The Heartache

Just when it seems that Dora and Steve are taking the first tentative steps from platonic friendship to something more, tragedy rears its ugly head….

The rough bark bit into her back through her thin jumper as she lent hard against the old tree. The pain was nothing though, compared to the pain of the invisible knife that twisted and turned in her heart.

Dora clutched his black leather jacket tightly to her chest and buried her face into it; feeling the cool smooth texture, roughen here and there with wear, against her skin. She breath in deeply, the scent of him permeated her nostrils and filled her head. She closed her eyes and pictured him as she had done many times over the last two traumatic weeks. Nearly every time his image invaded her mind, he was wearing that old leather jacket, just as he had been the very first time they had met at the squires during the trouble with the nightriders. The jacket had been the cause of their very first argument, days after their initial encounter when he had turned up at Follyfoot with the news of injured horse. But by the end of that day they were on their way to the start of a very special friendship. And he had been wearing the same jacket on the day he left Follyfoot and her, in search of his mother. She’d cried buckets then too! As she was now, the tears began to roll unchecked down her cheeks and sobs racked her body. She began to shake, her legs giving way under her she found her self falling to the ground, the bark scrapping at her back as she slid down the tree truck, landing in a crumpled heap at it’s base.

“Oh, Steve!” She cried out.

Suddenly strong hands were holding her, pulling her to her feet, muscular arms entwined around her slight body, hugging her tight. Steve’s scent disappeared to be replaced by the smell of cigarettes and cheap aftershave but nevertheless, it was a smell she found reassuringly comforting.

“Shush girl, shush.” Ron’s voice was calm and soothing. The denim collar of his bomber jacket, a contrast to the leather of Steve’s, was abrasive on her cheek as she pushed her face into his shoulder. Stroking her hair Ron held Dora until the sobbing ceased and her body had stopped it’s trembling.

“Hey, come on.” Ron held her off, passing her his handkerchief to wipe her face. “What do you think Steve would say if he knew you were still crying over him?”

Dora shrugged her shoulders and blew loudly into the multi-coloured handkerchief, shaking her head as she held the handkerchief out to Ron.

“Keep it.” He said screwing up his face. “ Now then.” He said softly. “Slugger’s seen to Steve’s clothes. Would you like me to deal with the rest of his things?”

“No, it’s alright.” Dora stuffed the handkerchief into the pocket of her corded jeans. “I’ll do it.” She said, calmer now.

“If you’re sure?”

“Yes, thanks for offering. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ron?” She gave him an increasingly rare smile. “Will you take this and put it in the house.” She held out Steve’s jacket to Ron, who took it gingerly. “Hang it in the hall. No, on second thoughts, Ron, hang it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.” Dora continued a thoughtful look on her face.

“Yeah, okay.” Ron nodded knowingly. “ See you in a bit.”

Ron watched as Dora walked slowly and forlornly across the yard, her shoulders sagging. The past weeks had taken their toll on her, he was sure her slim figure was now thinner than ever. He longed to have the old Dora back, even if it was nagging him to work harder, which to his credit she hadn’t needed or had the inclination to do since….

In Steve’s old room, Dora stood on the wooden landing, her hand holding on to banister steadying herself as she looked around at the familiar loft. How many times had she rushed up here, excited at the prospect of telling him something, asking him something, or sharing idea or thought with him? How many mornings had she climbed the stairs, his cup of tea in hand, her heart fluttering at the thought that she might catch him still in bed? There was something endearing and dare she say sexy, about his tousled hair and relaxed sleepy demeanour. But more often than not he was already up and dressed, she had never, to her disappointment, caught him in the state of undress. This last thought brought a sad smile to her face.

