by Cathy Glass
What could be more natural, she thought, than making love for the first time in this beautiful woodland setting, with the sky as their canopy, and the undergrowth flattened to a makeshift bed. It would be perfect, she knew, and he would be gentle in this as he was in all things. He wouldn’t laugh at her inexperience or clumsiness, he would guide her, she knew. But he would have to be certain that she was ready to give herself to him because he had said he would never take advantage of her.
‘Mark, I want you,’ she breathed against his cheek. ‘I want you now.’ She pressed herself harder against him and felt the desire overpower her and the willingness to give herself up to him completely.
His hands were rubbing the small of her back and his lips were buried in her neck. Then gradually he became very still. His body was close but losing some of its pressure now as the firm embrace of his arms eased. Her hands were still around his neck and her eyes were closed as she felt him pull slightly away. Aisha thought he was going to take off his coat and spread it on the ground, then ease her slowly down and onto it. And she yearned for him now, as she never had before; she wanted him, she was ready. But there was no other movement or sound beyond the distant waterfall and a bird fluttering nearby. She felt Mark close but very still. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked into his as his hands dropped away. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t taking off his coat, but was standing still looking at her. Then he spoke, and his voice was flat and empty. ‘We’d better go, Aisha,’ was all he said.
He turned and started walking towards the undergrowth that led to the hill they had climbed together. Aisha went after him, not knowing what was happening. He swiped an overhanging branch as he went and his speed increased.
‘Mark! Wait for me,’ she called. He was walking fast, too fast, she was having to run to keep up and nearly tripped. ‘Mark!’ she called again. ‘Wait for me!’ But he didn’t; he didn’t stop or turn, but kept on walking, gaining distance: through the undergrowth, then out of the thicket and down the hill towards the bridge at the bottom. ‘Mark! Stop! I can’t keep up!’ she cried and ran after him, the bag of cones banging awkwardly against her leg. ‘Mark? Wait! What’s the matter?’
There was no reply. Fear gripped her. He strode on as she slipped and slid down the grassy bank, frantically trying to catch up with him. She went to grab hold of the passing twigs and brambles to steady herself, but the grass was wet and her feet kept slithering from under her. ‘Mark! Please wait!’ she shouted louder, but he ignored her.
Down to the bottom of the hill, his back was towards her, receding, moving further away as he continued, putting more distance between them. The bridge came into sight and he marched straight onto it with no concern for the rotting planks. He stalked across and off the other side. Aisha’s heart pounded as she arrived at the bottom of the hill and ran onto the bridge, trying to keep him in sight. Off the other side of the bridge the gap between them widened as he began along the track that led to the stile.
‘Mark, stop!’ she yelled, out of breath and consumed by panic. ‘For goodness’ sake stop! Tell me what I’ve done!’
She heard the hysteria in her voice and perhaps he heard it too, because he cleared the stile with a leap, then took another step and stopped. His back was towards her, his head was held stiff and erect. She ran to the stile, her breath catching in her throat, and clambered over, scratching her leg as she went. Mark was standing just in front of her now, still turned away, but not moving. She went round to face him. His face was deathly white and the fine lines of his forehead were furrowed deep. He looked past her; focusing on some distant point straight ahead.
‘Mark,’ she said again. ‘Mark, please. What is it? Tell me. What have I done?’
He shrugged, a silent gesture of despair, then slowly brought his gaze to meet hers; his expression saying it was impossible, futile even to begin.
‘Mark?’ she implored. But no, he stepped round her and continued at a slower pace towards the field.
She followed him along the edge of the ploughed field and then into the wood where they had previously sauntered hand in hand, enjoying the peace and tranquillity. And whereas before the isolation had added to her pleasure – just the two of them alone in the countryside – it now made her nervous and afraid. As she followed him, her mind frantically searched for an explanation, something that would give her a clue, a handle on what had happened. A small voice from her past said that it was her fault and she was to blame, that she had thrown herself at a man like some cheap hussy as her mother had warned against, and he had rejected her. Aisha felt bitterly ashamed.
