Omnia Vincit Amor Pt. 04

"However, the upshot is that Ellen says there's no one likely to be using the house at Grange at all for the whole summer, so we're welcome to it."

"Great! Next week then?"

"Next week."

John made a resolution to email Claire when he returned from the holiday.

The two girls and Luke travelled in their own car, for which John was grateful. It meant he could do as he pleased during the day, for his interests were different from theirs.

After the youngsters left at the end of the week, delighted with their holiday, all the more so since it was free, John decided to stay for another week of peace and quiet in beautiful surroundings when he could tour, eat, relax and sleep as the fancy took him.

He did send an email to Claire.

Dear Claire

Ellen has told me about Peter's second stroke and his death. Obviously you and the family are in my thoughts and prayers, and I will have a Mass celebrated for the repose of Peter's soul.

I'm writing this in the house at Grange, which has a lovely warm accepting atmosphere; it's such a peaceful place. Luke, Clare and Cath have been here with me, and send their love and thanks as do I.

Love to you and the family

John.

It struck him that he could have phoned her, but immediately realised that if she'd wanted such direct contact, she would have phoned him herself.

In late August he returned home feeling well rested. It only took a day for him to be back to his usual life. He had had passing thoughts about Claire and Peter from time to time, but having sent the email to Claire, had not looked at his email's 'in box', preferring to cut himself off while on holiday.

When he did get round to checking his emails, he found this one.

Dear John

Peter passed away on July 15th. I know it's a platitude often used, but in this case it couldn't be truer: it was a merciful release. He suffered so much over these eleven months, and especially since March. He really was desperate to die, he was so uncomfortable about the more intimate things I had to do for him, it was so undignified for him - during all his life before the stroke he was always in total control of his own life and body.

That was true was John's wry thought, and not just his own life. He continued reading.

You know that after his domineering control of me caused all the trouble I put you through, he came to understand how helpful you had been, and in those few years before his first stroke, he often said that without your help he would never have got me back. He really came to appreciate you, and when you sent your email he shed a tear or two.

He went quietly in his sleep - a final devastating stroke. I always slept by his side, and that night I kissed him and he stroked my cheek and looked at me with such love. The next morning he'd gone, lying in the position he always adopted when sleeping, which is why I know he could not have been aware when he died. So now he's with God and free from all that suffering.

The children have been wonderful, both with Peter in his agony and with the business of the funeral. There was a huge crowd at the funeral; I never realised how loved he was by colleagues and customers as well as our friends here. Ellen and George made it as well which was a great comfort.

I've been so busy with Peter over the last year that I don't know what to do with myself now he's gone. I've applied to go back to the teaching job I left when he had his stroke, so that will keep me busy if I get it. The house seems so empty without him.

Love

Claire.

John read the email twice and then once more. To him it appeared distant though he could not work out why. It seemed as if she had been provoked into writing because of his email to her, and he wondered if she would ever have written at all if he had not written first. It was a friendly enough email, but lacked warmth - affection, it seemed to him, in spite of 'love' as a valedictory. Even that seemed a little stark.

It reminded him afresh how she had distanced herself from him since she had left him to return to Peter those years ago. Over those following years she had put him firmly in the past, until Peter's stroke, when in her panic she'd fallen back on his support, but she rapidly distanced herself again once the emergency was over.

He sighed. The news had revived that gentle yearning for her, and he realised that even if she had fond memories of their time together during her crisis, those times were now firmly in the past, along with the relationship they had when they were students many years ago. It was up to him to put her into his past in the same way, so with sorrow he sent no response to her email.

Back in his ordinary everyday life, he wondered how his retirement and widowerhood could have become so packed with activities. He certainly was not lonely, at least not until he was alone at home, though he no longer felt it so strongly. At bed time, from time to time he would now remember Claire coming to that same bed in her distress, and then he would miss her as well as Elizabeth, but the feeling would be forgotten in the morning.

September turned into October and the nights became darker. On the last Thursday of the month, a dull cold rainy day, Catherine had come for 'tea' (the evening meal), and asked him a question out of nowhere.