Dora sighed as she walked over to the bed, still with the blue horse rug as its cover. Slugger had packed his clothes the day before but the water jug and bowl still sat on the dresser alongside his shaving kit, the framed photograph of his mother, books and a few of his precious knick knacks, including the round white pebble flecked with bands of colour that she had picked up from the beach at Whitby during one of their rare Sundays off together, when they had taken a trip to the coast. She picked it up and caressed it in her hands, feeling it’s smooth surface recalling briefly and with fondness that day. She popped it in a cardboard box that Slugger had conveniently left on the bed for her. She spent the next few minutes silently packing away the items from the dresser. Next she moved to the bedside table, where his alarm clock sat next to the last book he had been reading. The clock had stopped at half past seven, had this been the time when…. it had happened, she shook the thought from her head, reset the hands to the correct time and wounded it up. She listened to the ticktock of the clock; there was something comforting about the sound. She put the clock carefully into the box and picked the book, a novel by Dick Francis. Steve had just taken to reading the author novels that were based on horses and horse racing. She stared at the front cover of the paperback, ‘Dead Cert’ she let out a shaky sigh at the ironic title. With tears pricking her eyes, she thought about how Steve loved books and reading. He had kept his small collection boxed up the large cupboard in his room, away from the mice and damp, until she had suggested he use the old oak bookcase in the study, standing half empty, after it had been cleared out of old papers and out of date magazines.

As Dora went to place the book with the other things in the box, something fell from between the pages and fluttered to the floor, landing at her feet.

Bending slowly she picked it up to find that it was a photograph of herself, a smiling self of happier, carefree times. She remembered when it had been taken. Her parents for reasons only known to them had sent her small pocket sized camera and she and Steve had been messing about with it. He had caught her unawares, by calling out some cheeky remark to her, she had turned quickly to berate him, and …click! She had no idea that when the film had returned from the developers that he had kept one.

She turned the photograph over in her hand, and on the back, in his generous, upright hand, Steve had written ‘Dora. April ‘73’ and underneath the words, ‘My friend, my love, my life.’

Dora sat down heavily on the bed. Tears began once again to form in her eyes. Steve for all he could be moody, surly and stubborn, he had a softer side, a sensitive and gentle side, it had even shown it self to her on occasions, quite a lot over the last few months, she thought …she had always hoped that the feelings she had for him were mirrored by him for her, did those few little words prove it? Now the tears rolled freely down her face, and sobs once more racked her body. Wrapping her arms around herself, Dora rocked to and fro on the edge of the bed as if to comfort herself, wishing achingly, that it were his arms holding her.

Her memory escorted her back to that fateful day two weeks ago. It had been the worst day of her short life, the day her world as she had known it was shattered into tiny pieces. Dora had relived that day in her every waking moment, as well as consuming her dreams, every single night, during her restless and fitful sleep. The repercussions would stay with her forever.

They’d had a row…a stupid, stupid row. Naturally it had been about a horse and money.

She and Steve had taken the morning off and gone into town to do some errands and pick up a small amount of shopping for Slugger. It had been a pleasantly warm day, so much so, that Dora had traded in her usual buttoned up blouse for a loose, flowing, multicoloured top. Even Steve had shyly complemented her on how nice she looked.

They had spent the morning traipsing around the town. The weekly Friday market had taken over the main street, and the town had been busy with locals and visitors alike. Steve was particularly attentive to her, even holding her hand to keep them together as they made their way through the throngs of people, weaving themselves in between the market stalls that were displaying allsorts wears, anything from household goods to fresh fruit and vegetables. Feeling his warm hand gripping hers tightly, Dora had been both encouraged and inwardly pleased by this, seeing it as a sign that their platonic friendship was becoming something more. She was sure Steve had had the same thoughts. She’d noted the look of pride on his face when one of the stall holders let out a loud wolf whistle as she approach his fruit stall. The seller had also thrown in a bag of apples with the rest of her purchases for nothing. Steve had whispered in her ear (she could still feel his hot breath on her neck!) that a pretty face did have it uses occasionally! She had tutted and thumped him playfully and he replied by grinning teasingly, in the way only he could.

Shopping and errands completed the journey home had been just as magical as the morning, they had on the spur of the moment decided to stop for a leisurely lunch at a quaint, old fashioned rural pub. For his meal Steve chose a ploughman’s, Dora, a ham salad and for dessert they had shared a portion of Black Forest gateaux. They laughed and chatted all through the meal and giggled like school kids when Steve feeding Dora the last forkful of dessert, had, accidentally/on purpose planted a dollop of cream on her nose. To the other diners they must have looked like a young couple in love, and seeing their knowing smiles and glances, this had delighted Dora. She remembered how good it had felt to spend the time together away from the farm, horses and work, just the two of them, enjoying a happy and uncomplicated day.

Then, like an idiot, she had gone and spoilt it! It had been all her fault!

