BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

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                                                                              Chapter Eight

 

Another Monday: another week and John Bellamy looked at his watch and decided he had about half an hour before his next appointment so he asked his secretary for his appointment book. She slid open the lower drawer, and in just a moment passed the book across the desk.

    “Here you are Mr. Bellamy.” she said, and he, taking up the book, flipped through its pages until he came to the entries for the week. He was looking to see if there were any longish trips, and he was pleased to find that he had none that required an overnight stay. His liking for trips away from home was not so great as it used to be, partly he guessed because he was getting older, and though he felt physically fit, he somehow didn’t have the mentality for it any more. He used to look forward to being away from home for a few days, knowing it might mean the chance of a casual partner, a one night stand, a change from the home routine. But now he found it too much of a bother. He wondered too, now he was free, and playing away wasn’t deceiving anyone, was that why it was less appealing. Was it just the excitement of doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing that had made it so compelling? He had often wondered if Edward had taken the chance to do the same when he had been on one of his trips. He had never given any clues that he did, and John hadn’t really tried to find out, but he had come to the conclusion that he probably didn’t.

    “He’s too much of a home maker,” he had decided, and anyway “he would probably be too scared in case he upset me.”

    John had always been the dominant half of his partnership with Edward, and it suited him to think that he would feel inferior to him. But now they had gone their separate ways; and each of them was starting out on a new voyage; he had found his new independence less like a new beginning; but rather it was more like a door closing. Still, he would always be very fond of Edward, and he hoped that somehow he would find his way without him. “He’ll have to hurry up though.” he thought,  “or he will be an old man before he finds a new partner,” remembering how long it had taken him to persuade Edward to move in with him  more than five years before.

    He returned once more to his work plan for the week and spotted that he had 'penciled in' an appointment with a Mrs. Marshall sometime during that time.

    “Yes of course! Mrs. Marshall! a nice little lady,” he said to his secretary,remembering his recent visit to her, and then smiling, “I think she fancied me a bit, and her late husband hardly cold.”

    She looked at him in an odd way, knowing full well the life he led, and being quite certain that if she knew him better, Mrs. Marshall wouldn’t fancy him at all. “Apart from being gay,” she thought, while smiling to her boss and making a little noise which she hoped he would take to be a laugh, “he thinks too much of himself, and I’m sure the only one he fancies is his reflection.”

    Looking at his notes to remind himself of the details of her case, he saw that there would not be any complications and his visit would be mainly to confirm settlements already made, and decisions already taken. He wondered why he had not done this on the telephone, and made a note that he would ring her to see if she needed a personal call.

    Half an hour later he was out of his office, and on his way to the estate agents to arrange the viewing of a flat. Since he had relinquished his half of the flat he shared with Edward, he had been in a small hotel. This was no doubt another factor affecting his newly found contentment to stay at home. He was being well fed, and well looked after. True it was more costly than having his own place, but he was quite happy where he was, and in many ways reluctant to make the move. But he knew that he couldn’t stay in limbo for ever; that he would have to make the break sooner or later, so he had made the decision to find a place of his own. Perhaps then he could get back into circulation, and, who knows, he might want to resume his former life style, with or without a permanent partner.

 

Margaret was busy with the dust cloth. It was a bit nerve racking and she could that Jonathan was feeling very tense. She had insisted on meeting Claire as soon as he had let it slip that he had met her mother. She wasn’t at all jealous that of the two mums she would be second in the introduction stakes. One had to come before the other, and it would be silly to make a fuss about it. But she thought that it would be good for him, and hoped that bringing her home would somehow help him to feel normal again.

    She was very pleased at the way he had put the trauma of the previous week behind him, and she was keen for him to put it right out of his mind. Perhaps bringing Claire home might just do that, or at least make him feel that if she is wanted, so is he.

    “Mum,” he said at last, “she’s only coming to say hello, you don’t have to clean the house from top to bottom.”

