There's No Accounting For Love

Chapter Forty Eight

They sat in silence, allowing Clare's thoughts to wander back. She'd been in such a state this last year she'd done stupid things in the office; slamming the lid of the photocopier down on her fingers bruising them badly; dropping a large file of papers creating half an hour's work to put them back together, in date order. And she'd burnt her hand in the kitchen whilst making tea for Alan's visitors. After making an almighty crash, he'd found her sitting on the floor crying, amongst a pile of broken cups and saucers. He'd told her to go home, but she'd refused. She knew she was stubborn, but turning her key in the lock and finding no one in the house had been the worst part, the loneliest part.

From the bench she could see Hal's grave and suddenly she burst into tears. She hated crying, it made her eyes red and sore, but sometimes it was difficult to keep the tears at bay. Alan handed her a clean handkerchief and after a while she stopped sobbing and wiped her eyes.

"I've always hated it when you cry, but I think it's a release, so I think you should." he said.

She dabbed her eyes again. "I remember another bench we sat upon and your handkerchief." she said. Memories stirred as she looked intently into his face. "Remember when we were sixteen, we went to the park and you told me you were emigrating? You were upset and we both cried. You blew your nose in the handkerchief and then handed it to me to wipe my eyes." Clare laughed, softly. "You never would have done that normally and we were both too upset to care at the time. Mum laughed when I told her, later."

Alan glanced at her and grinned. "That's weird, because when we were on the plane going to Canada, Philip and I were arguing and dad separated us. I was made to sit by mum and I told her exactly that. We laughed about it too! That's weird."

"Well, we've made lots of memories together." said Clare.

They sat quietly and watched as two teenage girls visited a nearby grave of a young man, killed in a car crash. They were sobbing too and comforting one another. Clare had noticed the grave before on an earlier visit and had thought how hard it must be for parents to lose a child, but whatever a person went through, there was always someone, somewhere, going through a similar experience, because that was life. That was the way it was.

She turned to Alan. "I've got lots of happy memories of Hal". She paused. "I don't suppose I should say this, but the last time we made love was the morning of the day he died. And guess what he said? 'I love you so much, that however long the time we have together may be, it will never be long enough.' It was the most romantic thing he ever said and very poignant, under the circumstances."

Alan removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together.

"I can't do romantic." said Alan.

"I expect you can, you just need someone to be romantic with. Someone nothing like Marie." said Clare. Alan smiled brightly at her and returned his hands to his pockets.

"Hal did some silly things." said Clare. "He was very funny, sometimes intentionally to make us laugh and sometimes un-thinking." She laughed. "One day in the office he was photocopying a magazine of walking boots given to him by Mary, to photocopy for the Bursar, George. A colleague came along and they talked about work and then Hal said "George and Mary are lovers..." the paper jammed in the photocopier and he stooped to sort it out and when he got up the colleague had gone. He'd meant to say 'lovers of the great outdoors.' He had a strange way of talking. In next to no time, a rumour had spread all around the University, George and Mary were lovers! George called Hal into his office and Hal explained what happened. Fortunately, George laughed and saw the funny side of it, but he said 'If you must make up stories about me, please can you choose a more attractive woman next time. Mary...I ask you!' She was an argumentative woman and very plain."

Alan smiled, but replied, "It was the fault of the colleague. He should learn to keep things to himself. People like that cause nothing but trouble."

"Yes, you're right." said Clare. "You're good at keeping things to yourself, aren't you?"

A chill breeze suddenly blew up and the sun dipped behind the clouds.

Alan shivered.

"I'm sorry, Alan, you must be frozen. Come on, let's go." she said. "I've done what I wanted to do."

They stood up and Clare took Alan's arm and they walked in silence back to their cars, parked on the road. Before she let go of his arm she said "Thank you for always being there for me. I think you're wonderful!" Alan grinned, but said nothing.

Alan drove to a country pub, Clare following behind in her car. They both ordered scampi and chips. Clare chose a seat by the window, overlooking the countryside, while Alan ordered soft drinks at the bar.

"Alan, I've got something to ask you." she said, as he placed their drinks on the table.

"But I want you to be honest with me."

Alan removed his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. He sat down and took a sip from his glass.

"I've always been honest with you." he said.

"Yes, but you might not like what I'm about to say."

"You're not emigrating to Canada are you? I'd hate that." he said.

"No. I've been thinking about the future and I wondered... I wondered if you'd think it was a bit of a nerve if I came to live in your apartments."

Alan looked bemused. She could tell he was having trouble digesting this piece of information.

"With me?" he asked.

"No, of course not with you! What's wrong with you? I'd like to see the apartment you said might be up for sale, the one where Miranda lives. Are they moving out?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, the flat is up for sale at the moment, but no one has put in an offer yet. I think they're asking too much, to be honest."

"You haven't answered my question. Do you think it would be wrong of me to come and live in your apartments?"

Alan was silent.

"Well? It's a simple enough question." she said.

Alan beamed a smile. "I wouldn't mind, not at all. Why should I? What are you planning? Will you sell the house?"

"I'm going out with Angie next Saturday to choose a kitchen to her liking, then a few days later I'll tell her my plans. I want her and Matthew to buy the house, I know how much she loves it, but I'm only going to ask what they can afford. I don't need the money. Hal has left me well provided for. Angie's going to give me a bit of bother over this, I know, but they need their space and I need to move on."

"Wow!" said Alan.

The barman brought their food and they began to eat.

"Come back with me later and perhaps you can view the apartment today." said Alan, sprinkling vinegar over his chips. "They're usually at home."

"Is it like yours?"

"Not the same layout, but it's spacious and has three bedrooms, as I said before. They've kept it up. It's clean and well presented. I'm sure you'd like it."