A long road

Coppelia did try really hard, that summer. How grateful she was for all those good, kind people in her life, who were there for her. Ready and willing with their company, their caring, their love. She later wondered if she would have survived without them. Too many to record here, not all knew everything, just that she needed help, she was low...they didn't ask. The Franciscan Order she belonged to kept in touch and were praying for her situation regularly all that summer. She had broken down at a prayer meeting some time ago. Who knows how love holds us, carries us, at times like these?

Yet another trip away had been planned for that weekend, she was staying a short while with two friends in Lincolnshire, under an hour's drive from Peterborough.

It was near here that he met her for a long lunch and a long talk. He was early. She saw his car at the far end of the huge, empty car park. Only a car. But even the sight of it made her heart jump. He had seen her and came out from the pub to meet her. That night H would arrive home. He was lighter, he looked better, but she saw for the first time that he had lost weight, and there was a strain in his expression that hadn't been there before.

He told her of his daughter's reaction to the phone bill. His son had been more understanding. 'I know you are a good man, dad. If you have been doing this, there is a good reason.' They decided that, despite his decision, they would continue as before but with much greater care on his part. With H's health still in the balance, if they were patient, and did their best with the opportunities available, maybe it would not be too long before...they were free to be together.

But, as Coppelia listened, she made up her mind. She would write to his daughter. She needed to show this woman the truth about their relationship, about her, about everything. If he could not stand up to his daughter's words, then she would.

She never received a reply. In the letter she had offered to meet, should his daughter wish to question her face to face. After a week, Coppelia phoned. His daughter, by all accounts was a strong minded, wilful and forceful woman. A magistrate, a university lecturer, a successful businesswoman who stood no nonsense.

When Coppelia spoke there was silence on the other end of the phone. When the words came they were calm, measured. Have you also rung my brother? No. Why not? Because you were the one who was angry with your father, not him. Your father did not feel he could tell you about me, he thought you wouldn't understand, especially as I am two years younger than you.
Then his daughter fired just one bullet.
'My father is weak! He has always been weak..'
With that, she declined Coppelia's offer to meet. They said a curt goodbye and ended the call.

Whilst she hadn't really believed a meeting would be agreed, she was glad she had phoned. Whatever happened now, this woman was bound to see her differently.
She had left no stone unturned. She never would.

Now before her was a long, long road, one they had committed themselves to travelling together. The seesaw was slowing down.