On the Simplicity of Words

I squeezed my eyes closed, coughed, took a breath.

"I know what I want to do. But she'll never say yes. It will mean giving up everything she's worked so hard for."

"Try her."

"Don't need to. I know her."

"Rose, people change. Maybe you don't know her as well as you thought."

"Doubt that."

He sighed, but didn't remove his arm, and I was grateful for the comforting weight of it on my shoulders.

Sensing that I'd been defused and was now safe to approach, Dave sidled over and handed Shane his drink. "Tell those other bastards they can come back now," Shane said to Dave. "Her safety's on again. Defcon Five."

Dave laughed softly. "Aye, will do."

And of course I had just started to unwind, just managed a smile for Shane, when Lea's message arrived.

Her simple, uncapitalised, unpunctuated "i need you" scared me far more than it had any right to do.

I fled the clubhouse for the privacy of the fields.

.:.

I paced, desperately waiting for her to pick up.

"Lea?" I asked when she finally did. "Lea, is that you?"

"Oh Rosie. I'm... Oh God. I'm... I'm so sorry for disturbing you. But... but you're the only one... the only person..."

Her voice was husky; I could hear the hurt in it that she so vainly tried to hide from me.

"Lea? What is it? What's going on?"

"We... we had a row. About the... the thing I missed..."

"Oh God. Are you alright?"

"No," she moaned.

"What did he do? Lea? Did he hurt you? Did that... that creature hurt you?"

"No. He just... shouted. A lot. Loudly. That I could... could cope with. But... he's also told me I'm no longer needed..."

"Needed... where?"

"At the department. That he's found a... replacement for me. That as the future Mrs Saunders he... didn't want any impropriety, any hint of nepotism. So he was just going... make me redundant. Turn me into a kept woman. A figurehead. I fucking killed myself to get this post, Rosie. And he's just taken it all away from me without even asking. Because he can. I have nothing left. Nothing."

I clenched my free hand into a fist. "I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill him."

"Rose. Not even you can fix this," she said softly. "I'm sorry... it's just... I just wanted to hear your voice... I needed to talk to you is all..."

Now I could hear the slight slur of alcohol in her voice.

"Lea, please, tell me you're at home," I said, a sudden chill running down my spine.

"I am. For now."

"Please. Stay there tonight. Please, don't go anywhere? Ok? Please. Promise me. Lea. Please. I'm begging you."

"I promise," she said, in a voice that sounded horribly tired and old. "Not like I have a choice. Nowhere to go now; they'll all scent the blood in the water. Rosie... what am I going to do?"

"How long do you have?"

"One month. He's given me one month notice."

"But it's a University. Surely there's some sort of..."

"Not for me," she said softly. "They never officially added me to the faculty. I'm just associated with them. Easy come. Easy go. I was hoping that..."

"I'm going to fucking kill him."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and my anger snuffed out like a candle.

"Do you have money, Lea? For then next few weeks?"

"Until rent's due. Then I'm screwed," she said. "It's so ironic. This whole pantomime, and it ends up earning me just what I didn't want."

"Lea, I want you to send me your bank details."

"No. No, Rose, no. I'm not going to do that. I can't do that. No."

"Lea. Please. This is me. I'm begging you. For God's sake, let me lend you some money until we get you sorted."

"There's no fixing this, Rosie. There's no other work for me here. There are no roles. I've checked. And even if there were he'd have them closed to me. I'm trapped. He owns me now."

"No."

"I am. There's no way out. I'm going to have to marry him and give up on what... what few of my dreams I still had. I just... I needed to hear your voice before I... surrender."

"No. This is wrong. I'm not going to let this happen to you."

I took a shaky breath, steeled myself.

"Lea. Listen to me. There's still a way out for you," I said. "But... it will mean big changes for you. Far bigger and much more disruptive than... than those you're already facing there. It will cost you everything. But you'll be free from him."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Come here. Come home. Move in with me until you find your feet again. Walk away from that fucking... that thing and his manipulation. Come back home to me."

The silence stretched out.

"Lea?" I breathed, shaking. "Please. Oh God. Please, say something."

"You can't offer me that," she said, softly. "You can't dangle that in front of me. You can't take my problems onto you again. That's not fair on you, Rose. I can't do that to you."

