Ben easily found the insurance documents in his concertina file, glancing at it for things he thought he’d never need to check, before just getting on and phoning them. The person he spoke to was sympathetic, confirming that he had somewhere to stay tonight, then took some details, but said he’d have to wait for a fire damage specialist to phone him back. He sipped the tea that Marcie had made as he pulled out more paperwork with his gas, electric and water providers’ numbers on, chatting to Marcie about phoning the Trust to see if there was anyone in the office, and about calling his dad too. But the phone rang before he got any further with those plans as a woman from the insurance firm phoned back.

She checked his details, then also reconfirmed that he didn’t need emergency rehoming. When he explained that he was staying at his girlfriend’s, he also mentioned that he’d been there last night, and therefore luckily escaped the fire. The woman seemed very keen to check just how often he stayed there, as apparently his policy would have been invalidated if he’d not slept at home for weeks. She was satisfied though when he said that he’d actually only first spent the night at Marcie’s on Tuesday.

Then he got into the details of how he’d rented his flat from the charity that was also his employer. He helped the woman understand that everything that was his had actually fallen through the burning floor into their workshop, before being buried by the building’s collapsing roof. She seemed to accept that there would be nothing that he could be expected to salvage, but she focused on the idea that the Armstrong Trust would presumably be making their own claim. She imagined this would be much larger than his, for the destruction of a period building with significant commercial value too. That meant that she expected his claim would become dependent on theirs, and that she needed to liaise with the Trust as a matter of priority. She confirmed that this also meant he didn’t need to take responsibility for securing the building, nor be on hand for the insurers’ own assessors. She told him she’d send the forms through to help him start the inventory of things he’d lost, then they’d work together to put a value on his loss. She advised that it may be several weeks before he received a pay-out, and Ben confirmed that he could wait, that he would be okay without going through the process of getting an emergency fund.

With everything seemingly sorted for the time being, he was relieved to end the call. His calls to the utility companies were easier, though he wasn’t sure the customer service call handlers really followed everything that he told them. He suspected at least one was just treating his call as a standard change of address and contract termination. He did not let that worry him though, as the call to the insurer had helped him to see the wider picture. The Trust would have to kick off a significant project to rebuild the old coach house, and reconnecting the electricity, gas and water would presumably be a job for the professional builders a long way down that road.

Marcie had been in and out of the room as he’d made his calls, spending some time in the bathroom and then the bedroom as she changed into her work clothes and did her hair properly, tidying the laundry away as she passed through, folding the airer back into the under-stairs cupboard. Though she’d modestly buttoned her clean blouse up high, Ben glimpsed the silver chain of her necklace, and felt content to imagine her still wearing his hammer. Once she’d confirmed that he’d finished his admin calls for now, she suggested they have some early lunch, which he eagerly agreed to, then she started preparing soup and toast. While she was busy, Ben suggested he quickly phone his father too, just to give him an update, before they started eating.

When he got through to his dad, at home in the farmhouse it seemed, he described what had happened, but found himself getting quite emotional. In some sense it felt as if he’d lost another link to the past, and that loss reminded him of his mother’s absence too. His father seemed shaken too as he kept repeating that he was just glad that Ben hadn’t been caught in it, but Ben reassured him that luckily Marcie had helped him to gather some precious things from the flat just yesterday morning. Then the old man invited his son and Marcie to Sunday lunch, wondering if they’d be up for driving down to Lincolnshire for the day. He suggested that Ben could pick up any things he wanted from what he still had tucked away on the farm, and his dad could thank Marcie properly for all her help. Ben had a brief exchange with Marcie to confirm that would be okay, then his dad drew the call to a close, telling Ben to take care and drive carefully tomorrow, reassuring Ben that he could tell him everything about all the recent events then.

