Weather Report

Season 2, Episode 1

Previously… Clare and Richard have been comfortably married for many years when Richard starts to behave strangely, particularly around the time of the BBC News. Clare eventually realises that he is infatuated with Jenny, one of the weather presenters. Things worsen until one day Clare discovers that Richard, on the pretext of going fishing with his mates, has gone to the Meet the Met Office event. He never returns but elopes with Jenny to live on the remote island of Utsire. Clare is devastated but in time starts to enjoy her single life. Then she takes a shine to John, the new weather presenter, and we leave her booking for Meet the Met Office 2026.

*****

It had been six months now since Clare had taken the bold step of tracking John down at Meet the Met Office. She hadn’t been obsessed with him in the way her ex husband Richard had been with the previous weather presenter Jenny, but she had very much liked the look of him and decided she had nothing to lose by engineering a meeting. Her instincts had proved correct and they took an instant liking to each other, which soon blossomed into love. They lived a long way apart but saw each other as often as work and other commitments would allow. This was fine but of late they’d tiptoed around the idea of living together, but had no definite plan as to where, when or how this might happen. If she was really honest, Clare had some doubts. Not at all about her feelings for John, but about whether she could really trust him. It had been such a shock when Richard dumped her after so many years of reasonably happy marriage. Could she risk being hurt again? There was still a lot she didn’t know about John, might he too abandon her for a younger woman? Moreover, was it wise to give up her new found independence so soon? Clare was not a religious person but such was her confusion she found herself sending a request ‘out there’ for some kind of sign to show her the way forward.

One ordinary day (how wrong that proved to be) a hand addressed letter arrived, which in itself was out of the ordinary in this era of emails and texts. She didn’t recognise the hand; she thought it might be John’s but she’d barely seen his writing before. So on opening the envelope and sliding out the single sheet of smooth blue writing paper, Clare looked straight to the bottom of the page, where she read:

“If you can crack these lines for me, then I’ll be down on bended knee! Love, John xx”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was this a proposal? It certainly sounded like one but what exactly did he mean? Above this enigmatic message was a poem that Clare now eagerly read, her curiosity running wild and her heart thumping.

Weather or whether? It’s a puzzle

When spring’s abundance lifts your heart, I’ll bake for you a rhubarb tart

In a summer wheat field’s shimmering heat, I’ll bring you juice-filled fruits to eat

On a purpled autumn heath, I’ll weave for you a heather wreath

When winter skies bring snowy threat, I’ll shield you from the cold and wet

Come rain or shine, no matter where, I will still be waiting there

In any kind of land or weather, me to thee I’ll gladly tether

And every day at half past three I’ll make for you a cup of tea

Whether you laugh or shed a tear, you can be sure I’m always here

It was a lovely poem (Clare thought so anyway, you’ll have to judge for yourselves). It was so romantic, so beguiling, so consoling, how could she not throw her lot in with this lovely man? And yet… there was a condition, a test she must pass. She read the poem over and over – was he referring to times or places they had been together these last few months? Would those place names spell out the answer to the puzzle? Or was it something altogether more complicated and clever? Clare hoped not.

After a sleepless night she was still no closer to solving John’s mysterious poser. Exhausted, she sat down mid-morning with the Guardian crossword, the quick cryptic, which was about her limit, though she was partial to an anagram (so was John). Trying to untangle one of these but unable to concentrate, she was staring into space when (just like the detective in Death In Paradise who, after 50 minutes of mystifying nonsense and with no explanation whatsoever, suddenly knows exactly who did the murder, how and why) Clare exclaimed “I’ve got it!” She grabbed John’s letter and ran her finger along the lines of the poem, and once again just to be sure. All doubts dispelled, she could hardly contain herself as she took a blank post card from her desk (she always kept some, you never knew when one might come in handy) and grabbed her pen. She could have emailed or texted but no, she preferred to keep the sense of romance. Clare couldn’t compete with John’s eloquence, and anyway she was in a hurry to catch the next post, so she dashed off a short message. Ten minutes later she kissed the post card (first class) and dropped it into the nearby post box. “Thank you”, she quietly said to the universe, “thank you”.

The next morning, at the other end of the country, John picked the post card up from his doormat and read:

Dear John,

The answer is 21. So…

Whether the weather be cold or whether the weather be hot

We’ll weather the weather whatever the weather

Whether we like it or not.

I accept the challenge, let’s do it! Love, Clare xxxxxxx

John smiled and picked up the phone.

By Alexandra Martin