Liminal Love

Liminal Love

Life’s a funny thing, isn’t it? I feel I’ve only known you for five minutes, but your face is so friendly, and you just told me you like ghost stories so- actually, not sure what it is, but it’s definitely supernatural, if you’d like to hear it? Right, so, this is something that happened to me; take it how you will, you may have an explanation, but I don’t.

I’m doing pretty well now; hence the Rolex style watch, but what I’m about to relate concerns a pretty dark time for me.

I was actually homeless and it really can happen to anyone – I went from having a wife, child, nice home and golden retriever to – well- nothing. Stupidly, it was a drinking problem, with a bit of gambling; I won’t go into it here, but it cost me dearly, however I’m glad to report I am back on speaking terms with my ex, finally.

I say I had nothing, but a kind farmer let me have the use of a caravan on his land for free; it was up on the Moor, actually, so long as I kept an eye out for poachers, vandals and such. He even gave me a dog for safety, and so I would feel less alone and I will always be grateful to him for that. A sweet-natured collie-cross called Padley, who, once he moved in, never left my side. Such a lovely lad.

Anyway, to the main story. I had ended up sleeping on the doorstep of the library and a member of staff found me when she came to open up. That was somewhere to hang out during the day, but most people would move away if I sat too near them: I had a suit, but it quickly became very frayed because, well - it’s hard to maintain an interest in your health and appearance when you’re not sure where your next meal is coming from. Anyway, the librarian, she said that the local church had this soup kitchen, which opened most evenings. It was an absolute godsend for me. It was run by the same bunch of volunteers: mostly people on the church committee and a few retirees. Not just soup: sometimes sandwiches, tea, cakes! Everyone was very kind, if a little bit patronising.

One night, though, as we were heading into winter, there was this new woman: Luna. Warm, friendly, curvy; I thought, wouldn’t mind a tussle with her.  Not that she’d take any notice of a skinny, matt-haired whiskery old fool like me. I’d been told in the local shop that I needed a jet-wash. That’s great isn’t it.  You try living in a rusty caravan in the corner of a shit-filled field, with no running water and see how you get on.

In fact, I was in a queue of unwashed whiskery old fools, and thinking, see if you can tell the difference between us, Luna. Actually, she’d seen I’d come with the dog: so maybe I stood out in some way.

‘Evening,’ she smiled, when it was my turn. ‘Gorgeous dog. Alright with chicken and sweetcorn?’

She knew I was, that my stomach was growling painfully and my mouth watered so much I was almost dribbling. She poured extra into the flask I brought, so I could have another meal for later. How lovely is that? This time of life for me, while being very hard, did show me how wonderful people can be to each other, given the chance. Then she looked down at the ever-hopeful Padley.

‘Just a minute’, she whispered, disappearing behind the counter, before surreptitiously passing me a small bag of dog biscuits for you know who. She had beautiful hands. I sat at a bench, nodding to some of the other fellas, but mostly kept my head down, to watch lovely Luna through my mat of hair, while dreaming of those hands- on me.

***

Once the soup had run out, the shutters came down and people muttered their goodbyes as they shuffled off into the night. I did try talking to some of them, but they were often too drunk or damaged to string a sentence together. Or just very suspicious. Mind you, maybe they were right to have misgivings about me- I wasn’t the most sociable human. Not when I was sober, anyway.

So, Padley and I were heading back to our bashed-up old caravan. I remember there was no moon visible, but the air was clear, and crisp, with a sort of vibrant, violet hue to it, and I could still make out trees and shrub outlines. At the crossroads, I sat on a log and took out the rollies for a smoke. Padley was leaning comfortably against my leg, which always made me feel safe and loved. I hope I did the same for him.

Everything was calm and still, except for the occasional rustle of some small creature in the leaves above me. I could hear the dog’s wheezy breathing- he was definitely struggling a bit more in later life, but seemed comfortable enough. I ruffled his ears and took a drag on my cigarette.

After a few minutes, Padley’s body tensed and his ears pricked up. Another thirty seconds and the faint sound of dog-howling reached us. It was deep and powerful, ‘the Hound of the Baskervilles’, I joked to Padley.