    “Just because you wouldn’t notice if the dust was an inch thick, doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t.” was the reply. “She’s a young lady and she would notice.” She carried on with her dusting, and then she said, “If it bothers you that much why don’t you go for her now; walk slowly if it’s a bit too early.”

    When Jonathan made no move to go she waved the duster at him in mock anger. “Go on, get on with you.”  she said, in a voice louder than normal but somehow with laughter mixed in it, whereupon Jonathan picked up his coat and left the house. Thank goodness Margaret said silently, mouthing the words and smiling as she did so. At last she had things to smile about, having gone through an emotional ‘big dipper’ in the last few weeks.

    The dusting was in a way hypnotic, and without realizing she was going back over events. First there was the crash; Bill in the hospital - critical - then dying. Jonathan’s astonishing reaction. The funeral and seeing that young woman whose photo she had found

amongst Bills papers. Meeting with the doctor to see if he could help Jonathan, and then him running off like that. It had been a bad time, there was no doubt about that; but she had discovered a growing liking for the young doctor, who had tried so hard to ease her pain. Of course she soon found out that he wasn’t quite a doctor, but he had acted like one and the idea had stuck, and somehow she didn’t want to change it. Then her little boy demonstrating to her that he was not the little boy anymore. He was growing up, and would soon be presenting his girl friend. Yes he was growing up, but he was finding, like many boys his age, that it was not easy, and she knew he would slip from the tightrope now and again. She just hoped that when he did there would be someone there to offer him a helping hand.

    She was still flicking the dust nearly an hour later when she heard the front door opening. Quickly getting rid of her duster, she waited for them to come in. Jonathan, looking slightly uncomfortable, and displaying that rare thing for him, a hint of a pink on his cheeks, as he gently pushed his girl forward.

    “Hi mum, this is Claire.” he said, with a curious mixture of pride and embarrassment.

    “Hello Claire, it’s very nice to meet you.” taking hold of the hand that the young girl had offered. She was a pretty girl, quite tall and slim and with nice long fair hair, and a very bonny face.

    “My word,” she continued, “Isn’t  Jonathan a lucky boy; he told me that you are a pretty girl and he is right.”

    Claire too had been slightly red about the face, and the compliment quickly turned a gentle glow into a full scale blush.

    “Please sit down Claire.” she said, allowing the young lady to escape from being the centre of attention, a situation which she usually enjoyed, but not on this occasion. Despite Jonathan’s plea Margaret had prepared some sandwiches, so she left them together for a few minutes while she went to make tea, returning presently with a tray.

    “Here we are, I think we should all enjoy a cup of tea.” as she put the tray down on a little table, appearing not to notice as the two young people quickly separated, each to the ends of the settee.

    After a while the tea was drunk and the cakes eaten; mostly by Jonathan. Claire had declined anything to eat, and when the conversation become a little freer, Margaret asked about their plans for the evening, giving the young ones the opportunity they clearly wanted, to make a move.

    “We are going to a school social.” Claire told her. Then she told Margaret "how much she had enjoyed meeting her," and that “she would have to go home to get changed,” and that “she hoped she would be able to come again.” all in an uncharacteristic nervous rush.

    “Of course, I hope you will come again, as often as you want.” Margaret answered, and turning to her son she said, “Now take Claire home. Will you be coming back to get changed?”

    “I’ll be all right as I am,” he answered, “and we’ll go straight from Clair’s, so I’ll see you when I get home tonight.”

    With that they were off, and Margaret was busy at once, first putting the cups and plates on the tray, and then taking then into the kitchen. Then she started to get things ready for Emma’s supper, who would be home a little later than  usual after going to a friend’s house for tea after school.

    Jonathan was glad that was over. But he was pleased too, because he didn’t know whether his mum would take to Claire when they met, but now it seemed that she liked her. It had been a bit funny though, trying to be polite all the time, Claire not wanting to eat any cakes, and not wanting to tell his mum that she didn’t like tea very much. Now they were going to the school dance, and he was looking forward to holding her close.

