As we return along the road towards the village, dusk has descended upon us, so James utters more and more safety advice which I mostly ignore, even when he produces a torch for me. I’d not even thought about anything like that. “Considering you’re a man who does dangerous activities most days for his living and for fun, you’re making a big fuss about walking down a road in the dark.” I tease him and am then suddenly pushed against a nearby fence as he kisses me deeply and quickly, before being launched back onto the road again, marching in army style. I’d have happily continued our activities at the fence, but darkness, fast cars, safety – yeah, yeah – we must get back.
“The activities at the centre are much safer than this Lizzie – we have harnesses and safety equipment – everything is controlled. I have no control over the speed of the cars on this busy road, without a pavement and rapidly darkening night. We need to get back fast!” he answers with a fairly urgent tone.
“So that we’re safe again?” I question.
“Well yes, but if I’m honest that kiss has got me gagging for you – I was hoping we might make use of that huge hotel bed.”
“How do you know it’s a huge bed?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” he replies, whilst he marches me on.
On arriving back at the hotel, slightly exhausted from both the exercise and emotion, we head up to our room after James has visited the reception desk. “James you’re going the wrong way, the room is down here,” I explain.
“Actually Lizzie, I upgraded us – come on.” When on earth has he had time to upgrade us? I am wracking my brain to understand how he had time to do this, but rather than spoil the moment, I just follow. On entering the room, I take in the wine and chocolates waiting on the bed (which incidentally, is huge), I realise he has paid a visit to it before meeting me. “I wasn’t sure how I’d upset you or how by much – so I didn’t take any chances,” he says as he gestures to the wine. “Fancy a nice hot bath?”
“Yes, I’d love one, but only if there are bubbles in it!”
“What do you mean bubbles? Aren’t I enough?” he asks with an exasperated look on his face.
“No. I need bubbles too,” I tease. He walks into the bathroom muttering something about women never being happy – or something like that.
Sinking into the deeply filled bath between James’ legs, he wraps his arms around me and I rest my head back against his shoulder feeling both happy and relaxed. Even though this trip has been stirring and sentimental, for the first time since dad died I feel and believe that things will be okay.
James senses my need for calm during our bath, and just holds me, occasionally kissing my cheek or the top of my head. As the water cools, James lifts me out of the bath and slowly towel dries me. “Do you want to eat in the restaurant or here?” he asks as we both stand naked wrapped up together in an enormous, fluffy bath towel. Feeling him hardened against me as our bodies make contact, I answer him with a kiss and he responds by carrying me over to the bed.
His kisses eventually leave my lips and travel more urgently down my body as the emotion from the day finally leaps from us both like a stag released from capture. I grip his hair as he slides down my body kissing and sucking every inch until he reaches my navel. Pausing to tease me, he then moves his kisses to my hips, slowly down the insides of my thighs, before finally relieving my torture kissing gently at first, but then in a harder rhythmic motion until I can bare it no longer. As I regain a sense of reality, he is smiling down on me, enjoying the pleasure he has given me. Now it’s his turn ....
A while later, both ravished and shattered, we opt for room service and eat in bed with glasses of wine leaving us feeling indulgent and blissful. “Do you think your dad would have enjoyed it up here?” James asks.
“He’d have loved it and I did the right thing coming here – I feel comforted by it. I also felt guilty that I didn’t get to the hospital in time and this is my way of doing something for us both.”
“Good – I’m glad, and I think that he’d be very happy that you came here for him.”
The following morning, we head out into Grasmere village for a browse around. I have agreed to go over to Ambleside (a small nearby town) later to look for some walking boots. As we stroll around the village arm in arm, I notice its quaintness, but in a different way to our village back home. The Lake District holds a pretty, yet rugged quality, slightly severe compared to the rolling hills that I’m used to, but impressive and charming in its own way. I notice a lovely looking gift shop across the street – I am always sold if there’s bunting hanging outside any shop. Loving the shop as soon as I enter, I take my time carefully absorbing its contents – deciding what to buy for presents or as a treat for myself. Picking up some slate hearts designed to hang on the wall for chalking messages, I hold them up and imagine them on James’ kitchen wall with lovingly written messages for each other. “You’re not seriously considering buying one of those are you?” asks James in a bored tone, ruining my fantasy.
