chapter five

   The dog was running, running, running. Like it was chasing or being chased. The ball arc’ed in the air, the object, all the time in the dog’s gaze. She let it bounce once, then with a deft leap she caught it cleanly and sprinted back to the shouting couple running some way behind her.
  
   "Jock!" 
  
   The girl screamed out the dogs name maniacally as she attempted to capture the excited dog. But Jock easily evaded Lyndsey and sped back to a glowing and perspiring Tom. Lyndsey began to run on ahead, and Tom after giving her some distance, aimed the ball at her. He threw the ball, but it whizzed past her head and the dog raced after its target. Lyndsey too, squealing with laughter bounded over the grass attempting to catch the bouncing ball; she reached it just ahead of the barking elated dog and immediately threw it back to Tom. He exaggeratedly fumbled and dropped it, thus ensuing a fight with Jock over its possession. Lyndsey stood leaning over, hands on knees trying to catch her breath whilst laughing at the sight of Tom and his growling dog wrestling over an old rubber ball.

   She stood up straight and looked over the battling couple to the west and the city skyline. The rows of city blocks rimming the edge of the Green of Glasgow, she could see shiny new office blocks, she could hear the roar of the ever-lasting traffic from the city roads – from the London Road, the Saltmarket, Ballater Street and the Broomielaw. And beyond the trees she could see the distant arc of a bridge allowing the passage from South side to North side and beyond. The ground beneath her rumbled as the underground train wended its way along the rails to its destination – to Argyle Street, Shawlands, Queen Street. People, people everywhere using the combinations and collections of building blocks to make and to further their lives.
  
   Purposefully, financially, quietly, surreptitiously and maybe illegally, and all without thought or question, people all over were rushing and careering. But here, right now, for whatever reason, Lyndsey felt a part of it. Moving, flowing, gliding, swirling, rippling, living…. The moment was being spent here in itself, was being lived in. She felt no sense at all of standing on the boundaries observing, only of being in the midst participating.

   Here in Glasgow nothing was really different to what she had been looking at – to what she viewed on that cold still night in Manchester; the only difference was in her. And so allowing the city to flow through her for the hundredth countless time, she walked towards the grinning body of Tom with her arms outstretched. Walking on air towards him, she unconsciously peeled away another layer of her self-preservation gauze and allowed more of the sun to shine inside, allowed all the more its warmth to penetrate her insides.

   And this was fine, because today the sun shone.

   Alone she was, seated in a coffee shop just off Buchanan Street. Lyndsey had a black coffee in front of her, an empty sheet of notepaper and a pen poised. Thoughts, thoughts – plenty of thoughts, but none translating into words. And, as is so easy, instead of applying herself to the task in hand, she gazed into the middle distance, dreamed and drfited off.

   Earlier that day she had been speaking to Jon about her travels so far; he had been arguing with her, trying to convince her to write home – let her parents know she was fine. She had been arguing this until Tom joined the debate and sided with Jon. Then she relented.

   So here she was trying to write a short letter before meeting Tom later, he had a few jobs to do beforehand. Not a ‘real job’ - a conventional nine to five or shift work, but he would often disappear for hours at a time and come back with his pockets full.

   She had learned not to ask – not yet anyway, she was very curious but far too nervous to simply ask her many questions of what was going on in his world. But he was easy too with his money, and here sat with a new floppy hat pulled down over her head, she began to fill her page.

   She began to write. Just words; no real emotion and no explanations. Just blank phrases, empty assurances and a token ‘love from…’ salutation. She rubbed her eyes, well what could she honestly write?

    "Glad I'm away…happy now…no plans to come back…love from…"

   No, she expressed blankly that she was fine and safe. Blandly and nondescriptly she communicated her well-being, half a page of lines, love from Lyndsey.

   And she left it at that.

   She leaned back and sighed long; closing her eyes she warmed her hands around her cup. Then she jumped as Tom squeezed her arm before sitting down next to her.

   "Hello pet – you okay?"

