StockingsChapter 10 The Next Morning
- 4 years ago
- 11
- 0
SerendipityChapter 10 free porn video
I could not believe that she managed to get out of bed without disturbing me, but she woke me with coffee ... blessed, life-giving fluid. She'd cleaned her teeth and used mouthwash, kissed me despite my morning breath, and sat beside me with her ... what? Sniff ... Earl Grey?
"I think I'd like to go to Bridie's church," she said, "do you mind? Will you come with me?"
"I don't suppose it'll kill me," I said, "no, I don't mind and yes, I will."
It was interesting ... and quite unlike any church service I'd ever attended before. For a start, it was in a large private house, not a dedicated church building. The congregation was small, perhaps thirty (I didn't count) and ranged in age from about seven to someone who looked about ninety. It was a large room, though, and we weren't cramped. They made us very welcome. Several of the younger ones sat on bean-bags or pouffes, but most of us had comfortable seats. Well ... for a start, quite a lot of it was in Scottish Gaelic, though I wasn't sure if some might have been Norwegian or Danish; I don't speak any of them, so I couldn't be sure. But the singing was intensely moving. I might not have understood the words, but the emotions came through clearly. The speech was almost musical in itself. The homily – too short to call it a sermon – I think he translated into English as he went along for our benefit, was about the omnipresence of God; how He was there even when we felt most alone, and how we needed to seek to recognise His presence everywhere, but that sometimes we needed to go to special places to find Him. The meeting ended with tea and coffee over which I had to tell several of the people there about Serendipity.
As we were about to leave, the old chap took me by the arm. "Fergus Davie," he said, "Eric asked if I would lend you Maisie."
"Maisie?" I must have sounded puzzled, because he laughed.
"My Land-Rover," he said, "she's not much to look at, but I fitted a Perkins diesel and I've kept the important parts right. She's never let me down."
"Thank you," I said sincerely, "Grace will be pleased to be able to get around the Island this week."
"'Tis my pleasure," he assured me.
If I tell you it was ... she was ... ancient is closer than just old; a short wheel-base vehicle with the headlamps in the radiator grill, which will tell an enthusiast more than anything else, and very basic, thinly padded, leather covered seats. She had a metal roof, rather than canvas, which was a relief. I sat behind the wheel and put my foot on the clutch. It didn't move; I pushed harder.
"Don't you dare strain." Grace's voice left me in no doubt of awful consequences. We changed places and I was mortified she was able to depress the clutch, if not easily, certainly without great strain. Anyway, she turned the key and pressed the starter; the motor churned, but didn't fire.
The old boy emerged from the house and walked up to the driver's side of the vehicle; Grace opened the window.
"You've never driven a diesel, Lassie?"
"No, sir..."
"Call me Fergus, Lassie. You need to use the heaters ... that button there? Hold it in for a count of thirty; more if it's cold, then use the starter."
The engine caught immediately, though there was a cloud of black smoke for a few seconds. "I ought to have realised. On Serendipity, there's a light that goes out when it's time to start the engine."
"Aye, but that one's a lot younger than either Maisie or the engine I put in her. When you want to switch off, pull that knob ... there. But don't forget to push it back in after, or she won't start."
She drove us the half-mile or so back to the harbour and parked ... very carefully. Not that she was worried about damaging Maisie, but rather to avoid destroying any of the other vehicles in the car-park; the old Rover was built like a tank. Being registered before nineteen-sixty, she had no seat belts and no power assistance, either; both steering and brakes required a fair amount of 'beef'. Grace allowed plenty of room for stopping and manoeuvring.
The sky was clouded over and threatening rain. We ate bread and butter, with poached kipper, sitting in the saloon, listening to the rising wind.
"What did you think of the service?" she asked cautiously.
I looked at her, her face wore a frown. I thought before answering. "Odd ... I would have thought I'd be bored, but I wasn't. I ... don't know. Disturbing, in a way. Fascinating, in another." I shrugged. "The singing was beautiful."
"Yes..." she was very pensive, "but it all seemed to ... speak to me, somehow."
I didn't divulge what had been running through my head during the service ... I didn't do love, let alone marriage, even if she would consider marrying such as me ... how could I support her? And ... she knew my reputation. It was why she'd come to me, after all. There was no place for a woman – a pregnant one, anyway – in my life. Was there?