“Why? They’re lovely – I like them and they are practical too” I reply unperturbed.
“Well, I just don’t see what’s wrong with writing a message on a piece of paper.”
“These look much prettier than paper and are kind of romantic – don’t you think?” I ask as I wander across the shop having spotted a beautiful stained glass bowl filled with a selection of colourful, fragrant, hand-made soaps and not noticing that James has left the shop. It takes me another 20 minutes before I realise that James is not with me, so I decide to pay for my soaps, a wicker basket, Kendal mint cake, wicker heart ...
As I leave the shop, I glance at my watch and realise I have been in there for 45 minutes. James is sitting in the cafe across the street reading a paper and drinking tea. I pause to watch him for a moment and take in his handsome face, concentrating on the paper, before he looks up as if sensing my gaze and smiles. “Sorry I left Lizzie, but you seem very fixated on stuff in there and, no offense, I was bored stupid, so came out here to wait. Buy anything nice?”
“Yes, lots of things actually,” I answer not mentioning what exactly, as men just don’t get it, do they? Quickly changing the subject I ask, “Do you mind if I pop in the shop over there before we can head over to Ambleside?”
“No – go ahead and I’ll get myself another brew; I have a feeling you may be gone some time.” He knows me so well, I think to myself.
Two hours later, as we are on the way back to the cars parked at the hotel, we both take in the most delicious smell floating through the air like vaporised toffee and cakes. Following this smell, we arrive at a tiny shop, close to a stone church, which sells Grasmere Ginger Bread as well as toffee and chocolates. Inside the shop is like going back to Victorian times, with everything in old fashioned tins, staff dressed in theme and the gorgeous tiny, wooden counter – simply lovely. The gingerbread is packed in waxed paper and tied like little parcels and even James becomes slightly interested in this shop. Having excitedly purchased a few packs of the fabulous gingerbread.–I say a few packs, perhaps that is an underestimation–we go to Ambleside.
In Ambleside, we park our cars alongside Rothay River, which is moving quickly, with its clear water allowing a view down to the smooth stones at the bottom. We cross a perfect stone arched bridge towards a park with outcrops of rugged rocks in the middle of the grass, where numerous children are climbing enthusiastically.
In Ambleside, James quickly finds a large shop selling a range of outdoor equipment, such as boots, climbing ropes, coats .... After what seems like hours, he has selects various walking boots which he deems to be suitable, whilst I am more enthusiastic about trying on a bright pink pair I have spotted – which are slightly more like trainers. His look of disgust informs me, that they are not an option to be considered. “Lizzie, you choose whichever you prefer, but please get something of a decent quality or you might as well just wear your wellies.” Not really caring, what type of boots I should get, I opt for some boring brown leather ones, which James assures me will not give me blisters (which my wellies have). After paying for them, I realise that James is not yet ready to leave the shop.
It seems like James has been analysing the quality of coats for hours, but when checking my watch, it’s only been five minutes. This is sooooooooooooooooooooooo boring, a coat’s a coat–isn’t it? When he moves on to hats, which all look the same to me, I can’t take any more, especially since I have noticed a pretty tearoom across the street. Realising it has bunting up (I’m sold) I mutter to James that I’ll be cross the street, although I’m not sure if he hears me as he stomps off towards some sort of colourful climbing ropes and accessories, in which I have very little interest.
I’ve never been shopping with James before, but clearly our tastes differ slightly – well a lot actually. I am, however, just a little bit pleased that we have the element of comfort in being able to separate and do our own thing – I CAN NOT BE RUSHED IN SHOPS THAT SELL HANDMADE SOAPS nor can I be enthused in an outdoor clothing shop for more than 5 minutes!
Much later on, James found me indulging in a huge slab of cookies and cream cheesecake – well I had a long wait. I chose it because I felt like I needed to end my visit with a treat and Dad always loved cheesecake. James and I head back to the park near our cars, where James tenderly kisses me goodbye and heads off towards his car, saying that he’ll see me later on.