   "Ooh… Sorry, you made me jump," she smiled, glad to see him. "Aye, I'm fine." She began to tidy away her makeshift letter, unwilling for him to read it. He watched her fumbling with the notepad and pen quietly and made no attempt to stop her or read her notes.

   "Wrote yourself out?" He looked towards her serious face, watching her hands tidying away the letter.

   "Mmm." She looked up at his face. "Did as you told me, so it’s done now."

   "Well it needs posting then, it’s no good in there." He watched her bag close shut on the letter.

   "It’s…it’s not finished yet." She turned to watch the waitress walking by.

   "Now come on – if you’ve only wrote you’re okay, then you’ve wrote it. Its easy, a few words, then there’s no more cruelty..."

   "Cruel? I'm not being cruel, I'm…"

   "Hey come on – calm down." He had to restrain her from suddenly standing as she raised her voice indignantly. "I'm talking about what we were talking about earlier. You are you, with no need to explain or justify yourself to anyone. So don’t… You’re right if you think you are – you don’t need approval – mine or anyone’s. But what isn’t right is to let someone suffer when they needn’t be suffering."

   Lyndsey looked up at his open eager face and felt for his hand. "I really like you... a lot." She leaned over and kissed him. "Come on, let’s go and post the bloody thing."

   She stamped it and they walked down Buchanan Street towards the Post Office. Then suddenly she stopped abruptly in her steps, jerking him to a stop.

   "What? What is it – are you okay?" Tom looked with concern and just a little exasperation at her thoughtful face.

   "Shit! I've just thought… I can’t post it here – not here..." She shook her head staring down at the letter in her hand.

   "What do you mean?" He was now getting bored with this whole  letter business, and increasingly with her personal quirks and her thought stops and starts.

   "The postmark… It’ll have a Glasgow postmark, they’ll see it and they might…"

   He cut her off. "Yeah and in a city of a million people they’ll come and find you..? Who’s to say they would come anyway - and to do what? For fucks sake Lyndsey, let’s get on with the day. I've better things to do than mess about with a letter." He pulled at her arm, but she pulled away annoyed too.

   "No. No – you don’t know, so don’t talk to me like that, don’t patronise me. This is me thinking, and I'm not going to lay clues for them to follow." She followed his tired look and his jaded expression. "Look, I'm not walking around on egg shells every time I leave the squat, especially when I'm somewhere like here." She waved her hand around at all the busy shoppers and pedestrians.

   "So what do you suggest then? Look Lyndsey, dump the fucking thing if you want to. I'm bored with it all; it’s up to you after all is said and done."

   He turned away, zipped his jacket up and began to move off. The ‘letter conversation’ was completely out of his interest and his patience with her indecisiveness had worn through; the subject, in his head was closed.

   Lyndsey watched him walk whilst she stood motionless thinking; she trotted down the street to catch him up. "I will post it, but not here though."

   A pause fell. "Where?" He spoke finally.

   "I’ll take another train or bus ride somewhere and post it there. Okay darling?" She looked at him sweetly, wanting him to smile again.

   He exhaled and looked at her again. "If you want, pet."

   He put his arm around her as they walked down Argyle Street towards the Gallowgate and through the throngs of shoppers.

   She lay in bed later thinking. She was alone. Next-door another party was raging but she wasn’t in the mood. There were many there whom she didn’t know, and also she still hadn’t spoke to Helen since the other night. She was sure Helen would be fine, but extreme awkwardness was only a little of how she would have felt in Helen’s company. Lyndsey had stayed in the crowded room for about half an hour, but had felt very out of it, so she had left Tom to his friends and his drinks and relaxants.

   Quietly she lay. And still thinking. Well Tom would be fine on his own of course, and she had left him lying in a corner, mellow and lachrymosely talking to Santa. At least he had been talking to Santa when she left, but right now she was sure she had heard Jill call out his name. And indignantly too… Wonder why? Well no real reason why; Tom would be well behaved and easily trusted wouldn’t he? Why not? Why was she asking these questions? And why wasn’t she next door enjoying herself with them?

