No going back - 1. No Going Back

The church was the same, only shabbier and smaller. Looming so large in my childhood and youth, in my imagination the idea of it remained overwhelming. The reality was more yellow brick scout hut than church. The noticeboard was new, but it said the same things - The Brethren of Jerusalem, with a list of the meetings. This was not a place for the faint-hearted, the Sunday morning meeting lasted over two hours alone, and the various evening meetings and Bible studies implied a sturdy commitment to the church and in my youth they’d certainly hardly been optional.

An attempt had been made to smarten up the front yard, but that was it. I took a deep breath, pushed open the door and walked in. An old guy stood by the door handed me a service sheet and a hymn book and gave me a look. Did he recognise me, did I recognise him? I didn't think about it, I pushed on and sat in a seat at the back, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Even the smell was the same, polish, mustiness, and old books.

It brought back all those hours spent sitting here, bored and fed up but knowing that if I didn't behave, didn't pay attention to the Minister, couldn't tell Father what the readings and the sermon had been about, then there would be more punishment, more boredom. And that young boy was still here, despite the fact that I hadn't been in the building for 20 years. The Minister's voice came back to me immediately. He was dead, almost his last service had been Mother's funeral I gathered. Regarded as a saintly man by the congregation, I had hated him, the way his nasal voice droned as he was explaining, yet again, why what we had done was sinful and more. His religion had been fierce and austere, the complete antithesis of what had interested that young boy.

The place had been painted and tidied up, but it was essentially the same. The Lord's Place should always be plain and decent, and that's what it was, with no frivolities and nothing to distract you from the Lord's Word. I looked around and spotted a few faces I thought I recognised. No-one stared at me and shouted, 'There's David Hargreaves' evil son, revelling in his sin'. The irony was that I now looked more like Father than I ever had. I'd lost so much weight during my bouts of illness, that my face resembled his gaunt features. To anyone that knew him, surely it must be obvious who I was. Best keep my head down and try and get this over with.

An old woman started playing something solemn on the piano, I realised with a start that it was old Patty. She had seemed ancient 20 years ago, so how old was she now? The music was the signal for the cortège to arrive. The Minister, new since my day and a remarkably young-looking guy, walked in wearing his black robe, more like academicals than anything an Anglican vicar would wear, followed by the coffin, carried by four burly men from the undertakers, I presumed. At least, they all looked too young and too rugby-club-ish to be attending Father's funeral.

Then came my sister, Mhairi, walking alone. She'd lost weight too, though she had always been a big woman and looked good carrying less. Her coat was plain, black and decent, but still with a bit of style. Behind her came my nephew, Joseph, tall, lanky, floppy hair, wearing his school uniform and looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. I didn't blame him. Next to Joseph was his father, Nathan. He was a slight bloke, his black hair now thinning and greying, but otherwise unchanged. It was he who glared at me, as if I had no right to be at my Father's funeral.

Part of me agreed with him, I was struggling with the idea of mourning Father, there was so much that I resented him for; his rejection of me for being gay and subsequent ejection of me from my home completely soured any of the happier memories I had of him. I remembered a phrase from somewhere, 'I can forgive him, but I can't forget'. Trouble was, I had a hard time forgiving. Why on earth was I here?

As Mhairi peeled off from the cortège and went to sit down, she looked at me and nodded, acknowledging my presence. No glare, after all, it was she who invited me. That was why I was here.

---

I'd been cast out by my parents when was 18, though they were immensely gracious about it (at least that's how they saw it) and let me stay until the end of my exams. If you had asked them, there would have been no question of my being thrown out, all I had to do was to follow the Lord's Word. Simple, for them at least, but not for me. So, straight after my exams, I walked out of our house with just a suitcase and an injunction not to come back unless I properly repented of my sins, the Lord's House had no place for homosexuals. I had hoped to keep my secret until I left for university, but Father found out and so I had been cast out. At the time, Mhairi was at college (she is two years older than I), but I guessed she would support Father. We exchanged a few letters after I left Netherwich, but the correspondence died out. I knew that my life would remain separate. I could not see myself returning, ever.