Before I start my journey home, I wanted to take a moment to breathe in the air once more and also appreciate the views of the rugged mountains surrounding the park. Loughrigg Fell is one of them and looks beautiful with the browns of the bracken against the bright blue of the sky, understated, but leaving an impression in its own small way. Feeling that Dad is with me, in my head I whisper, “Did you like it Dad – did I bring you to the right place?” and I know he whispered back the answer, “Yes.”
Notes to self
After my weekend visiting The Lakes with James I am feeling happier than before, so I decide to focus on helping Kate with our business a little more. She has been so good taking over everything without much help from me recently, so I owe her some time off. Don’t get me wrong, I am not pretending one weekend away makes everything okay. I am obviously still grieving for my dad and understand that my grief will not just disappear, but I have accepted that he is not coming back. Now I can see that my life can and will continue.
The following weekend, Mark and I both stay at Mum’s. She tells us about her weekend away with her friends, and although it has not healed wounds, it has helped her. I share with them details about my weekend in the Lake District (leaving out my argument with James) and both of them think Dad would like it that I went there.
“You are very similar to your dad, Lizzie, and I think he would love the fact that you went there for him. Whilst we are talking about him, I was going to ask you both where you think we should scatter his ashes, but after listening to Lizzie, perhaps we could all go to the Lake District and let him rest there. What do you think?”
“I think it would be perfect. What about you, Mark – what do you think?” I ask.
“It would be nice to visit together, since Mum and I haven’t been before, so why not? You don’t mind that it is so far away Mum?”
“No, not at all – I feel he’s still with me wherever I am, so it doesn’t matter where he physically goes as long as it’s somewhere we think your dad would like. Let’s get Christmas out of the way first and then we can sort something out. Speaking of Christmas – what should we do this year–do you think?” Mum asks us both. This is a subject I had not dared to think about, and I admire Mum’s strength for facing it.
“Tabitha and I are happy to have everybody at our place, or we can stay here Mum – what would you prefer?” Mark asks, trying to keep mum happy, almost as though he has taken on the role of the parent and is trying to look after mum the best he can.
“To be honest, I’m not really sure what I want – it’s going to be a strange year, so it doesn’t matter where we are. We can’t hide the fact that your dad isn’t with us. Christmas is just a day that I have to get through this year.”
“We could all stay in the Lake District for Christmas and scatter Dad’s ashes on Christmas Day – that way we have a job to do–a purpose. It will take the attention off the normal festive activities.” I suggest. Mark looks questioningly at Mum to asses her opinion.
“Actually that sounds like a good idea. It would make Christmas Day so different that I won’t compare it to years gone by. James and Tabitha can come if they want to, of course; I don’t want to spoil their Christmas Day.”
The decision being made about Christmas lightens the atmosphere and we all then try as best as we can to have normal conversation about things we’ve been up to, although all of us are aware of the empty chair at the dining table. It’s like an unwritten rule that we don’t sit on it or maybe it feel wrong to sit on his chair. Mum asks me if she can start to work in The Tea Cosy 2 again as she wants to fill her time with being around people and adds that she can’t expect Mark and me to come over constantly to check on her. Mum has always been a people person, so I am more than happy to have her work for us, especially as she is so good with our customers. It will also stop my worrying about her as I can keep an eye on her at the same time.
* * *
Christmas Day arrives and with it is some joy as we relish in happy memories and some sadness as we will finally put Dad to rest at the top of a beautiful mountain, during what should be a festive and happy time. We travelled up to the Lake District last night (Christmas Eve) and will stay until Boxing Day. I managed to get us all booked into the Wordsworth Hotel, where I stayed last time.
As we started the ascent up the mountain, Mum said it felt the right place to be on Christmas Day, even suggesting she will visit again on her own sometime soon or with her Golden Girls. When we paused to admire the view and take a well-needed breath, she pulled me aside. “Lizzie, you do know I love you, don’t you?” The unexpected words hang in the air like mist above the lake, whilst I considered her question.
“Yes, Mum, I do – why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re very like your dad and now that he’s gone I see him in you more and more: your gestures, the way your mind works and even how you laugh. I often took him for granted and perhaps I have taken you for granted in the same way. Mark’s more like me, so I have always understood his thought process, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you both the same. You have many wonderful qualities and I’m proud of you. I just wanted to make sure that you knew this – that’s all.”
