Christmas Past by Glenice Crossland

shade to weary walkers, but now it struggled bravely to survive out here in the elements. The heather was young and vivid purple and the bilberry bushes hung with lush, juicy berries. Mary
climbed a path away from the lane towards the shade of a row of rocks where, out of breath, she flopped down on the grass with Jack beside her.
    ‘This is absolutely my favourite place,’ she said, looking out over the valley to the distant hills. ‘I don’t think anywhere in the world could be more
glorious.’
    ‘It’s certainly beautiful,’ Jack said. He stretched out his hand and broke off a sprig of heather and, stroking Mary’s hair away from her face, placed it behind her ear.
‘But not as beautiful as your hair. It makes me want to run my fingers through it.’
    Mary felt her face colouring. She hated it when she blushed, and turned away embarrassed.
    ‘We’d better start bilberrying,’ she muttered.
    ‘I bet I can pick the most.’ Laughing, Jack rose to his feet, taking a blue two pound sugar bag from his pocket.
    They picked steadily for about an hour, until the bag and the tin box were almost full, and their hands stained almost black from the juices.
    ‘How many do you reckon we’ve picked?’ asked Mary as they walked back to the basket.
    ‘At least enough for a couple of jars of jam,’ Jack estimated.
    ‘I’ll make you one, and give it to you next time ...’ She paused mid-sentence. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a next time.
    ‘That’ll be something to look forward to.’ He grinned, relieved that he would be seeing her again.
    Mary unwrapped the sandwiches and a couple of hard boiled eggs.
    ‘Hey, you certainly eat well out here,’ he said. ‘Are you immune from rationing in Longfield?’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Mary. ‘It’s just that Mrs Roberts grows all her own salad stuff, and the chickens reward me for feeding them every day, with a good supply of
eggs.’
    ‘Well, now I know why you’ve got skin like a peach. It’s all the fresh food you eat.’ Jack ran his fingers along her arm, causing a sensation Mary had only experienced
with one man before. She drew away. It was too soon; it was unfair to Tom.
    Jack knew he was going too fast. He hadn’t intended to, it was just that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He picked up the nettle beer and took a drink, then lay back in the sun,
unbuttoning his shirt to allow the sun to reach his chest. A covering of dark curly hair glistened in the sunlight, which Mary had an urge to reach out and caress. What was wrong with her? It must
be the nettle beer. She ought to have provided some less potent refreshment.
    She lay down beside Jack, feeling drowsy in the heat. A lazy moth landed on her face and she brushed it away, returning her hand to her side, where it touched Jack’s. He entwined his
fingers in hers and they lay as one, joined by a current too strong for either of them to resist. Jack rolled towards her and, leaning over, kissed her, tenderly at first; then, feeling her
respond, more fiercely, until their passion threatened to overcome them and they broke apart, content to wait until another day, confident that this special thing between them was worth waiting
for, and must be allowed to grow in its own time.
    Mary heard a grouse calling. ‘Go back, go back,’ it seemed to say. She knew she couldn’t go back but it was also too soon to go forward. She was confused about her feelings for
Jack. Her feelings for Tom were still paramount. She had thought Jack could be a friend but it was obvious things were moving beyond friendship and she was not ready. She released her hand from
his. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘I like you a lot but I need some time to think about Tom, just to remember our time together. So I won’t see you for a few weeks.’ She blushed.
‘Well, you might not want to see me again anyway.’
    ‘Of course I do, but I understand. Just don’t make me wait too long, that’s all I ask.’
    ‘I won’t.’ Then