by Cathy Glass
With a silent nod of gratitude he kissed the tip of her finger, then reached over and switched off both their lamps. ‘Spoons,’ he said in the dark, snuggling up to her. She laughed and turned over. He nestled into the small of her back and draped his right arm over her hips. She closed her eyes, and to the familiar comfort of his warm breath falling lightly on her neck, very quickly drifted into sleep.
Aisha didn’t know what time it was when she awoke. She came to with a start, her senses immediately alert. She thought she must have subconsciously heard Sarah wake for her feed – a sixth sense mothers seemed to acquire from very early on. Aisha lay in the dark, still half-asleep, and listened for Sarah’s next cry, when she would leave the bed and go round to the nursery. Mark was still asleep, nestled behind her, his arm lying along her leg. His hips were pressed into the small of her back and through his cotton boxer shorts she could feel his erection. She knew now it was natural for this to happen sometimes when he was asleep, or first thing in the morning as he woke. Like his nakedness, it had caused her some embarrassment at the start of their marriage, but now it was another shared joke: ‘Sorry,’ Mark would say when he woke. ‘Henry has a mind of his own. Ignore him and he’ll go away.’ Unless, of course, they were going to make love, when she would turn over and into his arms.
Aisha shifted slightly towards the edge of the bed and listened for Sarah’s cry. Maybe it wasn’t time for her feed yet, although her engorged breasts told her it must be getting very close. She tried to see the clock on his bedside cabinet but it was facing away. Mark’s breathing faltered, then she heard him swallow. Taking up the little space between them, his hand closed around her leg.
‘Mark?’ she whispered in the dark. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Yes, sorry. I wanted a cuddle. I’ve missed you so much, Aisha.’
‘I’ve missed you too,’ she said, and reached down and held his hand. ‘I thought I heard Sarah. I’d better take a look.’
‘No, I think I woke you. Sorry. I can’t sleep. I need you, Aisha. I need to be close to you, to feel you.’ She heard the longing in his voice, the heavy edge of urgency which normally preceded their lovemaking. But now, as in the last month of her pregnancy, he would have to be satisfied with a cuddle and their mutual promises of making up for it when they could. She went to turn over to face him but he stayed where he was, his body curled into hers, his erection pressing through his shorts against her back. He unwound his hand from hers and slowly slid it under her nightdress, so that his hand now rested on the bare skin of her stomach, between her pants and bra.
‘You’re so warm and inviting, Aisha,’ he breathed. ‘Just to touch you is wonderful after all this time. I love you so much.’
She felt his breath warm and moist on the nape of her neck as his lips gently rested against her skin. He began kissing her neck, soft little caresses, that despite the ravages of childbirth made her body tingle with desire.
‘I need you,’ he sighed again. ‘I need something to ease the longing. I think part of my problem earlier was all that pent-up emotion.’
‘I need you too,’ she murmured and squeezed his hand reassuringly.
‘Can you give me something?’ he whispered. ‘I know we can’t do it properly, but to have you close would be wonderful. And it would show me you have truly forgiven me.’
Aisha thought Mark meant masturbation, although he’d never asked her before and probably didn’t like to ask direct out of respect for her. She had overheard two girls at the antenatal class laughing about a ‘handjob’ being the only way to get some peace when they were too big to make love. If this was what Mark needed to relieve the frustration and show him that she had really forgiven him, then she would do it for him. In the dark, below the covers. She was a married woman, she could masturbate her husband.
Aisha moved her hand round so that it rested on the outside of his shorts. She felt him stir, hard and warm, as he gave a little groan of pleasure. She would have to turn over to face him, but he was still pressed into the small of her back. Then his hand slid from her stomach to the top of her pants; looping in his fingers, he began to ease them down.
‘Mark,’ she said, slightly taken aback. ‘We can’t, not yet.’
‘No, I know. It’s OK, don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking of that.’
