The Big Brother Hole Ch. 05

I headed across to his local that we normally met in; he was stood outside waiting for me.

"We'll do a different pub tonight mate," he said, "At least two people have asked me if I'd seen you since you escaped, let's go somewhere they don't know us."

In the end we did the local Indian restaurant and we shared some curries and some sides while I told him what I could remember.

"And you've still not heard from your girl?"

"No Gramps, it's tearing me up."

"Life is way too fucking short mate, see your Nan right, she has Alzheimer's and I lose a bit more of her every day." He picked up a piece of Naan bread that he dipped into the sauce on his plate, "She ain't never been perfect but I've valued every single day with her, and I do now." He picked up his beer bottle and touched mine with it, "if you've found someone that special you make sure you bloody find her again. You do everything you can," I went to interrupt, "EVERYTHING," he said over me, "You hear? You found the girl you want to spend the rest of your life with?"

"Yes Gramps."

"Go start your bloody life then Dickhead," he pushed the last of the naan bread into his mouth and grinned, "two more beers here please," he called to the circling waiter.

I sat on my sofa the next night fighting off one of those black mood of desperation and I thought about that 'everything?' my Gramps had thrown at me.

I had to problem solve it, had I really tried everything? I had no phone number, email address or postal... postal address. I knew there would only be one Vicarage in that Village in the Dales she told me so much about, so I should write to there, she was bound to get it or hear about it at the least.

So I fell back on that oldest and in many ways most reliable modes of communication, and I wrote to Em Rogers, care of her vicarage. Just for belt and braces I sent one to the Detective Chief Inspector asking that it be passed on to the address he couldn't give me.

"My Darling Em,

I hope this letter finds you well and recovered. I was released from the care of the NHS shortly before you and into the care of Suffolk Police. It turned out that the Mad Professor made a complaint of assault against me I was taken to Stowmarket to be questioned. You'll be pleased to know they let me off!

Have been on my own now for a couple of weeks and I'm going mad without you. The psychiatrist and my GP are telling me I have post-traumatic stress, while I just keep telling them that I fell in love with you. The Psych told me that it's perfectly normal and is actually a bit like Stockholm syndrome and to be expected. Right now the only thing I know is that having spent 34 days with you (the policeman told me) I just can't go 'Emma cold turkey'.

I don't know how everyone just expects me to move on and get over it. It wasn't an 'it', it was 'you'.

I know how hard it has been for you, your sentence was four times what mine was, but after all we've been through this can't be an end to it. I've included my addresses and my phone number because I don't have yours and figured you might be in the same situation. I've sent a copy to your vicarage and to your parents' house via the police - that way I hope one of them gets to you.

I know there's an extremely good chance that you may never want to see my face again and what it reminds you of - but I'm still taken back to that wonderful morning when we both realised that along with a grey plastic sheet and some empty Coke tins all we really had was each other. Now that the panic and the fear is over, I am the scared one, blinded by doubt and scared that I might have lost the one thing that kept me focussed, and made me realise what life is all about.

Truth is I don't want to learn to live without you, I want to do all those things we talked about. I want to have breakfast with you, I want to spend the day with you, I want to go somewhere posh and have dinner with you, I want to curl up on the sofa and watch all those films we haven't seen, I want to sleep with you on a soft bed and hold you all night with a duvet and pillows rather than a mess of coats and a few blankets. I want our holidays in Italy and New England.

If that's it, I will of course respect your wishes, get myself that Labrador and become a country gent. I know that I'll never forget you or what we did and meant to each other for our time together - to paraphrase Bogart my lovely Em, 'we'll always have Stowmarket'.

Missing you,

Love always

Harry"

I walked to the post box and posted my letters at three in the morning to avoid the journalists; the was one waiting when I got back and I asked him politely to fuck off and leave me alone - he didn't quote me.

I heard nothing for days and figured that some things were just too painful to revisit and that would be that. I thought I'd contact my boss and ask if I could go back to work somewhere else in London, just to keep me occupied and so I could get back on with my life.

