The trees rose like the crooked fingers of a god, making patterns in the sunlight. A week after their first date, Harri met Ben for their second, a walk in the forest that covered Maer Hills. They parked nose to nose in a lay-by in a country lane off the A51. He drove an old black Land Rover Defender with privacy windows, and she was in her Golf, which seemed so out of place in the rugged countryside. He was beaming when he got out of his car, and her cheeks ached with her own grin.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ he said.
She wished he’d take her in his arms, but he greeted her with another little awkward kiss on the cheek. She hid her disappointment.
‘You too,’ she replied.
‘Have you been here before?’
She shook her head.
‘It’s really beautiful.’
He led her to a stile at the end of the lay-by and held her hand as she climbed over. She didn’t want him to ever let go. But he did, and they started along a narrow footpath that was almost lost to the surrounding vegetation. Nature was trying to reclaim the scars man had scored across the hillside, but there was enough of a cut remaining for them to push their way through.
‘It gets better,’ Ben assured her.
He was right. After thirty paces, the blackberry bushes and thick shrubs fell away to reveal a broad track. They walked side by side in the warm sunshine. There was an edge on the breeze that made it feel as though these were the last days of summer, and Harri wondered whether she’d have a companion for the long winter nights, someone to keep her warm, to hold her against the frost’s sharp bite.
She looked at him, his face almost burned out by the sun which flared behind his head.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, glancing at the avenues of trees that stood either side of them.
‘Wait until you see the view from the top.’
‘Are you from here?’ Harri asked.
Ben shook his head. ‘You?’
‘No. I’m from London. Battersea originally. Then all over.’
‘What brought you up here?’ He was looking at her now, and she felt those butterflies again. His words didn’t matter. His eyes told her everything she needed to know. They gazed into hers as though nothing else existed and she was his world.
She flushed and looked away.
‘The job. London was getting me down and I had to make a choice; career fast-track or a better, slower way of life. I chose a better life.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ He grinned.
‘So am I,’ she replied. ‘What about you?’
‘I came here for work.’
‘You said when we were emailing that you’re a scientist.’
He nodded. ‘I work at Keele University, in the physics department.’
‘I was never any good at physics. Too much maths.’ Harri immediately regretted her reply. She didn’t want him to think her stupid.
‘It’s like that for a while,’ he responded. ‘But there comes a time when you realize God wasn’t a mathematician. She was an artist. The best physicists are poets. They’re the only ones who can bridge the gap between the artist and her work.’
‘You believe in God?’ Harri asked.
‘Not really, but I do believe in fate. Some things are just meant to be.’
She felt a thrill of excitement as he took her hand. They smiled at each other and walked on without saying another word. The breeze set the trees swaying and the rustle of leaves and creak of branches was their accompaniment. A chorus of singing birds rose above the rustle and creak, and as she and Ben climbed the hill, Harri wished they could stay in this moment for ever. It was full of promise, unspoiled by complication or disappointment. Everything could be perfect. It should be perfect, and it should last for ever. But it wouldn’t, and so, even as they continued along the track, perfection was tinged with sadness, the imperfection of what was to come.
When they finally reached the top of the hill, Ben led her to a gate at the edge of the summit. A steep slope dropped into the field before levelling off some sixty feet below them, and they had an unobstructed view of west Staffordshire and beyond it the Cheshire Plain. Trees sprouted like tiny heads of broccoli in the distance and small hedges cut the landscape into a crooked chessboard.
‘Beautiful,’ Harri remarked.
‘I’ve always come here alone,’ Ben said. ‘Do you have any family?’
She shook her head. ‘My parents are dead.’
‘I’m sorry. Mine too,’ he replied with a longing so powerful it seemed to close the gap between them. ‘I have friends who have adopted me into their family, but it’s not the same. One day I’d like one of my own. Even if it’s just someone to grow old with.’
There was such sadness about him Harri felt a chill, as though a cloud had passed in front of the sun, but it was still shining brightly, lighting up the magnificent landscape.
Poets often write about love as perfection, but what if it was their flaws that made them such a good fit? Maybe their imperfections made them perfect for each other? Maybe they’d struggled to find love with anyone else because they were only ever meant to find it here in this moment? They were pieces for this puzzle and no other.
‘You’re not alone any more,’ she said. He’d told her they should be honest with each other, and she would never have made herself so vulnerable with anyone else, but their connection felt so real she couldn’t help herself. ‘Neither of us are.’
He nodded, but something in his eyes told her he didn’t believe what she’d said. She wanted to ease his pain, but she didn’t know what else to say, so she pulled him close and they kissed. It was long and passionate, the embodiment of the connection they shared, and she knew he was the man she was meant to be with. They held each other at the top of that hill.
She was right; he was what had been missing from her life.
They were no longer alone. They had each other.