Why couldn’t love be like this? Spontaneous and exuberant: full of nothing but stolen kisses and the passion of the chase.  Why couldn’t they dance around together in the overgrown garden of Flo’s grandmother’s house, especially when the neighbours couldn’t see over the hedge?

But winter had descended now, and with it, had the reality.  Summer was gone, and they had been kidding themselves for the entire of the golden, flickering autumn.  Flo had a life to live that did not always involve Alex; a life in the far off London, a city of density and a certain air that Flo seemed to find … attracting.  Many times had Alex asked her to just stay, and she had wanted to agree, to say yes, to succumb to the carefree life that Tissington offered; but London had called her back, with a voice so seductive, so enticing, that she knew what she had to choose.

‘Maybe I should just stay,’ Flo mused one morning as she sat bundled in the beige duvet of the double bed, gazing out the large, slanted window to the array of fields that lay beyond.

Alex rolled over to face her.

‘You wouldn’t be happy,’ he said.

Flo turned her head and looked at him with furrowed brows.

‘I thought you wanted me to stay.’

‘I do!’

‘Then why,’ questioned Flo, scrunching down so that they were nose to nose, ‘do you insist on making it sound like you can’t wait for me to leave?’

‘I can’t help being realistic.’

She turned abruptly, so that she was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling.  It was a creamy shade of white, not varying at all as the seasons did.  The icy light of the winter months did not seem to have any affect on it.  Flo wished it were the same for her.

‘Instead of asking me to stay,’ began Flo, ‘… no … no, it’s a daft idea.’

‘No, what is it?’

She knew what he would say.  But there was still at least hope, wasn’t there?

‘Why can’t you just come with me?’

Alex sighed; he had known it would come to this.  He had been waiting for Flo to voice the desire that had obviously been cutting into her like a blunt, yet persistent, dagger.

‘Tommy …’

‘… Is not the only reason you want to stay,’ finished Flo, sounding disappointed.

Alex paused, hesitating.

‘He’s my brother,’ he said feebly, knowing Flo was right.  Tommy didn’t need him any more.  He had that Abbey Cornish now; and they were happier than ever.

The room was silent for a while, before rain began to pour, pitter-pattering against the windowpane and echoing as it collided with the roof.  Still, the couple inside the attic room did not speak; Flo curled up once more, her back facing Alex, who had found relaxation in tracing the patterns of the girl’s slender, pale back with his left index finger.  She would giggle when he reached the nape of her neck, as she always did, but if he did not listen carefully the sound would be lost in the sigh that came so simultaneously with it.