Marcie was already bringing the soup, bread and other things through from the kitchen, but Ben wanted to make one final call to the Trust to give them an update. She cautiously agreed that it was probably best to get it over and done with too, but advised him to keep it short. He wasn’t surprised when there was no one in the office to pick up his call, and he hoped that Rhona had gone home to switch off for the rest of the weekend. He still left a message to say that he’d spoken to the police at the workshop, then to his insurers once he’d got home to Marcie’s, saying that he expected both would be getting in touch with the Trust soon. He remembered the damaged pickup too, and apologetically suggested that Harry or Rhona could chase up an insurance assessment for that.

Then Marcie suggested he put his phone onto flight mode so that at least they could have a few minutes’ peace while they ate. She said that she thought he deserved that after everything they’d gone through that morning and all the hard work he’d put in since they’d got back. She deliberately unplugged the landline, and then put a CD on too. Ben was surprised to hear the beats of one of his trance compilations rising quietly from the stereo as they started eating.

He thanked her for putting his music on, but she said she’d just done it to satisfy her curiosity as she wanted to learn what he listened to, apologising that she’d not turned it up to full-on rave volume. Ben said he didn’t mind, wondering if she’d actually put it on to reassure him that he still had some connection to his past. He thought of the people he was still in touch with who he used to go clubbing with, saying that he should message Geoff and others to say what had happened. But Marcie suggested there was no need to rush, if he wanted to take it easy on himself for a little while, before asking him what he thought he’d do while she went to work.

Ben said that he recognised he might end up brooding if he just stayed in the flat, even with all the interesting books that he’d started reading and his small project to sketch the transformed backyard. He mentioned that he felt fit enough to pedal over to the gym to take some nice steady exercise though, as he had with Marcie yesterday. She was clearly anxious about letting him go on his own, and got him to promise several times that he really would take it slowly and gently. He reassured her that he’d take care, and that he’d always double check that he had his inhaler handy, which she seemed to accept. He told her he’d still be sure to meet her at the library when she came off her shift too.

They each had an apple to complete their lunch, then worked together to tidy up. At the sink, Ben remembered the mucky and damaged carabiner that he’d taken from the ruin of his old flat, pulling it from his pocket to clean it in the last of the washing up water. As they finished up, Marcie asked if Ben wanted to do anything before she left for work, which was when they’d agreed that he’d set off for the gym too, but he didn’t have any ideas. Then she remembered that she was going to try and find Gustav Klimt’s painting of Danaë. She plugged the phone back in and checked for missed calls before she pulled out the large glossy book, quickly finding the picture to show him.

She sat down next to him on the sofa to find the right page, then Ben took the book from her cautiously, immediately seeing how intimate the artist’s image of the young woman was. He wasn’t sure how much attention he should give it, fearing that if he looked at it for too long, Marcie would think him lecherous, but if he passed it back after just a glance, she’d think he hadn’t really shown interest.

He commented on the similarity of the background to that in Marcie’s large print of The Kiss, and she pointed out that Klimt’s style in these paintings was perhaps like the flat golden setting of church icons. She thought both seemed to put their subjects outside reality, placing them instead in some kind of timeless transcendent golden realm. Then Ben risked commenting on the detail that had actually first caught his attention, the realism of the model’s bold pink nipple. She laughed and remarked that the painter might have deliberately made it a focal point, with the way the woman’s body was curled around her exposed breast, framed by the veils and the golden cascade between her thighs.

“I think she’s a bit smaller than me though, in the bosom department, but my thighs are slimmer than hers, wouldn’t you say?” Marcie asked cheekily, and Ben hesitantly agreed, before she went on, “But you’re focusing on her, aren’t you? When this is really a picture of a god. That cascade of gold which is ending somewhere between her chunky thighs, and I think we know exactly where, even if Klimt hasn’t shown us, that is Zeus himself, if you take the myth at face value.”

“I see,” Ben agreed, “So this really is an icon, a religious painting?”

“Well, it was never dedicated to Zeus in some temple or prayed to by twentieth century pagans, as far as I know. But maybe that’s what it was to some degree in the artist’s mind, and to some of his audience at least it seems. And do you see what I meant about it being rather more earthy than your typical painting of the Annunciation, when the prim and proper Mary had her angelic visitation, presumably at the point of her conception? I look at her deeply flushed cheeks and the way her hand is urgently grasping for something, and I’m quite sure Klimt was trying to capture the extreme ecstasy of the woman’s orgasm.”

