Haunted by Love

"I thought your nipples felt tender," she says, smiling.

"They do... but yours aren't!" I reply, rubbing more firmly. "Anyway, I want something to eat..." I slip from her arms and move down her body as Ruth, my beautiful, wonderful girlfriend, lies back with a sigh and parts her legs in anticipation.

Epilogue

I sit back on my haunches and push the sweat-damp hair out of my eyes; it's the middle of July and at half nine in the morning the day is already getting hot. A bright glint catches my eye and I glance up at the solar panels on the roof. I like to think that my severance pay from the BBC paid for those, more or less. Of course, selling my flat in west London eighteen months ago brought us much more money but it was nice to feel I didn't walk away from my job completely empty handed.

I return to work, carefully unearthing the little potatoes that we'll cook for the potato salad later; I'll also need to dig up a couple of spring onions from the bed beside the path. There is something very satisfying about growing your own food.

There is a bang and I look up sharply. "Heather Penrose-Cooper, what are you up to?" I call across to where I see her give a little start at my voice before turning around guiltily. Beside her, the broom that had been propped against the wall now lies on the flagstones of the patio.

"Chicken do it!" she protests and I can't help smiling. A couple of weeks ago one of the chickens escaped from the run and, as we were chasing it, I knocked a glass off the garden table to smash on the stones below; I said it was the chicken's fault that the glass got smashed and, ever since, Heather has blamed the chickens for everything.

"I don't think it was a chicken; I think it was.... YOU!" I lunge for her and she runs a few steps laughing. "Come and help me with these potatoes, you can put them in the bowl here." She toddles over and squats down to help as asked. She is utterly cute and adorable, Ruth and I think so anyway, with her big blue eyes and wavy reddish-blonde hair that I expect will go darker as she grows as mine did. She'll be two on Wednesday next week but we're having a party today as our parents and Ruth's cousin, Flo, and her husband and kids can all make it on a Saturday.

Mum and Dad are going to stay at the Purdew Manor Hotel for a couple of nights as it's a long drive from their home near London. We did offer the spare room but Mum says she doesn't want to put us out. Maybe that is the reason and not that the idea of sleeping in the room next to Ruth and me is just too disturbing for her. I can't really criticise her though: she dealt with the multiple bombshells of Ruth, pregnancy and me quitting my job remarkably better than I thought she would.

Heather picks up the little potatoes and drops them into the bowl until something much more interesting catches her eye. "Wriggly worm!" she cries excitedly, picking it up in chubby fingers. "Mummy, look; wriggly worm!" She thrusts it under my nose.

"That's right, Heather. It's a very long and very wriggly worm, isn't it?" I pull back slightly, preferring it not up my nostril." "Where do worms live?" I ask her.

"Inna ground."

"Yes, in the earth, underground. And what do you think they eat?" Her face contorts in concentration as she looks at the worm closely.

"Um... eat mud?" she says eventually.

"Yes, more or less. Now, are you going to put worm back on the ground? You can see what it does then." She nods and watches, captivated by the way it burrows into the soil, while I pick up the last of the spuds.

"Beth?" Ruth's voice floats out of the open kitchen door. "Here, come and see this."

"Let's go and see what Mummy wants shall we?" I stand up, lifting the bowl as I do, and take her hand as we walk back into the house. I put the bowl on the table while Heather walks over to Ruth, arms reaching to be picked up.

"What have you and Mummy Beth been doing?" Ruth asks, smiling, as she lifts Heather into a hug.

"Um, 'tatoes... an' a wriggly worm!"

"So I see. Did you get the onions, Beth love?"

"You called me in, remember? What was it?"

"Oh yes! You'd better wash your hands. Heather's too." She brings our daughter over and plonks her on the worktop next to the sink and leaves the kitchen while I'm flicked with slightly muddy water as Heather plays with the stream running from the tap. As I finish drying our hands I notice Ruth is back and holding something behind her back.

"What are you up to, darling?" I ask, intrigued. With a smile, she pulls a brown parcel -- well, more of a small box -- from sbehind her back and presents it to me formally. I can't help a little squeal of delight and excitement as I know instantly what it is.

"But they said it'd be another week yet!" I protest, holding the box reverently. I'm actually trembling and Ruth tells me to put it on the table before I drop it.

"What Mummy got?" Heather asks, trying to climb onto the chair to see. Ruth picks her up once more, balancing her on her hip. Heather holds Ruth's t-shirt in one hand and sucks the thumb on the other as she watches me open the parcel.

As I open the flaps of the box the first thing I see are the words 'PREVIEW COPY -- Not For Sale' but then there it is, the silhouettes of two women holding hands as they stand within the pale, ghostly outline of two other women surrounding them, the cover of, as the title proclaims, HAUNTED BY LOVE and there, across the bottom: Bethany Cooper. I just stand there, staring and trying to take it in, worried that the books, my book, will suddenly vanish and all of this -- Ruth, Heather, and our life together in this lovely home -- will all turn out to have been a dream.

Ruth's very real arm slips through mine and her kiss is soft on my cheek. "Well done, darling," she says, as I finally lift the topmost of the two copies of the book from the box, "you're officially an author."

"Thank you, though it's not officially published for another six weeks, so I suppose I'm still only nearly an author."

"Book," says Heather reaching out. "Me look." I hold it towards her and she pushes open the cover and the first few pages. "Want look pictures!" she demands.

"There are no pictures, Heather love," Ruth tells her, "just the words, all those words, that your clever Mummy Beth wrote to tell a story, and now lots of people will read them." Ruth looks at me with such love and admiration that it brings a lump to my throat. "Do I get to see it now?"

"Of course, darling," I say as I raise the book to her, but hesitate. "Just remember that it is only the tiniest glimmer of all that I feel for you." She nods and I turn back to the beginning of the book, to the dedication: