Continuing from part one, published yesterday.

…Strange how different a house looks when it is full.  Well, I say ‘full’, but that’s a bit of an exaggeration really.  Even in a house as tiny as this, it would need a lot more people to actually fill it.  Certainly a lot more people than I knew.  As it was, most of the guests today were officially ‘Sara’s friends’.  Until Sara came along, the most people I had ever had around here was one – and then only if you count the postman.  Only once in my life had I been hugged by more people: when I scored in the Over-35’s indoor football final and, strange as it was, I preferred the hugs I was getting today.  They were far more fragrant, softer and, if I’m honest, less masculine.  Hearty back-slapping was noticeably absent.  Even at fifty, there is so much to be said for an unsolicited hug from a member of the opposite sex.

I had never before been the recipient of such a gift: a surprise ‘combined fiftieth birthday and one year since you met me’ party hosted by Sara.  I had never before been so completely taken in.  (Well, as long as you don’t count the bloke with the ‘lottery tickets’ on the Costa del Sol.)  Even after I had walked into the darkened room to find, when the lights snapped on, it filled with people all ‘raising a glass’ to me, it took quite some time for me to process what was actually happening.  It took me even longer to equate the party with Sara’s recent ‘suspicious behaviour’, followed by, perhaps, a twenty nano-second gap before the searing embarrassment of knowing that I had ever allowed myself to suspect her hit me with a 300 degree roasting down the back of the neck.

I was hell bent on apology, but she had other plans.  “Come on Jim,” she said.  “Close your mouth: you look like somebody’s stolen your cigar.  You’ve got a lot of people to meet.  You need to tell them how grateful you are to have met me.”  And off we went on a round of all the people who were now our friends.  They all congratulated me on my good fortune in meeting Sara (with which I had to concur) and reaching fifty years of age (which, given the lifestyle I had led for many years was probably an achievement worthy of comment) and, eventually, I found myself back where I had begun, a glass in each hand, staring into the eyes of Lorelei.  “And of course, you know Christian,” said Sara, kissing my forehead and wandering away to be elsewhere.
“Christian?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“I thought it was Lorelei.  That is you, I thought you were Lorelei.”
He smiled, moving slightly to allow me to stand beside him.  “I’m sure I am,” he said.
“And Christian?”
“Almost certainly.”
“I don’t suppose you ever actually told me your name, did you?”
“Did you ever ask me?” he asked, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember.  “She’s quite a woman, isn’t she?”
“Sara?”
He frowned until, quite suddenly, he realised that I was joking.
“How do you know her?”
“Oh, you know, we just bump into one another from time to time.”
“Like you bump into me?”
“You make me sound dreadfully clumsy,” he said.
“You were with me when I first ‘bumped into’ Sara in the park and when I re-bumped into her in the cinema.”
“We’re quite accident prone aren’t we, the three of us.”  He was cradling a small crystal glass tumbler – the best one we had, I noted – of Scotch in his hands and I hoped it wasn’t the rubbish that I normally drink.  His collarless white shirt was spotless and he was the only person in the world that I could think of who was capable of wearing a waistcoat with style.  I remember feeling shocked that, like everyone else, he had left his boots at the door.  Unsurprisingly his socks were immaculate.  It was no surprise when Sara appeared, carrying a bottle of the kind of Malt Whisky that most of us only ever see on our fiftieth birthday, to top up his glass.  He smiled benignly, and Sara glowed perceptibly.  I wondered how many other people he regularly ‘bumped into’.  How many other lives he had saved… Now, there was a strange thought.  Had he saved my life?  I don’t think he had done anything so dramatic, but he had helped me piece it back together.  And Sara?  Why had she needed him?  Oddly we had never spoken about him, despite the fact that we were both conscious that it was he who had brought us together.  Had he saved Sara?
“She is a remarkable woman,” he said, inside my head as always.  “I was at such a… loose end when I met her.  She gave me a purpose.  She brought me peace whenever we spoke whilst you, you brought me… variety.  You asked me questions that had to be answered.  You made me think about what my answers should be…”
“You always seemed to have all the answers,” I said.
“Perhaps you just asked the right questions.”
“Ok, then here’s my question for today; do you believe in guardian angels?”
He looked down into his whisky, swirling it slowly in the glass.  “Yes,” he said finally.  “I believe that I have two…”

In case you have read this with no idea of what it is all about, first let me assure you, you are not alone and secondly, let me direct you to the previous episodes featuring these characters:
Episode 1 – An Introduction
Episode 2 – A further excerpt
Episode 3 – A further further excerpt
Episode 4 – Lorelei
Episode 5 – A pre-Christmas exchange
Episode 6 – Newark
Episode 7 – Helpline
Episode 8 – The Cinema
Episode 9 – Being There (part one)

…Sara left the house while I was still in bed, not sleeping, but just keeping my head down, because I knew from the way she was preparing for the day that she didn’t want to speak to me.  There had been a few days like that lately.  And mystery phone calls.  If I asked who they were from she would say “No-one” and if I asked what they were about, she would say “Oh, nothing.”  I was closing in on fifty years of age and though, I must admit, never the most intuitive of souls, even I could see the signs.  Problem is, I had no idea what they were the signs of…

I climbed out of bed as the car pulled away and went downstairs to make coffee.  Sara’s phone was on the table.  I stared at it for a while and thought about opening it to examine her call record, but not for long: whatever the circumstances, that felt like a betrayal.  Besides, if her phone was in the house, she couldn’t take any mare calls, could she?  Leaving the phone where it was, I went back up the stairs.  “Only me,” she shouted on her return, just seconds later.  “I left my phone.  I’m expecting some important calls today,” and with that she was gone.

