Belonging to Someone Else

Laura Black had the air of belonging to someone else when Mark Andrews saw her again after three long months. She was sitting on a bench overlooking the bay when he eventually spied her out. He'd walked to the top of the road, past the many guesthouses and up onto the headland in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. He knew that she used to like to sit there on a sunny evening reading a book or simply staring out at the sea, taking in the view of the boats coming in with the tide. It was always a place that he checked out when he was in the mood to look for her.

The last time they'd physically touched he'd actually found her up there during a storm. She'd been quite as upset as the clouds and the restless, relentless sea that evening: their last evening together as a couple. He had held her silently, her head resting against his shoulder for one last time as forks of lightning lit up the dull, overcast evening sky.

They'd stayed there in silence for a whole hour absorbing the force of the storm, until they were quite drenched to the skin. He'd tried to oblige her to take refuge from the elements in an inn that was both hospitable and warm. She had looked at him and he had realized the gulf between them, even before she shook her head one last time and had walked away towards the lighthouse without looking back.

He'd had no choice but to consider their relationship over from then, as she had never come back to him. When he'd returned to the apartment that they'd shared, he found her belongings untouched and abandoned. He'd kept them. He'd hoped against hope that she would come back one day, but gradually came to understand that she wanted to be free from possessions and not just from him.

Mark had seen her from a distance several times in the past few months, but it was as if she had a radar alert to his presence. She used to disappear before he ever got close. He just had to turn his attention away from her for an instant and she would have fled. So be it. He didn't want to feel like some useless stalker. If that's what she wanted, then that was her choice.

Today, however, she didn't leap up and run when he appeared over the crest of the hill. She seemed to be concentrating, quite intent on her book, disregarding the rest of the world. Her head was bent forward over the hardback book and stray wisps of her hair, though tied up, flicked across the back of her neck, drawing attention to its pallor and her vulnerability.

Laura was apparently completely focused on the novel on her lap, turning the pages slowly as the summer breeze flipped the hem of her yellow summer skirt up. This was his chance to revive his fortunes with her if he played her right. He walked slowly across the stone parkway, keeping his eyes fixed on her seated form.

They were both quite oblivious to the shouts of a group of youths playing football on a grassy area to the left of them. They ignored the intermittent shrieks of two young children, discovering the pleasures of rolling over and over down the grassy hillside towards the quayside below them.

"Hello, Laura." "Hi Mark," she said looking up from her book and smiling as if nothing had happened between them since the last time they had shared that bench. "It's very nice to see you again."

"May I sit with you?"

"Please."

"What are you reading?"

"It's a story about mansions and pleasant far away lands."

"And anything else?"

"Well, there are several nice conversations."

"Tell me about them. I'll listen."

"That will make a pleasant change," she smiled. "Once..."

"Don't you think," he interrupted immediately, "that I am too old to start 'once upon a time'?

"Is one ever too old?"

"That depends what for," he grinned.

"For listening," she responded dryly and then snapped her book shut firmly, before looking out to sea. His face fell – cleverness doesn't always win evidently.

He opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it and closed his lips, pursing them and looking out at the sparkling sun on the waves as well.

After a while he decided to watch a yacht heading out to sea just to give him time to work out what she was looking at and how she was feeling. He watched in zigzagging between the buoys, the crew leaning out over the water, sometimes so far back that their heads were almost touching the water. A clock struck the hour in the distance and he turned towards it, glancing down at his watch to see if it was keeping good time.

"You will never be able to sit still and listen for long, could you Mark?" She sighed.

"I've known times when you could not sit."

"That is neither here nor there as far as either fidgeting or clever comments are concerned; and, in any case, who was to blame for my not being able to sit?"

"Let's take mutual responsibility for those occasions and our shared enthusiasm. We are both old enough."

"Well, I did ask if one could ever be too old."

"That you did, my dear."

"Yes. I did. And I'm not your 'dear' anymore."

"True."

"So?"

"So nothing."

She shrugged and they relapsed back into silence.