Then after three weeks since our freedom and one after my letter, there was knock on the door. I figured it was another member of the press. I peeked through the glass on my front door and saw a figure. The press had pretty much given up on me and I was just getting used to it, so a journo early evening pissed me off somewhat.

I was just about to shout through the door that I still had absolutely no comment when I recognised the 'L' shaped patch I'd stitched onto the right shoulder of my Barbour!

I pulled the door open, and there she was.

Emma; looking gorgeous, breathless and fantastically beautiful, that red hair I'd run my fingers through had been trimmed and styled, her lovely face made up to perfection.

We stared at each other for a few moments,

"I thought you might want you coat back," she whispered.

"Em..." I stuttered, only for her to jump into my arms, laughing, giggling, her thighs locked around mine holding onto me for grim death.

"Harry," she squealed kissing my face, "I've missed you!"

"And I've missed you!" I said kissing her back. I stepped back into my hallway and saw an overnight bag on the floor. She put her feet down and bent to retrieve it.

"You don't think for a second I'm going home tonight do you?" she purred.

I made her the first cup of real tea, and she slipped off her shoes and curled her legs up on my sofa. She was looking fantastic in a tailored roll neck sweater against the winter chill and a skirt that stopped mid-thigh over thick black tights. I'd never seen anything so wonderful in my life and realised that I'd only ever seen her in trousers before.

I sat next to her putting our tea on the coffee table. We didn't stop beaming at each other as we sat and brought each other up to date with what had happened to us.

She'd gone home, and had slowly recovered from her stab wound, the police had arrived and taken several statements from her and showed her some pictures and some video and she'd asked about me; Mum and Dad where on hand to say that they were sure that I'd be in touch soon.

Mum was smiling and saying what I nice guy I had been. Tom again confirmed that he had not taken to me, especially when I was taken away by the police for questioning.

He'd again insisted that Emma should get over her physical and emotional trauma before contacting me again. Emma had worn my coat home, and kept it with her. When her mum took it to hang it up, she cried and said that it was her 'security blanket' and it smelled like Harry.

This prompted her father to contact her old friend from Oxford hoping that seeing him might remove me from her thoughts.

This didn't happen; she was of course very pleased to see her old friend, but during his train journey to Salisbury he'd done a quick Google search on Emma and read what she'd had to do with me to get food, and had happened on a couple of the photographs on a naughty website.

Shown into the conservatory where Em and her sister were relaxing, he was constantly mindful of the glass walls and all of the journalists just the other side of the hedges and walls and their long lenses. He was extremely formal with his old friend and kept his distance hoping that none of the scandal that would soon develop would come anywhere near to him. After all, he had his sights on higher things and was already on a short list for a job at Lambeth Palace.

His was photographed coming out of the house resplendent in his white collar and made a brief statement that he was delighted to be there to see his old friend and offer any support and spiritual comfort he could to the whole family.

He was never seen again and there was some Sunday supplement allusion to how sad it was that after his efforts to bring her home their romance was not to be.

Then, after spending a long weekend at Salisbury her Sister Ann had gone home to her Husband and children in Yorkshire, telling Em again that she absolutely had to contact me.

As Em had laid in her old bed in her old room, she had told her sister about her time in the Big Brother Hole and how awful it had been until I arrived. Then she explained exactly how close we'd become, and Ann had said how impressed she was and although it had been a nightmare for all concerned, at the very least her virgin sister had finally popped her cherry and discovered 'the good life'.

Emma laughed and lashed out at Ann, insisting that it wasn't just sex; she admitted that we'd fallen in love.

"Well d'uuuh!" said Ann, "I got that within ten seconds of you telling me his name! It is strange that he hasn't tried to contact you mind you."

"I guess that he's as stuck for contact details as I am" said Em.

Em said that the very next day she would contact Suffolk police and ask for my number. She did, but the Chief Inspector was on leave and wouldn't be back until the following Monday. A message was left for as soon as he got back.

That same day Ann had gone back to her Catterick home and stopped at her sister's vicarage and collected the small bag of mail as she had done for the last four months. She'd been doing this since Emma had gone missing and it was almost without thinking these days.