"Lea. Please. I'm begging you to come home," I whispered.

"Please stop that," she said, as her voice broke. "Please don't beg like that. You're breaking my heart. I can't take it to hear you ask me that like that."

I snapped.

"Stop being so fucking difficult!" I screamed at her. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it! Jesus Christ, Lea, can't you hear how much I need you to come back to me! You're killing me!"

And then I slumped down onto my heels, head against the advertising hoardings, gasping, fighting against the waves of bewilderment and rage and hurt at the thought that she'd choose her prison over me.

"Rose?" she said, after some time, in a strange little voice. "Rose? Rosie? Are you still there? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I gagged, coughed up bile, panted for breath. "I... can't do this. I can't... lose you again. I've got... I've got to go. I've got to... get home somehow. I can't... I can't take your rejection right now. Just let me get home... first so I'm safe. Then tell me then. Then you'll... be free of me."

"Rosie," she whispered. "No. Wait. Please. Stop. Please. Please... just... just be honest with me. Do you really want this? Do you... do you want me there that much?"

"Yes, you stupid cow," I moaned. "Yes. Did you really need to ask that?"

And then she was silent for a moment. I wiped my mouth, spat more bile, tried to calm myself for the bitter walk home.

"Ok," she whispered. "I'll come home to you."

"You... you're coming home?"

"Yes. To you."

And then poor Shane had to brave the bitter cold to come and gently rescue me again.

.:.

I sprang into action. I cleared out my spare room, dumping anything that wasn't absolutely critical at the charity collection point down the road, dusting and cleaning like a psychotic maid until every surface gleamed. I descended on the shops like a dervish, ordered her a good double bed and cupboards from Ikea and built them with borrowed tools in one frantic evening.

I added pillows to the couch in the colours she loved, hung prints of a few of her favourite artworks by Dali and Turner on the walls, and in the days before our agreed date I stocked the fridge and went on a binge to ensure she had clean linen and brand new pillowcases of the Egyptian cotton that she'd always liked.

It dynamited a crater into my savings but I didn't care. I lived frugally and could recover in time.

Meanwhile, my Lea would have a safe space of her own. Space to live, to breathe.

Space to heal.

In Bristol she gave notice on her flat and quietly packed up the bits of her life she would bring. She set a forwarding address at the post office, but told nobody that she was leaving.

"I've got no real friends here any more," she said to me, on one of our long evening phone calls. "Nobody who I'll really miss, and nobody who will miss me."

Once more I found myself counting down the days, and then the hours.

I met her on the platform at Paddington. I caught her in my arms, holding her to me, giving her some time to catch her breath. I grabbed her two suitcases and shouldered her small backpack, ignoring her desperate entreaties to be allowed to help. I guided her through the bowels of the Tube network, and escorted her onto our train at St Pancras. I installed her at the window seat, body-slammed her bags into the rack above us, and then dropped down into the seat beside her. She stared wide-eyed at me, then fumbled for my hand, clenching it tightly as our train juddered and began to inch away from the station.

"You're a scary commuter," she whispered. "God help the rest of them."

"I will smite anyone who even looks at you wrong," I growled, and she gave me a small brave smile.

"Rosie..."

"No. Not here. Not in public. We'll talk about everything we need to once we're home. For now, just breathe. You got out. You've taken the first step. Did you change your number like I told you to?"

"Yes. But... I gave the new number to mum. I'm all she has."

"That's fine. So long as El Fucko doesn't have it and can't get it, that's all I care about."

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

I squeezed her hand. "Believe it. I've got you, Lea. I'll take care of you for as long as you will let me."

She shuddered, turned, hid her face against me. "Thank God you came back in to my life when you did."

"Like I'd ever let you tie the knot with someone without my permission," I whispered, and she gave a choking laugh.

She watched, slightly wild-eyed, as London gave way to greenery. She said little, and clung to me like a frightened little girl. The only times she let go of my hand were when we unloaded at St Albans, when we climbed into the taxi I hailed for us, and as we climbed the stairs to the flat.

I bumped open the door and held it for her. She slunk in, hesitant, hunched over, staring around in disbelief at the clean surfaces, the colour and clutter I'd added in the hectic couple of weeks since we'd hatched our madcap plan.

