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Susan held her 'brown bag lunch' in one hand and her knitting bag in the other as she crossed the road to the park. She was looking forward to a quick bite and then getting on with the bonnet she was knitting to complete the baby set. She loved the feeling of needle slipping on needle, the deft finger movement as the wool was carried forward or back, the satisfaction of seeing a shape emerge from the seemingly mindless knits and purls. She made the items for sale at the annual Charity Fair.

It was a beautiful autumn day, clear air with the faintest 'bite' to the wind caressing her cheeks to an attractive flush. Her hair escaped at the persuasions of the truant breeze from the psyche knot she always wore to work; and kissed the back of a slender neck.

Her brown eyes drank in the turning colours around her and she wished humans could metamorphose similarly, willing to accept the bareness of winter if preceded by the flamboyance of autumn. She could then be a stunning tall leggy blonde for at least part of the time, instead of a just ordinary brown eyed, brown haired girl. She was short by any standards at just three inches above five feet, and had a body so slim as to qualify as 'boyish'.

She found her favourite park bench unoccupied and was quick to spread out her paraphernalia to claim the entire seat. She ate her brown bread and salad sandwich, savouring the nutty flavour of the spread she used instead of mayo or butter. She was careful to sweep the crumbs back into the bag to be disposed of in the large waste bin at the exit.

As she opened her knitting bag, the ball of wool played truant and rolled across the jogging track which sloped behind the bench; she scampered in haste to retrieve it, but before she could, a jogger in a blue tracksuit came an inevitable purler and landed winded at her feet.

Brilliant blue eyes widened in shock and pain as the jogger gazed upwards in a bewildered fashion. Concerned brown eyes looked into his and the softest, most mellifluous voice he had ever heard asked after his injuries. It took him another thirty seconds of staring at the creamy skin, just tinged with an apologetic blush of pink, the slim but soft arms now supporting his woozy head, the tantalising curls of brown that framed anxious face; to awake to the throbbing left ankle. He always claimed afterwards that the arrow to his heart struck at that very moment.

Apologies and enquiries over the assessment revealed only a strained ankle that allowed Brandon the luxury of leaning on that slight frame, inhaling a delicate lavender bouquet that floated from her.

"You must allow me to help you back to your vehicle...you did come by car?"

"Yes, I bought a small hybrid the instant I moved here. I'm Brandon Riley by the way. Brandon Patrick Riley, just joined Magnum Biotech as their web designer." A rueful and attractive smile spread over his lips, and the frank gaze asked a question of her.

Susan mused that even without his middle name he stood out as Irish, the trademark eyes of blue, the fair skin dusted with freckles, and the charm to go with it.

"Hi, I'm Susan Blake, I teach Mathematics at the local high school," she pointed at the grey stone building that occupied the exact centre of the expanse of buildings behind them.

Her frown as she said the words froze the comment that rose on his lips, he realised that she must be tired of comments that she did not look old enough to teach or that she looked more like a ballet dancer than a Math teacher.

This intuitive understanding and the famous Riley charm soon won him a place in Susan's life and they became a 'couple'. She met his parents at Christmas and was taken into the heart of their large gregarious family. Although he was demonstrative and generous with his attention, no declaration was forthcoming.

The New Year was joyous togetherness for both, but rolled by without any sign of his wanting to set a name to their relationship. It wasn't that she wanted a ring, but just some indication that he was willing to be exclusive in his interest.

After the school break she quickly settled into the new term and found that one of her students was sadly lagging in his work. Arranging the submitted assignments on her table she called out to the boy to stay back after class.

Jan brushed back his thick fair hair, which always flopped untidily into his eyes. I must tell Mum it is time I went to a regular barber instead of letting her cut my hair, but every penny we save is that much more in the kitty.

He sure liked Miz Blake and often wished he could be the star of her class and have her smile at him in approval.

Susan took in the threadbare collar of the boy's shirt, although the shirt itself was clean and pressed. The denims he wore could be acceptable, but she knew they were not designer 'distressed' jeans, but naturally worn ones. The boy's parents were doing their best to keep him in this school, but he stood out because of differences too vast to appeal to the 'in' crowd. Not smart, or rich, or gifted in sports; too mild to clown around and too shy to ask for help.

"Jan, would you like to stay back after class, for half an hour each day to see if we can't get your grades up?" she asked with concern.

Jan nodded his hasty assent, grabbed his books ad stuffed them in haphazard fashion into his satchel. He did not meet her eyes as he rushed out afraid she would see the crimson tide creeping up his neck into his face. His heart sang of more time with his favourite teacher, and his steps were close to jaunty as he went home.

Jan's tuitions went on and his grades inched their plodding way upward. Susan was touched by his devotion to the task, not realising that the devotion was more to the taskmaster. His gaze was as often on the beloved face, as it was on the sums; and only determination not to fail his dearest teacher helped him keep his mind on the subject at least occasionally.

