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5.A meeting in the dark
While Geoffrey lay there, thinking about his life,
he suddenly heard a sound that was not the rain. 
Something was in the shed, moving towards him. 
For a second, terror filled him, then he jumped up, and caught the thing with his great hands.
It did not fight, just gave a small, unhappy cry. ‘Let me go,’ said a woman's voice.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, angrily.
‘I thought he was here.’ She began to weep, quietly.
‘Who? Who did you think was here?’ he said.
‘My husband. He was here at dinner-time. You saw him.’ 
She tried to pull away from his hands. ‘Let me go.’
‘It's you!’ said Geoffrey, in surprise. ‘Are you looking for that dirty little tramp that was here at dinner?’ 
He still held her with both hands, but more gently now. ‘Where did he leave you?’
‘I left him- here,’ she said. ‘I've seen nothing of him since.’
Geoffrey gave a short laugh. ‘That's a good thing, isn't it? Why would you want to see him again?’
‘He's my husband- and he's not going to run away if I can stop him.’
Geoffrey was silent, not knowing what to say. ‘Your clothes are wet,’ he said at last.
‘That's not surprising, is it, in this rain? But he's not here, so I'll go.’
‘You're cold, aren't you?’ said Geoffrey. ‘I can feel it. You're shaking with cold.’
She did not answer. He did not know what to say.
‘Wait a minute.’ He found his bicycle lamp, lit it, and shone the light on her. 
He saw a white, tired face. Her old sailor hat and her brown coat were black with rain. 
Drops of water fell from her wet skirt onto her shoes.
He looked worried. ‘You’re wet right through,’ he said. 
‘Why don't you stay in here until the rain stops?’ No answer.
‘You can take your wet things off, and put a blanket round you. 
‘There's a horse-blanket in the box here.’ He waited, but there was still no answer.
He put the lamp down, opened the wooden box, and took out a big grey blanket. 
‘Come on,’ he said, kindly. ‘Take your hat and coat off, and put this round you.’
Slowly, she took off her hat and coat and put the blanket round her. 
She was shaking all over with cold.[]‘Is something the matter with you?’ he said, worried.
‘I've walked to Bulwell and back,’ she said tiredly, ‘looking for him. 
‘I've eaten nothing since this morning.’ She did not weep- she was too tired, too miserable.
‘You've had nothing to eat?’ he said. He went back to the box. There was food in there- bread and cheese. 
He cut some bread and put a big piece of cheese on it.
She sat down on the end of the bed of hay, and slowly began to eat. 
Then he gave her a drink of water, and saw that she was still shaking. ‘Can't you get warm?’ he asked.
‘I will in a minute. Don't you worry. I'll go soon. I'm taking your seat- are you staying here all night?’
‘Yes. But you must stay, and get warm. I've got to go and see that the haystacks are all right. 
‘Take your wet things off, and get warm with that blanket round you.’
‘I'll go in ten minutes. This is your place, and I'm not going to push you out. It's not right.’
‘You’re not pushing me out,’ he said. ‘I'll come back when I've looked at the stacks.’
He went. A minute later, she put the lamp out. 
He stood between the stacks, listening. 
There was only the soft rain and the dark night all around him. 
Everything was still, silent, black- like death, he thought.
He found his way back to the shed and went in. ‘Are you all right?’ he said. 
He lit the lamp again. Her small face looked up at him, out of the grey blanket.
‘You don't need a lamp,’ she said. ‘Lie down and get your night's rest. I can sit at this end, out of your way.’
He put the lamp out, and sat down on the hay, at the other end. 
Then he asked, ‘Is he really your husband?’
‘He is!’ she answered, in a hard little voice.
‘Do you follow him because you like him?’ He was afraid to ask, but he wanted to know.
‘I don't- I wish he was dead.’ Her voice was coldly angry. Then, ‘But he's my husband.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Not much of one,’ he said. ‘Have you been married long?’
‘Four years. Since I was eighteen.’
‘And do you just move about, all the time?’ he asked.
‘He says he's looking for a job. But he doesn't like work. 
‘He was a wagon-driver when I married him. He left that job when the baby was only two months old, 
‘and I've not had a kind word or a day's rest since then.’
‘And where's the baby?’[]‘It died when it was ten months old.’
After that they were silent. At last Geoffrey said slowly, ‘You've had a hard life.’ 
He looked at her, but saw nothing in the dark. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I'll find him. He's not going to get away.’
‘But why don't you leave him?’
‘Because he's not going to win.’
He listened to her hard voice, and felt miserable for her. 
He could not see her; they were just two voices in the black night.
‘Are you warm now?’ he asked, half afraid.
‘A bit warmer- but my feet are still terribly cold.’
‘I can warm them with my hands. Shall I?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said, coldly. Then she felt sorry. He was kind, he was trying to help. 
‘But they do hurt.’[]‘Put them in my hands, then.’
His large, strong hands closed round her icy feet and held them. 
She felt his warm breath on her toes.
‘Do they feel any better yet?’ he asked, after a while.
She did not answer. She put out her hand and touched his hair. 
His hand came up to find hers, but found her face, which was wet with tears. 
Gently, his fingers followed the tears down her cheeks.
‘What's the matter?’ he said, in his slow, deep voice.
She put out both her arms and pulled his head to her. 
Four lonely, miserable years were suddenly behind her; she was no longer old before her time. 
Suddenly, it was possible to hope again, to be young, to be happy. 
She wept long and silently, holding Geoffrey's head close to her, with her wild tears falling on his hair.
Geoffrey sat still, full of wonder, full of love. 
When at last she stopped weeping, he put his arms around her, gently. 
And in a while, they kissed, his first love kiss.