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Chrissie told herself off for worrying; after all, he hadn't said what time he'd be back. Her stomach growled. She knew Tom would be cross if she didn't eat, so she made a salad sandwich and munched on it without enthusiasm. At half-past eight, her phone rang. At Tom's voice, she relaxed somewhat."Sorry, love. I didn't say what time I'd get in, did I? We're in the Colne now. I should be with you by midnight. Don't wait up, will you?"Half relieved to hear him, half cross he would be so late, she just said, "Take care, Tom," before hanging up. She covered the bowls of salad, made herself some tea and sat down with her guitar, a tune running through her head, words coming, unbidden, to fit it. Words written in the nineteenth century by Elizabeth Barrett Browning;How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of everyday'sMost quiet need, by. “Are we done?” I called.Heather looked at the girls, who shrugged. “Off you go!” she chimed at me.I gathered myself and then climbed out on the muddy beach. I wasted no time in hurrying down the slope, hoping I wouldn’t step on anything too sharp. But even if I did, the pain would be a mere shadow of the needles that now started pinching me. The winter air was merciless, quickly recruiting the water in my clothes to switch teams from warm to cold.By the time I reached the cabin, I was shivering, and the hem of my shirt was starting to freeze into a hardened ring. I burst through the door, scaring the crap out of Lara and Tommy, who were seated at the table.“Jesus, Matt! What the hell? And why are you wet?”“They made me swim!” I yelled as I raced to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “Tell Heather to get me some clothes from my room, when she gets back!”I closed the door and jumped into the water, relief at last.Suffer for your art... Easy for Heather to say, when she was the one.
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