He closed his eyes and let the summer sun warm his face for a moment. Then he flicked his eyes open and turned his head toward her, observing her bending forward to place her book in her shopping bag. Then he watched as she brushed the bright yellow summer skirt down and then lifted herself off the bench to tug it down half an inch.

"I do love to see you tugging your clothes down, Laura."

"I'll bet you do. Brings back sweet memories?"

"Memories of tugging you over my lap after seeing you tug your clothes down, Laura," he smiled and patted his knee meaningfully. He had a sudden desire to see her pulled over his lap with her pretty yellow skirt and her, no doubt, pale panties down round her knees, preparing to count the number of times that she had ignored him over the last few months.

He could almost hear the sharp sounds of his hand making contact with her soft backside. And what else: ah yes the "jolly good" encouragement of some passing old colonel who would certainly relish the excitement of a young woman punished in public.

Reality was so often a disappointment for Mark though. Or a relief, depending on your point of view – the health service does not need more appoplectic colonels on its books. Laura looked across at his face and then down to his lap, spotting the slight arousal, before her gaze returned to meet his. He saw the look of disdain and knew to expect a rebuke from her.

"Dream on."

"I'm never too old to dream."

"And what do you suppose I am never too old for, Mark?"

"Hmm...I'm not sure. Ladies benefit from all sorts of things..."

"Think well, Mark," she warned, as she waved away a rather imperious seagull that had settled on the arm of the bench.

The bird paraded up and down for a little while and observed her dispassionately. Having sized her up and decided that she was lacking in food and therefore substance, it then stared at her rather lugubriously, its head cocked. She laughed and murmured to herself: "Said the seagull..."

"...nevermore."

"Very good: what do you want, Mark?"

"How about wanting you to give me a brownie point in Eng Lit?"

"How about you think a little more before you speak?"

"Oh...I think very well, though I admit constant education is something we all benefit from."

"I'm glad to hear you stay constant to your educational ambitions."

"Constancy in educational ambition won't make Mark a dull boy, I promise you."

"Perhaps you should welcome some change in your life?"

"Losing you was a most unfortunate change, Laura."

"You retained my friendship."

"Your friendship?"

"Yes."

"Why did you avoid me these last three months then?"

"Friendships take time to form."

"I'm grateful you stayed still and allowed it to blossom eventually."

"You should always be grateful for small mercies."

"Very pat but not necessarily, Laura. I often wish that I'd had greater tenacity during that storm."

"I feel that I learnt all that I needed to under your wing. Your possessiveness in the storm was the proverbial last straw."

"My teaching became moribund?"

"No, but I needed to find new avenues to stretch myself. I needed a breath of fresh air to wake me up from the day dream that was our affair."

"You could have stayed. I worried for you."

"You saw me often enough to know I was fine and I saw you'd found new company."

"True, but they were nothing compared to you – sorry substitutes at best."

"I can't help the choices you make, Mark."

"My choices came from your choice. You could have stayed with me and helped me move on."

"And watched you over-employ your well-tried techniques on others? No thanks."

"That's a little unkind."

"Sorry, Mark. I was trying to be frank, not brutal."

"It doesn't matter. Anyway, sometimes the old teaching techniques work well to enliven things."

"You will have to educate me again in these tried and tested ways one day."

"Why can't we begin again now?"

"I'm not sure that I wish to be enlivened on this rather gorgeous summer's evening," she sighed and then slipped on her sun glasses and looked up into the clear blue sky, before looking down to check her watch. "And don't whine. It's unbecoming."

"I was trying not to." "

"Try harder next time."

"Do you really have to go?"

"There's no real reason to stay. Is there?"

"May I walk you anywhere?"

"Over to the lighthouse perhaps?"

"That's a long way," Mark protested querulously.

"Is it too far for you?" She sighed and waved her hand in the direction of the lighthouse that towered over the cliffs on the promontory to the right.

"No, but..."

She shrugged, suddenly remembering that stormy night when any protest would not have carried to her. She had walked right up to the lighthouse then. The rising wind and the crash of the waves stole away his demands that she come back with him. Now that he was with her once more, she turned away again. She looked up and stared up into the darkening blue-black sky, watching the dark evening clouds gathering before nightfall. The swirling cumulus seemed like black sheep flocking to the pen, coming together above the first thin beam of light, flashing periodically out to sea.