Then around ten years ago, I got a Facebook message. It was one of those that looked dodgy, you know the profile only has a couple of nondescript pictures and there is no personal information at all. Except the message addressed me as Sir Hiss. Now, for those that don't know, Sir Hiss was a snake in the 1973 Disney cartoon of Robin Hood and as a child, I loved Sir Hiss. So much so, that when Mhairi was feeling charitable, she would jokingly call me that. It wasn't much, but I messaged back, and we became Facebook friends. The first messages from her were just photos, mainly of Joseph laughing and having fun. But there was no doubt that he was my nephew, he had a look of both Mother and Father. Through Facebook, Mhairi and I shared occasional bits of information with each other, all very careful, there was nothing about religion and certainly nothing about my sexuality.

Two things had brought us a bit closer together, at least close enough to have a relationship through letters and emails. The first was my first attack, heralding five years of being in and out of hospital. I was in the clear now but had to take life easy and could not simply go back to my old life. I think that my being ill had worried Mhairi more than she'd anticipated and she thawed, even going as far as to ask whether I had a partner to take care of me. We had a conversation about gay marriage, civil partnership and more, and she proved rather more willing than I had anticipated to at least listen to the opposite point of view.

Then Mother died, and I was in hospital again. I admitted to Mhairi that I wasn't sure whether I could have gone back anyway, but it marked a milestone.

---

I was wool-gathering, as I always had at Church. The new Minister's eulogy about Father described a man whom I had never met and had no conception of. I tried to meditate, and managed to do so for a bit, though I probably looked as if I was going to fall asleep. When I opened my eyes, I saw that Joseph had turned slightly and was watching me. I wondered what he made of all of this, who was his Grandad to him, and the Church? If I hadn't been gay, I might well have stayed or returned, going to college then settling back in Netherwich as Mhairi did, the Church a constant. It was what we were used to and as children we had both been keen attenders, despite the boredom. I winked at Joseph whose eyes widened somewhat and he gave me a nervous smile, before his Father remonstrated with the boy, and he turned back to face the altar.

The hymns really brought it back, all four were horribly familiar. As soon as the first notes started, I was transported to being that teenager, worried that my transgressions would be found out, terrified that something I said or did might reveal myself; desperately wanting to fit in, yet constantly tempted by images of men.

Finally the service was over. By the Brethren's standards it had been pretty succinct, short even, and I managed to get out relatively unscathed. Mhairi, Joseph and Nathan formed a sort of receiving line along with the Minister, taking people's condolences. I had to talk to the Minister and managed to mumble somewhat and avoid explaining who I was, 'Oh, I knew him 20 years ago when I was young'. There was, thankfully, a bit of a scrum round Mhairi and Joseph so I managed to skirt past. Nathan glared at me, Mhairi gave me a nod and I winked at Joseph again. Then as I left, I saw Mhairi lean down to say something to Joseph. I thought I would lurk, see whether I could catch her. I slipped round the side of the church where there was a grassed area. There, I could see the main gates but was reasonably hidden from the receiving line outside the door.

I waited. I tried to imagine what I would have done, to recreate Father's memory. If you got rid of the fights about my sexuality, the strictness over Church, there was something else as well, something that we could and did share. Walking outdoors, a love of history; there had been moments, but how to bottle that and put it in a service?

"Uncle Owain", it was said tentatively, and Joseph was standing quite some way away.

"Hello, Joseph."

"A message from Mum. I need to be quick. She says thank you for coming, and would you be able to meet at Leo's at four, after we've put the coffin in the ground?"

I smiled, I am sure Mhairi didn't actually say 'put the coffin in the ground', but I nodded and said that I would be there.

He paused, looked a bit embarrassed, sort of ducked his head and said, "Thanks for coming, it was nice to have someone else there."

With that he disappeared, but it was sweet and revealing, I thought. So, he liked the idea of someone else from outside the Church. As far as I could tell, there had been no-one from Father's work, the small congregation had simply been family, Church and what I presumed were people from the charities Father had helped.