    Although they had looked forward to the school social since it was announced a while ago, they were both disappointed with it. It was another dark and damp night, not particularly cold for the time of year, but just cold enough to make you want to stay indoors, and not many people had turned up. There were a couple of good films on in the town, and it was England against France on television. Jonathan had been fed up at the thought of missing this match, but he had promised Claire, and this time his ‘charm’ had failed him and she would not change her mind.

     They could both see that the other attractions had won the day, and the evening was beginning to be a bit of a drag. Claire, feeling a little bit guilty, suggested that they leave and go home. Now Jonathan was even more fed up thinking that his evening with Claire was over so soon.

    “No silly,” she said “I mean go to my home, and you can watch the second half of the match.”

    Jonathan thought this was a great idea but was cautious. “What about your mother?” he said, “She might not like it; and anyway she probably wouldn’t want to watch football.”

    “She won’t have to, will she?” Claire answered in a very mischievous way “She’ll be at the bingo, won’t she?”

    Jonathan brightened up at once, seeing that things were going his way. The thought of watching England trounce France, while he and Claire cuddled on the settee was hard to beat. It was an easy decision to make, and in about twenty minutes they had reached her front door. As she had said, her mother was out, and Claire produced a key to let them in.

    “Go into the ‘room’ and put the fire on, and I’‘ll make us a drink.” she said, and with the same touch of mischief she added, “Oh’ and I suppose you will want the ‘tele’ on.” He had no trouble with the television, and when he found the football channel, he was pleased to see that ‘we’ were one up.

    “They could do with another one.” he was thinking, as he tried to work out how to put the gas fire on.

    Claire came in with two beakers. “Hope you like hot chocolate?” she said, putting them on the floor. She switched on a small side light, then turned off the main ceiling light,  before returning to the settee, choosing not to sit on it, but on a soft rug in front of it.

     Jonathan had managed the fire, and so he sat on the floor next to her. They could  feel the heat from the fire, and the warmth of the hot chocolate as they sat, leaning back on the front of the settee.

    The room was softly lit from the side, and they watched the football in silence. Jonathan could feel Claire next to him, arms touching, legs touching, and he was aware of a strange sensation. They had been going out for a few months now, and they had shared many kisses, and some mild touching, but so far, always outside, or at school. This was the first time they had been together, inside, in private. Claire too had caught the magic of the moment, and was feeling the same tingle. Neither of them had experienced this kind of intimacy before, nor could they foresee where it may lead.

    Football was beginning to be less important as the atmosphere became more charged, each of them aware of the mood that was developing.

    “Do you love me?” Claire asked, suddenly, unexpectedly, in the way that women, of any age or culture, always do.

    Turning to her, putting an arm behind her back, and reaching across her with his other arm, aiming for her shoulder, he accidentally touched her breast. Expecting a rebuke he withdrew, placing his hand instead on her nearest arm, while he muttered a little “Sorry; I didn’t mean to do that.”

    “That’s all right,” she said “It didn’t do any harm.”

    Jonathan was slightly perplexed. He had never touched her breast before, though there had been many times when he wanted to. He had expected her to be angry with him but she didn’t seem at all cross, and hadn’t pushed him away.

    “Do you love me?” she said again.

    Jonathan was feeling very strange. They were so close, so warm, and his senses were being bombarded. This time it was not a mistake, as he put his hand up to her breast, lightly at first, but when she made to attempt to remove it he pressed a little harder and gently squeezed, while telling her that he did love her.

    Jonathan did not know if Claire’s affectionate mood was a reflection of her feelings for him, or whether she was just feeling sorry for him because he had lost his father, and for the problems that had followed, but he was enjoying her closeness and warmth. After this first embrace, it was she who made the move that brought their lips together. Jonathan was very excited, and encouraged by her response. Feeling a little bolder, his hands caressed and found places they had not found before. Claire too was being adventurous and before long they had reached the point from which turning back would take more self control than they possessed.