"Dad, did you ever hear anything from Claire Klinsman after the funeral?"

It took him aback, coming as it did so unexpectedly.

"I got an email from her answering mine, but apart from that, no, darling," he said. "Should I have?"

"No," she said, looking a little embarrassed. "Just wondered if you'd been in contact. She did stay here for quite a long time, and more than once. You seemed to be very close then."

He wondered at the implication in the word 'close'.

"That was partly coincidence, when she came out of sympathy for Mum's death," he said rather dismissively, "and then she used our friendship as a haven in her marital problems. Once those problems were remedied, she got on with her life over there. That's where her life is, Cathy, with her family and friends, not here. I was a convenient remnant from her past, that's all. We do send Christmas cards but..."

"Oh."

The 'oh' seemed redolent with meaning, but John could not work out what that meaning was. There was certainly disappointment there, perhaps sadness on her part that a relationship with potential was now lost, but it seemed to John she also knew something he didn't. He decided he didn't need to know, so said nothing, and she did not elaborate.

However, after Clare brought up the same topic some days later, John began to suspect an agenda. Her approach was diversionary and the diversion was very effective and made him very happy.

"Dad," she said, Luke sitting with her, grinning and holding her hand, "You're going to be a Grandad again!"

John was completely taken by surprise and wonder. "A baby?"

"That's what it normally takes to make you a grandad!" she laughed.

"When?" he was so happy, then wistful, though he did not show it. Oh Lizzie darling, your second grandchild. If only you were here.

"Sometime around March," Luke was saying, the two young folk were wreathed in smiles.

"If only Mum could have been here to see this." John said. "She'd be so proud of you both."

"Perhaps she does know," said Clare. "I hope so." She paused, then, tentatively: "D'you think your Claire will want to know her namesake is pregnant?"

"She's not my Claire, sweetheart," he said rather sharply, "but I'm sure she'd be delighted to be told. You know her address?"

"Yes, but I thought you might want to tell her."

John could straightaway see the wish in her eyes: it confirmed his suspicion that there was a plan there - a subterfuge. She was affecting indifference, but he now believed there was an underlying desire, and possibly a plan, shared with Catherine, to push him towards Claire. They were working together, he was sure.

At that moment he understood something else; something about Claire Klinsman, his Claire as his daughter put it. That he had loved Claire was a given. He had been available for her - even though she only came to him when she needed help; but he did not need her. Until she arrived that first day, he had rarely thought about her from one year to another.

So his love for her was the love of availability. He had his own life that she came into and left as she needed to. Then he corrected himself: his attraction to her had strengthened with each visit, and perhaps, just perhaps, he would have liked to see more of her. He smiled to himself: he had already seen more of her on her last visit to his bed than he was entitled to!

He also saw what his romantic daughters were trying to do - their feminine logic. Peter had died, and in their eyes this freed Claire to start the relationship with John that Peter had impeded. There was an impetuosity borne of their youth which he had long since outgrown.

In his more mature years he was simply available to Claire, no more than that. She had not approached him since, so there was no need to approach her. He knew deep down he would love it if she did need him again, but he doubted that it would ever happen.

His daughters wanted him to be happy, he knew that, and they knew he still missed Elizabeth even after all those years, but what they could not understand at their age was that while his life was not ideal, he was nevertheless content. In a way even after she had been gone so long, Elizabeth still filled his emotional life: he still loved and missed her.

"Your idea or Catherine's?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"This Claire business. You two working together?"

He could see her cheeks colouring up; so he was right after all.

"Dad, Mum's been gone some years now, and now Peter's gone as well..." She left the rest unsaid.

"First of all, daughter," he adopted a lecturing tone of voice, though with a half-smile, "it clearly hasn't crossed your mind that I may not want any other woman to take Mum's place. Secondly the same may be true of Claire: she certainly hasn't been in contact all that much, so she may not want to replace Peter either, and thirdly, even if that's not true, it's far too early in Claire's loss for her to be looking for another man. Have a little sensitivity!"

"OK Dad," she said with heavy resignation. "We were only trying to be helpful. I'll let Claire know about the baby."

