Tightly holding her hand

A long lunch in a quiet corner at Brampton Mill, a soft, hazy, cool summer day. It was he who brought it up; how, during the last week he had given great thought as to why he could no longer say 'I love you'...maybe because Coppelia's distress- ' intense jealousy' he called it - had somehow repelled him? He didn't know for sure, but it concerned him a great deal, he felt they needed to talk perhaps. So followed a conversation of such hard things for them to say - and hear - yet as always they could communicate so well, however painful the territory. Coppelia took this chance to reveal to him just how unhappy she had been and how hard she had found it to cope. She also, for the first time, touched on how it had been for her, two summers ago.

"You are really too hard on me, you show too little understanding of what it's been like for me.." and she expressed in detail just how it DID feel to be always 'second place' to another woman. What it did to her, how painful it was. Maybe he should take more account of this, not judge her so harshly... this was the right time to tell him he was being unfair." Yes, maybe I am," he said, holding her hand across the table.
He listened with deep concern as Coppelia gently, carefully, slowly, reminded him of the reality of her position. She asked him if he took her for granted, did he really appreciate her? and watched the movement of his thoughts behind his features. Something was shifting. She may not know yet what, or how, but something new came to life as he listened so intently. A closeness between them returned. Having him accept her words of anguish, having him hear and respond so lovingly, brought deep relief to Coppelia. Many many words of healing, of compassion, flowed between them that afternoon. He told her how he still dreamed of their living on the north Norfolk coast, how he still loved being with her more than anyone. Coppelia said something which made him laugh out loud - she cannot now remember what - then she kissed his hand and said "well, whatever you feel, it's close enough to love..." That phrase again.
He told Coppelia how H had been very ill again recently, and how each time this happened a hope would rise "maybe this will be it..." She sensed a renewed commitment in his words, his attitude.
As they wandered by the river, they discussed the essay he was writing for his course, the recent election, venturing into matters serious, ridiculous, and all in between. Making love in a hay meadow, they played and laughed like two children.
And how she so loved that way he held her hand, very tightly.
Later, as he drove away, Coppelia's heart was warmer than it had been for a long time. Where once she would have expected the slap of emptiness as she walked to the station, today it was a tentative peacefulness that was holding her somehow. She could still feel him tightly holding her hand. And there was something else. Now she had been more open about how everything had affected her, she knew there was more she needed to tell him. The conversation begun that day was unfinished.