I had a little over an hour. I decided that I would take a short walk, a trip down memory lane. Leo's was a cafe by the Market Place. Rather posh in my day, it hadn't been one we used as a family, Father said it was wasteful. Had Mhairi chosen it because it was a place that was still there, that I would recognise it, because there was little likelihood of any of the customers recognising us, or because she'd started using it herself?

---

When I started Primary School, we had lived in a small modern house on an estate not far from the Church. The school was older, originally Victorian, and to get there you had to walk past the council estate. This was one of the better ones, with few problems and many older, long-term tenants. One old lady, well old to my young self, would often be doing her garden; she had a corner plot so there was plenty for her to do. When I was old enough to go to school on my own, on the way back I would say hello and we might talk about the flowers and stuff. I've never been much of a gardener, but as a kid I was fascinated by her garden, by the sheer profusion of flowers (vastly different to our own, more practical garden) and the way she seemed to be able to create it.

I rationalised that speaking to her was OK, because she was in her garden, and I was on the path. At some point, she was introduced to Mother; I can't for the life of me remember how that happened. But it became acceptable to talk to her, and even accept a drink providing I did not go inside the house. That led to me helping a bit in the garden. When I went to Secondary School, we had moved, but I still made the effort to go back. By then, there would be a juice and home-made cake sitting in her kitchen. It was old fashioned and perhaps down-at-heel but spotless, warm and welcoming in the way our house was not. She would often have music on, and that began my musical education. Lily didn't know much about music, but she enjoyed it, and it was she that gave me the idea that music was more than something functional, to be sung at Church and stuff.

When I got old enough to be allowed to meet mates in town on Saturdays, I would often visit Lily as well or instead, helping her with her garden, doing the heavier lifting and such that was beyond her. Even reaching up and getting things inside, as she became more nervous at using high steps. That sort of thing. Then one day, she said that she was going to a special service at church, would I like to come, there would be lovely music. Church, for Lily, was the late-Norman Parish Church which had a fine choir in those days and every few months would do a sung Saturday afternoon Evensong. That was the start of Lily and my adventures, such as going to the park to listen to a band, with an ice cream, as well as further services at the Parish Church. She wasn't well off but had a way of making something small seem like a treat. And most of the time, I could pass it off as my good deeds, and I don't think Mother and Father realised quite how much she meant to me, or quite how much time I spent with her.

Lily and I never talked about my sexuality, not because she was horribly prejudiced, but because she was of a generation where you didn't talk about things like that. The only time was when there was a story in the news, and I was able to convey something of a different attitude to being gay. She was never horrified, never thought I was evil, and a few times, when talking about someone in the news she would say, 'Well, I think he's a lovely man'. That became something of a catch phrase in my later life.

---

The whole area had come up in the world remarkably. Considering they had once been Council houses, many had been done up within an inch of their lives, and this was particularly true of those like Lily's old house which sat on the edge of the Council housing. Lily's house was almost unrecognisable, but I was pleased to see that the garden was in good shape. Very different in style from her rather old-fashioned cottage-inspired gardening with plenty of annuals, but I thought she would have loved that someone was caring for it. I then continued at a brisk pace, aware that having a bloke lurking around and staring at your house might be seen as rather dodgy behaviour. I wouldn't want Mhairi to have to come and rescue me from the Police Station.

I wasn't even sure where the Police Station was any more. I was pretty sure that I remembered reading, or Lily telling me that they had sold the old one for flats. My car was at my hotel, so I took a steady if circuitous route walk to town, passing by the Park and the Rec, both looking rather down at heel thanks to Council budget cuts. It was ironic, that as the town was getting more well-heeled, the basic amenities were being run down. For most of my late teens and 20s, the town had been gradually running down. The closure of all the factories that had provided prosperity affected everyone, not just the workers. The centre of town evidently became a haven of charity shops, discount stores and the like. But in the last five years, a big change had happened. Thanks to convenient transport connections and some sort of bizarre serendipity, the old industrial area had been recolonised as a sort of hub of service industries, electronics and technology firms. I'd only had the haziest knowledge of it until recently, when I discovered that my employers had opened a major office there, thanks to the availability of other service industries around. And this had brought a new, very different prosperity to the town.