Neither girl mentioned the topic again, but once more John's mind was back on Claire and he wondered how she was faring. That comment of hers about the house feeling empty seemed to imply she was lonely, and he felt concern, though he held to his conviction that if she wanted anything from him she would say so. Surely the number of times she had come to him proved that. She knew perfectly well she always could come if she needed to, or even simply wanted to. But she hadn't, so she didn't need or want him. Lesson learnt.

But the girls had not given in, and began to plot with more covert enthusiasm, and this time included their brother James in their machinations.

Chapter 20

At the other side of the North Sea, Claire Klinsman lived from day to day much as John had in the early days of his bereavement. She had returned to work at the same school, and ran the 'English for Adults' courses in the evenings, and that filled her days. With all the children gone as well, she could not face cooking meals for one, and consequently lost weight.

She had written to John that the house seemed to echo with emptiness, but she knew that in reality the loneliness was within her, and as the weeks went by she had plenty of time in the empty house to ponder her situation. The realisation grew that the pain was not only the loss of Peter, but guilt over his early death.

When she looked in the mirror she saw a woman who had driven her husband to a stroke by deserting him to go to another man. Sitting alone in the silent living room she blamed herself for going off to live with John. Had she used Peter's jealousy to justify spending more time with her first real boyfriend?

John was too hospitable, she thought, too loving and too addictive. She had gone back to Peter, yes, but too late: she selfishly had stayed too long with John. Those thoughts weighed heavily and depressed her.

The second weekend in October Claire was making her bed on Saturday morning, when she heard Mary's shout.

"Mum! Where are you?"

"Up here, hold on, I'm coming down."

Mary had begun making coffee when Claire arrived in the kitchen, and before long they were sitting in the living room with coffee and biscuits. Mary did not waste time with pleasantries.

"Mum, You're not looking well. You've lost weight, you look pale and let's face it, you're miserable."

"Mary darling, it's called bereavement. I'm allowed to be miserable, it's in the rules."

"But you're wasting away. You're not eating properly are you?"

"There's no fun in cooking for one, Mary. I'm eating enough."

"No you're not. We've been talking, and we're worried about you."

"You mean you and Lizzie are."

"And the boys. We all think you need a change. Why don't you go and visit Aunt Ellen or Uncle George? School's are off from next weekend, you'll have time. Or, why not go and stay with John Pollard? I'm sure he'd love to see you."

"Not John." Claire's response was clipped.

"Why ever not?" Mary asked, surprised at her mother's reaction.

"I've imposed on John enough already. I can't keep landing my troubles on him all the time. It's too much."

"Mum, John would-"

"No Mary," she said sharply. "I might go see Ellen, Simon and the children. John has his own life without having to put up with me yet again."

Mary knew her mother too well to argue further, thinking that even a trip to England to see Ellen would help her. So the matter was left there, but Mary's mind ran on.

--

Hi, Claire!" cried Ellen as she hugged her sister. "It's been ages!"

"Only a few months," Claire corrected her. "I've been busy tidying up Peter's affairs. Not very pleasant."

"I suppose you're here to check on the house at Grange? It's been a long time since you visited it."

"Yes." There was a long pause, and Ellen could see she was looking for words.

"That's not all, is it?" she asked.

"Mary and Elizabeth have been banging on about going to see John."

"Well, why not? He'd be really glad to see you."

"Ellen, I have been so preoccupied with Peter and then the funeral," she reproved her sister. "I've also taken on more teaching work to keep me sane, so I've been busy, but I've had time to think as well, and I know I'm guilty about the way I treated Peter. John was part of that - you know, when I went to stay with him."

"Oh, Claire, you were so downtrodden by Peter - and there was that letter Peter sent John. You were desperate."

"That's what I told myself at the time, but I caused Peter so much suffering, and I'm sure I stayed away too long because John was so comforting. That was selfish."

"Darling, John was a real respite, no wonder you wanted to stay with him."

"Ellen!' Claire spoke sharply and admitted more in her exasperation than she perhaps wanted. "I wanted him physically in the worst way after I stayed the first time."

