We stayed up late that night, filled with delicious food, good wine and happy hearts, together again. We curled up on the sofa in the cottage and I lay with my head in his lap and we talked.
We talked about important things that had happened, we talked about unimportant thing and we just talked. No matter how much we talk on the phone, on Skype, or Yahoo...it is just not the same.........and it was so good to talk.
I fetched him drinks, poured his brandy, passed him things he needed....it was all little simple things, but things that I have missed doing for him, things I needed to do.
When finally he said it was time to go to bed, I couldn't wait to kneel before him as he put my rope on, knowing that tonight , the other end would be in his hand. After so long sleeping apart, it always takes a few days, I fidget like mad, thrashing round in the bed, arms and legs flailing as I dream my night away, pushing the covers on and off all night long.
He on the other hand lies still, hardly moving.
I remember him muttering at me to lie still, but its in my sleep I move more. A couple of times in the night , I felt his arm on me, keeping me still, and once he woke me up, but oh it was good to be there.
We slept till way later than I have slept in a year, it was almost 12 midday when I woke up, and for someone normally awake at 5am, it was a surprise, a shock almost. He hustled me out of bed, into the shower and sent me downstairs to make a picnic for lunch. The weather was bright and sunny, but coming from far away land , for me it was freezing. I don't own a coat, I don't own a pair of shoes, but with blankets and his coat we set off in the car. He had found one of my favourite things to do on a summer's day.
We pulled up at a village cricket ground; just a little one, and we set out the picnic rug and lay under an old oak tree and watched two local teams play cricket. We ate out lunch and he lay next to me dozing in the warm(for him) sunshine. After the lunch break was over, we watched more cricket and then slowly packed the picnic and walked around the village to the local pub and had a drink. He laughed when I asked if i could have a pint of bitter...."no" was his answer..."two halves".
We sat in the old pub, listening to the locals talk about local issues, about the state of the country, the world and I felt completed immersed in England once more and yet completely detached from it too.
It was time to go back to the cottage and get organised with dinner....but before dinner he helped me make baklava, which is one of my very favourite food, and as I pottered around int eh kitchen getting some food I could hear him upstairs in the room..............and I wondered what he was fixing up.