Saturday, and September's first wild winds had slammed into the coast, bringing with them a washout of a weekend. The couple's outside plans had withered and died as the storm loomed on the weather maps. The crash of waves were swapped for rain hammering against window panes, picnic blankets for fleece ones, cuddles on the beach for snuggles on the sofa. They'd even drifted off together that afternoon, the talkshow radio soporific to him, the rise and fall of his chest to her.
That evening the fast dying autumn light became obvious to them both, heavy dark grey skies accentuating that inevitable change of the seasons. They'd closed their curtains at a sensible hour for the first time in months; six o'clock in summer was always suspiciously early, and she'd dither and worry each time that a neighbour would draw salacious - if accurate - conclusions. But that day the subdued outside light meant she had no such wrinkle of concern for him to smooth over, and the mess of blankets and pillows and soft candlelight in the living room gave them the perfect excuse to live up to expectation after dinner, the film rerun quickly forgotten. She'd made pancakes in only her apron as a second dessert. He'd taken his third from her over the kitchen table.
Perhaps that's what gave him the idea.
Sunday, though the wind still threatened to tear the roof clean off, sometime that afternoon the drumming of the rain came to an abrupt, eerie silence.
She twitched the curtain nets back. Fluffy white clouds raced towards them, crisp, blue skies lay beyond and yellow light broke through and spilt across the sea to the horizon. The worst was over, then.
He stood behind her with one strong arm around her waist, and voiced much the same sentiment. He suggested a walk to stretch their legs, to test their newfound freedom from the deluge.
"But I want to show you something first." he said as they left, him in the driver's seat, slinging the car out the drive in one fluid motion. "It's not far." She agreed. And other than him playfully insisting that one coat would suffice rather than layering with fleece and scarf ("it's not
that
cold out"), nothing was amiss.
Storefronts turned to townhouses turned to detached new builds. As they hit the country road to the nearby village tucked in the valley over she knew exactly where "not far" was. His little smirk when she ask confirmed it. The brow of the pass - High Point.
High Point was a hidden beauty spot, popular with locals and more adventurous tourists alike. Not for the spot itself, mind - it only a nondescript clump of trees all gnarled and bent in submission to the relentless sea winds - but for the breathtaking views the copse offered. To the north lay farmland sprawled to the horizon, to the south the winding river and the picturesque cliffs tourists loved, the east a blanket of forest, and on a clear day to the west the nearest city formed a grey smudge against the sunset. This time of year the low Sun made shadows stretch across the valley to paint a saturated drama, swallows swooping and screaming through the sunbeams, catching their last meal before committing south for the winter. And on the edge of the copse stood a three-seater park bench, their bench, on which they'd watch it all.
He pulled off the country road to the car park, gravel crunching under tyre and for the first visit in memory they were alone. It wasn't hard to feel why - despite clear skies the wind still rocked the car as they came to a full stop.
"I see, you want me to beat you at blackberry picking again?" She scanned the tree-line, assessing how much of the wild fruit was left. But when she was met with stony silence instead of a playful rise to the challenge she turned back to find him glaring, his lips a thin line.
The wind whistled a warning across the car bonnet.
"Get out the car," he said.
It was a command. His switch in attitude dizzied her and she took a moment too long to extrapolate out.
"What?! Here?!"
"Get. Out. The car."
Her heart caught in her throat. "But... I..."
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why am I repeating myself? Do you want me to make this worse for you?"
Shit.
She scrambled out the car, wind catching the door and manhandling her upright. It was conspiring with her partner - relentless, whipping her loose auburn hair against her face and stealing her breath, unsteadying her with every forceful gust. He stepped out and lightly bracing himself against the car, cool and composed.
The piercing blue skies were above them both now, September colours vivid in the light, the day's rain leaving the air earthy and tinged salty from the sea spray picked up two miles south. By looks she was as calm as the view, standing to attention as best she could in her windbreaker jacket and jeans. But at ground level, inside and between them, like the wind a heady maelstrom began to swirl.
