A little later he went through the process again. He was sitting up. His head hurt and he … A voice said, ‘Can you hear me, Jonathan? It's Charles, Charles Forsythe. I want you to try to open your eyes.’ He didn't want to open his eyes, that might make him wake up. And that was the last thing he wanted.
Still, if Charles was asking …
He opened his eyes.
It was queer, he'd never seen anything like it. Vision seemed to start at the outsides of his eyes then move slowly inwards. Things were blurred, but he could focus, he was getting things right. Yes, that was a ceiling.
Very definitely a ceiling, painted white and with a strip light in the middle of it.
‘What can you see, Jonathan?’ He turned his head, very slowly, and looked at his old friend Charles. ‘Well, I can see you for a start,’ he said, ‘and then I guess I'm in a ward somewhere … I'm not sure that I …’
Then memory came crashing back and he screamed. ‘Charles! I can see!’ For the first time since he was nine, tears ran down his face.
He still felt very vague, it would take hours for the anaesthetic to wear off. But there were two people who just had to see him. He kissed his mother. Then he kissed Tania – and looked at her. ‘I knew you were beautiful,’ he said, ‘and now I can see you.’ But all Tania could do was cry. He needed to sleep again.
The next day he still had a headache but he was feeling much better. Now he could look forward to taking up his job again – it would be quite a while, but Charles had told him the operation had been a success. All now would be well. His mother came to see him, Joe came to see him, there was a line of other well-wishers wanting to see him, but the ward sister wouldn't let them in for a while. No visit from Tania. That was strange.
The day after that, apart from the large number of get well cards, there was a letter for him, hand-delivered. ‘I was told to make sure you got this in person,’ the young nurse said, ‘but not to give it to you till this afternoon.’ Curious, he opened it. It was from Tania. She had left him.
Once, not so long ago, Jonathan would have got instantly angry. But not this time. He was sad but more than that he was determined. Her words only told half a story. He wanted to know it all.
He phoned his mother who was both puzzled and upset. She said she had come back to the flat to find that Tania had gone, taken all her belongings with her, just left a note to say how much she'd enjoyed being Marianne's friend.
Jonathan frowned, and waited for Joe to call to see him. Then, without comment, he showed him the note.
‘I don't believe it,’ Joe said flatly. ‘I suppose you want me to make a couple of enquiries?’
He came back that evening. ‘Something's very wrong,’ he said. ‘She's given up her job. She hasn't left a forwarding address; she's told no one where she's living. She only mentioned that she might be going abroad again. Jonathan, she's just disappeared.’
‘Then I'm going to make her reappear,’ Jonathan said savagely.
Tania couldn't remember ever feeling so miserable, so listless. Even when she had been recovering from the burns she had never been as low as this. Everything was too much trouble; nothing was worthwhile. There was only the heartache that never left her.
Sometimes she thought about when she had been in hospital, slowly recovering from those terrible burns.
This pain was worse. At least in hospital there had been something to look forward to – the belief that in time the pain would go away. She knew that this pain would never disappear.
Vaguely, she thought about her future, skimmed through papers and magazines. Perhaps she should start to train as a nurse again. She didn't think she wanted to work in a blind school again. She had done that, it was too hurtful. So she just sat, watched, sometimes walked. She was alone but not lonely. This place had always been a refuge. An old, green-painted caravan perched on the lip of a hill on a farm.
It was her cousin's farm, and she had stayed there often. There were happy memories of weeks spent there with her mother, and later on she'd stayed weeks there convalescing after she'd been discharged from the hospital.
Most days she sat outside, looking into the valley below. In the valley was the town of Buxton. She could see the Crescent, the park, the Palace Hotel, the great dome of the hospital. There were people down there, she thought, with lives and ambitions and loves. Not like her. She was apart from all that.
She had money saved. If she wanted, she could stay here for weeks – months even. There was nothing to make her want to move.