The sky ahead burst fiery orange as the winter sun began its descent. Aisha saw its beauty and felt it bittersweet. Mark would have normally stopped and commented on it – he loved the perfection in nature as much as she. But now they continued separate and in silence, the artwork overhead an unacknowledged witness to their isolation.
A few minutes later, the car came into view and Mark quickened his pace again, delving into his coat pocket for the key fob. She heard the click, and watched as he opened the passenger door and stood aside to let her in. Her stomach tightened as she brushed passed him, his little act of chivalry now seeming ludicrous.
She watched him cross in front of the bonnet, his face set and expressionless as she’d never seen it before. She continued to look straight ahead as he climbed in and slammed the door. She could feel her pulse beating wildly in her chest and could hear his breath, fast and shallow. He threw the car keys onto the dashboard, jammed his hands into this coat pockets and, lowering his head, stared into his lap.
‘Well?’ she said at last, still not looking at him and only just managing to fight back the tears. ‘What have I done, Mark? What could I have possibly done to make you behave like that?’ Again her conscience said it must have been her fault, and fear rose up and engulfed her – if this was the end of their relationship, then she only had herself to blame.
He was silent for what seemed an eternity; a silence that seemed to condemn her; then slowly he took his hands out of his pockets and gripped the steering wheel. She saw his knuckles, clenched and white.
‘You haven’t done anything,’ he said tightly. ‘It’s me. I should have told you sooner. Now it’s too late.’
She turned to look at him, even more confused. ‘Told me what? What do you mean?’
He paused and drew a muted breath. ‘About me. My past. Choosing the wrong partner. I should have told you, but I knew you wouldn’t understand.’
She stared at him and found no comfort in his words. Clearly whatever had happened, she hadn’t understood. ‘You did tell me – about Angela?’ she said at last.
He paused again, then clenched and unclenched his hands on the wheel. ‘But I haven’t told you all of it. There was someone else before you.’
She stared at him. ‘So, you went out with someone else, before me. That’s not so awful. It doesn’t explain—’
‘No,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘It was more than that. I lived with someone – for five years. I wanted to tell you, but I never found the right moment and then it was too late. I knew that if I did tell you there was a chance I would lose you, and I couldn’t bear the thought of that.’ A muscle twitched nervously at the corner of his mouth. Aisha heard the words individually before understanding their full implication.
‘You lived with someone?’ she said slowly. ‘For five years? So you were married really, only without the piece of paper.’
He laughed, cynical and biting. ‘There! I knew you wouldn’t understand. How could you, with your upbringing?’
She was quiet, feeling the accusation, the condemnation of her culture and naivety. ‘I don’t think I have ever judged you, Mark,’ she said quietly.
‘Until now!’
She turned away and looked through the windscreen, concentrating on the darkening skyline as the sun continued its descent. ‘So what’s changed?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Why tell me now?’
/> He sighed. ‘Your passion. It made me realize how far our relationship had come. I knew I couldn’t continue without you knowing. I’m sorry, I don’t expect you to understand. I’ll take you home.’
‘No!’ she cried, panicking at the finality of what he’d said. ‘If you try talking to me instead of shutting me out, I might. I can’t possibly understand anything unless you tell me, Mark.’
He flexed his shoulders and looked around as though scouring the air for the right words. Releasing the wheel, he sat back and took a deep breath. Aisha looked ahead and tried to calm the nausea rising in her throat.
‘When my marriage to Angela ended I moved out, as you know,’ he said in a dead-beat voice. ‘I lived alone in a rented bedsit. It was squalid, but it was all I could afford what with having to pay maintenance. I was alone, with nothing to think about but the children and what I’d lost. I became very depressed. I couldn’t see any point in anything anymore. I know that must seem strange to you, seeing the person I am now. I really had reached rock bottom. Then I met Christine. She was younger than me and full of energy and fun. She picked me up and brushed me down, gave me a new lease of life. I didn’t stop to consider what I was doing, I was just grateful for her company. Within a few months, we had set up home together, and it was only then I found out.’