    Unwittingly they had opened a door that closed behind them, and soon they were joined emotionally and physically, in their first experience of the physical side of love; both of them lost in their own excitement, neither of them quite sure of how to share with each other this special moment. Then Claire uttered a small cry as if in pain, and Jonathan, not realizing the significance of that little cry, and feeling no pain himself continued his movement, unaware of the ‘sacrifice’ she had made for him; a sacrifice that a woman can make only once in her life. In a short time Jonathan was starting to feel flushed, then an explosion inside caused him to shudder. Now it was his turn to cry out, but this time it was not from pain.

    After a little while, they emerged as if from a broken spell, each feeling a little awkward and not knowing what to do next. Claire stood up, and turning her back on Jonathan, tidied herself up, and Jonathan was quick to use the opportunity to do the same.

    Neither of them could speak at first, nor knew what to say. They were young and with no experience. They did not know if what they had just done was wrong, but instinctively knew that they should keep it to themselves.

    Jonathan put his arms around Claire, who looked as though she was about to cry.  “Don’t be upset,” he said to her very gently, and with as much reassurance as a fifteen-year-old is capable of, “that was very nice, and I think I will love you forever.”

    She squeezed him for a minute, and said, in a voice that was subdued and surprised,

    “I didn’t think we would do that, but I didn’t know how to stop.”

    “Me neither,” he said, ”but did you really want to stop; I don’t think I did?”

    “No, I didn’t really; but I was a bit frightened; and what if?” The question remained unfinished and unanswered.

    Before long Jonathan was on his way home, the football completely forgotten, his mind swimming with thoughts, pondering the events of the evening, and of Claire. He somehow felt that it would not be the same anymore. It was different. He was different. He knew he was changed, though he would find it difficult to say how. Had he been able to share his secret with his mother she would have been able to tell him. He had passed one of life’s markers; a milestone. One of many he would encounter as he negotiated the bridge between boyhood and manhood.  She might also have told him that there could be no turning back.

 

Edward busied himself around the flat. There was always plenty to do, and his busy work schedule, combined with his irregular hours, often left him with less time than he liked to keep it tidy. He loved his flat, his home; and he was content to be on his own, hardly ever

thinking of John now, only occasionally missing him, and at the moment he was more concerned out other things. John was far from his thoughts.

    He too was on a bridge, and the chasm below was waiting for him if he fell. How could he bridge the gap between his established way of life, to one which, up to now he had shunned?. Indeed, did he want to?. Apart from that, did he have any idea as to ‘her’ feelings? He did not know if the delight he felt when they met was shared. Just because his own emotions were mixed up, didn’t mean that hers were, and when out of site might not have given him a second thought. He was very confused.

    All the time while he was lost in his thoughts, Edward was probing the dusty corners with a brush, and then the windows, not cleaned for months, came under attack. His uncertainties and anxieties were at least providing some impetus, and gradually the flat was being cleaned and tidied.

    Being busy helped Edward to think things through. The roar of the old vacuum cleaner, and the rumble of the washing machine, occluded the outside world, and somehow concentrated his mind. The trouble was, that while there was no shortage of questions, answers were hard to come by, and he realized that he was just going round in circles.

    He sat down, for a moment exhausted. “What’s the bottom line?” he asked himself, somewhat wearily, “and why are you in such a hurry?”

    Perhaps some kind of sense was emerging from this period of forced thinking, for, he reckoned, much of what was in his mind was a reflection of the complete and unexpected change in his life, and this uncertainty was nothing more than re-adjustment.  Was he, he wondered subconsciously trying to find an easy way out. The status quo would certainly be easier, and then he could walk away from that bridge.

    It sounded too complicated, and he was not convinced. The idea that he could ‘re-adjust’ his whole way of life was a concept not easy to handle; but so was the thought of turning his back on the new way of life he had merely glimpsed, but now increasingly desired.

     With that thought he tried to ‘move on’. Get on with something else. He knew that he was not there yet, and that he would have to find some answers to the questions that were troubling him. Not least of these was “What do I want to do with my life?"