The centre had suffered further thanks to COVID. People were buying on-line or at the big shopping centres out of town. The hideous 1970s shopping centre was currently shuttered, and I wondered what they were going to do with it. Since Lily had died, I had no-one to keep me up to date with local gossip. I wandered down Church Street, reminding myself that I had to call into the Parish Church tomorrow. Things looked nicely prosperous, and Church Street itself had developed a rash of wine bars, a craft brewery and interesting eateries, whilst in Market Place we had a speciality grocer, whatever that was, plenty of fancy clothes shops and a deli, alongside some upmarket charity shops and a few convenience stores. You wouldn't do your daily shop here, anymore, you'd more likely come in for an evening out or for coffee. It was both heartening and depressing.

Somehow the time had gone, and I walked down Swan Lane to Leo's. My God, it had changed. Gone was the cosy little tea shop, and in its place was a cafe, bar and deli. Still high-end, and rather trendy by the look of the young clientele, half of whom were on their computers or so it seemed. I suppose with home working, flexible working and the like, life at the office was changing. I'd be joining that brigade soon when I finally went back to work.

The decor at Leo's was pleasantly done, stylish but functional tables and chairs, with lots of black and white photographs of the town from the 1960s and earlier. Mhairi arrived shortly after I, and she had Joseph in tow which slightly surprised me and rather put the mockers on my idea of being able to have a free and frank discussion. However, Mhairi forestalled me, "Joe wanted to come to say hello properly. He's staying with his Dad tonight, but he wanted to see you."

I smiled at him, "We'll have to talk properly next time, but great to see you. Rather stereotypical, but you've grown."

He gave me an embarrassed grin and we shook hands, "When are you going back?"

"Day after tomorrow. At least that's the plan. Your Mum and I have the solicitor's in the morning, but that should be it. I won't be needed for much else."

Mhairi raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything. Joseph (or Joe it seemed) looked at his Mum, "Can we ask Uncle Owain to dinner tomorrow? We could catch up then?"

"You up for that?", she gave a nervous smile, then quickly added, "it'll just be the three of us. Nathan doesn't live with me anymore", I raised an eyebrow, "Don't worry. I'll explain."

Joseph went off. I could hardly send my regards to his Dad as the man had never liked me, or so I thought. It was wiser to shut up. We ordered, I was surprisingly hungry and so, it seemed, was Mhairi.

"Thanks for coming up for this, I wasn't sure whether you would or not."

"Well, I couldn't resist if only to prove to myself that the old bugger was really gone", she rolled her eyes but didn't say anything, "besides, I'm moving back so I wanted to get a feel for the place."

"Moving back? Here?", I nodded, "How come? It's changed a bit since you left."

"Certainly has. But I've been back a few times."

"Dad never said."

I shrugged, "I bloody well made sure he didn't know, we'd meet in town at the Parish Church or somewhere like that."

"We?"

"Lily." Mhairi stared at me, and I realised that the gap between us wasn't just the 20 years since I'd left, but an entire life. "I think we've both got a bit of catching up and explaining to do." She nodded. "How about you go first and then I'll take my turn. I'll try not to..."

She put up a hand, "Don't even bother going there. I've changed a lot too, and I think we can discuss you being gay and having a boyfriend or whatever, without me turning purple", she gave me a tight smile and I felt a bit of the old Mhairi, the sister that I'd got on with as a kid. She took a breath, "It's a bit of a long story."

"I've got all night, I suppose."

"They'd likely have something to say about that here. Anyroad. Last year or so, Nathan and I weren't doing so well. Nothing that specific, but things weren't as settled. For a start, I think that I've got a bit mellower about religion, but he still feels strongly. Oh, I still believe, but I've stopped going to the Church, around 18 month back I started to have thoughts about doctrine and all the stuff we'd been fed. Work helped. Three years back, I moved from the solicitor's office to one of his big clients. I still do the book-keeping, but Lawrence, the boss, is a developer with fingers in lots of pies. He even owns this place, or at least put a lot of money in. Well, my horizons broadened, I even started working with a gay guy who would bring in pictures of his husband and dog." She shook her head, "It sounds daft, but it sort of helped me get my head out my arse and think for myself."