He paused, but Aisha didn’t say anything, she looked ahead and waited for him to continue.
‘Christine was fun all right, the life and soul of the party, but she needed a drink to do it. In fact, she needed a drink for everything – she was an alcoholic. I’d had my suspicions early on but I hadn’t realized the implications until we’d been together for nearly two years. She was very clever at hiding it; they are, alcoholics. I enjoy a drink as much as the next person, but I’d never known anyone dependent on it like she was. It was a drug to her. The most important thing in the world. She used to live for the next drink. When I finally realized, I confronted her and there was a dreadful scene. She accused me of spying on her, but I was only trying to help. From then on it went from bad to worse. She no longer hid her drinking and drank openly, all the time. She lost her job, then didn’t have to sober up at all. She began staying in bed, just getting up to go out for more booze. I threw the bottles away, time and time again, but that always led to another ugly scene. She paid with her credit card; it didn’t bother her that she couldn’t afford it. I would come home from work to find her drunk or unconscious and lying in a pool of vomit.
‘I stood it for as long as I could and I tried to help, believe me, I did. I didn’t want another relationship to fail. Then, one night, she wasn’t there when I came home from work. I was relieved to begin with, but when it got to midnight I started to worry. I thought she could be unconscious somewhere, in a gutter, freezing to death. I didn’t know where to look so I sat up all night, waiting. She finally staggered in at four o’clock in the morning, completely paralytic. God knows where she’d been; she looked dreadful and stank of piss.’
He paused for a moment, struggling to find the words.
‘She wanted sex. We hadn’t made love for months; I hadn’t wanted to, not in the state she was in. It was disgusting, I couldn’t possibly. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept coming up and pressing herself against me. I could smell the sick and booze. In the end I pushed her away … I didn’t know what I was doing … I pushed her too hard, she fell and hit her head. That was the end for me. The following day I packed and left. I never saw her again. It was all so humiliating and ugly, Aisha. I just wanted to forget it. But when I felt the depth of your love today – your passion – I knew I should have told you sooner.’
He fell silent and Aisha heard his breathing soften and felt her own heart settle. He had told her his darkest secret, the worst had been said and it wasn’t so bad, not really; she was just sorry he hadn’t told her sooner. She hadn’t realized she was so unapproachable, so perhaps it was her fault after all. She reached out and touched his arm. ‘Mark, I’m glad you’ve told me now. Thank you.’
He turned to look at her, his face still pale, his expression tight. ‘Can you ever forgive me, Aisha? I’m sorry. I’ve hated myself these past six months for not telling you. And I’m sorry I overreacted back there, it’s not like me at all.’
She moved closer to him and slid her arms around his neck. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I only wish you felt you could have told earlier. You’ve no idea how much you frightened me just now. I thought I’d done something awful.’
He pulled her to him and buried his face in her hair. ‘Oh, my little love! You could never do that. You’re perfect, so very special. I’d die rather than hurt you.’
He kissed her hair, then her face and neck, and she clung to him as relief flooded through her. It was his conscience that had made him react as he had and the depth of his love for her.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ he breathed into her hair, holding her tight, so tight, as if he would never let go.
‘Of course I forgive you,’ Aisha said gently. ‘I understand why you behaved as you did.’
‘Do you? Really?’ Mark asked slightly surprised.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Aisha, can you ever trust me …’ His voice faltered. ‘Can you ever love me again? Can it be the same as before?’ ‘Yes I can, Mark. It will be.’
‘Can you trust and love me enough to be my wife? Aisha, will you marry me?’