We listened to music; Bruch's 'Scottish Fantasy', 'Fingal's Cave', a CD of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards that I hadn't had long ... we snuggled together and listened. When the rain started, I lit the oil-fired heater, though I turned it down to a low heat. When I looked at Grace she was still frowning a little, at least when she didn't realise I was looking. Perhaps my expression was the same; I don't know.
There are a great many churches on Mainland, the largest Orkney Island where we were, some ruined, some still in use, some now museums. We visited many of them on our way to, or from, other places of interest. The old Rover carried us, noisily and not too fast, around the island and depending upon the weather we stood, sat or crawled through various ancient places, trying (with some success) to sense the spirits of the people who had lived and worked there through ... maybe ... up to six thousand years.
In the middle of the week we crossed the exposed causeway at low tide to visit Brough of Birsay, and on Friday (after Grace removed my stitches) we spent some time among the stones of the Ring of Brodgar.
That latter was, for me, the most significant visit of the week. We stood in the middle of the Ring, looking out; Grace was tucked against me, her arm round my back, mine round her shoulders. I suddenly had the oddest sensation, that we were at that moment, part of the landscape. Not just placed there, a temporary addition, but somehow an organic part. More than that, there was... personality there. We were in some way both separate and unified. I can't express it properly, I'm afraid, but the effect was that something bubbled up, growing inside me. Something that could no longer be denied.
I found myself saying, "I love you, Grace." I thought for a moment that she had not heard me, because she made no response. I even felt some relief, as if I had been let off the hook, but then she spoke, quietly but clearly.
"You must not. You cannot."
I didn't know how to respond to that, but after we'd been standing there for a few minutes longer, I said, "It's not as though I have a choice, Grace." Then we were both silent for some time, I was aware, yes, of her body pressed against mine, but also something outside both of us; or perhaps we were inside whatever it was. It was the same thing, I am sure that had ... the only word that fits is forced ... me to admit out loud my feelings for Grace, that previously I had not even admitted to myself. I turned her to face me and tilted her face up with a finger under her chin, realising for the first time that her cheeks were streaked with tears. I softly kissed her forehead, eyes, nose and lips and folded her in my arms.
When you've had a surgeon poking around your insides – no matter how skilful he (or she) might be, there are limits to how long you can stand.
"Grace, I really need to sit down..."
She was instantly in 'nurse' mode, brisk, concerned, rather detached. "Oh! Of course, Ted. I'm sorry. Can you make it back to the car?"
"Well..." I drew it out, "as long as you hold my hand, I think I can manage..."
"You! Come on, then."
Actually it was easier walking than standing, but when we got back to Maisie, I climbed in and sank onto the hard little seat with a sigh of relief.
"Are you okay, Ted? I'm sorry, I should have been thinking..."
"Don't worry, Mister Mate. It sort of crept up on me. I'll be fine."
She got the old diesel running and drove us carefully back to the harbour, while I ... puzzled over my – involuntary – declaration of love and Grace's ... to me inexplicable ... response. By the time we were back aboard Serendipity, I hadn't resolved the issues in my mind, but I had set them aside, determined to enjoy every minute of the time I was going to be spending with Grace. That, after all, was my usual response to anything I didn't understand, especially emotional matters ... procrastination.
It seemed that Grace was equally happy to forget those moments in the stone circle, because she just carried on as usual. She got on with preparing a sauce to go with pasta for our supper, suggesting I check out the weather forecast for Sunday. While I was waiting for the laptop to boot up (it was getting on in years and could do with some care and attention) I called across to the galley, "Why Sunday? I thought Eric and Bridie were coming tomorrow..."
"They are, but not until the afternoon. And I thought they'd want to go to their church Sunday morning. I ... erm ... I thought I'd quite like to go with them."
"Okay," I shrugged, "that's fine by me." The computer was up by then, so I logged on to the Met Office website. There was no indication of anything untoward; a developing depression just west of Iceland (not unusual) but nothing to stop us making a start Sunday afternoon. I told Grace, who left her culinary creation bubbling on the stove and came across to look.
She pointed at the depression on the chart. "Might that be a problem?"
"We should have plenty of warning if will be. At the moment, it's pretty shallow. If it intensifies and gets over this way, there're plenty of places we can shelter."
"Good enough. Ready to eat?"
Cayleigh
- 12.04.2020
- 13
- 0