    "That’s the bottom line!” he told himself, pleased to have found a direction for his questions, if not any answers.

 

Monday morning again, and Rodney was busy getting himself ready for school, and trying not to get in the way of Wendy. She was also busy, as she readied herself for the long journey back to Reading, and to work.

    It wasn’t hard to tell that the weekend had not been successful; eye contact was avoided and conversation when it occurred, was stilted and awkward. Rodney had folded and removed the bedding from the settee, where he had spent the last two nights. When she had emerged, Wendy looked tired and drawn, and Rodney found no comfort in guessing that her night had been no better than his.

    She waived aside breakfast, but managed a faintly audible, “Thank you.” when he placed a hot cup of coffee in front of her.

    “What time is your train?”, he asked, feigning ignorance, though in fact he already knew. He was simply trying to break the silence. Any talk was better than this unnatural calm, and he was desperate to find a way to mend the rift before Wendy left, fearing that otherwise it might be too late. Sunday had been a blank for both of them, with hardly a word shared. It was like a bad dream.

    “Eight twenty five if it’s on time.” she answered, speaking in a hushed but controlled manner, which gave no clue as to how she was feeling.

    He looked at his wrist watch, and was concerned to realize that time was running out so quickly. “I’m so upset that you are leaving like this,” he said, not able to contain it any longer. “we must talk before you go.”

    She looked at him but did not respond.   

     “You know I love you, and this week-end has been a nightmare,” Rodney stopped, searching for the words. “how could it all have gone wrong; what’s going to happen to us?"

    Again there was no response from Wendy, who seemed to be ignoring Rodney and his plea for discourse.

    He looked directly at her and said in a voice that was near to breaking up. “What went wrong Wendy? Please tell me what I did that upset you so.”

    Perhaps it was the directness of the question; or perhaps it was the real distress in his voice, but Wendy finally found some words. “There isn’t time to sort it out now,” she said “so why don’t you let it be, and we will see how it works out.”

    This was not what Rodney wanted to hear. Even though she had spoken in a warm, even fond way, she had not narrowed the gap. “But things will not work themselves out if you go away leaving it like this.” he answered “It’s just daft.”

    The last bit he said almost to himself, as he sat down, defeated and deflated. “How can you just walk away leaving me in this state?”

    “It’s just the same for me you know,” she said “I’m not enjoying it any more than you.”

    There was however just the hint of concern in her voice, as she looked at him. She was in no doubt that he was suffering, and did not want to make it any worse for him. But neither did she want to give in just because he was hurting. She was hurting too.

   “Rodney; listen to me,” speaking now with a little more warmth in her voice. “We have to leave it now, and let things settle down, and maybe then we will know if we have a future together,” but without giving Rodney a chance to respond she continued, “now you must take me to the station, or I am going to miss my train, and you are going to be late for school.”

    There was something rather comic and a little pathetic as she then moved closer to him and kissed him gently on the forehead.

    “Now come on and get ready.” she said, as a mother might say to her son.

    On his way to the school, Wendy having been safely deposited at the station , Rodney reflected on the events of the weekend, his mind jumping backwards and forward as different thoughts occurred. Wendy had accepted his goodbye kiss just as the train started to move. She, standing in the doorway, head and shoulders through the window, and he on the platform. It was inevitably a short kiss, but Rodney was glad that it was not without some warmth.

    Just the same, as the train started to pick up speed and she was no longer in view, he wondered if he would ever see her again. He was shaken to the core, and lost to explain how a weekend that they had both looked forward to, and which was to have been a milestone in their relationship, could have gone so wrong. How could it be that instead of being the ‘start’ of their lives together, it might be the end.

    Rodney shook his head, bewildered. Of course the mix up with her arrival time had been a bad start, but they had got over that very quickly, and she had been as passionate as always when they had returned to his flat.

    It was the rings of course. He knew it now, and in his heart he had to admit, he knew it then. Without thinking he slapped himself on the side of the face.