“Aye, a pagan icon of a god coming then,” Ben concluded, “And a woman lost in bliss, in a timeless mythic realm. Like you said, it’s more exciting than your Holy Mary, wrapped up in her blue robe, or Lewis’s lion saviour to a frigid witch queen’s winter, I guess.”

“Is this more like the secret fairy world that you’re always talking about then?” Marcie said, cuddling up to him.

“Yes, or no. I don’t know,” Ben admitted, “It’s got that sexual life force, hasn’t it? But it’s a god and a woman, not the goddess, the whole Earth or the whole night sky.”

“But you said it felt as if I was that goddess when you came for me, when I was leaning over you right here on this sofa last night, didn’t you? And I’m just a woman,” Marcie pointed out.

“Aye, it’s like you were her avatar, is that the word?” but Ben corrected himself, “You still are, always. There’s the divine eternal life-giving spirit of creation, but you make her present here and now, focused in your real warm-blooded body.”

“Well thank you for saying that. But yes, that does sound like an avatar,” Marcie admitted, “And maybe that’s what Aslan or Jesus is meant to be too, a living physical temporal and corporeal version of the transcendent godhead. But don’t you see that you can be that for me too? Maybe not the grumpy old bully Zeus, but perhaps something more like dancing Apollo, the beautiful god of the sun that’s rising into the body of my dark sky. You can spill your golden seed, your male life-quickening essence, in a way that’s just as exciting to me as this golden shower is to Klimt’s Danaë.”

“Aye, if you say so,” Ben admitted, “But I’m not really ‘quickening life’, am I? We’re not really trying to fertilise your eggs, right? Doesn’t that make it kind of pointless, from your mythic view, of gods and heroes’ epic quests?”

“I don’t think it matters for our bodies, deep down. You said our new love felt like fire I think, and I think it’s the same primal fires that are in these timeless myths. We’ve already lit them by what we’re doing together. Our desire and our instincts lead us to the same deeply satisfying place, even if it doesn’t actually leave anything growing in my womb at the end of it. I remember how you went off on our first night, spurting right across your chest! If that wasn’t an expression of potent masculine fertility from your proud and healthy Roddie, I don’t know what would be.”

“Thank you,” Ben said, echoing Marcie sincerely as he felt a warm glow at the memory, “But things seem to work for you too, like when I kissed Vixen, right?”

“Well yes, that was a kind of primal expression too maybe. But can you think of that fire, the fire in our hearts and our loins, the fire of our love for each other, when I leave you?” Marcie pleaded, turning to face him and grasp both his hands in hers as she became suddenly serious, “You won’t dwell on that other fire, will you?”

“No,” Ben reassured her, admitting, “It’s still raw, and still doesn’t feel quite real. But I know, despite everything else, I’m blessed, by your kindness, by your strength. It’s just another load of crap and bad news, isn’t it? But I’ll keep busy, at the gym, cycling home, then walking out to meet you. There’s still the fresh open air out there, ahead of us. I can feel it, I can open myself to it, to let it blow through me.”

“And we’ve still got that secret sexy fire that we can play with safely tonight, right?” Marcie asked earnestly, “Looking at this painting again, seeing her ecstasy, then talking about the primal divine forces that we’ve seen and touched, in each other, tasted and smelled too, well, I can feel that it has already warmed me, down there. And I’ll keep that delicious heat stoked and ready for you, I promise.”

“That sound’s good,” Ben admitted, involuntarily smiling at the thought of her arousal, prompting Marcie to give him a broad twinkling smile of her own. She leant over to just peck his lips, before rising to put the book away and then get her things ready for work. Ben also got up to gather his gym kit into his small rucksack, but then remembered he’d not shaved that morning. He checked that Marcie wasn’t too pressed for time, then quickly freshened himself up in the bathroom, before getting his jacket to wear on his bike ride, also running through his mental checklist.