Outside?
She thought.
But where, exactly?
As if reading her mind that mischievous smirk flashed again, before fading back to his painted scowl.
She watched on helpless as he locked the car, the mechanism's clunk the clink of chains. He slipped the keys deep into his pocket.
"Come here!" Another bark from him, loud over the storm's dregs. She made sure to move quickly, head up but eyes lowered in deference.
Taking her by the wrist he pulled her towards a muddy path starting one end of the copse of trees. A faded and tone-deaf sign cheerily welcomed them both to the High Point Trail. She heard the distant swallows screaming, echoing the one voice in her head.
The trail itself looped through the copse and down a steep track to join the river walk, the route she'd naively assumed they'd be taking today. Their bench lay at the end of the dense tunnel of trees, just before the hill. She could picture the warm wood in the distance, barely touched by the shallow afternoon sunlight but still under the open sky.
She headed towards that bench in vain hope more than anything. He took a hidden right instead, gravel path turning to mud and grass, near jarring her shoulder as passive punishment for her assumption.
She cursed her misjudgement.
"Not there." he said, thankfully without anger. "You don't deserve that yet. Here first.
This
is what I wanted to show you."
She followed him through the narrow gap between blackberry bushes, their thorns snagging on her jacket and jeans. The bushes only got taller as they shimmied through. She winced and raised an arm to protect her face and in moments she'd near-stumbled into freedom. He released her wrist and gestured for her to explore.
The overgrown path had given way to a dim clearing walled by sycamore, their leaves just beginning to curl in the autumnal weather and making a dry, clapping racket as the canopy bowed to the wind. At ground level, the protection offered by the trees tempered the winds to a barely a breath for which she was grateful; the respite allowed her time to tidy her hair back into its proper place.
The fresh, earthy smell from a weekend of rain clung here, ground slipping to mud in places underfoot. Clumps of stubborn dandelions shone in the low light and dragonflies flitted about high in the protected air to complete the tiny glade's Fae look. She would have felt transported - if it wasn't for the ominous, dank bench.
A lone picnic bench sat soggy and slimy in the centre of the ring of trees, its dark wood more rugged and split than the sycamore around them, moss growing between the slats. In high summer sunlight would have reached down through the gap in the trees and dried the clearing, but it was obvious the bench hadn't see the Sun in quite some time. In fact, given how deep the hollow of beaten-down earth around the bench was, it was possible it had been in situ since the dawn of time, the trees growing up around the thing.
He joined her as she ran her fingers along the wood.
"Do you like it?"
Her stomach churned, this time not at the bench.
It was an easy enough question for him to ask, but she knew better than to treat it lightly. On the surface it was perfectly innocent. Did she like the glade? But like the tempered breeze here his gentle earnestness had a dangerous force behind it, one only the most observant folk would be able to tease from her sudden stiffness. Higher, above the protection of social niceties and the trees the pressure of that maelstrom built. In truth his words were a command - to express not liking his idea would lead to punishment, she was sure of that. Like the canopy, she'd have no choice but to yield.
But at the very highest level - so distant in the tempered blue skies she could only trust it was there - all was calm again, their unwavering bond painted solid like the blue above all the ephemeral drama of storms and heavy clouds. In truth his command was request for permission; he was asking her to take the first step. The vertigo from holding all these conflicting thoughts in place nudged her towards that giddy excitement, towards her falling into submission, but she was unable to let go just yet.
She tore her eyes from the wooden monstrosity before her to check where they'd come from. A tiny window through the trees on the far side of the main path gave only a peek to the valley below so they were safe in that respect, but anyone walking past who thought to turn their head would find the secluded bench. And them.
This really wasn't safe.
The breeze picked up again and despite her jacket and jeans she shivered.
"What if someone comes?"
He glared down his nose. Another look of displeasure to add to the growing tally. "You saw. No one's here."
"But people walk up—"
SLAM
.
