When Love Knocks Twice (A Contemporary Love Story) Read Free

Don't be an idiot he told himself, you're here, so like it or
lump it, but don't resent it.
    Having
parked the school in the past, it left him with a decision. Where to
go next? A man of logic, he decided to carry on the mile or so to the
place where his junior school had stood, or may well still stand, he
thought. Who knows? And it was in a slightly more positive frame of
mind that he set off, each road bringing back some memory or other
from the recesses of his mind.
    The
sun was high now, and the shade from the avenue of trees along the
roadside was very welcome. Subconsciously he would slow to a saunter
under the shade, speeding up when the sun beat uncomfortably on his
head. In this manner it took him a bare ten minutes to come within
sight of the town centre crossroads where his junior school had
stood, when he spotted the old parish church where he had gone as boy
and youth. If it's open, he thought, I'll go in. If nothing else it
will be cool.
    He
altered his steps to approach the doors, finding that the large door
handles turned easily in his hand, and he stepped into the church. He
had forgotten how light the interior was, in sunshine, the brightness
glowing through the myriad stained glass windows all around. The
church had missed all the bombing of the Second World War that had
destroyed so many church windows, to be replaced by plain glass in
the post-war austerity.
    He
strolled slowly down the main aisle, surveying the large space,
remembering the choir processing down the aisle at the start of a
service, followed by the cross and the minister, the congregation
standing until the minister himself sat down. So much ceremony, he
remembered. What had it meant to him as a boy?
    Nothing.
Any significance had been lost on him. But he wouldn't knock it, he
had found faith here, and the faith had stood him in good stead
through dark times.
    He
stopped short of the altar space, three rows from the front and
shuffled sideways into a pew to sit and contemplate, or meditate, or
pray.

    Gail
stood back from the table in the choir room and surveyed her
handiwork. She did not claim to be a gifted flower-arranger but liked
to produce something at least competent that didn't jar. To that end
she adjusted some stems and added some more greenery. Now all she had
to do was get it through the doorway into the church without knocking
any of the stems. She lifted the heavy vase and carefully manoeuvred
around the table, managing to avoid tripping over any chairs, before
deftly sidling through the doorway and into the church.
    At
which point she stopped. Someone was in the church, sitting in a pew
and praying. She couldn't remember it happening before, and stopping
where she was, put the vase down briefly on a side table. Only after
she had been watching for two or three minutes did it occur to her
how rude she was being, but yet something drew her in.
    He
was mid fifties she decided, dressed neatly, slim build, fit perhaps,
someone who exercised regularly. Before her imagination really
started to run riot the man lifted his head, and whilst still seated,
continued to gaze into space, or so it appeared to her. She really
must stop sizing up men she thought, and picking up the vase moved
forward towards the alter.

    Tom
finished praying, or at least talking to God. He always felt that
prayer should somehow be constructed, ordered, purposeful, but his
was generally a random conversation addressing nothing in particular
and everything in general. He looked up, recognising the stained
glass window above the altar, remembering how he used to count the
panes when he grew bored in church. Only as a young boy, you
understand.
    Out
of his peripheral vision he caught sight of a woman approaching the
alter with a huge vase of flowers hiding most of her face. Only after
she had put it down and rotated it so that the arrangement was facing
the right way, did she turn around and caught him watching her. In
the circumstances all he could do was smile