Less than a mile into the second half of their journey home, a level crossing had barred their way; it’s barriers down, red lights flashing. As the Land Rover pulled up to an halt, Dora immediately notice a signpost in a corner of a adjacent field .The sign declared that a horse was for sale, presumably the black and white one that was stood at the edge of the field, by the fence, it’s head bent down, nibbling at the sparse grass there. Despite the lack of suitable grazing, the horse was in no way under fed and judging by the good condition of his coat, wasn’t neglected; it was just an oldish horse, that had probably out grown it’s usefulness. But Dora being Dora had insisted that they at least enquired about buying the horse, and Steve being Steve had argued against it, reiterating what Dora was well aware off, that the farm couldn’t afford to pay for another horse, certainly not a fit and healthy one. Even after the train had passed and the barrier lifted, Dora and Steve still sat in the vehicle, disagreeing with each other on the merits, or not, of buying the horse. As the minutes ticked by the argument became more and more heated, until Steve annoyed and exasperated shifted the Land Rover into gear and moved off over the track before Dora could get out. They endured the rest of the journey in angry silence, neither backing down nor apologising.

They had dallied so long at the pub that it had been late into the afternoon when they arrived back at the farm. Steve had abandoned the Land Rover outside of the farmhouse, and stormed off into the stables, without so much as a backward glance at Dora, leaving her to carry the shopping into the kitchen. From the window she had spied him, riding on Alex, trot out through the gate and down the lane.

She ran outside and called after him but whether he didn’t hear her or chose not to, he didn’t respond in any way. Dora stamped her foot in annoyance but consoled herself with the fact that he would be back before too long. Even if they didn’t make up immediately, she knew from past experiences that Steve never stayed away more than an hour or so. She was always relieved when she heard the tackroom door bang shut as he made his way moodily to his room, knowing that the next day would bring the inevitable apologies and their friendship would be renew once more.

She had cursed and punished herself every minute of every hour, of every day since. If only she’d have put her stupid pride aside and gone after him, begged for his forgiveness and made him return to Follyfoot with her, then IT wouldn’t have happened…..

Suppertime came and went and still he hadn’t returned. The night had begun to creep in and with it fear and concern. Dora’s annoyance and anger with him had turned to frantic worry. She was just convincing Ron that they should go out and look for him when Alex returned, minus his rider. Dora was in such a blind panic over Steve’s unknown fate that she hadn’t seen what Ron had; blood, dried red spots of blood on the horse’s saddle. Without hesitation Ron jumped onto Alex’s back and turned the grey horse back in the direction it had arrived from, leaving an almost hysterical Dora, being held back by Slugger, staring and crying out after him.

Within minutes of riding out, Ron found Steve at the edge of the wood, lying in a pool of blood. Ironically he’d been less than half a mile away from Follyfoot, so close and yet so far!

The police had been convinced it had been poachers. Either they had mistaken Steve and Alex, in the fading light for deer emerging from the wood, or Steve had startled them and confronted the poachers and had been shot for his trouble. Whatever the tragic circumstances the police had made a promise to catch the perpetrators, no matter how long it took. If only Steve had been able to tell them what happened, given a description, if only…

Someone calling her name brought Dora back to the present with a start.

“Are you alright up there, girl?” Slugger’s voice echoed from the bottom of the stairs.

Dora gulped back the last of tears and wiped her face on her sleeve. “Yes, Slugger. I’m fine.” She stood up composing herself and placing the photo gently in the box picked it up. “Just coming.”

Taking one last look around the loft and ambled sadly down the stairs to find the old man waiting in the tack room.

“There you are girl, getting worried, I were.” Slugger looked at her with those all seeing grey eyes and placed a fatherly arm around her shoulders. “Fine, she says. It don’t look like it?” he said noting the tear strained face and redden eyes.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Slugger squeezed her. He loved this young woman as if she was his own daughter and it saddened him to see her hurting so much.

Dora nodded smiling at him.

“Good, ‘cos the Colonel’s on his way to collect you. He’ll be ‘ere in a few minutes. Are you ready?”

She nodded again. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Are they his things?” Slugger gestured to the box in her arms. “Give them to me, girl. I’ll see to them and put them in the house.” He removed his arm from her shoulders and took the box from Dora. “That sounds like the Colonel now.” He cocked his head towards the yard as a car pulled up outside the farm gate. “Off you go then, I’ll see you in a while.” He smiled reassuringly at her.