On the gravel road, about 200 yards off into the dark, footsteps were coming our way. Round a corner and a little light came into view, swaying and floating along the road towards us. Padley began to whine softly and I was in no mood to meet anyone at the crossroads in the dark, so we upped and headed sharpish through some trees towards the field where the caravan was parked. Padley stopped twice, to bark at the shadows behind us, so I knew someone was there. Whenever I stopped, the other footsteps stopped, but I could see and hear nothing. So then we broke into a run across the field- once inside, -I pulled the door shut, gave Padley a few biscuits and grabbed a big bottle of whisky I kept in my food cupboard.  I took a good long swig. Almost immediately, there was a knock at the door. My heart started thudding, so loud, I thought whoever was outside would be able to hear it. Another knock, so I switched on the porch light and peered through the window. The dog leapt up onto the bench to look out with me, growling softly.

‘There’s no-one there old son’, I said, but have you ever looked at an empty space and thought it seemed, well- occupied?

I whirled around to pull down the blind over the kitchen sink. The windows were grimy, thanks to my rubbish housekeeping skills, but I could just make out a white, disembodied oval shape: like a face looking straight in. I yanked the blind down and moved to do the same to the opposite window - but now the oval shape hung there, gleaming in the darkness. Poor old Padley was whining and shivering, I must say, I felt pretty much the same.

‘Who are you?’ I roared, to hide the fear.

‘It’s Luna!’

Couldn’t believe it, the woman from the soup kitchen. I stared at her, framed in my doorway. She seemed taller than I remember, wearing a very long dark coat. And she was holding what looked like an old miner’s lantern. The dark hair that was in a bun at tea time, now flowed over her shoulders and she was even more beautiful to me than when I saw her behind the soup counter.

Then, with a shock, I noticed an enormous, silvery- black hound sitting silently beside her. Padley had hidden under the bed.

‘Don’t worry,’ smiled the lady with the lamp, ‘she’s a complete softy. Can we come in?’

She didn’t wait for an answer and suddenly was standing right up against me, my red-flecked eyes to her midnight blue.

I swallowed.

‘What do you want with an old loser like me?’ I mumbled, backing slowly up against the sink. She stepped through my crummy old residence like a queen- and I must say I felt quite ashamed of my dirty existence.

The silent hound practically flowed over to sniff Padley out. My poor old dog slid out on his belly and I was relieved and astonished to see him and the bigger dog gently touch noses.

Standing up felt really awkward, so I sat on the bed to face Luna. To be honest, I couldn’t take my eyes off her; she had this luminous quality and a soft perfume filled the caravan, like sweet tree resin and moss and streams and cool earth and… I pulled myself together.

‘You’ve been so good to me,’ I began. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough- ‘

She waved it away and moved closer.

‘Yet I still have something you want,’ she whispered, placing her hand gently, but firmly in the middle of my chest.

I couldn’t work out if my pulse was pounding with desire, or terror. Her eyes were burning into mine and for a horrible moment, I thought she might rip my heart out. Then I noticed: as she unbuttoned her coat, there were food stains on her shirt. Her feet were bare. Muddy, quite filthy really. She had a cut on her leg. When I looked up to ask if she was ok, she put her mouth on mine and used her weight to push me down on the bed.

Sounds too good to be true? That’s what I was thinking and the love- the love that flowed between us was strange, but very beautiful - I’m certainly not complaining - like the sweetness of all the forest and fields and rivers rolled into a single beam of cool moonlight…

‘I wish I had something more to give you,’ I said later, stroking her hair. Her expression was kind, but inscrutable and the touch of her cool hand on my forehead now felt more motherly, than seductive. I was already falling asleep, lulled by the soft wheezing of my dear old Padley. Hadn’t had an experience like this for – I don’t know. Maybe never.

***

When I woke up, it was a damp grey dawn. She’d gone of course. I felt very alive though, swinging my legs over the bed so my feet could find the soft furry bulk of dog. They found nothing but cold, hard floor.  He wasn’t under the bed, or on the sofa.

I flung the door open to holler ‘Padley!’ across the frosty field, but I already knew I’d never see him again.

I spent the day grieving, interspersed with odd jolts of elation. Luna, whoever, or whatever she was, had made me feel like a human again; capable of being loved. I walked uphill to the farm and begged to be allowed to have a shower. The temperature fluctuations made me yelp, but it felt so good! The farmer and his wife kindly gave me some old clothes and a tenner to get a haircut in the village. Good people, but they didn’t ask about Padley. They had a new, younger model of a sheepdog, which made me feel a bit wretched, as though he’d never existed. They even asked if I’d like to work on the farm, for a wage, and I said I’d think about it.

The next night, a thin crescent moon appeared in the sky, pale cream, like Luna. I found the soup kitchen had different volunteers. And the next night. And the next. It’s just, each time the shutters were about to open, I swear I could hear my dog barking.