As they got ready to leave together, Ben backing the bike out of the hallway whilst Marcie held the door, she asked him if he was sure that he had his inhaler, and he patiently assured her that she could trust him to have checked. Then, once she’d locked the door, he went to give her another peck on the lips, which briefly turned into a longer and wetter kiss, before Marcie asked him to promise once again that he’d take care. Then they finally parted to go their separate ways, Ben aware that he was wearing an irrepressible dopy smile that seemed to mirror the warm expression on her face as he turned to give her a final wave.

Ben brought his full attention to the traffic and his control of the bike as he steadily made his way along the busy roads to the gym, chaining his bike up to the stands outside when he arrived. Despite the enchanting conversations that he’d had with Marcie, which he guessed she may have made an effort to conjure up to take his mind off other things, he did start to feel the weight of his problems again as he got changed. Coming to the gym on his own was obviously a prompt to his memory of Monday’s fateful trip, but he also found himself recalling the scene of devastation at the workshop and the claustrophobic interview with Detective Simon in the van.

He was still feeling numb and cut off from the world as he set himself to a slow fifteen minute jog on the treadmill. However as the run went on, he found it strangely comforting to just focus on the steady, energetic, repetitive movement of his body. Despite the uncomfortable thoughts that kept replaying in his mind, of loss and uncertainty, it was reassuring that his muscles could keep going. He felt their pumping presence, along with his heart, his lungs, his sweating skin, and even his bones and sinews, alive and in continuous automatic motion. He let his body just carry on as the minutes ticked by, staring ahead out of the small window that was high on the wall in front of him, watching the clouds as they drifted over the trees behind the gym.

When his time was up, he transitioned into his cooldown pace. As his pace slowed right down, he deliberately took slow deep breaths, and realised that not only was he free of any hint of asthma, but he was also still full of a tense kind of energy. He decided that he was ready to just keep running, to try and burn that jittery frustration off, to push himself towards a state of natural exhaustion, whilst still keeping things at a safe and gentle pace. He reset the machine for another twenty minutes, then let himself sink again into that trance-like state, feeling his awareness zone in on just the steady pounding rhythm of his body, with its weight hammering down through his flying feet.

The time slipped away, and he was soon letting himself slow down into his cooldown once again. He knew that he was now wringing-wet with sweat, and his legs felt a little wobbly in their tiredness, but his breath was still coming easily as his heart rate settled down. He thought of moving onto his weights’ circuits, but something in him felt as if he could not be bothered by that, as if they were pointless now. He also felt the simple physical work of the cardio exercise was still there for him to lose himself in though. So he deliberately checked in with himself, confirming that he had the energy and the breath for it, making a firm intent for himself that he’d not risk anything by setting his pace too fast, then dialled up another fifteen minutes.

He’d been running for nearly an hour by the time his final cooldown was up, far longer than he’d normally have done. His legs felt like jelly as he finally stepped off the machine, but his breathing was just fine. He went straight to the changing room to shower and get dressed, then bundled up his wet kit in his towel before leaving the gym, emerging into the bright spring afternoon. He still had a while before he needed to set off to meet Marcie, and he didn’t feel too sure about spending the time on his own in the flat, brooding, as Marcie had said, so he decided to go for a short walk, to keep his tired legs moving and to see if he could reach that graveyard he’d merely glimpsed from the gym.

He reached the open gate in the high stone wall after a short walk along the busy road. He stepped into the slightly scruffy sanctuary, finding it a little sombre and old-fashioned as he walked up the neglected path, with grass growing through the gravel. He guessed that the graves here were mainly Victorian, and that the council was responsible for maintaining them. That might explain why it lacked the ambience of a rural churchyard, lovingly cared for by a church community that might carefully foster an artful mock-wilderness of wildflowers amongst ancient trees. Still, there was a bench under a yew here, which he sat on for a while, soaking up some sense of living nature around him, persisting despite the city all around.