"Welcome home, Lea," I whispered. "I've got your room ready for you." I closed the door behind us and carried her bags down the short passage.

"There's no bath, I'm afraid, but the shower is decent and the water heater is gas so there's lots of hot water. So... here, this is you. I got you a desk, and some bedside tables and that lamp that is like the one you used to have in your room."

"I'm still looking for a chair, but you can use mine until we find one you like. The cupboards are all yours, and I've got a rug on order so we can soften the floor a bit for you if you like. Oh, and there's a bit of a view of the common if you crane out the window. It's not much. I wish it was more."

"It's perfect," she breathed. She sat down on the bed, and ran her hands slowly over the deep burgundy cotton of the duvet cover. She shook her head, stared around the bright, sunlit room, then up at me. "Oh, Rose. My heart. I can never..."

"Stop," I said. I knelt down in front of her. "Stop. No. Don't you dare. You deserve this and so much more. Just let me do this for you. Please, Lea."

"Ok," she whispered.

"I'll put the kettle on. Unpack and get settled. Ok? I'll make us something to eat as well."

"Ok."

I left her with her thoughts and made my way to my... to our small kitchen. I put the kettle on. I pulled some cucumber and cheese out of the fridge. I sliced them and found some olives and crackers that I arranged on a plate. And I listened to the quiet sounds as she unpacked the small remaining parts of her life that she'd been able to salvage.

Then I just leaned against the window, staring out at the distant trees, conscious of little but the strange tension between the stress of her presence and the fierce joy that threatened to overwhelm me.

I heard soft footfalls, and shivered as she slipped her slender arms around me and pressed in against my back.

"It's no palace like you deserve," I sighed. "But I'll work on it."

"It is beautiful," she whispered back. "And it's so much more than I deserve. Thank you."

I covered her hands with my own, and squeezed them tightly against me.

Slowly she unwound. She poked around the flat like a rescued animal taking its first hesitant steps into freedom. She found herself a sunny spot on our small couch that gave her a view she liked. She unpacked and checked and cleaned her Clarinet. She took a long shower, put on some soft formless clothes and fluffy socks and drank a glass of white wine with me. She phoned her mum to let her know she was safe and had a good, solid, snotty, rib-breaking cry afterwards. I stayed close by but didn't hover; knowing that she needed to vent, to let the pressure off bit by bit.

Then, still sniffing and bedraggled, she dug into the freezer. She found the makings of a late lunch, and rejected any attempt or offer of help.

"I am going to cook for you every day," she told me through her tears. "Every day. Make peace with it now. It will save you time. Don't even think of objecting."

So I sat and quietly watched her, and another small shard of my shattered soul was healed.

.:.

"Are you sure you're warm enough?" I asked her again.

"Stop mothering me."

I stuck my tongue out, and she smiled. "I'm fine. Really. This coat looks terrible but it's really warm."

"Ok."

We walked on, following one of the meandering paths across the common, skirting the newer open areas, hunting the secret spaces we both remembered from our childhood. I loved the feeling of her arm through mine, the natural way we fitted against one another despite the broken years between us. I loved the way she'd spontaneously lean in against me, resting her head against mine. I loved the slight colour in her cheeks, the artless way she'd wrapped my hockey scarf around her neck, trapping her hair within its knitted folds. We were silent, but not awkwardly so, just present with one another, experiencing this new thing between us, this new chapter.

"I need to find work, I suppose," she sighed, at last.

"Do you have any idea about what you want to do?"

"It's about what I'll need to do. Temp positions to close the gaps, I guess."

"Maybe you can advertise music lessons?"

"I don't have anywhere to teach, Rosie."

"Use the flat."

"No. That's your space."

"It's our space, Lea. Yours and mine."

"No. I'm just passing through."

"Do you really think that?"

"What?" she breathed.

"Do you really think I'm going to let you go so easily?"

"Rosie..."

"If we need more space we can find a flat with more space. I am not going to let you move into a hole, Lea. It's just not going to happen. Sure. Maybe once you're settled and want to move on and be with some guy and have the three and a quarter kids and one point seven spaniels. But not now. Not until I'm sure you'll be ok. And in the meantime, whatever you need, I will do. You know that."

She stumbled, stopped. She turned away from me.

I gave her the moment she needed.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered, after some time.

