See-saw

This was something she had not dared to dream of. There he was, a tall, slim figure, white short sleeved shirt, sunglasses, his arms loosely folded, his head slightly to one side, as he watched her approach. She tilted the parasol to see him better.

After everything, this was like a meeting outside of time. They were the same people, yet they were not.

She was strangely calm, focussed, relaxed. It just seemed so right, the two of them side by side in his car. They held hands, pressing their fingers hard together. As he drove, she kissed the left side of his neck as she always had. Just talking, laughing, looking at one another. He said he found it hard to concentrate on the road. He loved the parasol, it was exactly as he had imagined, and she looked so lovely peering into his eyes from behind its brim.

They headed for a nature reserve a few miles away, and once walking amongst the trees on the path by the river they kissed as if they would never stop. Coppelia's hot tears trickled down around her mouth and they could taste the saltiness, but carried on, kissing each others faces, necks, hands...they had reached a small wooden bridge over a narrow stream, the water sluggish and low due to the prolonged hot weather.

He was telling her how he had not understood just how awful life would seem without her. How trapped he felt. How he knew he could not, ever again, insist on a total separation - he just couldn't bear it. They talked of her letter, and agreed they would speak each week on the phone and take it from there. All depended on how - or whether - H recovered.

In silence they stood, in a fervent and long embrace, their bodies touching in every possible place, the heat bearing down even through the tree canopy. Their arms pressed each to each, as if to let go for one moment might mean they lost each other. Coppelia could not remember ever feeling such sweet relief, like a long hard hunger being satisfied, like gulping down cool water after almost collapsing of thirst.

The tenderness with which he again kissed her, lifted her heart at last from those frozen depths where all joy had hidden, afraid and broken. So slowly they wandered, holding hands, stroking each other's arms, gazing again and again into each other's eyes. As if they had never seen one another before. They so needed this. So very much. To drink each other in once more. To be together.

Soon after his return to Winchester, H was able to return home and there she made a slow recovery. He was terrified of her discovering he and Coppelia were still in touch. Her family - and his - were angry with him to learn that his affair had very likely brought on the heart attack. They made him feel selfish, ungrateful. Coppelia understood how hard this all was for him.

Coppelia's gradual recovery from her despair was haunted by the vivid memory of the blackness she had known, and her joy was never again complete. Whatever had died in her, did not regain life. Yes, hope was flickering now - even, sometimes, burning again - but her heart was unable to soar, her spirit could not take flight in the way it always used to.

She was afraid of that despair returning, it seemed so close at times, hovering behind her shoulder, ready to smother her should anything go wrong. She allowed herself to be cautiously happy, but the restlessness remained.

This was like living on a tightrope, looking both ways, not belonging anywhere, too aware she could fall again at any time. One minute the colours returned, the next a shadow would cover her. One minute she again knew the brightness of living, the next all energy drained from her and she would take out the pills again.

What made Coppelia most afraid - and today, sometimes still does - was knowing she was capable of falling into that place. Now she had been there, she knew it existed, that it was possible to find herself in the midst of black, full of black, drowning in black. Rather than risk that, would it be best to take her own life, after all? She could not, ever, ever, face being there again. She would rather end it now. Just in case. Like a violent see-saw her perception swung from hope to despair and back again, nearly driving her mad.

Then there was that dreadful ache of missing him, of needing to just be with him - even if only for a moment. Oh how that ache hurt! She was still compiling the photo album for him, selecting pictures and having the negatives printed was taking some time, as she wanted it be just right. Doing this brought her comfort, seemed to make him real to her again when she felt so alone. One of her favourite pictures was of him in shadow, just visible, in an armchair reading a paper in a pub in Pickering. Taken during their very first trip to North Yorkshire. She had a copy of this enlarged for herself.

So she survived the days, using everything and anyone she could find to get her through, trying to silence those seesaw voices in her head.

She must get away. Anything to stop it. More distractions.

She had a short holiday by the sea with a good friend, she had another short holiday with her daughter. Late in August she was due to help run and organise a peace event at a four day festival, and she went. He rang her there with some bad news.

He had overlooked the fact that all numbers dialled were recorded on his phone bill. This had arrived in the post the day before, and H had found Coppelia's number listed several times.

It hardly needs to be said what followed this - H broke down, had two angina attacks and needed the doctor. He assured her they had not met, just spoken on the phone, and begged H to at least allow their friendship to continue, if nothing else. He told H how he had missed Coppelia so badly, he could not face having no contact at all. But H insisted, despite his pleading. She would go away to leave him space to decide what to do. If he chose Coppelia, she would not come back.

While away, she again had an attack - more serious this time, and ended up back in hospital.

Whilst H was still away, he and Coppelia met by the river in the small town where he had said goodbye to her all those weeks ago. He was grave, his face drawn. What am I to do? he asked. His family had again seriously criticised him, for doing this to H. There had been murmurings of his daughter not letting him see his grandsons again, if he left H for this 'harlot, who must only want you for your money.'

They walked arm in arm, they kissed, but he was quiet and troubled, and told her he felt he had no choice. He would ring her on Friday to confirm his decision.

Coppelia had finished her album, and handed it to him, wrapped in rich violet tissue paper. He opened it, and she saw his hands were shaking. 'I will always treasure this, more than you know.'

Then he handed her a gift. The day back in July that he had spent with Ralph in London, he had searched for a fan and found this one, hand painted black on cream, a Japanese brush design. It was beautiful. You will remember it was that same night he had returned home to the nightmare of H's discovery, so the fan had been hastily hidden away....

When he rang that Friday, it was as she expected. He couldn't do it. He was so sure the distress would kill H, and if it did, he could not live with himself. He dare not take the risk of leaving her. Coppelia felt she had been on a furiously swirling roundabout, round and round, now she was at last thrown off.

They arranged to meet before H's daughter drove her home again - to talk over where they might go from here.