Perhaps in some modest way it was still a sanctuary, he felt, walled off from the noise and fumes of the roads all around, a plot of grubby green that briefly relieved the built world of stone, brick, tarmac and concrete all around it. He heard a distant siren, which made him wish that the walls around this space in some way were higher, and thick enough to shut out the crime and sickness and destruction of the city. Perhaps then the trees and weeds would have the time to grow properly, to reclaim the grotty stones with flourishing life and turn the space back into the forested wilderness that it must once have been, before the plough and the city. In that way, Mother Nature could perhaps restore a tiny piece of springtime Narnia.

He was aware that time was marching on in the real world though, so he shouldered his small rucksack and began walking back towards the gym where he’d left his bike. He was very surprised when he turned the corner and saw Marcie herself pacing down the pavement towards him. He felt glad to find her here, even though he couldn’t understand why she wasn’t still at work. However, he realised that once the flash of recognition and perhaps relief had passed across her face, her own expression was grim. He could see that this time they would not be making the friendly greeting with two kisses on the cheeks as they’d made when they’d previously met on the street.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, trying to sound light and positive.

“Well you wouldn’t be if you’d been checking your damn phone,” she shot back as she stopped before him, clearly fuming with anger, “Is it even turned on? What if the police had wanted to get in touch with you?”

“I guess they’d have left a voicemail,” he said defensively, following Marcie as she turned and began walking back down the pavement in the direction that she’d just come. He pulled his phone from his pocket, realising that it was still on flight mode, which he quickly turned off before pocketing it again. As she marched on in silence and his phone chimed with what he guessed were notifications of her messages, he asked in some confusion, “But you left work early?”

“Yes, I was worried about you. It looks like you’re happy wandering out and about on your own though,” she sniped at him as he tried to match her brisk pace.

“I wouldn’t say happy. I just sat in the old graveyard after the gym, in the spring air,” he explained, knowing that he had been feeling a bit sorry for himself and feeling guilty about it now.

“Well you could have let me know where you were. I went to the gym when I found you weren’t back at the flat. I’m parked illegally, I’ll probably get a fine. I saw your bike, but you weren’t inside. I didn’t know where you were. I thought perhaps you’d collapsed and been taken to hospital again! And it turns out you’d just decided to wander off to stare at the sky or contemplate your own navel or whatever. Why didn’t you let me know where you were?”

“Do I have to tell you all my movements now, then?” Ben asked sulkily, but then immediately regretted it.

“No, Ben, you don’t,” she said icily, “Why should you? Maybe you’ve decided you just need a bit more space, some time out, time away from me. Well, you can still have that. I’ll drive you down to your dad’s tomorrow, and you can damn well stay there as long as you like. There must be loads of space there. And you hop on your bike to Grimsby or Scunthorpe or wherever and wander the streets to your heart’s content.”

They’d arrived at Marcie’s car, pulled up on the pavement across some kind of small garage warehouse that was closed for the weekend. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. But I don’t understand, why you’re so upset,” Ben said.

“I don’t understand things either, Ben. You said you’d take care, and that you valued my support. But the moment I leave you on your own, you wander off and forget about me,” she said angrily, standing at the car door that she’d opened, “I’m driving back to the flat now, then I might just go for a little walk on my own too. You pedal back at your own sweet pace, and I’ll see you sometime later.”

And with that she ducked inside the car, slammed the door and started the engine. Ben tried to keep on speaking to her, making pleading gestures with his hands and shoulders, but she seemed to be deliberately blanking him. Seeing a gap in the traffic, she quickly reversed the car into the road, and then she was gone.

Ben stood on the pavement, feeling heavy and useless. He’d seen Marcie’s anger before, and he might have guessed that she’d direct it at him sometime, but he felt ashamed for having been so careless. In some ways she was right that he’d not thought of her, and not thought to check that his phone was ready for her calls or messages. He bitterly regretted that now, and earnestly hoped that he could patch things up with her as quickly as possible, and apologise properly from his misjudged impulsive words. He guiltily pulled his phone out as he stood there, checking the text messages, then dialling his voicemail. He heard Marcie’s anxious voice when she’d presumably been leaving the library, telling him of her change of plan. Her tone was more desperate in her next message, which had traffic noises in the background, presumably from the very spot where he now stood, as she asked him to call her as soon as he could to let her know where he was. He realised as she rang off and he was returned to the robotic menu of options that he had indeed caused her a great deal of wholly unnecessary worry.