Aisha gasped. Love flooded her heart as all fear of him vanished. It was going to be all right after all. She turned to him, took one of his hands in hers and kissed it gently. ‘Yes, Mark. I will.’
Chapter Nine
Mark and Aisha were married on the anniversary of their first date, exactly one year to the day after Mark had met her outside Harrods and taken her to The Crooked Chimney to eat. The date had been Mark’s idea, it was part of his happy knack of saying and doing the most romantic things, wanting above all to please her. He asked her father formally for his daughter’s hand in marriage, knowing he would appreciate the traditional approach.
‘I shall always regret my divorce prohibits us having a church wedding,’ Mark said. ‘I know how much you and Mrs Hussein would have liked it. I am so very sorry.’
‘We are all entitled to one mistake,’ her father replied convivially. ‘I was fortunate in being found the wife I was. I am pleased you’ve decided to follow the ceremony with a church blessing. You know that means a lot to us, as practising Christians.’
Aisha had said nothing to her parents about Mark’s ‘second mistake’ – his dreadful ordeal with Christine – only about his marriage to Angela. Why upset them with what they didn’t need to know? she reasoned. Why complicate the past, or detract from the present, when there was no need to? And perhaps part of Aisha knew that her father might have questioned her further about the circumstances of the break-up of Mark’s relationship with Christine, or cast doubt about his culpability, or disapproved of Mark having lived in sin, or disapproved completely. For there was a gap between her generation and her parents’, and indeed their cultures, which, since meeting Mark, seemed to Aisha to have widened. She had come to realize that while she was a true Westerner, her parents were not and would never be, even though they had tried and so wanted to be.
Aisha’s father shook Mark’s hand after he had given his consent and then congratulated them both, while her mother kissed their cheeks and dabbed at her eyes with a little lace handkerchief she kept tucked in the waistband of her sari. Then Aisha’s father had presented Mark with a cheque for ten thousand pounds. ‘Towards the cost of setting up home,’ he said. ‘It’s not a dowry.’ And they all laughed.
Mark hadn’t wanted to accept the money to begin with, but Aisha nodded to him that he should. It was a matter of pride and family honour, and to have refused her father, even for the right motives, would have been unforgivable.
‘It costs a lot to get started nowadays,’ her father said, ‘and it’s no more than I would have spent on a full white w
edding had my daughter had one.’
Aisha’s heart went out to her father as he handed over his hard-earned money. He seemed so small and humble beside Mark’s worldly sophistication. But Mark’s gratitude was heartfelt and sincere and her father seemed to grow from his response. Aisha thought then, as she had done countless times before, that she was the luckiest woman alive, both to have found Mark, and to have his love. She couldn’t have been happier.
The wedding was a small, simple affair with twenty guests including Mark’s parents, brother, an aunt and uncle, Aisha’s parents, and a few close friends of Mark’s from work. Aisha had invited Grace, the only person from work she wanted to ask, but unfortunately she had been taken ill two days before and wasn’t able to attend. Aisha’s relatives in India were sent invitations, but for protocol only as there was no possibility of them coming – they couldn’t afford it. As her father had said, ‘If I offer to pay for some, the others will take it as a personal slight.’ Including cousins and their children, there were over sixty members of the extended family so they decided it was better to send the invitation only, and then post wedding photographs to all of them after the day.
Aisha wore a very simple beige silk two-piece suit made by a dressmaker in London who Mark knew. It cost nearly as much as a full-length wedding dress, but Mark said it was more refined and in keeping with their maturity and a registry office wedding than something more flamboyant, and Aisha agreed. She carried a bouquet of lilies which her mother had arranged and wired together herself. Mark’s brother, whom he hadn’t seen in three years, was the best man, and naturally Aisha’s father gave her away. Aisha didn’t have a bridesmaid – with no sisters or relatives in England there wasn’t anyone she felt close enough to have comfortably asked. She had lost contact with her university friends, and since moving back home had been so busy with work she hadn’t had time to make new ones.