"You are the most important person in the world to me," I told her. I wrapped my arms around her, held her. "Nothing has ever changed that. If you decide you want to move on some day, that's your decision to make. But I will never, ever willingly let you go. Not ever again."

She sighed, stared up at the high clouds while she gathered herself. She leaned her head back against my shoulder, cheek to my cheek. "Are you sure about... about the music?"

"I'm working every day, and have hockey practice most evenings. The flat is empty. Of course you should use it. You should do anything you want to. Just... if you're going to bring boys home, let me know in advance."

She snorted softly. "Oh, that will never happen. I'm very... selective."

"If it does, though. Just... warn me so I don't come barging in to defend your honour."

"I'll advertise music lessons at the flat. But only until I find something better. Okay?"

"Deal," I said, staring at her, puzzled by the way she'd so directly ignored the hints, the teasing.

She was the first to pull away.

"There are lots of startups and small firms sprinkled around here," I said, shunting my train of thought out of its siding. "You majored in English as well, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I remember how well you wrote. Do you still write at all?"

"A bit. Sometimes."

"Well, then that's something else you should look at. Proofreading, copywriting. I know it's not what you love but... you'd be awesome at it. We're constantly having problems with the stuff they publish at work. If you like... I could ask if we need a contractor? It might be a good in for you? Until you've got a steady stream of students?"

"I don't know..." she said, unsure.

"It's worth looking into. You had a really special way with words, Lea."

"I guess... I guess you could. For now I'm... I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm not dreaming. That this is real."

"You aren't dreaming. You're here. You're home."

"And so are you," she whispered.

.:.

"Lea?"

She looked up from her tablet. "Oh. Wow. You look wonderfully athletic..."

I flushed. "Stop that. I have hockey practice. Listen... I know it's your first night here and you're tired and probably just want to chill, but they're a nice bunch so... um... do you want to come with?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to invade your space..."

I just stared at her, and she had the decency to blush at the silliness of what she'd said.

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want you to. We've got a small bar and you can have some wine or coffee on my account while we're there if you like. They'll look after you... so... want to come with?"

"Ok. That sounds nice. Plus I'd... I'd like not to be alone. Tonight, I mean..."

"It's a ten minute walk, so it's not too far. Grab your coat, it will be chilly by the time we come home."

She followed me downstairs; I held the door open for her, then swung my kitbag onto my offside shoulder. I took her hand, and she gave me a brief smile. "I still feel like I'm dreaming," she confessed.

"I'm sure that it will pass."

"I don't want it to. Everything's these wonderful bright colours for once."

We walked to the clubhouse in quiet companionable silence, each content in our own heads. I installed her at one of the nicer tables and threatened Dave with a violent and prolonged mort par Rosie if he failed her in any way.

He laughed, Lea grinned, and the two of them hit it off like they'd been separated at birth. I watched her for a moment, fiercely proud of her adaptability and glad that I'd brought her. I made for the changing rooms and offloaded my bag and spare kit. Then I made my way out to the field.

It was bitterly cold, but fitness drills soon took the edge off. I built up a sweat, got into my groove. We played some quick five-a-side matches on the near half of the Astroturf, and at some point I realised that she was standing at the gate, watching me.

"Go inside, you mad bint," I laughed at her, as I took a brief water break and came to bask in her radiance.

"No," she said. "I've missed seeing you do this. Let me have my time to be your number one fan and stop bossing me," she finished, with a smile.

"Just don't get cold, ok?"

"I'll go in if I do. Pixie swear. I've got my coat and your scarf. I'm warm through and through. Now, off you go," she added, giving me a playful slap on my rump to speed me on.

The knowledge that she was there made everything better, though I had to work hard not to constantly steal glances at her.

And of course my team-mates noticed. Noticed her, and noticed how clumsy and tongue tied I was around her.

Significant looks were shared. Coughs were coughed. Grins were grinned.

I ignored them all.

But later in the clubhouse, as I tried to enjoy a quiet drink with Lea, my club took a perverse delight in torturing me by coming over one at a time to introduce themselves to Rosie's new friend.

Arseholes, the lot of them, and I scolded them all while Lea laughed at me with a lovely light in her eyes.

By the time we left for the evening, Lea had been vetted, poked, prodded, approved, blessed and was well down the path to being adored by everyone.