He continued to lower her pants to just under the cheeks of her bottom. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Then he released himself from his shorts and she felt him stand hard and erect against her skin. The tip of his penis was resting lightly on her bottom, then suddenly it was between her cheeks.
‘Mark,’ she said again.
‘Sshh,’ he soothed. ‘Trust me. I won’t hurt you. Please.’
He began gently rubbing himself against her, a steady rocking motion up and down, using the crease of her bottom for stimulation. He moaned softly and she kept very still, her eyes unfocused in the dark. Was he going to masturbate himself this way, she thought, rather than her turning over and holding him? She was reminded again of her lack of experience, her ignorance of sexual matters; for all she knew this was something all married couples did, it was probably the norm. And although she would rather have been facing him, kissing and cuddling him, while she brought him satisfaction, if he wanted to enjoy her like this until they could make love properly then she would do her best to help him.
His breathing increased as his excitement grew until it was coming fast and shallow. As he moved up and down behind her, she pressed one hand on the front of her pants to keep the sanitary towel in place. Then he was holding the cheeks of her bottom and easing them apart. She felt the tip of his penis pressed hard against her back passage and she tensed.
‘Mark!’
‘Relax,’ he breathed. ‘I won’t hurt you. Keep still. It won’t hurt, I promise.’
He was pushing harder now, spreading her cheeks and pushing. It was difficult to relax, nearly impossible, for not only was it uncomfortable, but this was the place that ejected the body’s waste, the very mention of which was considered dirty in her family. Harder still now, rubbing, pushing, trying to gain entry where he should not. Her muscles involuntarily contracted and fought to keep him out. It was more than uncomfortable now, it was starting to hurt. Should she tell him? He probably didn’t realize he was hurting her. Then the pressure eased and one of his hands left her cheeks, and she momentarily relaxed. He was doing something behind her now, sucking, his fingers were in his mouth. Then his fingers returned to her bottom, now moistened with saliva, and he smeared it round the opening. He was hard up against her again, harder, and even more insistent now. He spread her cheeks wide apart then pushed, hard, harder still, and at last found entry. She cried out in pain.
‘Relax!’ he panted. ‘For Christ’s sake, relax!’
She tried. She tried to relax. She tried to think of something else as she had done in childbirth. But the dry grating pain drove into her and seemed to pierce her very being. Now, as when she was in labour, she tried to concentrate on her breathing and told herself it would soon be over and would be worth it in the end. But unlike before, she didn’t have Mark to comfort and reassure her, for now he was working against, not with her. She thought of pulling away, telling him to stop; that it was hurting too much and was unnatural. But their peace was still tenuous, their emotion raw, and if she stopped him now he might see it as another rejection, and who knew where that would end? She grabbed the edge of the pillow and stuffed it in her mouth. She clenched the cotton between her teeth and ground down on it to stop herself from crying out. Then, just as she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, that the pain was too much, and she would have to tell him to stop, he climaxed and his body froze. There was a second’s pause and he withdrew. She felt the warm fluid trickle out and over her cheeks as he flopped onto his back with a sigh of satisfaction.
‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he groaned. ‘I love you so much.’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it but Aisha stayed very still, quiet, sore and humiliat
ed.
She knew she had to say something, she knew she had to tell him that although she understood his needs she couldn’t ever do that again. It wasn’t a criticism of him, she was sure lots of couples did it, but it hurt too much and it wasn’t right for her. She had to say something and she tried to formulate the words. But the opportunity to speak darts like a moonbeam and as quickly disappears. And once gone it cannot easily be retrieved without a confrontation or much, much worse.
At that moment they both heard Sarah cry.
‘I’ll have a wash while you feed her,’ Mark said, getting out of bed. ‘Give me a shout if you need anything. Love you.’
Aisha went to Sarah and fed and changed her; by the time she’d finished and returned to bed, Mark was curled on his side fast asleep. Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow I will approach him and explain how I feel. I will choose the right words and the right moment. Mark will understand because he loves me. And she lay in the dark and convinced herself that in allowing him to do what he’d done, she’d proved that she’d truly forgiven him, and that their relationship would return to normal.