"So?"

"I was unfaithful, Ellen, in my mind," Claire sat back in her chair. "In any case, John is so bound up in my guilt at the way I treated Peter, and how wrong I was to use John as I did. I think..."

Ellen suddenly had fire in her eyes. "God! You and John! You want him but you feel guilty, he probably wants you but he's in the rôle of the understanding relationship guru, the perfect gentleman who won't intrude! You two are made for each other, you've both been widowed. What's wrong with you Claire?"

"I don't know!" she moaned. "He was... He didn't make any move on me at the time. He just sat there and helped me out - like he was a bloody priest! He's had enough of me and my problems. I think he just put up with me towards the end."

"Apart from that first time, you only turned up on his doorstep because you were in trouble, but each time he was delighted to see you; Isn't that the truth?"

Claire thought for a moment. "That's what I mean, he wouldn't say he'd had enough of me," she said with resignation.

"Why didn't you tell him Peter had died?" Ellen asked, changing tack. "Or that he'd had a second stroke? That's what I can't understand."

Claire looked desolate. "When I went back to Peter I knew I needed to put distance between John and me. It was hard going back to Peter knowing how much I'd fallen for John after he'd been so good to me, so I cut John off. Peter was oblivious to how I was feeling about John, and later he was so happy that John had done so much for us, that he would actually remind me to send Christmas cards - I wasn't going to - so I did, from both of us with a minimal greeting, but that was all.

"Over time it got easier until Peter had the stroke, and the first person I turned to in my panic was John! He calmed me down, and stayed on the phone until I went off to hospital with Peter. Afterwards I felt I had to send John an email to tell him about Peter's condition, but it revived all those strong feelings for him. So I cut myself off completely again - self-preservation really."

"Peter's gone now," said Ellen quietly.

"As I said," said Claire sadly. "My fault. John and I couldn't make it together any more. I only seem to want John when I'm in trouble and though he accepted me each time, I don't think that's enough. Anyway, after a life with Elizabeth I don't think he'd want me. I certainly don't measure up to her."

"I think you're wrong," said Ellen with a smile. "I think he will want you and you're fooling yourself. But moving on - so you're here to get the house at Grange ready?" Ellen asked, changing the subject with some excitement.

"Get it ready?" asked a puzzled Claire.

"For Christmas!" Ellen's face dropped. "Oh. They haven't said anything to you yet?"

"Ellen!" Claire reproved her. "Explain! Who? What about?"

"Mary and Elizabeth?"

"I might have known!" Claire laughed. "What scheme are they hatching now?"

"They want to have a family Christmas at the Grange house, like when Gran hosted them. They're worried about you, and you don't look well: you've lost a lot of weight. Don't bother to deny it, it's true. They think you need a break this Christmas after wearing yourself out with Peter and then the funeral. They were telling me how they enjoyed that Christmas there a few years ago."

"Yes, they're right, it was good, but it's a bit late to be planning Christmas there now: it's November."

"Simon and I talked about it, and we think we'd like to go as well, and our two would love it, having everyone there. George has booked a cruise over Christmas I think, so he and Susan won't make it, but the girls say everyone else except Thomas is really keen. I thought Sharon and the children might like it as well. I think she's feeling a little cut off from us now she's divorced.

"Mary was saying that she and Elizabeth will organise everything this time, and I'll pitch in and help. They want you to really relax and be pampered over the holiday, and you wouldn't be if you were running things at home."

Claire smiled fondly. "They really are lovely kids, aren't they? I think I can manage being pampered," she said with happy contentment. "In fact I'm sure I can!"

--

A phone call

"Catherine Pollard."

"Hi, Cath, it's Mary Jansson."

"Mary! How's the plan going at your end?"

"Not good. Mum says she feels guilty about landing on John every time she needs something. She feels guilty about Dad's death - she thinks going to stay with John was stress enough to cause Dad's stroke. She's sure your Dad doesn't have any interest in her after having her to stay so often. She's adamant about not visiting him. I got her to visit Aunt Ellen and Uncle Simon, and she's there now."