Susan began to find small notes on her desk, or in her lunch bag and even once in the dress shoes she had brought in a small case on her way to dance class. There were exquisite blooms always in the vase on her desk, but the school gardener never placed them there. Once there was even a single chocolate, encased in its own frilly paper skirt. She told Brandon about the notes and gift, perhaps prompted by a perverse desire to evoke jealousy; but he would only laugh at her 'secret admirer'.

She never knew Jan took up odd jobs to earn money for these gifts, or that the flowers were 'borrowed' from one of the houses where he regularly mowed grass, and his clandestine visits to the back garden went un-remarked.

However, it did induce Brandon to be a little more 'token' savvy, and he began to bring her small gifts. Nothing that would qualify as a declaration, but a copy of that best-seller she wanted to read, a Celine Dion CD she had searched for in vain, and once even a bunch of tuberoses, her favourite flowers.

He surprised her once at school, walking in to the classroom just after she had finished with Jan. Her face lit up when she when she saw that familiar face peek in at the open door. That was the time he got her the music CD, as he produced it from behind his back and waggled it in front of her in a playful and teasing manner.

"Do you know anybody who might like to hear some delectable music, preferably in the company of a handsome Irish man?"

Delighted, she forgot Jan was still lingering in the class. She squealed with pleasure and stood on tiptoe to brush Brandon's cheek with her lips as she whispered 'thank-you'. It had Jan glowering as he went out, but she was used to his silent exits and thought no more of it.

She was ebullient at the next tutoring session. It would be Valentine's Day in two more days, and since the prosaic gift was out of the way; she hoped for some flowers and chocolates at the very least. The haze of anticipation and the imagined gifts had her smiling too often, but Jan still glowered, the smiles were not because of him.

The note she found that day was of thwarted passion, hinting of dark disappointment with 'the one you now favour' and was signed this time: from your only true love. It scared her, and she dialed Brandon's mobile phone to get an automated message that he was 'out of range'. She could not contact him even until late at night.

The next day had a red rose on her desk, exquisite it might have once been; but now it lay with its stem broken and some of its crushed petals scattered over her desk. The accompanying note said This is how he will crush your heart. Or is it I who will snap your neck?

Frightened and disturbed to think she had been brushing this off before, she grew more apprehensive as Brandon remained 'unreachable'. She did not want to take this to police, fearing she might be laughed at, but..where is Brandon when I need him?

Valentine's day dawned to the sight of people suddenly paired, there was not a single person she spotted on the way to work who was not walking hand in hand or talking coyly into a cell phone, or bereft of flowers and candy-box. Except me, of course was her bitter thought.

Brandon breezed in to class after school, no preliminary phone call to apologise or explain his strange absence. His hands were stuffed into his pocket and his lip pursed in what he no doubt felt was a cheery whistle. Susan longed to throttle him and cut off the whistle. She merely plastered a false smile on her face that wouldn't have deceived even the most foolish of souls.

Brandon seemed foolish or perhaps he was merely foolhardy, and as he neared her, made as if to reach out in an embrace. Her rapid retreat would have been worthy of a fencer, and her aggressive stance underlined the suggestion of a duel.

"Hi, love, what's up?" he flashed his customary grin; it won him no reply other than a squaring of stance and jutting of chin.

"I suppose you were at home all day yesterday and today?" the words were obviously having to struggle their way through clenched teeth, and the pain of delivery must have been what contorted her face.

All unknowing, Brandon's feeble explanations pushed him further into the abyss slowly opening under his feet. Each retort dug the hole a little deeper, and when she finally left in a huff of swirling skirt and slammed door, he was left in rueful contemplation of his sins.

She decided to make him stew for at least another week before forgiving him; for exactly what crime she was unsure. Was it his careless assumption that he could go out of town and not call to tell her? Or was it his forgetting the romantic festivity? Was it his obvious reluctance to commit himself, or his taking their relationship for granted? She only knew she ached with emptiness when he was not there.

The notes had escalated in glee at the break-up and now became familiar paeans of love, some quite suggestive. Her tormented mind forgot to tell her that more than a week had passed and she should unblock her mobile, to allow Brandon to get through if he wanted. She was in a fugue state with her brain on auto-control.

Matters persisted like this for a month or so, with a dull feeling of having failed at something always pushing to be felt amongst her tumultuous thoughts. One day she walked to work lost in a maelstrom of worries. She felt somebody jostle her and turned around to see a boy dressed in a green jumpsuit and bright green cap grin an apology at her as he regained his footing and went on his ebullient way trailing bright green balloons from his hand.

She glanced at her reflection in the shop window just behind her, and tucked back that persistent errant wisp of hair. Her listless gaze roamed over the three tiered cake on display, not even animated enough to remark upon the weird pistachio coloured icing or the decorations similar to the clubs suit on a playing card. The air of merriment and rejoicing made no impact upon her bruised and distressed heart.