“I know Mum,” I reply, trying not to cry with the emotion and happiness she has stirred up inside me and feel that Dad is smiling down upon us just as the sun breaks through a cloud.
Whilst at the summit of Loughrigg Fell, Mum glances around as if checking this is the right location for her beloved husband to rest. I hold my breath, worrying that it might not be a place Mum is happy with, but of course, it’s perfect. I expected Mum to gracefully scatter his ashes in a little pile, but she surprises me when she throws them as hard as she can so they are carried in the light breeze all over the mountain. It is almost as if she is setting him free to roam as he pleases amongst the hills and beauty beyond.
We allow Mum her own private moment away from us until she is ready to return to the village. “Rest in peace my darling – I love you,” she quietly says before turning to us letting us know she is ready.
Later that evening, when James and I are getting ready to meet the others for a meal, he pulls me in into a cuddle and nuzzles my neck, whilst I breathe in his natural scent, never tiring of this smell. “I think today worked well Lizzie – the walk and everything made it easier for your mum. How do you feel?” he asks, pleasing me because he wants to know if was right for me too.
“I think so too. Everything is going to be a first without Dad this year, but at least we got our first Christmas out of the way and it was a relief not to be sitting round the table at Mum’s with the empty chair being a glaring reminder of his absence, so today didn’t feel as upsetting as I thought it would. The next thing is New Year. I’m not sure what to do about it, but I certainly can’t let Mum be by herself. I’m sorry James with this being our first Christmas and New Year together and this is probably not how you’d wanted to spend it. You haven’t even seen your family yet.”
“I’ll see my family soon – that’s something I need to talk to you about, but let’s discuss it tomorrow. I did have an idea, about New Year, though and wanted to run it by you first. The centre is closed for the next two weeks as you know, so why not make use of it and the space there? We could invite all our families and friends and have a big party. People can stay and just go to bed when they want without worrying about taxis. It would be nice for my family to stay for a while and see the centre. It might be easier for your mum as well if there are lots of people around. What do you think?” he asks staring directly into my eyes awaiting my opinion.
“James, it sounds like a fabulous idea, but are you sure? It would be lots of work. I can do the food and Kate would probably help me prepare it all. It does sound like a perfect idea, though.”
“That’s settled then – let’s start organising and I’m sure everybody will muck in and help.” Decision made, we head out to meet Mum, Tabitha and Mark to see if they want to join us at New Year.
The following day, Mum kisses us bye because she is travelling back with Mark and Tabitha. Earlier, James mysteriously said we were making a stop on the way home. It was only as we pulled off the M6 motorway, that James explained exactly where we were stopping. Much to my unexpected horror, he informed me that we were paying his parents a visit and I would finally meet the woman he had caressed–his sister! Now, I must explain that I had thought at some point, I would meet James’ parents, but to spring it on me like this, when I haven’t paid much attention to my hair or make up this morning, is just unfair. “Your parents–why didn’t you tell me before? Honestly James–is my hair okay? I need to stop and put some lipstick or some makeup on,” I reply in panicked tones.
“I didn’t tell you, because I knew you’d react like this. I told my mum we would be in the Lakes for Christmas Day, so would call on the way back. As I said to you yesterday, I’ve not seen much of them recently. Mum will go mad if she doesn’t see me at Christmas and since we’re practically passing, I thought we’d stop by so that I can introduce you – they all want to meet you,” he replied. “Mum’s cooked us a meal, so we’ll have that when we arrive.”
A thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. “James I haven’t got presents! You know I’ve not bought them this year – oh no, I can’t turn up without presents, can I?” I ask, fear creeping through my body in response to our closing distance to James’ parents.
“Stop worrying! I have presents. Seriously, will you calm down – they’ll love you.” James insisted.