She let herself in, made herself a cup of tea and picked through the post; there was a hand addressed letter 'Em' rather than Emma or Reverend Rogers, with a South London postmark.

With their sisterly discussion of the previous day in mind, she tore open the envelope - Ann's hands were shaking so much she could barely unfold it.

She read it, and by the time she'd reached the third paragraph she had tears running down her cheeks. Her phone connected automatically to the still running Wi-fi and she emailed me, just to check my bona-fide.

My phone pinged to tell me I got mail. Most of the time I ignored them but something made me check as I lay on my sofa ignoring daytime TV.

There was an email from an address I didn't recognise and it was titled, "Hi Harry, I'm Em's sister - what's my name?"

My hand on my phone started to shake - just the tiniest bit.

"Good afternoon Ann with no 'E'." I replied

"Well done. Just to check you are who you say you are, what stood out about my sister losing her virginity at University?"

"The biggest feature about that was that she didn't lose it at Uni' - she lost it to me in the Big Brother Hole," I figured I should check who she was, "what do I do for a living according to the tabloids?"

"Why Harry I do believe that you are a Hi-speed, life-saving hero."

"Recognition at last Ann with no E." I replied.

"Still doing well, if you REALLY know my sister you'll know she has a particular reverence for the holy trinity, which is her favourite?"

"Star Wars" was my reply.

My phone rang seconds later,

"Hell Harry, what took you so long?"

"I'm guessing this is Ann?" I said.

"Yes," I could hear the emotion in her voice.

"Your Dad told me not to make contact, I think he was worried that I was a bad influence."

"Harry," she sniffed, "Bad influence or not, my lovely sainted sister has been walking around with her head up her ecumenical arse since she took holy orders 5 years ago. A month spent with you and she's turned from the soulless asexual faith practitioner back into the girly girl I grew up with; she's relaxed, she's wearing hi-cut lacy panties under her tight jeans, hot make-up, she walks with a sexy wiggle again after years of working hard not to and has even started to swear." She took a deep breath, "she talks about you all the time Harry, and that's never happened before."

"But your Dad..."

"Oh just you leave my bloody Dad to me. Keep your phone on, I'll call her now, trust me, and Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for bringing my sister back to me, my real sister."

"You're welcome," I said remembering the same conversation with her father who now wouldn't talk to me.

"For doing that, I'll bring you back to her, promise."

She did so. She read Em the letter and the fact that one had been sent to her home address via the police. Their anger was temporarily abated as Ann read the words and both squealed with delight. Em was so excited she wrote my address on her dressing table mirror in lipstick even though Ann was going to text it to her. With a 'promise me you'll ring me and let me know how it goes' from Ann, Em spent twenty minutes selecting her hottest clothes, liberally sprayed herself with Chanel No. 5 from her Mum's dressing table and put my coat on.

She'd had her final stitches removed the previous day and told her parents she was going to London straight away to see me. Her Dad tried to get all parental with his nearly thirty year old daughter but faced with her cross look and the telephone bollocking he'd already taken from Ann for throwing away my letter, he gave in.

She kissed and hugged her smiling Mother and with my address burned in her brain Emma packed an weekend bag and got the train into London and following two tube journeys and a taxi arrived at my place.

Stories done we finished our tea and Em slid across the sofa to me, she smelled wonderful.

"...And if you don't take me to your big soft bed with duvet and pillows and make love to me like you promised Harry Scholes, so help me I'll..."

I kissed her, and took her hand leading her to my bedroom. We stripped each other and stroked and caressed bodies we both knew well already. Emma was wearing a black lace string and I almost came there and then just seeing it, and when I slowly dragged it down over her hips I saw she had even shaved her pussy, admitting that she loved the feeling and more than that, the look of it.

She had filled out the tiniest bit and her boobs looked fantastic, along with the rest of her lovely curvy body.

Finally naked I kissed her from her beautiful face down her body, stopping at her breasts and those nipples I'd loved so much, to gently kiss her just healed scar, until I reached her bare pussy.

I licked, sucked and fingered her to her orgasm and it was just as pleasant only this time we were on a soft mattress in a warm house, happy that some sick fuck wasn't filming us.