The Mhairi I remembered might have thought it, but she would never have dared use a phrase like that. I gave her a wry smile, "I'm glad. Sounds like we might have some interesting discussions."

"I think so. But Nathan stayed where he was or got even worse. The new Minister is nice enough but a bit of stickler. Nathan started to hassle me about things like my inheritance from Dad."

"Inheritance? Is there something I don't know?"

"Not as far as I know. I think it was a sort of principle with him. I was his wife."

"His property?"

"I hate to admit it, but close to. And whatever I inherited was his."

"Bugger me. Sorry."

She smiled, "That's OK. I thought the same."

"So, what did you do?"

"Get Lawrence, the boss, to recommend a financial guy who could advise me and tie the money up so as Nathan couldn't get it. And I thought that was that."

"But?", I was puzzled. What else could go wrong.

"Nathan was caught with his pants down with an underage girl. And when I say with his pants down, I mean it literally; significant below the waist nudity from both parties, if you get my meaning."

"How underage?"

She shrugged, "Fourteen? But it wasn't their first time. She was close mouthed, no idea how long it had been going on."

"Or if she was the first?"

Mhairi gave a tight smile, "Precisely. I heard from other mothers. It had always been hushed up."

"Paid off, more like from Church funds?"

"Probably. Anyroad, I got pressure from the Minister. Forgive Nathan like a good wife, he was contrite, etc."

"And?"

"Dad was severely ill."

"So he couldn't pressure you?"

"Dead right. I know it's cowardly, but I probably would have caved in, if Dad had been on form."

"Not cowardly, I only managed to stand up to him by buggering off. So what happened?"

"I kicked Nathan out. Hired a Private Detective."

"Bloody hell. Where did you get him from?"

"Her actually", she gave a smirk, "and bloody good she was too. Lawrence again, he'd used her in his last divorce."

"Last divorce?"

She gave a dry laugh, "Don't ask. Long, sordid story. Good businessman, crap human being."

"I know the sort."

"Yeah. So, I gave Nathan an ultimatum and told him about the detective. Think he started to shit himself. Goodness knows what he's been up to, but we got a quickie divorce. Came through a bit before Dad died. Joe's not that keen."

"I thought he wasn't that stuck on the Church, or at least I got that impression."

"Dead on. But he likes things settled."

"One Mum, One Dad, One home."

"Something like that. But I'm beginning to realise that I should have done it years ago."

"You still living in the same house?"

"At the moment. I got it in the settlement. Which means I need to work."

"Or move somewhere bijou to realise your assets?"

"Yes. So, we're not making any big decisions, at the moment."

"You'll get something from Dad?"

"Presumably, though the Church gets a lot too."

"And you think that you might get the smaller amount?"

"Being a weak woman and all that. Something like. You're coming to the solicitor's tomorrow?"

"Yes, I was asked. Why? You any idea?"

"Something about Grandad's will."

"Grandad's will. What does that have to do with us?"

She shrugged, "Not sure. I always understood that the old family business went bankrupt in the 1950s and there was nothing left."

"That's the story Dad told me too. Even took me along to see the old factory site."

"Lovely trip for a kiddie. You won't recognise it now, a sort of local Silicon Valley, all high-tech companies. None of the old buildings left."

"Shame, in a way."

Grandma had been from a local family that had had businesses in the area since the 19th century. She had been quite an heiress, and Grandad had run the firms for her and done well. But the war, the labour shortage afterwards and everything else did for them, bits of the business were sold off piecemeal and at the end of the 1950s the last bit, a paper mill, went under the hammer. And that was it. We got nothing, or at least Dad didn't. Dad had been a very, very late baby, his mother was well over 40 when he was born, so we had never really known Grandad. We both had vague memories of being taken to see this rather scary elderly gentleman in an old people's home that smelt of disinfectant and wee. That was our only memory of him.

"And his will?"

She shook her head, "Something notional I expect. Dad never said. Anyroad."