   She looked into the darkness and listened to the noises and shouts next door. One high-pitched peal of feminine laughter followed by a male shout. But why wasn’t he here with her, why wasn’t he missing her? He hadn’t seemed that bothered when she had said she was going to bed and that she would see him later. Why were the conversations and shouts so loud? What were they laughing at? Why didn’t she have the nerve to go back and join them, to go and join in?

  
   Lyndsey woke again much later. The noise and excitement were over next door and Tom was mutedly burrowing clumsily into the sleeping bags. She allowed him to gain easy access and find a position; he was naked she could feel, and cold. She allowed his body to relax, then around his back she encircled her body around his, more and a little more, but still no reaction.

   "Tom." She quietly whispered into the ear on his motionless head.
Silence except for his shallow breathing.

   "Tom…" Still no answer, his almost inert body was just slightly moving in rhythm with his low breathing.

   "Tom."

   She hissed his name this time. Her fires rising, she began to rub herself against his lower back. 
  
   "Tom, don’t you… won’t you…"
 
   Rising up now, she brushed her breasts over his face and rolled him flat onto his back so she could straddle across him. With her small body astride him she squatted here in her sexual position searching for a reaction.

   None. 
  
   He murmured, his eyes moving under their lids, his tongue lolling in his half open mouth. She leaned close to him now, so desperately lustful and wanting of his actions she would kiss him awake and into consciousness to screw her if she had to. She lowered her mouth and saw him looking so unconscious and dead-like; the stench of tobacco, drink and dope off his body and from his mouth was strong and over-powering when she was so near.

   She reared back and halted the rhythmic movements that were stimulating her own pleasure and attempting to fire his. He was useless – dead practically. No use to anyone. And stinking and snoring like no one she wanted near her.

   Lyndsey slid off him with haste and shoved him with her foot to his side of the bag – the far side. Now she had herself to herself, well away from that snoring, selfish, useless prick of a man. She cuddled herself up faced away from him and felt her fires to subside and dwindle.

   Why was he like that? Why so little time for her, and why so late..? Had someone else had what she hadn’t?
 
   She rocked herself to and fro feeling her fury and letting it out. This was just madness; so much paranoia about someone she had only just met, someone who gave her no reason to think and hatch most of the thoughts in her head. Then as she heard his snores increase and develop she began to seethe again.

   The rest of the night was free from the noise of the party, but she had trouble getting back to sleep; instead she lay and constructed her misery and her longings, her paranoia and her worries into far far greater piles than they added up to.

   Perched again on the sideboard in the kitchen; it was about nine‘o’clock, so of course nobody else was up yet. Lyndsey had pushed her way out of the sleeping bag leaving the still-comatose body of Tom lying there, pretty much in the same position as he had been kicked into by her hours earlier. Here in the kitchen, Lyndsey sat thoughtfully, consuming a piece of cold, dry toast. But now she wasn’t racing through with her thoughts like last night; the quietness around her and the distant steady hum of the traffic lulled her, and she placidly munched away, plaintively planning her day and the things she would say to Tom when she next saw him.

   Here she sat, quiet and alone for nearly an hour. After finishing her meagre but slow breakfast, she leant down from the sideboard to fasten up her boots, the laces had been lazily hanging previously whilst she had eaten. Out of her vision, the door opened. Footsteps, then the door softly closed behind them. Although Tom’s body had shown few signs of waking when she had left it an hour ago, she felt sure it was he entering the kitchen and so she pushed on with her laces waiting for the selfish bastard to speak. But no words and a softer step than his prompted her to look up and Lyndsey turned her head to face a quietly smiling Helen.

   "Oh, hi… Good morning." Lyndsey stammered out her words, sitting at the centre of suddenly rippling waves of embarrassment.

   "Morning Lyndsey, how are you?" Helen’s confident tone noticeably clashed against Lyndsey’s.