'It will always belong to us' Mark said, before reaching up to touch her hand lightly. "Why do you need us to go back there now?"

Laura sighed. He would never understand. Sometimes she just needed to be on the edge, the comfort of the rushing breaking waves below. He had upset the equilibrium that she had been building without him by his sudden appearance, though she seemed calm and balanced. Was it any wonder that she wanted to go back there now?

"Does it matter how far it is?"

"I think the weather is turning," he warned.

Laura shrugged. She tilted her head back into the elements, feeling her reticent friend behind her. She waited for him to follow her and he soon found her able to stand still and lean back comfortably against his chest, gazing over towards the tall, perpendicular structure.

It towered pale and proud over the cliffs, leaning over the sea as waves dashed to their heedless end in the rocky shallows below the cliffs. The tower almost seemed to be observing the unsettled sea shrewdly pin-pointing its beady light around and about.

Mark dug in his pockets for the residue of chalk that a student teacher would carry around with him. He bent down low and picked up a piece of grey slate. Then he scrawled the word "penny" on it.

"You'd only pay a penny for my thoughts?" Laura smiled. "I wonder if you are observing me as carefully as you should, if you really wanted me again?"

"No escaping." Mark's words challenged Laura relentlessly as they walked along the coast road slowly, making their way to the side of a bare craggy basalt outcrop.

"Okay, I was actually wondering whether it was more narcissistic to seek a smooth patch of sea where it could better admire its reflection or to wait," Laura conceded.

"What are you waiting for?" Mark threw the slate down.

"Perhaps I was waiting for the impact of your lips landing gently on the back of my neck?"

Laura held still as Mark, now close at last, responsively reached over and clasped his hands around Laura's shaking shoulders. Laura felt the heat of another's palms rubbing the fabric of her thin cotton jacket. Mark's face was pressed against Laura's shoulder as his hand brushed down that sleeve.

Laura looked up towards the cliff edge and shuddered involuntarily. Mark clung on to her, like a pair of romantic poets caught in a revolutionary storm. Her thoughts leapt frantically all over the place: what if the lighthouse leant too far? Would it plunge over the edge of the cliff?

Would the stone structure uproot itself from its solid rock foundations? If it did it could either topple in slow motion into the ragged sea for all the world like a felled tree or come crashing down, more appositely, like an oak uprooted by the rough weather - just like the crashing of Laura's most recent unsuccessful love affair.

Turning her head, Laura saw Mark's fingers clasping at her elbow. Laura raised her eyebrows in mock surprise to see them seeking to pull her round, so that they faced one another. She would not resist for long - just enough to let Mark know that he could not do entirely as he wished with Laura's body.

Mark inhaled the residual scent of Laura's fading perfume, offset by the salty brine that her exposed flesh had absorbed as they stood here. The fragrance stood out despite the wafting decay of moist seaweed and damp kale that covered the slippery rocks on which we stood together. He sensed Laura's heavy wrists and the ticklish, rough threads of her thick Shetland wool jumper as he pressed her hand in his.

Their fingers entwined, clamped together like limpets on the rock, clinging onto each other through all that the developing storm could throw at them. Still they did not move. The sea mist veiled them from the rest of creation as they stood together on the headland.

They were not gazing out at the storm now though, for Mark had succeeded in turning Laura round fully: a blonde woman nestling against a blonde man's chest. Her face was sheltered from the squalls that lifted the sea spray and spume off the incoming waves, flecking them both with the fine spray.

"Come," Mark practically shouted in her face. "Come to me...come!"

Laura could hardly mistake the urgency, but still Mark had to repeat himself over and over. He wanted to be heard above all, to conquer her wild side – to drive out the shrill cries of the seagulls nesting on the cliffs and the incessant roar of the waves breaking one after another below the headland. He tugged at Laura who eventually came to him, letting her feet trail, dislodging some of the looser stones and scuffing her sandals in the process. Laura felt angry with herself as she let him drag her: she was almost as furious as the wind whipping around them. She wanted movement to reinforce this sudden and wild desire. Let Mark pull her skirt up and touch the bare flesh of her thighs. Let Mark catch hold of her and bury himself in her. Let Mark attach himself to her form. The seabirds could attach themselves to the vertiginous rock face or the lesser creatures - so tenacious in this unique, tenuous microclimate.