She could no longer face going to work and maybe being assaulted by one more note, a swift calculation of her timetable showed she had the first period to spare, so she tried to decide where to find solutions to all mounting anxiety.

Finally she went to the assistant principal, her mentor; and let the flood of feeling burst onto his capable head. He sat her down and gave her his recipe for the situation, oatmeal raisin cookies and hot coffee.

As the scalding fluid blazed its way past her palate, the cookies soggy with their dip in the coffee made a heavenly combination that welded her raw nerves together. Professor Dipper then made his patient way through a rambling tale that kept reverting to Brandon's faults. He was a man with three daughters and he was able to sift information from her grumbling diatribe; and he then halted her monologue with one lucid remark.

"Why my dear, it is clear that only some one with access to your classroom, and who witnessed your association with Brandon and perhaps its break-up too, who could have done this. Do you know any such person?"

Jan! The Eureka moment was obvious even to the professor; who cautioned her to think of all the reasons behind the behaviour, and that counselling was better than punishment or exposure.

He must know it is a student, Susan mused, as she planned the difficult interview to come at the end of the day. It was not that hard in the end, Jan having a conscience that had troubled him even as jealousy had sought to establish supremacy.

He had a sudden attack of allergy, which made him sniffle throughout his penitent confession. Or so Susan pretended she believed.

Jan drew the cuff of his sleeve across his tearing eyes and tried to surreptitiously wipe his reddening nose with the same motion. "I'm really sorry Miz Blake; I was only..." here his voice trailed off, unsure what he really had in mind when he started this whole clandestine romance.

"Jan, there are many types of love, what you feel for your parents is filial love. What you feel for brothers or sisters is different, but still love. You can feel love for a friend or elder person without it being romantic love. That is called platonic love. The special Man-Woman love is perhaps still far ahead in your life, and you should not mistake any of these others for it"

Jan had a cascade of sudden thoughts pouring into his mind that told him he had only wanted to fit in with the others, that he wanted someone he liked to like him back, and wanted also to show his gratitude. That was all his love amounted to, simple liking and gratitude. He apologised again and seemed to have quite got over his sniffles.

"I will not tutor you again, Jan. I think you are ready to join the others. But rest assured that you will always be a favourite student."

Susan smiled at his dramatic recovery, through the tears that threatened to well from her own eyes quite without any concrete reason. She prevented herself from reaching out to him with more than a pat on his shoulder as she passed him.

She walked home with rapid nervous steps wanting to work off some of the energy that was overloading her mind. Sad, and yet satisfied; angry and yet resigned; she turned to the path down to the lakeside to calm her thoughts. This had once been a favoured spot to meet Brandon; the waters were tranquil here, and the trees grew in obliging fashion, making shady backrests for those inclined to tarry.

As her shoes crunched over the pebbles on the bank she remembered skipping stones with her brother as a child. Unthinking, she bent to select a few flattish ones to skip on the surface. Her initial efforts met with no success and each of them sank with a plop of derision.

She calculated the angle for the last throw; her arm made a couple of tentative practice swings and just as she drew her arm in for the throw, another arm came from behind to stop her wrist with a gentle clasp.

Brandon came to her side and brought her hand down by about a foot, and released it. She remained arrested in motion, unable to move, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Now,everything is perfect. Let it go with a flat sweep of your arm." He instructed her.

She flung the stone away from her in one swift careless motion and it skipped in graceful arcs on the surface of the water, a fine spray of water arising as if in applause with each skip. She turned into Brandon's' arm and gave vent to all her doubts and fears with a paroxysm of tears.

Before the lapel of his jacket became a sodden mess Brandon withdrew her slight form away from him and looked down into the flushed and smeared face. He had never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Love, I just wanted to give you a surprise that day, building up the tension so to say, before I gave you my gift. But you did not let me tell you of my intentions and in the end, I was the one who was surprised."

He drew out a jeweller's case from his jacket's inside pocket and showed her a delicate twisted strand with a small charm hanging from it.

As he clasped it around her unresisting wrist he said, "My Valentine's day will for ever be engrained in my mind as a failed attempt, but can we try for better today; St. Patrick's feast?" There was a small golden heart-shaped charm hanging from it, something flashed green upon it. She drew the charm to face her and saw enamelled upon the surface, a small green clover.

"That's for Luck'" Brandon explained as she came into his arms like a bird coming home to roost. Susan smiled up at him and remarked "I think from now on, our Valentine's Day will be celebrated on the Irish saint's day."

Susan and Brandon have been doing just that, and today will be their third St. Patrick's day celebration. It is a rather special one because they have two more people in their family this time, their one-month-old twin daughters.

They were deaf alike to wise counsel and friendly pleas, adamant about their name choices. They had the names picked out long before they even knew the sex of the babies. The first-born is not going to be troubled much; if she finds her name a mouthful one can just call her Pat or Patty, maybe even Tricia or Trix. But, the younger girl, she's going to have to stubbornly insist on only Val.

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