   "Fine." She answered shortly and quietly; already feeling low, she wasn’t about to start setting herself up for more confrontations and humiliament, but she was sure that Helen was ready for one. Perhaps she had sought out this quiet meeting to warn her off Tom, maybe…

   "Good." Helen spoke shortly too, busying herself with the kettle, she noticed Lyndsey’s cup in her hand and so didn’t offer her one. The silence was thick and humming in the room. Lyndsey continued to fasten her boots and then steeling herself, she decided to be brave and attempt to address the anxieties she felt with Helen; she couldn’t go on avoiding her and feeling this way each time they met.

   "Helen…" Her voice sounded so loud and hollow in the room, the echo of the word in the bare kitchen made her shiver.

   "Mmm?" Helen continued her kettle activities seemingly oblivious to Lyndsey’s perception of the atmosphere in the room, but she  certainly heard the anxiety present in her voice.

    "I think you know what I'm going to say. I was… the other night when…" She faltered and faded out, seeing the end of many possible sentences and shying away from repeating them. Helen turned away from her actions and crossed to where Lyndsey was sat. She took Lyndsey’s quivering knee in her hand.

   "Now calm down dear, there’s no need to upset yourself over a silly exchange of words is there?" Helen stood immediately in front of Lyndsey and looked kindly into her unhappy face.

   "Well I was wrong to shout at you and, well I don’t know what you are thinking now." Tears were already threatening in her eyes and her heart was beating strong in her chest.

   "Hush, there’s no harm done and I'm no’ thinking anything now. I upset you with a little teasing – I didn’t mean to."

   "But what is…what do you..?" Lyndsey stopped. Helen was the wrong person – or the most difficult one to question as far as her and Tom’s relationship was concerned. But Helen apparently couldn’t see what was troubling Lyndsey.

   "What are you trying to say Lyndsey?"

   "Oh nothing… No nothing."

   Helen was intrigued, but remained silent noting that the tears in Lyndsey’s eyes weren’t far from falling. Something was troubling her, but she was in great difficulties expressing it. Helen returned to her kettle and filled her cup, the she turned back to face the nervous girl.

   "So, you’re fine then?" She added more weight and concern to her   words to sound them as an enquiry rather than banal small talk.

   "Aye, I'm fine." Lyndsey sniffed back her angst and lifted her small eyes to look at Helen.

   Helen could quickly, she believed, assess this nervous, emotional girl. She had always had a lot of confidence and it would take a great deal to allow herself to break down in front others; but in watching Lyndsey she could see quite a lot of herself as she had been when she had been Lyndsey’s age five years ago.

   Helen walked back towards her, "So how is the boy? How are …things? She grinned wickedly and squeezed Lyndsey’s hands.

   "Oh…good, good." Lyndsey looked down again, embarrassed and totally confused.

   Away from her uncertainties about Helen and Tom, she had a mountain of words and thoughts about her last few days and what an animated scene that would have made. Herself pouring out platitudes about a guy she had known only about a few weeks only; a guy who’s feet, body and world she now worshipped, worried and worked herself into raptures about. A man from whom she took guidance and help from, from whom she took pleasure and sometimes turned into self-inflicted misery. A man from whom she took a reason for being where she was presently at – both physically and mentally. And a man from whom she decided and determined around, all her present and future activities.

Just think of attraction, of feelings and desires for someone else. Of what you feel for them, of how much you want – need – want them. And think of how these feelings grip, rush, recede, soar, then crash down. Of how they make you so, so happy and of how they can also hurt. They will quicken your pulse, bring up the sweat on your body, and make the face and spirit glow. Lyndsey looked down at her neatly tied and hanging laces and thought of her feelings as waves. Wind-blown rivulets of soaring salt water, crashing and inching ever onwards over the beach; crashing, rolling and flattening out the sand.

   Lyndsey concentrated on this picture now as she deliberately kept her eyes from Helen’s warm, confident face; she stared down and watched her laces swing in loops as she moved her boot. And she saw the waves of feeling, of attraction and of longing; she saw them rush and come. They rose up high around her neck and so freeing her feet from the sand, away they carried her; liberating her, taking her and doing with her what they will.

