it was past four o’clock.
(Charlotte Brontë,Jane Eyre)
Upon arriving back in Haworth, I have to visit the parsonage to seek out Dain as I have no idea where he lives. I almost messaged him on the train to say I’m definitely taking him up on his offer if it still stands, but Klint’s little trick yesterday could have been damaging. I need to explain what happened face to face.
So I pull my bulging tote bag higher up my shoulder and lug my wheelie up the flagstone steps and enter the Brontë home for the third time. Bridget is standing at the entrance to welcome visitors, and her face is bemused when she sees me trundling up the path with my bags.
‘Hello again. Are you moving in?’ she asks.
I feel the colour rise in my cheeks. ‘Um, no, I was hoping to speak to Dain. Is he around?’ I don’t explain why I’ve got luggage with me, but Bridget doesn’t pry.
‘He’s not, sorry. He’s taken an unscheduled day off, which isn’t like him. Did you have a meeting?’
I shake my head, feeling crestfallen. Damn, what am I going to do now? I’m going to have to call him.
‘You’ll probably find him down by the river at the Brontë Chair,’ says Bridget helpfully. ‘He usually heads there if it’s a nice day or he wants to mull something over.’
That sounds ominous. Hopefully, Klint’s message hasn’t wounded him. I gaze at Bridget. She has kind eyes and seems like a nice person. She also appears to know Dain quite well. My initial notion that there is some kind of relationship between them resurfaces, causing my anxiety to spike. If I live with him, am I going to be a third wheel? But wouldn’t he have said something about her if that were the case? This arrangement he’s offered is starting to seem more complicated than I’d like.
‘OK, thanks, I’ll try that,’ I say at last. I don’t particularly want to go out on the moors again, especially after yesterday’s palaver, but I have no choice. And it is sunny today at least. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be able to store my bags for me?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Since you’re a friend of Dain’s, I’ll put them in the lockable broom closet. Just don’t tell anyone, or they’ll all want to use it.’ Bridget zips a finger across her lips.
The Brontë Way is much pleasanter today with a clear blue sky and sunshine warming the top of my head. But the moorland grass quivers in a brisk, scooting wind; and mistrustful of the weather, I walk quickly, pulling my jacket sleeves down over my hands. It snows in Haworth. I’ve seen photos. If I do end up staying with Dain, I could be here all winter. I’m going to have to buy a thick coat.
Up until now, I’ve been running on adrenaline, and I haven’t given any thought to my belongings in Oxford. But there’s not much to consider: clothes, books, toiletries. It’s all extraneous, and I don’t need any of it. I’ve never been much into possessions. Klint’s inevitably going to have to sort out my stuff—one more strike against me as the bad girlfriend. For now, I need to find Dain because the stress of not knowing if things are OK between us is starting to make my stomach twist into painful knots.
Approaching the wide sturdy seat-shaped stone, or ‘the Brontë Chair’, where the sisters used to sit and dream up stories, I feel sick with nerves. But he’s nowhere in sight.
I walk on farther and discover him standing with his back to me on the riverbank with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing his long black overcoat and army boots.
I don’t like to disturb him. He’s staring intently at the rushing water, high after yesterday’s storm, as if drawing energy from it. But he hears my footsteps on the track and turns around, hair lifting in the breeze; and I know instantly, by the way his brown eyes soften, that whatever Klint’s said hasn’t done any real damage.
‘Don’t you know you shouldn’t be alone on the moors? I hope you’ve got a fully charged phone?’ I say lightly.
‘What are you doing here? I thought you’d left.’ His tone is surprised rather than accusing.
‘Klint’s currently on a train heading towards Oxford—without me.’
Dain looks startled. ‘You didn’t?’
‘I did,’ I say simply.
We stare at each other for a moment, and I take a nervous breath. Now or never.
‘Is it still OK for me to stay with you? I promise I’m an exemplary flatmate: quiet, tidy, a non-smoker. I also promise not to burn spaghetti on the cooker or overfeed your cat. Scout’s honour.’ I salute him, holding up three fingers of my right hand, and Dain’s eyes crinkle.
‘Of course it’s still OK, though Tabby is woefully spoiled, I’m afraid. So you can’t do too much damage there.’ He gestures to the path. ‘Shall we walk back?’
I nod, and we fall into step.
‘Where’s your stuff?’
‘At the parsonage. I called in to find you, but Bridget said you might be out here.’
As we walk, Dain’s unbuttoned coat billows behind him. He’s wearing a loose-fitting white cotton shirt and black jeans tucked into his army boots. He looks like Mr Darcy out for a hike.
Dain shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe you broke up with Klint. How do you feel?’
