They returned close to midnight, and they sounded very merry. I suppose my presence put a damper on that, but I went to my room when asked. I heard laughing for some time and then silence for more time before the front door opened and closed and Mum's footsteps up the stairs, barefoot. It was 2am.Jo and I were becoming closer. I had a feeling that Mum was almost pushing us together. "Go and see if Jo needs a hand." "Jo is all alone, maybe she needs company" "Has Jo had one of your foot massages?" Of course I did not need much encouragement and loved to be with her almost as much as I did with my mother. Most of all I loved massaging her; feet, neck, back; whatever was "safe". We would cuddle and watch TV when Mum was busy. Lately she claimed to be busy a lot. So the Sunday morning after Mum's date as Jo and I had breakfast, she asked me why I was so glum. I answered honestly, "I don't like James and I'm worried for Mum. He just wants to get in her pants." "David, what do you know. You are as much a part of here as anything else.’ I smiled, ‘That is very true. I come to disconnect from elsewhere and connect to here, to listen, to watch, to notice – so much to notice, to think – perhaps too much.’ ‘Connecting and disconnecting – such modern conceits. Tell me… look…’ he pointed to a duck executing a splashing descent from the sky onto the pond. ‘Where has he come from?’ ‘Another stretch of water, probably.’ ‘When did he disconnect from there? When did he connect to here?’ ‘It is all part of his path,’ I realised. ‘Just a flow of now and who we are.’ ‘Yes. Really, there is no there, no here.’ He turned towards me. ‘Sophie, give me your hand.’ I offered him my right hand. He placed his palm underneath it, open, supporting it. I scanned his face, suddenly aware of a group of men and women dressed in similar clothes to his, standing around us. Not crowding us in any way, but present. I knew they were there, watching, but all my awareness was centred on my hand in.
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