That evening, I joined my surrogate family for a very special dinner – Raclette.

I used to cringe when I thought of Raclette and its slimy cousin Fondue. One pictures an elderly gent from the mountains of Jura with a giant disc of cheese cradled in one hand. The open face, having been exposed to heat from a roaring fire, would be bubbling fiercely. The man would scrape, using a special knife, the melted cheese onto a plate containing boiled potatoes and a variety of roasted vegetables and meat. The giant cheese would be returned to the fire to repeat the process for the next guest.

Not so that evening though. A combination of modern technology and brilliant innovation had combined to produce an appliance in which everyone could become involved. The ensemble consisted of a hotplate under which were situated several compartments. Each one held a small shovel-like tool on which would be placed a slice of cheese. The French supermarkets had caught on to the new piece of kit and sold pre-sliced cheeses of varying varieties to enjoy.

Various items of vegetables and charcuterie were placed on the hotplate and fried to perfection as the cheese melted below. Everything would be assembled by the participating guests, on top of local potatoes boiled in their skins.

As I washed my tasty food down with a bottle of local craft beer, I contemplated how this simple life was an antidote to all of my past woes. I listened attentively to the lively conversations on politics and local issues, improving my French with the help of the odd translation from my hostess. Any thoughts of my lost love and the mysterious enigma from my walk were pushed to the back of my mind. Little did I know that both would return in my slumber, thanks to my intake of rich food.

***

“Where are you taking me today in this magical country, Habibi?” Her excitement, as usual, was palpable. Never before had I received such enthusiasm for places I took for granted. In her presence, I had been given a new set of eyes.

“Wait and see. It’s a secret,” I replied simply trying to hide my own enthusiasm at her excitement.

The cathedral at Carlisle was given special significance by the rich red sandstone, locally quarried, from which it was built. The whole experience had her in the usual raptures. While she was enchanted by this piece of English history, I was mesmerised by her reaction.

Then she was gone. I was standing in the giant knave of the building alone. I knew not to look for her. It was two years later and I had retraced our steps. I sat on the nearest pew and the tears came as they always did. I opened my eyes to a dark room. The faint shape of the window, lit by the nearby streetlamp confirmed my presence back in reality. Cold sweat bathed my thighs and arms. I threw back the covers and made for the bathroom. The hot shower washed away the cold, damp evidence of my dream. Changing into a fresh t-shirt and pants, I slipped into the cold, wet sheets and pulled the duvet over my head.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” someone said in French. I turned and the young woman in the red shoes stood there. For the first time, her eyes were open. They were entirely black, like those of a certain type of owl, was it a Barred Owl? In each one, a moving reflection played, two tiny cinema screens, dancing with images. I concentrated on the left eye, a replay of my dream, including my lost love, was evident. In the other, I was surrounded by my fellow house guests, laughing and enjoying our unique dinner.

I glanced down at the woman’s feet. Clad in the red shoes, they were splayed, heels together in a ballet stance. She proceeded to lower herself, bending her knees outwards.

“Have patience, soon your memories of her will be erased for good. I will help you but you must be patient,” she said softly.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked.

“As I said. I will help you,” she returned, leaping several feet into the air. Shocked, I closed my eyes momentarily. When I opened them, the familiar image of the backlit window greeted my waking self. I checked the time, four am. Unlike my post dream discomfort, I was surrounded by a warmth that relaxed every muscle in my body. Immediately, I succumbed to a dreamless sleep.