Mark could press her down onto the stones that he had dislodged. Mark could fix himself within her, thrusting fingers and more within her in silent complicity, subsuming his respect for Laura's unhappy frame of mind to the extremity of their natural desires.

His feet slid, scrabbling for purchase on the loose stones as he pressed against Laura forcefully, almost crushing her to the ground. His hot breath warmed Laura's face. The proximity of their shared compulsive humanity brought Laura to boiling point.

Then Mark got up and stepped gingerly down to the beach pulling Laura behind him by the hand. It was not a white sandy and empty beach, but stony and dark with the gathering clouds. The spray puts a familiar salty tang in the air, but it was cool and dank, much like Laura's mood.

The clouds now lay dark and sombre over the water, peaked with scattered white caps as the wind surges periodically to whip them up. They had clambered down over the rocks in silence, stepping over seaweed only stopping every once in a while to look out at the sunlight streaking down onto fortunate small patches of dark water.

When finally they stopped, Laura allowed herself to touch Mark back. She leaned back as they both sat on a flat rock at the foot of the lighthouse cliff, looking up into the evening sky to stare up at the beaming of the now unneeded light out, a light that polluted the dark as far as it could.

Mark decided that the tower was jealous that it couldn't even match the stray beams of sunlight that the storm clouds allow to peak through. But, it did its job, silent and constant, knowing that when the garish sun goes away, it will be the one that is needed.

Attributing thoughts to a stone and steel structure was easy. Empathising with other's thoughts was not so simple. Yet, looking beyond the hurt that Mark knew churned in Laura's stomach and the bruises of her heart, Mark comprehended well that she could be available to share the future. With his head on Laura's shoulder, Mark felt the long blonde hair tickle their faces. He could sense the weight as the blonde head pressed down against his chest heavy with hurt.

At last, Mark could allow himself the freedom to touch his friend and former lover with unrestrained hands, raising her back up by whatever means necessary. Shoulders tense, arms tighten. Laura will let Mark take her hands as they turn to face each other instead of reviewing that towering structure on the cliff. Their fingers will touch and grasp each other as the breeze wafts their hair across their faces.

A mist began to descend, blowing over the rocks as Laura looks into Mark's features for a moment. A half-hearted smile moved across her lips before she lowers her head to rest it on Mark's breast.

Hands move to hips and rest nestled there: sensing each heartbeat, capturing each breath. Mark could only wonder if Laura could feel the tightening of his body as he kissed her damp hair. They sat like that for a silent era and then some. The mist penetrated their clothes. Mark's jacket protected Laura's back, but her skirt was becoming heavy and clung to her legs.

"Come with me," Mark mouthed once more.

"Do you want to be on firmer ground?" Laura replied, taping the crumbling edge of the stone meaningfully.

"Just come with me: be mine again."

"I want to be friends," Laura mused, "but you will never let go entirely, will you?"

"Can you blame me? I like your hand in mine," Mark confessed and then stood up to look at the rising waves on the incoming tide.

And it was as well he did, for as Laura stood up to shake out her sandals, she slipped and she scuffed her shoes against an angled stone and slipped on some moist seaweed that covered the rocks. She fell forward and he grabbed her, saving her from a bruising. She didn't look grateful though. A scowl crossed her face as she silently berated herself, before Mark slipped too and was obliged to use her body to lever himself up. They could have fallen and tumbled apart, but Laura did not allow even a step back. Mark did not give ground either.

Mark's mind may have been lost in indecision, but his body reacted instinctively. His feet had sunk in the sand once he kicked his shoes off. It was cold and damp, but Mark never liked the abrasion of sand on his shoes. What did shoes matter? They distracted his thoughts. He was an automaton as his hands auto-piloted their way over Laura's hips to her lower back, lightly caressing her spine as Laura let her mouth press back onto his.