   Her feet were walking to order. One-two, one-two, she stared down at them as they propelled her along. The people passing Lyndsey watched her, avoided her, knocked into her, but she rarely looked up. She tried and mostly succeeded in watching herself walking, watching her boots moving forward. Clipping down, stomp, stomp; another step further on. She dreamed herself along, mesmerised by the pavement, by her feet and by the legs of the other passers-by.

   "Dick-head!"

   The angry pedestrian glared at her, annoyed at striding into this rambling, shuffling girl staring at her boots. He continued on his way, leaving her winded and clutching a waste paper bin, catching her breath. She looked up for a street sign telling her, her position and the way to where she wanted to go, but she saw none, so she abruptly and randomly called out to a passer-by.

   "Hey – what street is this?"

   The guy she was addressing looked up in surprise and on seeing her wild-eyed and clutching at a waste paper bin he ignored her and continued along his way.

   She swung around. "S’cuse me," she shouted in her broad Lancashire tones, "What street is this street?" She had stolen the eye of a well-dressed middle-aged lady who stopped at her question.

   "This is Queen Street dear, are you lost?" She observed her hanging off the bin. "Are you okay?"

   "Aye, I'm fine." Lyndsey lapsed back into her affected Glaswegian tones – the accent she had tried to adopt to aid her acceptance and understanding by those around her, and to diminish the sense of isolation she felt in the company of those speaking and hearing her native tones. "Is, is George Square this way?"

   "Yes, up towards the station and turn to your right." The lady primly turned on her heel and continued to go about her business.

   Lyndsey followed her words and emerged into the wide, spacious edifices of George Square. Giddy, falling and circling, Lyndsey unselfconsciously laughed out loud as she trotted around the inner pedestrianised island of the busy square. The full-on red-red-red colour of the pavement filled her vision so she lifted her eyes and gazed upwards and around, taking in the full splendour of the sun-lit Edwardian Chamber buildings. Careering past the astonished, but pretending-oblivious shoppers and office workers, she made for a vacant bench and seated herself, catching her breath and searched for her cigarettes.

   She looked back up towards the statues and the town hall buildings and exhaled a long stream of smoke. It hung there still in the air of the cold autumnal day. She was alone; after her conversation with Helen she had gone out to buy more cigarettes, on returning to the flat a little later and to Tom’s room, she found it empty. The sleeping bags had been thrown wantonly to one side. Viewing the wanton and disparate room, she had shrugged mentally and had gone back outside to do something in the cold, blue day.

   She looked around herself. The hotel, the town hall, the bus shelters… She rotated her head around from right to left and then alighted on what it was she was looking for – the Tourist Information Centre. Seeing a visitor leave through open doors, she casually finished her cigarette, then pushed herself up and bounded over the pavements towards the buildings. Inside she walked up to a vacant counter and explained her query.

   "Sorry, can you use that counter over there," The tartan attired girl addressed her very politely and with a broad smile.

   "But, can’t you answer me?" 

   "No – we book accommodation for you. Do you require somewhere to stay in Strathclyde?"

   "Err, no. I've got somewhere to stay in Strathcl… in Glasgow." Lyndsey paused, then shrugged. "That counter do you say?"

   "Yes, thank you. Goodbye." The girl with the impeccable manners continued smiling, and then turned to direct her sincerity toward someone else.

   Lyndsey shuffled over to the counter with the inevitable queue and stood waiting patiently as she moved up. She got to the front, then she saw a receptionist become vacant.

   Could she be helped?

   "Yeah, can you suggest a nice day trip? A good bus or train journey from Glasgow…" The man opened his mouth to speak, but she cut in again. "…one that’ll show me more of Scotland, something else more than just Glasgow and cities." She hadn’t finished and intended using her queuing time’s worth for as full a request as possible.

   "Well, there’s the Trossachs and William Wallace country – an hour by coach, Arrochar and Argyll, or the borders – both an hour or so away. There’s many choices."

   Lyndsey looked about her bored with his lack of spirit and motivation. "Give me an all day train journey to – and through somewhere interesting."