    “What could I have been thinking of?”  he almost shouted, “What a fool.”

     His anger however could not prevent him thinking about their lives together. They first met before they were teenagers, and had been in each other’s lives on and off ever since. Their parents had become friends through their local activities, and in particular the tennis club, and as the years went by and they progressed from children to adults, each had known all about the other. Both had managed to get to their different universities, and each had been aware of the academic progress the other was making. Finally when winning their respective degrees, he in Modern Languages and Art History, and she in Business Studies, each had been kept informed of the other. But in spite of a clear wish by both sets of parents that they should end up as a couple, they had not looked at each other romantically. Indeed it would be true to say that they did not like each other very much.  In any event both were popular with the opposite gender, each enjoying many relationships elsewhere. They had simply not needed each other.

     Of course he recognized her beauty. She was tall and slim, a face of classic lines topped with rich dark curly hair. Most of all however, he was aware of her fiercely independent spirit.

    He saw her as a girl who knew her mind, who would fight hard to have her way, and  wouldn’t mind too much if someone else got hurt so that she could have it. She had a sharp wit, a sharp tongue, and an amazing sense of fun; a combination she could use with spectacular effect. But she could, and did, use those same senses in attack when she needed to, and few people got the better of her. But what he remembered most about her was her zest for life and a need for fun and action which sometimes left him breathless.

    “No, I could never love her.” he once told his mother, on the occasion of one of her many attempts at match making. “I think it would be impossible. It would be like a lamb to the slaughter.” Then with a little laugh he added. “And you know which one of us would be the lamb!.

     Half a mile to go, and he would be there. He was almost glad to be back at school, knowing that his mind - and body - would be occupied, and the worries of the week end could be put on hold for a while. Not just yet though, for he couldn’t clear the image of the rings from his mind, and that was the crux of the matter.

    Surprisingly they had not had any real discussions about the ring, and so it had come a little ‘out of the blue’ when she announced that she wanted a matching pair. Rodney had expected her to choose the one she liked, and that would be that. He certainly had not thought of one for himself. He had never been one for male jewelry, and the popular fashion for such things as identity bracelets and neck chains, had left him unmoved.

    “It isn’t the money.” he said to her when he dismissed the matching pair suggestion. “Pick whatever one you like, it doesn’t matter what it costs.”

    He was astonished when she rounded on him. Had it been merely a ‘suggestion’ on her part it might not have gone beyond this point, but for some reason it had become central to her thinking, and she was determined.

    Inadvertently she threw the first punch. “It’s a matching pair or nothing.” she said, in her well practised forthright manner, no doubt thinking that there the matter would rest.

    Rodney was quiet for a while. He had always known that Wendy was strong willed, and had long ago accepted that when push came to shove between them, she would usually win. But now and again, when some point or principle needed defending he would hold out, and, not being entirely without spirit, was capable of winning the day. This he felt, was one such occasion, and was at least prepared to put up an argument.

    “No,” he said equally firmly. “it is not a matching pair or nothing.” Stopping briefly at the look of surprise on Wendy’s face, he continued, “I want you to have the most beautiful ring in the shop, but I would prefer not to have one.”

    Said simply but firmly, and in a positive manner that should have alerted Wendy to let it go and perhaps try again later. It should not have been a flash point. She however, used to having things her way, was not going to give in so soon, and for once her sense of judgement deserted her. She repeated her demand.

    “But why?” Rodney asked, beginning to feel alarmed at the way things were going; “most men don’t wear engagement rings; and,” he added for good measure “many don’t wear wedding rings either.”

    “And they are just the ones who like it both ways,” she countered, now angry “they want the little woman at home, tied to the kids and the kitchen, while they go out to play.”

    Now it was Rodney’s turn to be angry, and like most people who can normally keep their temper under control, when they do loose it, they find it difficult not to go all the way. “That is an unfair accusation to make at men generally,” his voice noticeably louder, almost shouting “and it is certainly an unfair accusation to make at me.”