“It’s not that I don’t want to meet your family, in fact I’ve been dying to, but it is just that I’d have liked more than twenty minutes warning. I feel unprepared!” Desperately trying to titivate my hair in the passenger mirror, so that it doesn’t have the appearance of a wild animal’s untamed mane, I use my fingers to brush it through. Normally I would have loved the fact that James is finally introducing me to his parents and would have arrived with appropriate baked goods in a lovely basket and hand-tied bow lovingly selected from my varied collection of ribbons. Perhaps I would have selected my ribbon with red roses on to match the Lancashire emblem.
Although Lancashire borders The Lake District, the countryside here is slightly softer than the ruggedness of The Lakes. The hills are more rounded, yet it still displays similarities with the miles of stone walls separating the fields. James has told me that he spent hours scaling the hills in his youth and I can imagine him up in these hills now that I’ve seen them.
As we near, I try to remember what James has told me about his family during our lengthy Sunday walks with Jack. His mum, Elizabeth (like me) works part-time writing for a Lancashire magazine, whilst looking after a rapidly growing menagerie of various animals. Apparently there’s always a new animal which has established its home here each time James calls. His dad, John, is retired now, but like James, is always outdoors walking or climbing. James’ sister, Rachel is a free-lance journalist and lives in London, but is visiting for Christmas.
Eventually we arrive at the brow of a hill and James points to his family home–a large stone cottage that fits neatly into the stone walls surrounding it and set in what appears to be a few acres of land. On approaching, I notice various animals wandering around the garden, seemingly happy despite the bitterly cold December weather. The cottage has a similar appearance to James’ and I wonder if it he bought it for that reason. I’ll ask him later, because right now the door has swung open and a lady, who must be James’ mum, is standing there smiling at us. She has her own eccentric dress sense – similar to Ruth’s. “Come in out of the cold – Lizzie, lovely to finally meet you. James, you look tired – have you been working too hard?” she rattles on without pausing for any response from us and we follow her into the warm glow of the house.
As we take our coats off in the large entrance hall full of various boots, wax jackets, hats and other walking attire, she updates James on her latest animal–a pheasant. Whilst they chat, I am distracted by a soft tickling on my ear, which I brush off until I feeling a feather. It’s still tickling me, so I flick it off me again, but this time feeling a hard, scratchy claw. To my horror, I turn around to find that I am face to face with a dead pheasant hanging from the ceiling giving me an indignant glare. Well, I’m sorry, but my initial response was not cool – particularly my high pitched shrieking, followed by my leap into James’ arms. Realising the pheasant she was talking about is not her latest pet, but this dead one, I feel a little silly and have not given his family the most sophisticated impression. “Goodness I am sorry, Lizzie. John was supposed to move it earlier. It’s from the farmer next door. You see – he brings us a pheasant every Christmas – a sort of tradition,” Elizabeth responds quickly to my fear of the dead bird. Feeling a little ridiculous, yet repulsed by its ugly appearance at the same time, I bravely smile as if I regularly find dead pheasants hanging from ceilings.
James’ dad, having heard my scream, arrives and quickly removes the dead pheasant whilst muttering apologies and hellos at the same time. James’ mum ushers us into the warm, cosy living room, obviously wanting to relieve my discomfort. Rachel is sitting by the huge open fire with its glowing, spectacular flames flashing delicately, causing shadows to flicker across the room. She is very beautiful and has thick dark curls, just like James’. Cringing slightly in case she knows about my flouncing off to The Lakes episode, I smile nervously, but she responds with a wide smile herself and hugs me, so I instantly start to relax.
The house is very homely, having a worn and well used appearance, but I always love houses that appear lived in as it makes them easier to relax in. When sitting down on the massive, squishy sofa, James plonks the bags full of presents onto the floor, accidentally tipping one of them over and spewing their contents. James has obviously picked up one of my bags by mistake – let me explain. Having loved the hand-made soaps that I bought in Grasmere last time I was there, I decided to get lots more on this visit – enough to last me a long, long time. I have a weird obsession about home-made soaps and have possibly purchased about 30 of them. They are now currently all over the floor, pretty much taking over the whole rug. “Why have you brought so many soaps, James?” asks his mum a little confused.
“I’ve not. Are these yours Lizzie?” James asks, whilst I ponder whether to pretend I know nothing about them, but knowing full well James is aware of my obsession with beautiful soaps, but perhaps not on this scale.