Sara had moved in with me six months before and we seemed to be getting along just fine.  Cross words were few and we laughed a lot, but her behaviour had changed lately.  She seemed distracted, she sighed resignedly whenever I did anything stupid, but did not comment even when I dressed especially to provoke a reaction.  She passed over the hated corduroy waistcoat with nothing more than a raised eyebrow and even the pale green chinos prompted nothing more than a silent ‘tut’.

…Knowing that I would otherwise spend an unproductive day feeling sorry for myself, I pulled on my running gear and headed out for what I fancifully called ‘a jog’ around the park – the very place where I first met Sara, probably a year or so ago now.  The fresh air would clear my head and the steady thump of my feet on the tarmac would soothe my soul, but there was a slight drizzle in the air and I almost turned back before taking my first stride, when I saw the supermarket delivery man next door and his cheery wave ensured that I had to keep going: lack of moral fibre seriously affects delivery times around these parts.

By the time I reached the park gates, a hundred yards or so along the road, I was already approaching death: my chest burned with every rasping breath, my eyes misted over, my heart had moved up into both ears and was banging, arhythmically on my eardrums, the muscles in my legs were trying to tear their way out.  I headed towards the top of the hill and a shaded, hidden corner that housed a small memorial bench tucked, discreetly, behind a bush of unknown genus: its very isolation one of the reasons why the park had to close at night.  It was the perfect place for me to gather my what-passed-for thoughts whilst I sucked some air back into my lungs; to rest my weary bones and count down the twenty minutes that I would allow before reappearing, looking for the world like a man who had just jogged all the way around the bottom of the park on the other side of the hill.  As it was, I had to walk a little before I got there, but I managed to effect a quite passable limp, so no-one was any the wiser.

“I didn’t know you ran,” said the voice behind me.
“You!” I said.  I didn’t need to turn around.  I somehow sensed that this was the moment for Lorelei’s reappearance.  I acknowledged – if only to myself – that actually, I might have been looking for him.  “What are you doing here?”
“I was just passing through the park,” he said, “on the way to do a little errand, when I saw you limping and thought that you might need a little help.”
“I wasn’t actually limping,” I said.
“I know,” he replied.  “You weren’t exactly jogging either.”  Infuriating.  “I understand that you and Sara are together now.”
“How do you know that?”
“Is it a secret?”
“No.”
“Then that’s how I know.  How is she?”
“Sara?”
“Is there somebody else?”  As usual during these conversations, I began to understand the sensation of being a rabbit staring into the headlights of an oncoming lorry.
“No,” I said.  “…At least not for me.”
“Ah,” he said.
“What do you mean ‘Ah’?” I snapped, not unreasonably I thought at the time.
“Just ‘Ah’… Would you like a mint?”  He held out the pack and I took one, mainly to make certain that it was real.
“Are you a figment of my imagination?” I asked.
“I don’t believe so,” he said.  “What makes you ask?”
“You only ever seem to appear when I’m troubled.”
“Perhaps you only notice me when you’re troubled.  Perhaps for the rest of the time, you just don’t see me.  Maybe you’re a figment of mine.”  I looked at him, the long white hair, the neatly trimmed white beard, the long black coat and the snakeskin ‘cowboy’ boots he always seemed to wear.  Was it even possible to not see him?  “So why are you troubled?” he asked.
“Did I say I was troubled?”
“Well yes, I believe you did.”
“Ah,” I sucked my mint.  “It’s just that…” I bit my tongue.  “There’s something she isn’t telling me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know, do I?  That’s the whole problem.”
“Well, do you know why?”
“Why what?”
“Why you think that there’s something she’s not telling you?”
“She’s just acting strange…”  I looked into slightly disapproving eyes.  “…Strangely… distracted.  And she keeps getting phone calls: won’t tell me who they’re from or what they’re about.”
“Oh, I see…  Can we walk, I’m getting cold?”  We strolled back down the hill towards the park gates in silence, mine brooding, his contemplative.  “Does she often keep secrets?” he asked as we walked out onto the street.
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?”
“I suppose not, no…  Why do you think that’s what she’s doing?”
“Have you another suggestion?”
“Perhaps it’s just something she wants to keep to herself for now.  Perhaps just be patient for now.  Just be there.”
“That’s all very well, but…”
We had reached the steps that led to the house.  It used to be my house, but it became our house within seconds of Sara moving in and now I couldn’t picture an inch of it without her in it.  He laid his hand lightly on my arm.  His touch felt like an electric shock: an intravenous Espresso.  “Just be there,” he said.  He held out a small envelope.  “This is for Sara.  …My little errand,” he said by way of explanation.  I took the envelope, knowing that no amount of explanation was going to make any sense to me now, and he turned to leave with a smile and just the slightest of nods.  Of course he knew where Sara lived – of course he did – but how could he have an envelope for her?  What kind of message was in it?  “But…” I started.
“Just be there.” he said and he was gone.

I weighed the note in my hand.  Was it possible that he was on his way to deliver it when he accidentally encountered me in the park?  That wasn’t the way he usually worked.  Why was he sending her messages anyway?  The envelope was not sealed and I knew that I could just open it and read whatever was inside, but I also knew that he would know and that was all I needed to resist the temptation.  I placed it on the mantle and when Sara returned from work I told her that I had found it on the doorstep when I got back from jogging.  She read it quickly, slid the paper back into its envelope and pushed the envelope down into her pocket.
“Who’s it from?” I asked.
“No-one,” she said.
“Well what’s it about?”
“Oh, nothing…”

Part Two follows tomorrow