“Thanks Slugs.” Dora reached up and placed her arms around the old man’s neck, hugging him tightly and briefly laying her head against his chest, comforted by his calmness and strength. Slugger had been her rock, especially during the first dark days. She left Slugger staring after her and she walked briskly across the yard to her awaiting uncle.

An hour later, Dora had returned to Follyfoot. She stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom, her hazel eyes scanning the room. Her gaze enlightened on Steve’s old kit bag, peeking out from under the wrought iron bedstead and next to it a battered suitcase in which Slugger had packed his clothes. On the dresser Slugger had carefully arranged the items from the box. The ever-practicable Slugger had decided that Steve’s possessions couldn’t stay in the loft room.

Dora closed her eyes and sighed loudly.

She could feel his presence, his closeness; hear the steady sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body next to hers. She could feel his hand in hers, his fingers caressing and entwining with her own, his hot palm pressed against her palm, as he squeezed it gently.

Dora breathed in deeply, she could even smell him, the scent of his favourite deodorant was, however, no longer coupled with the tang of horses and the sweat of good honest hard work but mixed with soap, and the clinical cleanliness of hospital.

Opening her eyes Dora twisted around slowly and… there he was, the late afternoon sun picking out the golden hue of his hair, his gorgeous dark eyes gazing at her and as she watched intently and silently, a familiar grin gradually appeared on his face, the grin she feared she’d never see again!

A loving smile curved her lips and surge of warmth suddenly filled her heart. The fear, worry and anxieties of the last weeks drained away to be replaced by a feeling of relief and ...love.

Steve, reluctantly tearing his eyes from her pretty face, and his gaze from hers, spoke as he looked around the room. “Home from home, eh” His voice was soft and gentle.

“Yes, I….we thought that while you were convalescing, it would be best if you were staying in the house.” She said watching his face. To Dora’s surprise, he nodded agreeing. She had feared that he would protest, Steve normally defended his independence fiercely.

But, unbeknown to Dora, Steve had no intention of arguing over the decision that had been made in his absence. For once he was happy to share the house with her and Slugger, if only temporarily. To be in the house, was to be closer to Dora and right at the moment that’s where he needed to be.

Suddenly something on the bedside table caught his eye.

“Hey, what’s that?” His hand still holding hers, he walked over to the table, Dora by his side. He picked up a silver gilt photo frame and stared at the photograph of Dora in it.

“Oh.” She said embarrassingly, bowing her head shyly. “ I discovered it in your room...er...Slugger must have found a frame….” She trailed off, looking up at him coyly.

“It looks good, it’s where it should be, not hidden away.” He returned the photo to the table carefully placing by the lamp. He turned back to her and smiled.

They stood for several moments staring at each other, until Dora broke the silence.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She whispered.

“Well, I am. I’m not a ghost. Here feel.” He gripped her hand and guided it up to his

chest, where her fingers trace the outline of his wound’s dressing under his shirt.

“Steve, about this,” she stroked his chest. “About that day…..

“Not now, Dora.” Steve interrupted her, placing two fingers on her lips. “We’ll talk another time, I promise. Right now I want to enjoy the pleasure of being at home …with you.”

He allowed his fingers to linger on her soft lips .Oh, how those lips beckoned him, he so wanted to kiss them, and he knew one day soon, he would. Brushing his fingers across her lips to her cheek he began to stroke her face.

“I…I just want to say… thanks…for being here for me. I don’t know wh….”

Now it was Dora’s turn to place her fingers on his lips. “Sshh, You don’t have to thank me, Steve. Where else would I be? I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

“Me too.” He said, planting a kiss on her fingers as she removed them from his mouth.

They smiled at each other, a loving smile that said so much more than words.

“Hey, how much longer are you two goin’ to be up there?” Slugger’s voice boomed from the hallway downstairs.

Dora and Steve looked at each other chuckled.

“Not long, we’re coming down now.”

“Not long, he says, not long. Huh, do you know how long I’ve been cooking this special coming home stew, all afternoon, that’s how long? And if you two don’t get down ‘ere this minute it’ll be ruined!”

“Welcome home, Steve.” Dora laughed. “As you can see, nothing changes.”

“Thank God for that.” Steve replied grinning as he tugged on her hand and they made their way down to the kitchen and Slugger’s ‘special stew’!!

The End.

© Sue Hirst 2007.