Chapter Fifteen
Aisha tried to talk to Mark the following day as they sat on the sofa sipping their mid-morning coffee, which Mark had made. She rested her feet on the stool he had put beneath them and said, ‘Mark, what happened last night … I …’ But his quizzical look of non-comprehension meant that if she wanted to pursue it, she would have to explain and risk creating a scene, which was not only alien to her, but hardly the best way forwards. So she let it go and decided that if he ever approached her again in the same way then she would gently stop him, and say that although she appreciated such things were acceptable to some consenting adults, it wasn’t right for her. But he didn’t. Mark didn’t ask for anything more than a cuddle until after her six-week postnatal check-up, when they made love properly, and then he was tenderness itself.
It had been five days since the inspector’s visit, or was it six? Aisha was unsure, with no day or night on which to pin the time. Any sleep came in snatches, sitting in the chair, with the lamp on. It felt safer downstairs with the light on, she could see what was going on. Night after night, on guard, with the inspector’s voice her only companion. Though sometimes Mark’s voice butted in and corrected her when she’d got it wrong. ‘Correctness is important,’ Mark said. ‘Be precise, and we won’t have this problem. I won’t have to get angry with you.’
Aisha tried, she tried to be precise, correct, tried to get it right, over the months, and then years that followed. She tried her best though she never succeeded.
‘It’s marriage,’ Mark said, ‘and parenthood. Learn to manage your expectations, Aisha, and we will be fine.’ It’s a phrase accountants use – management of expectations – and ironically her father used it too, though never in the context of marriage. Aisha tried desperately to ‘manage her expectations’; she recalculated, reduced, and even cancelled some out. She analysed every action, word and phrase before she spoke; tried to eliminate double meanings and inconsequential remarks that could upset and provoke Mark. But it was like walking on eggshells – tread very lightly and you might make it to the end of the day – might, if you were very careful and lucky. Which apparently, she was not.
‘So, when was the next time you saw the other side of Mark?’ the inspector asked from the dark. ‘When was the next unintentional act like the library book which provoked another out-of-character response?’
‘Perhaps there wasn’t one,’ she said quietly into the empty room. ‘Perhaps it really was a one off, and we put it behind us, and moved on, as I hoped. But you don’t believe me, and of course, you would be right.’
One Sunday afternoon in early June, Aisha’s parents were finally coming to tea. Sarah was eight weeks old and Aisha had wanted to invite her parents sooner, but what with one thing and another, she and Mark had never found the opportunity – there always seemed to be something that needed to be done. Her parents were due at three o’clock, and Aisha wanted everything to be just right to make a good impression, so did Mark. Together they had hoovered and dusted the house from top to bottom, made lunch, fed and changed Sarah, then settled her in the baby recliner in the lounge so that she could see what was going on. Aisha couldn’t have been happier, for now they were making love again, it seemed they were even closer. It didn’t matter that sometimes she had to pay particular attention to what she said and did, because quite clearly Mark was doing the same; they were both trying hard and having to readjust to life with a baby.
The new lace tablecloth Aisha had bought especially for her parents’ visit was on the table, and she was in the kitchen washing salad and making a cucumber raita. She and Mark had agreed it would be a ‘high tea’ rather than dinner, with various cold dishes to suit all their tastes – a mixture of East meets West, Aisha quipped to Mark. He laughed and kissed her cheek appreciatively.
Mark began taking down the plates, cups and saucers from the kitchen cupboard ready to lay the table so they wouldn’t have to do it when her parents arrived. Aisha noticed, as she seasoned the yoghurt for the raita, that Mark was using the normal china, the set he’d had before their marriage that was now dishwasher faded. OK for everyday, she thought, but not really suitable for her parents when they had an alternative.