We ordered more tea, and the chat became a bit more general. Catching up on the small things of life, people I remembered, what Joseph was doing, and I filled in a bit more background about my illness and recovery. Before we knew it, time had run on.

"Look, are you putting off telling me about yourself properly or what?"

"I don't really know where to start."

Mhairi cocked her head on one side. "The beginning?"

I sighed, "That's a long story."

"Well, it's one that needs telling. Or rather, that I'd like to hear. OK?"

I nodded.

"Look. This place does decent meals. How about some wine and a bite to eat later. I know I could murder a drink."

We ordered a bottle of Malbec and I started at the beginning.

"I decided I liked blokes when I was around 15. Oh, I never did anything, but it was clear in my head. So, I knew that I had to keep my head down."

"Stay hidden till you got to Uni?"

"Yeah, I figured that once there, I could, you know, discreetly experiment without it getting back. If I was careful."

"Except?"

"I don't know. He found out."

"Someone told him?"

"Presumably. So few people knew. I reckon that one of my friends' Dads. Both Joey and Simon knew, and I often wonder whether their Dads met our Dad and..." I shrugged. "All hell broke loose."

"He never said. Not till you'd left."

"Too worried you'd be sympathetic."

"May be. So what did happen?"

"If I properly repented and went to Summer Camp, then I could stay. Otherwise I was out as soon as my exams were finished."

"Out to where?"

I stared at her, "I don't think he cared. I was no longer his son. There was never any suggestion of helping me find my way or anything. It was close the door and forget."

"How bloody Biblical. And Mum?"

"Never showed the slightest softening either. I had no plan. I had saved up some money from my job at the supermarket and was going to get the train to Manchester and find somewhere to live."

"You'd have ended up on the streets!", Mhairi was outraged.

"Probably. But I had two Good Samaritans. Lily and Mr Patel. I didn't tell anyone what was going on. Stupid really, but I was so embarrassed, and scared others might think the same as Father and Mother. But both Lily and Mr Patel tackled me about it, worried for me and determined I wasn't going to simply wander off in the unknown. I had been helping Lily around the garden since I was ten or so, and it got so that I would slip off after school and help her but also have a drink and cake. A treat. It was someone who made a fuss of me."

Mhairi shook her head, "I never realised you and she were so close."

I shrugged, "When I walked out of the door, I went to live with Lily. She was most insistent. I was there right through August. It was odd, because she wasn't really geared up for a teenage lad, almost a bloke."

"I'll bet".

"She really made a fuss of me, the way never happened at home. After I left, we stayed in touch by letter. I've never been very good at letter writing, so I'd have a little notebook and carry it around, jotting down things she'd like. Then she'd send me back one of her funny, crabbily written letters on Basildon Bond. When I was at Uni, every so often I'd go back for the day. We'd meet in town because it was easier. Mother and Father weren't mentioned but we avoided places that they might visit."

"Did you ever see them?"

"Not knowingly. And not you either", she shook her head. "Lily listened to the radio a lot, talks and the news on Radio 4 and music on Radio 3. She didn't have sophisticated taste, or know a lot about music, but it was she that made me understand listening to classical music for pleasure and want to know more. I went to a lot of concerts at Uni and would often come back to go to the Parish Church's monthly sung service with her on a Saturday afternoon. We'd sit there, then have tea afterwards, or the park with the band playing. That sort of thing."

She pulled a face, "Bloody hell, when I think of what I missed. "

"When I left Uni, it got less, and she got older and was more ill. Her funeral was just before I got sick the first time. She'd told me that I had nothing to worry about, everything was organised. And it was. At the Parish Church too, with a choir, and lot of people. There was tea and cake after, with beer for the men", Mhairi smiled at this touch of old fashioned, "and her carer came up to me and thanked me. Evidently, Lily had kept every one of my letters and they had meant a lot to her. I've no idea why I kept up the correspondence."

"Because she was one of the few people that treated you like a human being. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not doing more. When you left, Dad said you'd simply upped sticks and he had no idea where you were. I did press him, but I was struggling with college and trying to work out my own stuff. I think that I was angry too, I'd thought about leaving."