   The short, bearded man faltered. "Well this is only Scotland – not Canada. Half a day on a train will see you to most places." He gazed back at the uncertain face of Lyndsey.

   "Well, what about by bus then?" She was making him work for her time spent queuing and asking questions. He sighed, excused himself and disappeared behind a screen to search for timetables and travel guides and also to curse her. He returned laden.

"Here, take these away. Aberdeenshire and Angus. Inverness, then on to Ullapool or Caithness. All, most of a day away by bus. Isle of Skye by way of Fort William and Loch Lomond – one long bus journey."

   "Is that a nice trip?" Hearing the latter, she had heard the only place names she readily recognised.

"Oh yes – lochs, glens, hills and pretty seaside villages. He sounded like an advertising blurb, but he seized on her interest sensing an opportunity to move her on and deal with a more usual, easier enquiry.

   Lyndsey left satisfied. She had a mission and an idea in her head; to post her letter – yeah, but also she wanted to get away if only for a while. And she had an idea of a whole day alone in one person’s company and attention, and gaining stimulus and motivation from somewhere bigger, fresher and less crowded than Glasgow.

   As she was walking back down Argyle Street, her mind was racing ahead thinking of and looking forward to presenting her idea to Tom. A whole day or so for them to be alone together. Alone together and away from… She crossed the street and tried to concentrate on the traffic and passers-by, and tried hard to ignore her internal incessant, down-beat dialogue.

   "But why on earth..?" Why do you want to?"

   Tom was surprised and struggling a little for words.

   "It’ll be a nice couple of days out – a change of scenery." Lyndsey tried staring her man out.

   "It’ll pish it with rain and you’ll spend the whole time staring out of damp windows at mist…" He spoke decisively, derisively and forcefully, and didn’t even meet her eyes.

   Lyndsey deflated quickly at Tom’s lack of enthusiasm and interest in her idea. And so far she had only mentioned the journey as one of her intentions; she hadn’t asked or involved him as yet. But apparently even the mere idea of just her taking a trip up the West coast was risible and scornful to him.

   She turned from where she was stood in the centre of the room, addressing his reclining cigarette-inhaling body down on a rug, and she walked over to sit on one of the benches along the wall. He returned to his book and his silence, Lyndsey sat thinking and staring into space in disappointment.

   Jill entered the room with a plate of noodles, and nodding to her and greeting to Tom she sat in the armchair. The chink of her fork on the enamel plate and the city sounds outside were all that could be heard. Lyndsey, sensing that Tom wasn’t about to reprise the subject, addressed him again.

   "Well I've only seen a tiny part of this country since I got here and I’d like to see more than just the centre of Glasgow."

   Silence again. The motionless head of Tom showed few signs that he had heard her.

   "Are you listening to me?" Her voice was rising now as she was beginning to get upset at this guileless creature. But still no sound or movement.

   "Think she’s talking to you Tom." Jill still in her magazine, intoned in a monotone, wary and expectant of another row erupting.

   "I heard you." Tom also spoke from within his book and didn’t emerge.

   His lack of interest and feelings of indifference were obvious, and Lyndsey felt and took them personally. She rose, she had things to say but she could sense that the tears weren’t far away, so she had better say them fast.

   "Well fine. I'll go myself. I thought you might’ve shown a little interest, maybe even wanted to come too… But no doubt you’ll be happier stuck here doing your own things, seeing who you want to see…"
 
   She left quickly, feeling her tears beginning to run. Away she escaped to the quiet haven of the room containing his and hers sleeping bags and their clothes.

   If she had immediately expected an apologetic Tom quickly joining her, she would have been disappointed. But she was not so foolish, instead she spent her time packing a bag ready for a couple of days away; she could leave tomorrow morning.

   She had been alone in the room for quite a while and was pruning from her pack all the obvious items that she knew she wouldn’t need but had somehow packed anyway in her haste, when she heard the door open and close behind her. Then she felt Tom’s hand on her shoulder.

   "Alright?" he said lamely.