Sometimes she wondered about Jonathan. She knew he'd be upset, but he'd get over it. It was in his character to fight against adversity. He'd forget her, find someone else, someone who was truly beautiful. She knew the operation would stay successful. She'd had a private word with Charles and he'd assured her that now there was nothing to worry about. But she rather missed talking to Marianne. Marianne had been a friend.
Sooner or later, she supposed, she'd have to do something. But not yet. She'd stay here in her bolthole until the pain healed. She'd sit here in the shade and look down on all the people rushing round in Buxton.
‘Hello, Tania. It's good to see you.’ The words were soft, gentle.
Jonathan! What was he doing here? How had he found her? For a moment she just couldn't cope with the tumult of emotions that were rushing through her. There was anger, horror, pain, surprise – but above all there was love. And that made the pain greater.
She was sitting in a deckchair, looking out over the valley. He picked up another one leaning against the caravan, unfolded it and sat opposite her.
‘Whatever it is, you could have told me, Tania. You said there were reasons. We could have sorted them out together.’ Then he leaned forward, took her head in his two hands, bent forward and kissed her. A soft, loving kiss that touched her very soul. Did he know what he was doing to her? For a while she was content to stay there, ecstatically happy. Then she gently pushed him away. This couldn't go on. She just didn't know what to say or think or feel. So she took refuge in the commonplace. ‘How did you find me?’
‘I've been wandering round Buxton for the past two days. Remember how you once told me about having a bolthole – somewhere you could go to in your imagination when life got too much? You described this place. I thought it was real, so I came to look for it’ He sighed. ‘This was the last place I came to, Tania. You don't know how afraid I was that you wouldn't be here. I didn't know where else to look.’
She couldn't deal with the sadness in his voice. ‘My bolthole,’ she said. ‘I remember you describing your bolthole – a beach with beautiful, half-clad ladies on it.’
‘Just one,’ he corrected her. ‘A beach with one beautiful half-clad lady.’
‘Whatever. I thought you might go there to recuperate.’
‘Perhaps I would have. But you were the beauty I wanted to be with. Tania, why did you go? Don't you know how I feel about you?’
She couldn't stand it when he used that tone. She said, ‘You were blind, you were desperate. We had a purely physical thing. It was good but now it's over. Ships that passed in the night, Jonathan.’
‘It was all night to me,’ he pointed out, ‘but, still, I take your point. So, if it was purely physical, what about one last time? You know how I dreamed about seeing you naked – why can't I just once?’
‘You're just like all men,’ she screamed. ‘The very idea –’
‘The very idea of seeing you naked? I know, Tania. There's something you don't want me to see. You're scarred or something like that, aren't you?’
She couldn't answer. White-faced, she stared at him.
‘My mother worked it out,’ he said gently, ‘and she told me how much it might mean to you. I told her about the bikini I bought you – and she told me that you didn't want her near when you were changing.
Then I remembered, when we were making love you made me keep my arms round your neck. What didn't you want me to see or feel, Tania?’
&nb
sp; ‘Every time we were together,’ she said, ‘you told me how much you loved beautiful women, how much you wanted to see me. See me naked, I mean. Do you know how much that hurt me?’
His face was stricken. ‘Tania … I never thought. I knew you were beautiful – I wanted you to know how much I wanted you.’
‘I'm only part beautiful.’ She sighed. ‘I'll tell you the rest and then you can go. I had an accident – I was really badly burned across my abdomen, and I spent months in the burns unit in hospital. Then I was discharged, and I started to work as a trainee nurse again. You must remember, I was very weak – emotionally weak, that is. A long stay in hospital can affect you.’ She looked at him curiously. 'Of course, you know that, don't you?'
‘I do,’ he said.