"And because I'd left, you couldn't."

"Something like that. And all the time it was him and his stupid ideas. But what about Uni and stuff, where'd the money come from?"

"Well. Being a clever sort of git, I'd won a scholarship. And as I said, I had two Good Samaritans. Mr Patel at the supermarket was most concerned about me. I couldn't simply go to Manchester and try and shift for myself, I had to have a plan."

She blinked at me, "The funny little Indian man that owned the supermarket?"

"Yes. He got in contact with a cousin or two, and I ended up with a job at a cash and carry which wasn't far from the Uni, and a place in a flat. It wasn't charity, I had to work hard, and the flat was the going rate, but they looked out for me. KP, who ran the cash and carry (and the P was for Patel, no idea what the K was for) was a big bloke that liked his food. He'd bring something with him when we worked late, and share it with me, saying his wife always made too much."

"On purpose?"

"I suspect so, but it meant I ate decently. I'd got into the habit of helping Mr Patel with the book-keeping."

"Even then?"

"Yes, it just seemed obvious. So, I did that for KP. Was quite lucrative." I shrugged, "That's how I managed Uni. Shall we eat?"

There were lots of questions, of course, and whilst ordering and eating we managed to catch up a lot.

"So, why are you coming back here?"

"Well it was made clear to me a few years ago that if I made a full recovery, and there was every likelihood I would, I couldn't simply go back to my old life. My old job, working full pelt at all hours, burning the candle at both ends."

"Or it'd happen again?"

"Something like that. The firm were most gracious and mentioned a new project they were starting, new build, new business. I could do most of it working from home. Thing was, it was near here, on that new business park."

"Did they know you came from here?"

"Not bloody likely, that was on a need-to-know basis. It was pure fluke. So, I thought, why not? I knew it had been coming up. I went to visit the firm, and popped here, decided I might make it. And, well, because of our correspondence, I sort of hoped that we could have some sort of relationship."

"And Dad?"

"Well, I figured he wouldn't be here for ever and, well, I planned to ignore him." She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything. "I'm planning to rent out my London flat and am renting a place over Pocklington way. It's a tiny Victorian railway worker's house."

"Yeah, I think I know the ones."

"Once I'm certain that this is the right move, I plan to buy something."

"Not short of a bob or two then?"

"No. I did well in the firm. Bonuses and that."

"That's what nearly killed you."

"Yeah. And well, when Lily died, it turned out that she'd bought her house from the Council".

Mhairi smiled, "So, she wasn't daft, your old lady."

I gave a cock-eyed smile, "After she died, the house was sold and the expenses paid, a legacy left to the Parish Church and I got the rest."

"Jammy bugger, did you know?"

"Not a bit. She’d talked about her nest egg, but I assumed that she meant a little bit of cash in her savings account, and that it was all going to the church."

"Must have come in handy?"

"Yes. I've managed to pay my London flat off, so whatever I earn from rental is mine, after expenses are paid."

---

Lily's spare room had contained a single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, all a matching set, in walnut veneer. The walls were papered in a floral print that was probably old-fashioned even then, the curtains were another floral print and there was a pink candlewick bedspread. The bed wasn't even particularly comfortable. But for those two months, the room was mine in a way my bedroom at my parents never was. Lily never came in, never disturbed me. Oh, not that I got up to anything, I was far too inhibited for that, but it was the idea that she respected my privacy.

Breakfast was tea, juice and a bowl of cornflakes listening to the news on the radio. I worked long hours at the supermarket and got extra for helping Mr Patel when he did the books and did stock-takes. Back at Lily's there would be a little something, 'to take the edge off your appetite' whilst she was cooking my tea. There was always a copious quantity and I have no idea, now, how she made things work financially. She never let me pay for anything, that's for you when you go to University she'd say, I can manage fine. And she did. There was always seconds, and a pudding.

She would buy the Radio Times and we'd have a look through and see what was on the radio, a concert or perhaps a play. Life with Lily was quiet and not at all lively, but it helped. Those two months with Lily managed to give me valuable space to recover.