   "Fine – why not?" She shook off his hand exaggeratedly and applied herself busily to her task. Tom was silent behind her watching her check through the contents of her backpack. He checked himself on what he really wanted to do and he remained in the room. He scanned through his head, then swallowed his disinterest and tried to show a little enthusiasm.

   "You want me to come with you?" He managed to speak the line as a question, not as a statement, but his lack of interest and eagerness was obvious.

   "No. No, I don't. Not if you’re like this. In fact I’d really rather you didn’t if all you want to do is what you want to do."

   "Well why is it such a big deal to you anyway? I've been to Skye once before; it was miserable and fucking freezing."

   Lyndsey looked at him in exasperation. "It’s a different place, another world - 'a different stream'. And it’d be away for just a little while from Glasgow and all the noise and exhaust fumes."

   There was silence again in the room as each faced each other uncomprehending over the half-filled rucksack.

   "Forget it…" She spoke with finality as she resumed her packing duty.

   Tom was still silent watching her finish her job. As his thoughts raced he decided to change the subject slightly. "What do you mean – ‘see who I want to see’?"

   His abrupt referral back to their earlier conversation and bluntness halted Lyndsey. She was quiet for a moment composing what she thought he meant, what she thought she had meant earlier, and, most importantly, what she cared for him to hear.

   "I was talking about you and your world. You do what you want without regard for anyone else – you don’t share with anyone else."

   "So I'm selfish too, as well as disinterested?" He spoke back more aggressively this time. And she began to flounder now and lose thread with her thoughts and reason inside. Standing again she decided o throw her anxieties to the wind and just let it out.

   "I just don’t know where I am with you. Who am I in your world?   "Where are you when you go outside – what are you up to?"

   He started to speak, but she hadn’t finished. While she still had her nerve and the moment she wanted an answer to the question that was puzzling her and deeply disturbing her.

   "And Helen… I just feel like I'm in the way of you both… I just can’t seem to feel you feel interested – feel any…" She trailed off not wanting to get too emotional and heavy, certainly not after only knowing him for a few weeks. She didn’t want to start talking about love and devotion, even though those were the words that lived in her head.

   Tom was silent at her verbal out-pouring and remained still, choosing and thinking on his words. He was in a few minds as to how to go forward, but on seeing her dark sorrowful eyes blinking back tears, he lowered his tone, chose what to say, and then he spoke calmly and quietly.

   "Helen is just a friend – just a good friend of mine. Once… quite a while ago we were briefly together, but not now. Now it’s me and you - and nobody else. I want to do stuff with you, but I have my own affairs and business. We don’t need to do and share everything together."

   Lyndsey was much relieved and felt quieter inside by his words. She spoke again more calmly. "I just don’t want to be the only one who seems interested. I wanted us both to share some time together, away together, but you…" She shrugged and crouched down again to finish her packing.

   If he had felt stronger and had more foresight, he would have spoken wiser and more honest words now. If he was a better, stronger person. If... He could see away out much further than she, and more arguments and conversations like this were likely - so likely. But now, right now, oh - what he could feel inside himself watching her dark hair cascading down and covering her face, and before with her dark sorrowful eyes flashing and letting out so slowly the thoughts of her anguished soul…

   She exasperated and embarrassed him often – true. But she also fascinated and excited him. And also he had never claimed to be a person of always straight and honourable intentions.

   She stood again having finished her duties with her pack and began to walk by him, but he put his arm out and around her to stop her. She began to pull his arm off, determined to stand up to him and mean what she had said, but his face and eyes bored into her and stopped her from struggling.

   "Do want us to be together. Really like us being together. Let me pack a bag and come with you too. Please?"

   He wisely chose to ask her rather than grant her his company, as he decided to stick with her and her moods and erratic actions for now. Especially if her body felt as it did as she hugged herself into his chest and he kissed her hair, if her face looked as sweet as it did as a wide smile sprang across her face. He stared down at her head, and inwardly and silently sighed as he could almost see the thoughts that were running through her mind.
 
   He tried to compare what he was thinking to what she was probably thinking, and he grimaced. He closed his eyes too and lifted his head to face upwards.