'This may be all we ever have'

All that spring and into summer, however hard she tried she remained dead in that place where dreams had always been. No fire, no lightness, no vital spring. It would take time, she told herself.
They cherished some lovely days. A special picnic by the Butterfly Bridge over the River Ouse, Bedford, many afternoons lunching and then walking at Brampton Mill, afternoons in their usual hotel, endless discussions inspired by his course on philosophy. Sharing so many thoughts. Just being together. Being together brought each of them deep, deep joy just as it always had.Yet fear lurked always. Fear that, despite his assurances, if H found out, it could all repeat itself.

In late May they spent a wonderful long day by the sea, visiting his holiday home on the Norfolk coast. The last time had been in early October - so how good it was to back again, how good it was to gaze again at that glorious ocean, wander those streets, imagine they did not have to leave - ever! Again they spoke of how, one day, this could be home. But now they each knew, deep in their hearts, the likelihood of this becoming reality faded more and more with each passing day...

Then, July arrived: it was now one year since H's heart attack. He told Coppelia how he had found H quietly crying and when he asked her what was wrong, she reminded him of those dreadful events 12 months ago.

Something changed in him at that time. Crushed by the realisation that, despite almost a whole year, her frail health was being managed quite well, he confided in Coppelia that he really had not expected H to live this long, had really believed that, by now, they may be free to be together.

'Do you realise this may be all we ever have? She could outlive me?' He became resigned to this, his own hope now visibly greatly diminshed. He told Coppelia she may be wasting her life waiting for him, was she sure she could endure a relationship like this?

'This is how it could be for years!' he said. He would understand if she chose to leave, to find someone else. Emphasising once more how he could not risk leaving H, his mood flattened considerably for some weeks, and Coppelia grew concerned. She assured him that, as long as he was in her life and they could share time together and remain close - in whatever way they could - she would find a way to live with this. The alternative - a life without him - was unthinkable.

Something about that one-year passing seemed to flick a switch inside him. For the first time he began to mention his age. All she could do was reassure him, gently remind him that it was HIM she loved, who he was, what he was, and age could never alter that...

So, they lived through those days delighting in a love whose existence now dare look no further than the next phone call, the next arranged day together. A love whose wings, clipped and broken, lifted its head no more towards the wide sky, the wide sky where only dreams belonged.

Silver birches

No matter how fierce the wind, how rough the storm, how hard the rain. Some things are so deeply rooted, nothing can unearth them. From above ground it may appear the damage has been done but later up they spring again, however tentatively, however fragile they may seem. The roots are firm, the roots are deep.

And so it was, it seemed to Coppelia, as a new year, 2008, dawned soon after their trip to Bordeaux. Reeling from the months before, against - to her, it seemed - all odds, here they still were. They could not help it.

Once she told him she saw them as two magnets. Impossible to be held apart for long, the forces drawing them together were too great, almost outside their control.

The health of H was now settling down, occasional angina attacks managed well by drugs. She remained tearful and suspicious of his behaviour, but as the year moved on H was more relaxed and so, therefore, was he.

Meeting was difficult and he and Coppelia drew on every opportunity to be together, however brief. Then, in early April he enrolled on a course in Bedford which meant for one day a week they could be certain of a whole afternoon - and sometimes an evening, too - together.

This continues to this day. Three ten-week terms a year. What a difference this made! Secure in the knowledge that time was set aside for them. In between terms they were able to meet by visiting exhibitions in London or elsewhere, and using other chances to be together, when H was occupied for long stretches of time due to her own activities.

In early May, Coppelia at last met his old friend, Ralph. to her, this marked a new level of commitment from him, somehow set a seal on what the relationship meant to him.

In early April, when they met following his regular London lunch with his brothers, strolling and laughing through the balmy, late afternoon backstreets, and totally on impulse, he saw a ring in a jeweller's window and asked her if she'd like it. She tried it on - Cubic Zirconia, pale pinkish lilac, the colour she so loved. A huge stone, sparkling as if a star had fallen on her finger.

Sometimes, towards the end of their weekly rendezvous on the day of his course, they would park at the wood near Peterborough where they used to walk long ago, where they had spent so many hours growing closer and closer in those early days.

This woodland of silver birches was as a santuary, a secret knowing companion to their love as it had grown and blossomed, a place where they had shared, cried, discussed, laughed, escaped...the whispering, softly bending birches enfolding them, the grassy clearings, bending pathways, enticing them into the very centre of the wood as if the trees themselves desired to hold these two lost lovers within its heart forever.

One late afternoon, they were parked as the sun began to set behind the silver birches, and the narrow road into the wood darkened to a mysterious grey.

Coppelia, held in his arms in the front of the car, her head on his shoulder, gazed at the tops of the trees as they swayed so very slowly - as birches do, even if no breeze is detected - and was sure they were nodding towards her alone - ' we always knew, all would be well... we will always be here. And so, too, will you...'