    It was a silly argument over a matter that would have been sorted in minutes had they been in bed, or on a hillside overlooking a sweeping river bend in the valley below. But here, outside the jeweller's shop in the high street, flanked by other shoppers busy with their schedules, and struggling with overfilled shopping bags, it got the better of them. Both of them were angry now, neither of them willing to concede, and any hope of a compromise lost.

    After a prolonged and heated exchange, a rare event in spite of a somewhat volatile mix of personalities, they suddenly stopped, exhausted. This was not their first row, but it was certainly the most significant, and it had taken place in public. In the High Street of all places. Many things had been said which were not really true, and which both of them, with hindsight, might wish had not been said. But, in the heat of a quarrel, in the way that is all too common, truth, honesty, and dignity had become victims.

    Now they were silent, still at the window, and with an audience of a small crowd of curious people, who had been attracted by the commotion. Gradually as the onlookers drifted away, shopping concerns regaining their priority, they found themselves alone again. Rodney  was surprised to see that Wendy was crying, another rare event, and when he tried to dab her tears with his handkerchief, she turned her head away. However, when he offered she did take it from him to dry her face herself.

    Then they too moved away from the shop front, aware now that their public quarrel had also been observed by a member of staff, from the other side of the window, and that he was still watching. Rodney had also noticed, at the edge of his vision, a policeman, quietly watching the show. Shocked that they had allowed a disagreement to descend into such open hostility, any hope of continuing with their plan was abandoned. A long sullen silence followed, broken eventually by Rodney  “Let’s go home.” he said quietly.

 

The car park was full as usual when he arrived at the school, and although he had a reserved bay, he still had some difficulty getting into it because of extra cars squeezed in at the end of the rows, and others badly parked in one way or another. He walked into the school almost oblivious of the students around him, and not responding to one or two morning greetings by colleagues.

    Once into his room he sat down, elbows on his desk top, face in his hands, and wept. He thought that he had been in control of himself until now, but he had just been keeping the lid on. Now in the relative privacy of his office, he could no longer hold back, and the tears fell. How long he did not know, but a knock on his door brought him back to reality. Quickly he grabbed his handkerchief, and dabbed his eyes as he made his way to open the door.

    “Mr Pickering,” he said greeting his headmaster “Please come in.”

    “Thank you Mr. Wilson,” he answered as he entered, “Sorry to trouble you so early, can you spare a few minutes?”

    “Of course,” Rodney said “What can I do for you.”

    “Well to tell you the truth I am not sure, but I was worried when we passed each other a few minutes ago; you looked quite ill, and walked straight past me as if I wasn’t there.”

    He was looking directly at Rodney, and could clearly see that there was something wrong. Mr Pickering was viewed by some as old fashioned and boring, but nevertheless, he was a kindly man, and of an age where good manners and formalities still mattered. He would only use Christian names for family and friends, or occasionally in special circumstances.

    “Are you unwell Rodney?” he said with real concern, “Is there anything I can do?”

    Rodney had tried to disguise his distress, but without much success, and he knew how perceptive this man was. “I’m sorry,” he said wearily, “Is it so obvious?”

    “I’m afraid it is rather.” he answered, and then, “I think you should sit down.”

    He was right; Rodney was visibly shaking, and Mr Pickering was close to sending for help. “Do you need a doctor?” he said, clearly worried.

    “Just give me a few minutes and I will be all right.” Rodney answered.

    The two men sat quietly for a few minutes as the younger slowly recovered his composure, and the older, from his sense of alarm.

    Gradually Rodney was able to give his headmaster a brief rundown of the circumstances leading to his present state. Keeping details to a minimum, and generously implying, that it was probably all his fault.

    Of course Mr Pickering was glad that there was no serious illness to contend with, and was very sympathetic for his young college’s state of mind. He was nevertheless a little impatient that in the end it all came out as a lovers tiff. He had seen it all before and was inclined to think that one way or another it would work itself out.