‘Well, I got friendly with a young doctor. I thought I'd found someone. I was in love – I thought – the way a lonely, damaged girl can fall in love. He was everything to me. But I wouldn't … wouldn't let him make love to me because I didn't know what he'd think. But he kept on at me and eventually I showed him my scarring, even though I was very ashamed of it. He said it was very interesting. Then, a couple of days later, I heard him talking to his friends – the way men do – about me. He said I was a mess, but he could always shut his eyes. He saw me then, and tried to tell me it was just a lad's joke, it didn't matter. But it mattered to me. And when I refused to go out with him again he used to laugh at me, call me the queen of the scars.
I got out of there as quickly as I could, and I decided that no man would ever laugh at me again.’
Jonathan didn't comment, even though he could see the tears streaming down her face.
‘What would you have done if the operation hadn't worked? If I'd stayed blind, Tania?’
‘I would have stayed with you,’ she cried. ‘You know that! Can't you guess what torture it was for me –hoping you'd see again but knowing that if you did, I'd have to leave you?’
‘Would you have married a blind man if he'd asked you?’
‘Of course I would. If I loved him.’
‘So you loved me enough perhaps to marry me. But not enough to trust me with your tiny little secret?’
‘It's not a tiny little secret to me,’ she said.
He stood and came over to her. Taking her two hands, he lifted her from her chair. She was helpless as he held her, kissed her softly on the lips, then pulled her to him. She didn't know how long they stayed there – only that when he tried to move her, her muscles seemed powerless. With his arms round her waist he half carried her to the open caravan door. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘I'm kissing you. I love kissing you. I just want to kiss you in private.’ The table at the end of the caravan folded down to make a double bed. It was opened into the bed now – she hadn't bothered to make it this morning. He sat her on it, sat next to her and kissed her again.
She was wearing a cotton dress that buttoned down the front. It seemed quite proper that after he had finished kissing her neck he should open the top two buttons and kiss the swell of her breasts. He eased her backwards, somehow undoing her bra at the same time.
And then his lips were everywhere. Everywhere.
‘No, Jonathan,’ she cried, and jerked upright. ‘I know what you're doing and I don't want you to!’
He didn't try to stop her. ‘I was trying to kiss your scars,’ he said. ‘Now let me.’
‘But they're hideous, they're so ugly, you'll go off me.’
‘A girl I know once said that true beauty was in the spirit,’ he reminded her. ‘I didn't think so then but I do now. I think you're truly beautiful. Now, let me take off your dress.’
For a moment she sat there, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. Then she stood in front of him, lifted her aims. He took the hem of the dress and drew it over her head.
Her unfastened bra tumbled to the floor. He threw the dress onto the bed. She was standing there in a tiny pair of white bikini pants. And there was her scarring.
He placed his hands on her hips, bent his head and kissed the angry red weals. The touch of his tongue there – it felt pleasant but it was comforting, too. He eased her back onto the bed, kissed her body time and time again.
‘Tania,’ he said, ‘you are beautiful. Not just beautiful to me, but beautiful to all. And I love you sighted as much as I did when I was blind. You know that?’
‘I know it now, Jonathan.‘ She frowned. ‘I'm so sorry I ran away and left you. Why couldn't I have trusted you? It seems so silly now.’
She blinked. ‘What are you looking for?’ He had thrown his jacket to one side. Now he reached for it and was rummaging in the inside pocket.
‘I told you, I've been looking for you for two days now. I stayed the night in Buxton and this morning I saw this antique shop – so I went in. I bought myself something to bring me luck.’
She grew wide-eyed as he took out a box and opened it to reveal a ring – a gold ring set with a cabochon-cut emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds.
‘It brought me luck,‘ he said softly, and reached for her hand. ‘I love you, Tania. Will you marry me?’
Now years of doubt, troubles, worries were finally settled. Tania could see the love in Jonathan's eyes. He didn't care about her scars!
‘Of course I’ll marry you,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, Jonathan, you make me so happy!’
THE END
Also by Gill Sanderson
For more information about Gill Sanderson
and other Accent Press titles
please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
This edition published by Accent Press 2014
ISBN: 9781783753727
The right of Gill Sanderson to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN
These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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