‘Oh well, I guess it’s a mystery that shall remain unsolved. Shall we have some cake now?’
***
I’m worried Dain might cancel tomorrow because of Klint’s irascible behaviour. So as soon as we’re back at the hotel, I message him—from the bathroom.
Me:Hi, hope you enjoyed your scotch egg and apple tart. Looks like it might be the pub tomorrow if this rain keeps up! (smiley face emoji)
A few minutes later, I get his reply.
Dain:Hi. I’m not sure if lunch is a good idea. Your boyfriend didn’t seem too keen on me.
Me (with mounting panic):He’s fine. That’s just his personality. He’s like that with everyone.
Dain:He does know we’re meeting up tomorrow?
Me:Not yet, butI’ll tell him. Honestly, it’s all good.
Dain:OK, but I don’t want to get you into trouble.
Me:It’s a book discussion in a pub. Hardly illicit.
Dain takes a while to reply, and I kick myself. Did I overstep the mark by insinuating it is more than that?
After five nail-biting minutes and tearing a square of toilet paper to shreds, I get this:
Dain:True (laughing face emoji). See you tomorrow!
He seems OK, thank God. But now I have to tell Klint I’m meeting up with him when I was hoping to ‘go for a walk’. Dain might ask if Klint was all right about it, and I don’t want to lie to him. But Klint could overreact if I don’t step carefully through the minefield.
Frustrated, I flush the toilet and wash my hands. Why am I so fixated on this meeting anyway? We’ll be gone from Haworth in a few days, and I’ll never see him again. I stare at my flushed face in the mirror. The reason is plain and simple.
The pleasure of Dain’s company—even if it’s for an hour—is worth risking the inevitable friction with Klint. And the memory of our conversation will be a salve in the months to come. I’m not going to deny myself that.
I’m starting to feel like Helen Graham, Anne Brontë’s soul-tortured tenant. But I haven’t kept a diary that I can give to Dain to read about my innocent past. That might be a good thing as he might not find my past as squeaky clean as hers.
I come out of the bathroom to find Klint has pushed the beds together, and he’s stretched out on the counterpane, with his shoes kicked off. He smiles encouragingly.
Surely, he doesn’t want sex?
‘What?’ I say suspiciously.
‘Come and lie down. I want to talk to you.’
Is this how a relationship should be? Questioning every action, every sentence?
I lie down next to him warily, and he nestles his sharp chin into my shoulder.
‘You know I love you, don’t you?’
‘Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.’
‘Sorry if staying here has been a pain ... if I’ve been a pain. Once this meeting with the station manager is out of the way, we can leave.’
‘Have you found out anything more about the documents?’
‘Yes, it’s a bunch of letters from his great-grandfather written to one of his friends in London. He said there’s a lot of factual information about working on the railway here, and I can look through them and take photos.’
‘That’s great.’
