TAINTED LOVE

by Anna Chilvers

  Hawtenstall was unchanged, though of course cleaner. I wandered down the cobbled streets, not sure really what I was looking for. I went into the library and looked at the leaflets on display, the local history board, the healthy young girl behind the counter, and went out again. I was hungry. In the post office-cum-corner shop I bought a can of Coke. I followed the route out of the village past the Methodist chapel and down the sloping footpath into the next valley. It was all very pleasant, but I didn’t feel any nearer to finding Ali.

  I went to Lauren’s house. Nobody answered but the door was open so I went in and called up the stairs.

  ‘Lauren, are you there?’

  She appeared on the landing. She was wearing a baggy white t-shirt and grey leggings and her hair was mussed up. She’d obviously been crying.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s you.’

  Her voice was flat.

  ‘Can I come up?’

  She shrugged and went back into her room.

  I bounded up the stairs and followed her in. She was standing by the bed looking out of the window, her body slumped with dejection. A faint aroma of sickness came off her and her clothes smelled as though she’d been sleeping in them.

  I stood behind her and lifted her hair away from her neck. The wound had completely healed and her skin was glistening, covered with a slight slick of sweat. The smell of her blood filled my mouth and nose.

  ‘Richard, what do you want?’

  ‘Right now I’m hungry.’

  ‘The plants have died back. Only stalks and roots.’

  ‘I don’t like eating plants.’

  ‘Seeds. Bulbs. They’ll all grow again next year.’

  ‘I can’t wait until next year.’

  She breathed out a puff of air and slumped against me. There was a faint sound as my teeth broke through her skin and the blood began to flow.

  32. Meg

  My husband, Daniel, taught me to play chess, but we only played a few times. Once I’d grasped the rules I won every game and it stopped being fun. It wasn’t until Charles grew to be a teenager that I found a worthy opponent. When he died, I think I missed the chess games more than almost anything else. There was no one else, you see, and never has been. A few people have claimed to be talented players, but when it came to the test they couldn’t beat me. Richard has never been interested.

  That evening I opened the front door and there was Andy, wearing jeans and a green t-shirt that was stained on the shoulder with what might have been baby sick. His hair was clean and soft. He held out a carrier bag.

  ‘Here, I promised I’d bring these.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I didn’t take them and after a moment he dropped his arm.

  ‘Did you manage to get the electricity going?’

  ‘Yes, I switched it on at the mains and it’s fine.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he held the bag up again. ‘Well, I’d best be going. You’ll want to get these in before dark.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can reach,’ I said. ‘The ceilings are very high. I don’t suppose you…’

  It was his skin I was most aware of. It smelled salty, but undercut with something sharp, some type of soap, a surface smell which covered him, keeping what was inside in, outside out. I felt a tingling in my dogteeth.

  ‘Well… Cassie will be expecting me…’

  ‘It would be kind of you. You’ve been so helpful.’

  ‘Maybe…’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘I suppose…’

  I walked into the house and he followed me inside, staring anxiously into the dark, dusty corners. I could hear the blood in his veins, the stretch of his muscles. He didn’t know his power.

  ‘Amazingly after all these years the bulb in the kitchen still works,’ I said. ‘You could start in the lounge.’

  I decided against the kettle. I found a dusty bottle of red wine and two glasses, poured some before he could refuse.

  ‘It’s my first day in the house,’ I told him. ‘I have to have someone to celebrate with.’

  ‘The place could do with a spring clean,’ he said, looking at the dust marks on my clothes.

  The wine glowed in his glass. He tipped it to his mouth and a red stain appeared on his lips.

  ‘Do you play chess?’ I asked him.

  33. Cassie

  That night the bedroom was different. I moved around in it trying to see what it was. I sat on the bed. I drew back the curtains and looked into the night before closing them again. Then I saw that the mirrored wardrobe door was slightly ajar, so it reflected a different part of the room. By then, unease had settled in my stomach like a bad meal.

  I stood by the cot where you were sleeping. I put my finger on your cheek and felt the tiny movements of your breath. You smelled of milk, and you were so tiny that my middle fingers and thumbs met at the front and back of your body. I let you sleep, despite the tingling in my breasts. Even the thought of feeding you could bring the needle hot rush of milk, the spreading dampness.

  I got into bed, lay down, and adjusted the towels beneath me. Andy was in the bathroom cleaning his teeth. He’d been out again earlier. I was washing the curtains when he got back, scrubbing the dust and stains into the kitchen sink. He seemed a bit agitated. He put the kettle on to make tea, then changed his mind and poured a whisky. He offered to pour one for me.

  The toilet flushed and he came into the room, got into bed wearing just his shorts, and turned to me. He ran his finger in a line from my forehead to my lips.

  ‘Cass, I’m not going anywhere,’ he said. ‘I’m here to stay.’

  I smiled.

  He kissed me on the lips and then turned to switch off the light. In seconds we were both asleep. Afterwards I wished I’d stayed awake, watched the shape of him sleeping and listened to him breathe. But I went straight to sleep even as the milk oozed up, beading on my nipples and dripping onto the towels.

  I awoke with a weight on my chest. I was lying on my back and something was pinning me to the bed. I lay still for a moment. Was something wrong with my body? No, it was a solid weight and it was cold. I opened my eyes.

  ‘Hello sugar.’

  I gasped and tried to twist, to throw him off, but he was too heavy.

  ‘I’m your nightmare,’ he said.

  ‘Terry, get off of me.’

  I glanced sideways to where Andy was sleeping, his back to me.

  ‘He won’t wake up,’ Terry said. ‘That’s the way it is with nightmares.’

  ‘Go home,’ I said, more loudly this time. ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘I can’t. You’ve been cursed.’