‘Mark, let’s use the new Dalton,’ she said lightly. ‘You know, the wedding present from your office? We could christen it today.’
The radio was on and maybe he hadn’t heard her, for he continued carrying the old china through to the lounge. Aisha left what she was doing in the kitchen and poked her head round the archway that led to the lounge. ‘Mark, why don’t we use the new China Blue? It’s still in its box in the spare bedroom. Shall I fetch it?’ It never crossed her mind that he might see it as a criticism, a negative judgement of his choice, or she wouldn’t have said it, obviously.
Mark stopped laying out the plates and then began collecting them together again, hurriedly, so that the china chinked together and made Sarah jump. Aisha wiped her hands on her apron and went over to the table with the intention of helping him, so that it would be less noisy. As she drew near, he spun round to face her, and she saw his expression, pinched and white, and realized her mistake. There was a moment’s silence, a charged nanosecond before he shouted in her face.
‘What? My things not good enough for you? I’ll give you the fucking Dalton!’ It might have been laughable, except of course there wasn’t anything funny about his anger.
‘Sorry,’ she stammered, backing away, but not fast enough.
Large hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her like a rag doll. ‘Mark, let’s use the Dalton,’ he mimicked, spitting in her face. Then he picked up the plates and pushed past her with such force that she lost her balance and fell backwards, cracking her head on the wall.
Sarah shrieked, but ignoring her and Aisha, Mark marched into the kitchen and slammed the plates on the work surface with such force that one cracked. Yanking open the integral door to the garage he went in and slammed it shut behind him. At that moment, the doorbell rang and Aisha realized in absolute panic that it was her parents, having arrived early. Through the shock, fear and horror of it all, and the sharp pain in her head, one thought dominated all others – her parents must not find out what had happened, and she prayed they hadn’t heard.
She hauled herself up from the floor, touched the sore place on her head, then stood like a rabbit frozen in a car’s headlamps, not knowing what to do for the best. Go to Mark? Pacify Sarah? Or answer the door? She knew she had to do all three, but in which order? Sarah was crying louder now so instinctively she picked her up. ‘There, there,’ she soothed, then looked anxiously between the rear of the house and the front door. The bell rang again. She felt her head and looked at her fingers; it was sore but not bleeding. She took a deep breath and began towards the front door. It crossed her mind, in the ridiculousness of the moment, that if Mark had wanted to hit her then he could have chosen a be
tter day – one when her parents weren’t expected.
Trying to remove the horror from her face, she went down the hall with Sarah in her arms and opened the front door. ‘Mum, Dad, so lovely to see you,’ she said, summoning a smile.
‘Hello love, great to see you.’ They both smiled at her naturally so that Aisha thought they couldn’t have overheard and she breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Come in,’ she said, her thoughts racing. What was Mark doing in the garage? Her parents came into the hall and her mother kissed her, and then cooed over Sarah.
‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘How she’s grown!’ Aisha felt a stab of guilt that her parents hadn’t seen Sarah since they’d visited her in hospital.
Sarah was burbling happily now with all the attention.
‘Look!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘She’s smiling at her grandma. What a treasure. Hello Sarah. Can I hold her?’
Aisha placed Sarah in her mother’s arms, then kissed her father and closed the front door. She led them into the lounge.
‘How comfortable and homely you have made it,’ her mother said, seeing the room for the first time. Her father hovered and looked like he was going to say something but thought better of it.
Aisha smiled at her mother. ‘Thank you, do sit down,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘I’ll just find Mark. I think he’s still in the garage.’
Her father nodded – he could relate to a man tinkering in the garage. He sat on the sofa next to her mother and Aisha left them fussing over their granddaughter. She went through the kitchen and to the interconnecting door that led to the garage, then stopped, her heart pounding, her palms sweating. She’d no idea what state she’d find Mark in on the other side of the door or what he could possibly be doing, but she was desperate to smooth everything over as quickly as possible so that her parents wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong.