
‘I’ve got a big mouth.’
‘You’ve got the most perfect mouth I’ve ever kissed, but if you want London, they’ll be safe here with me.’
‘Are you telling me to go?’
‘I’m telling you to do what you need to do.’
‘Setting me free? Like Natasha?’
‘No, Ellie. Not like Natasha. If you become the world’s greatest artist, I’ll trail in your paint-spattered wake to the ends of the earth. Stay here and keep the waifs and strays fed, raise the kids-’
She put her hand over his mouth. ‘You said I could be as selfish as I like.’
‘I meant it.’
‘Then I’m staying here. It’s where I want to be. With the waifs. The kids. You.’ Then, because that kind of declaration was embarrassing, ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Starving.’
She suspected he wasn’t talking about food, but dragged him to the kitchen anyway, checked the fridge. ‘We’re a bit Mother Hubbard.’ Then, ‘What’s this?’
‘Wedding cake.’
‘I’d forgotten all about the wedding,’ she said, taking the plate from the fridge, unwrapping the rich fruit cake. ‘How was it?’
‘Exactly what you’d expect. Lots of silly hats and tears. The bride liked her goat, by the way. Said to tell you it was her absolutely favourite present bar none.’
‘Excellent.’ Then, ‘I bought a silly hat. Nothing but feathers and ribbons. In crushed raspberry.’
‘I’m sorry I missed it.’
She shrugged. ‘There’s always another wedding.’
‘Why wait? Let’s have our own.’
‘Wedding?’
‘Isn’t it traditional? We get married, ride off into the sunset in a superannuated sports car. We’ll honeymoon in Italy. You’ll paint. I’ll speak Latin. We’ll have an enormous amount of fun making a start on extending the family- who’ll have a ready made treehouse-and live happily ever after. You’re the expert on romance novels. You must know how it ends.’
‘Not too many of the great romances end that way, Ben.’
‘Who wants great when we can have this?’ he said, putting the plate on the table and taking her in his arms. ‘Don’t let’s wait too long, hmm?’ he said, not waiting for her answer but taking up where they’d left off when the phone had rung and interrupted them.
Behind them there was a crash as Rufus took advantage of the fact that they were completely absorbed in what they were doing and finished off the cake.
Liz Fielding
