Catherine Alliott: A Rural Affair

We were close now, within feet of each other and I felt myself aching for him. He reached out and took my hands.

‘I don’t want to be here.’ As I said it, I knew I didn’t. Knew I wanted to get away. From the house I’d had with Phil, from the village, from the gossip, from everyone knowing my business. Not from my friends. I’d miss them sorely. And Dad too. But they’d still be here, wouldn’t they? When I came back? With Sam, and the children. To visit. And maybe with more children. If my mind jolted with surprise as this rogue thought crossed it, my heart didn’t; it wasn’t altogether astonished at my audacity. Because somehow I knew, having got it so terribly wrong – both of us having got it wrong – we’d now got it so right. I knew Sam knew that too. As he let go of my hands and opened his arms, and I walked into them, I saw the light in his eyes; felt the surprise and delight in both our hearts as his lips came down to meet mine. At length, after he’d kissed me really rather thoroughly, we parted, hearts racing, breathing erratically, holding on tight and gazing at one another, shiny-eyed.

‘You’ve forgotten something,’ he whispered at length.

‘No I haven’t.’ I smiled, wondering if my face might crack, so long had it been since I’d smiled like that, so rusty with disuse seemed my cheek muscles. ‘And I shall sign something to more dramatic effect just as soon as I can. But in the meantime,’ I linked my hands around his neck and brought his lips down to meet mine again, ‘consider yourself sacked, Mr Hetherington.’

THE END