I managed to make her come a couple of times and she was crying out with joy and calling my name, gushing her juice over my mattress but right then I couldn't have cared a fuck less.

Afterward the passion, we made love gently and passionately and clung to each other. I kept on thrusting in and out,

"Em, I'm gonna come baby, should I..."

She grabbed my shoulders and held me even tighter,

"Don't even think of pulling out buster," her wonderful smile and the wonderful feeling of togetherness pushed me over the edge, and I came.

"Wow," she said hugging me, both crying and laughing at the same time, "Now Harry, where's that pizza you promised me." Her parents didn't approve of pizza.

We ate pizza, garlic bread, ice cream, both naked and in my bed.

We lay down sipping more tea that I'd made while waiting for the pizza. We were back, two together, and I could only stare at her in wonderment.

"Penny for your thoughts Harry?"

"Simple," I said, "I'm just so happy I've got you back."

"So am I," she said, "I was so miserable without you."

"Now I have you back, I'm not minded to let you go again," I paused, "Emma Rogers, I love you..." I took a breath, "Will you marry me?"

She beamed a huge smile at me and nodded,

"Yes," she said, "Yes please!" She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me.

The very next morning we went into London and I bought her a sapphire engagement ring that matched her lovely blue eyes. We stayed at my place for a few more days and I cooked her the meals we'd talked about and we watched some movies.

We collected her engagement ring two days later and she took a photo of it on her hand and emailed it to Ann. She phoned straight back and I could hear her screaming down the phone.

I phoned my Gramps and left a message on his answer machine, quite simply, "thanks for the advice mate, I've found her and she's all mine."

The next day we headed back to Stowmarket police station and her car which had started with a push. Mine was written off because of the damage to the axles, wheels and roof when it was dropped down into the tree line of the Big Brother Hole of course.

She drove us from Suffolk back to her parish in Yorkshire, she had no pile of post as her verger had been popping in and out of her house to make sure things were OK and leaving them for Ann to collect.

Her verger, a sweet, slightly camp old boy called Ray, had not been told that she was on her way home and was running around the place with a vacuum cleaner and didn't hear her open the front door.

"Ray!" she tried to call over the sound of Radio Two and the red 'Henry' vacuum cleaner he was throwing around with such abandon, but to no avail. He turned, saw beaming Emma framed in the doorway, cried out a rather effeminate scream, and fainted. I went into ambulance mode and Emma cooed over him. Not before turning off the vacuum of course.

He came round,

"Emma!" he hissed, "Darling Emma! How wonderful, no one said you were coming, I would have arranged everything, we were going to have a party and everything once we heard you'd been found!" He started to weep softly. "I never gave up on you Emma," he hissed sitting up, "They had a stand-in on Sundays, but I wouldn't let him move in." he gulped and controlled himself. "Emma will be back; I told them, I said just you watch I said. Emma will come back to us." He sat up and I helped him, "I prayed every morning and every night Emma," big tears were pouring down his face, "I knew you weren't dead, and I knew you hadn't given up on us. The Bishop was starting to get cross with me, because I kept fighting your corner."

Emma was lost for words, she spoke the words "Thank you Ray," but made no noise. Instead she just hugged him and they rocked side to side, both talking quiet words of comfort to the other.

I left them to it and walked along the corridor until I found the kitchen. There was a kettle and I filled it up and switched it on. I took three mugs from the mug tree, and took three tea bags from the large jar marked 'tea', and put one in each mug.

Em and Ray appeared at the kitchen door both with huge grins and arms around each other. Ray looked at me 'a bit old fashioned'. I guessed I was on his territory and he stepped into the kitchen with a 'let me'.

He opened the fridge and found took out a small bottle of milk, and I realised he was disgusted by my profligate waste of three tea bags for three people! He took one of the bags and put it back in the jar and opened the cupboard to retrieve a china tea pot, the first one I'd seen in use outside of a tea shop in years.

"Harry, let me introduce you to one of my best mates in the world," she put a hand on Ray's shoulder, "This is Ray; Ray, this is the man who saved me and then brought me back," Ray's jaw dropped, "This is my fiancé Harry."