He unlocked his bike and pedalled steadily to their shared home, as he recognised he still very much thought of it, aware of his tired and shaky legs. He felt wobbly inside too about how things would go when he found Marcie and apologised, but his stamina and balance were good enough as he kept himself safe and under deliberate control on the congested roads.

The flat was empty when he got there, and he remembered Marcie peevishly telling him that she was going out for a walk. As he got the airer out and hung out his gym kit to dry in the bedroom, he considered ringing her to ask where she was and when she would be back, but he thought that would be too presumptive. It would be crass and may inflame her justified bad mood if she thought that he expected her to pick up his call when he’d not done that for her. He decided instead to pop out to the shops on Acorn Road to see if he could buy something as a peace offering. Thinking that he’d already bought her flowers and only recently given her a piece of jewellery, he wondered if perhaps just a card with a suitably conciliatory message would be enough. He picked up a pen so that he could write it straight away, checked he had everything else, then left the flat again, just minutes after he’d arrived.

He was glad when he found something suitable in a shop that sold various small objects and supposedly tasteful gifts for around the house. Though he thought that most of the things on sale amounted to useless junk that no one would ever really need, he saw some good quality general-purpose greeting cards. He looked down the rack and immediately saw one that spoke in the secret language that he shared with Marcie. A wildlife photographer had captured an arctic fox, presumably coming into its spring moult as dark grey fur grew through the white, facing the lens as it carefully carried an egg in its mouth. It looked sly and guilty with its head hung low as it stared directly out of the picture, yet it also seemed wild and full of healthy life in its thick fur.

He bought it, then sat on a bench at the end of the street to pull it out of its cellophane wrapper and write in it. He thought for a moment, staring at the suburban passers-by, the closely packed terraced buildings and the grey road that ran beneath them all. He remembered the melancholy that he’d felt looking out at the mundane brick and concrete of Marcie’s backyard. Yet he also remembered how his thoughts of her had turned that low mood around, even before their moment of passion in the kitchen.

He steeled himself and began writing, “Dear Marcie, I’m sorry for my selfishness. You are my soul partner and lover. You are the light of my life, my guiding star, the sun in my sky. Your strength gives me hope in the future. I love you, and you will always be in my heart, whatever happens. We are two become one.” He signed it with a simple ‘X’ for a kiss, thinking of her leaving him the same mark for him on the contact details which she’d written down when she’d visited him in hospital, then he sealed the card in its envelope.

He’d half expected to see Marcie on the street, moving purposefully through the other foot traffic which drifted past the shops. He’d not seen her though, and then when he got back to the flat, she wasn’t there either. Silence met his welcoming hail, with all its forced positivity, but he still went through the whole flat, forlornly checking every room.

He felt at a loss, cut adrift and floundering helplessly in these unexpected currents. His tired body felt jittery, running on empty yet still wired for flight in his anxiety. He knew that he was genuinely rootless now, and he’d made Marcie his rock, his new safe haven. She had been angry with him, but he had faith they could patch it up, if he could just find her and speak to her, to make her see that he was genuinely sorry for his selfish mistake and his stupid words. He had to have faith in that, faith in the underlying strength of their newfound love, as he had almost nothing else.

He’d stood in the living room, feeling stupid as he held the card he’d written in its envelope, staring at Marcie’s poster of the golden lovers. He thought of the artist’s other painting of Danaë, lost in visceral divine ecstasy, and how his thoughtless error and rude response to Marcie’s challenge might have jeopardised his access to that secret magical world and ruined his chances of ever giving Marcie that bliss again. He decided he couldn’t just wait in the flat for her in this state, and he still felt that he couldn’t try calling her mobile, so he decided to set out on his bike to find her.