  He bent forward and kissed my lips. His breath smelled of onions and I turned my face away. He nuzzled my neck.

  ‘Terry, stop it! Sally…’

  He took my head in his hands, turned it, and pushed his tongue into my mouth where it thrashed like an eel. I couldn’t move. His stubble rubbed on my face, and his teeth knocked mine. His saliva tasted metallic.

  ‘Sorry Cass, I’ve been sent and there’s nothing you or I can do about it. I’d rather be at home with Sal, but I’m not. So lie still like a good girl and make the most of it.’

  I found that was all I could do. Since he’d moved my head I was paralysed. He was kissing me again, moving his head slowly down from my face to my neck and my chest.

  He took my nipple in his mouth and began to suck.

  ‘No Terry, not that.’

  But he took no notice, and my body betrayed me. The milk flowed and he swallowed. Milk dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and his fat cheeks went in and out the way yours did. I could feel his bristles on my breast.

  That was the worst thing, him drinking my milk. Lying there unable to move, with you so near in your cot, while Terry stole what was yours. That was the most terrible night of my
life.

  He didn’t stop at that of course and it seemed to go on for hours. Andy didn’t move, he slept through it all. I remembered Sally giggling once, telling me that one of the benefits of marrying Terry was that he was indefatigable.

  ‘Even when I’m limp as a rag, he still wants more,’ she’d said, and I’d tried not to think about it. The idea of a naked, lustful, overweight Terry was utterly repulsive.

  ‘Sal’s not going to like it,’ he said when he had finally finished. ‘I’d better warn you. She’s going to go ballistic.’

  ‘Will you tell her?’

  He was putting his clothes back on at the side of the bed. Andy was snoring.

  ‘I’ve no choice,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a one night job you know. We’re stuck with each other, us two.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ he said, and kissed me on the top of my head. ‘It won’t be so bad if you’re awake.’

  I lay still in the bed after he’d gone. You were beginning to stir in your cot. I could hear the rustling of the blankets, then you thrust your arm against the bars and I heard the tiny hiccough of a cry.

  I didn’t let it get any louder. I slid out of bed and held you in my arms.

  ‘Lauren,’ I whispered.

  Later in the day I stood at the kitchen window, watching the play of sunlight in the yard as it danced through leaves. You were sleeping and Andy had gone off to work after waking late and rushing breakfast. The house was full of quiet. I walked softly from the kitchen through to the living room. There were photos on the shelf, rows of books, a jumper of Andy’s thrown carelessly over the back of a chair. I breathed it in, staring at the stripes of the book spines, the colours of wool in the upholstery. Then I lay down on the carpet and curled into a ball, looking right into the weave and spotting specks of dust that the Hoover hadn’t wanted.

  Terry kept his promise and came back again that night, but this time I was awake. I went to bed after Andy. I pretended I wanted to finish a book first, waited until he had fallen asleep, then lay in the dark next to his sleeping bulk, trying not to listen to my thoughts. And in the tender hours he came.

  I felt his weight on my chest, crushing my lungs and heart, annihilating my heartstrings. But this time it lifted. When I looked he was standing at the side of my bed fully clothed. He pulled up a chair and sat down.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Nightmares only come to the sleeping.’

  I lay awake until light began to creep into the room and he didn’t move. I saw you lying in your cot and your eyes were open. I blinked and you were sleeping. Terry had gone.

  The next day I spoke to Andy at breakfast.

  ‘Do you think it’s time to move Lauren into her own room?’

  Andy looked up from his muesli. ‘Already?’

  ‘She keeps me awake at night. I hear her every time she moves. I lie there listening to her breathing just in case she stops.’

  ‘Her room isn’t quite ready. We still need to finish painting the woodwork.’

  ‘Please Andy, I’m so tired.’

  He looked at me and he seemed to be studying my face.

  ‘Ok, maybe we could sort it at the weekend,’ he said.

  ‘No Andy, today. We could move her cot in there today. I can do it.’

  He stared at me, then he put his hand over mine.

  ‘Are you all right Cass?’ he asked.

  ‘Just tired.’

  The next night after Terry had gone I crept through to the nursery and sat in the corner with my chin on my knees, listening to the sound of your breathing.

  In the morning I answered the door bell and there was Sally, her face red raw from crying.

  ‘Hi Sal,’ I said, and opened the door wider for her to come in.

  She didn’t move. ‘Why?’ she said.

  ‘Sal…’

  ‘Just because that woman’s trying to steal Andy, you didn’t have to take my man’

  ‘Has he… left you?’ I asked.

  ‘You know bloody well that he’s left me, you cow. You couldn’t make do with one husband, you had to have two.’ She turned and walked away. I ran after her and grabbed at her arm.

  ‘Sal, it’s not like that, I…’

  She shook me off and shouted into my face. ‘I never want to see you again.’

  I watched her disappear then went back into the house. You were crying. You weren’t taking to the bottle since my milk had gone and you were hungry. You seemed to like it better when Andy fed you. I looked about me. I wondered how much there was in the house that I actually needed.

  We’d been sisters all our lives and then, for seventeen years, nothing.

  I walked up the hill to Old Barn. The trees had grown taller and the valley was greener.

  The door knocker was the same, a brass circle to be lifted and rapped. When we were kids, Sal and I would knock, then hide behind the barn door to watch, wait until our old aunt came to the door and peered out and said in her creaky voice ‘Who’s there?’ We would grasp each other’s arms and stifle our giggles. We never did it when Mother was at home because she would cotton on straight away and there would be Trouble.

  The door opened. Sally was wearing an apron and she had smears of flour on her face and in her hair, which was streaked with grey.

  ‘Cassie!’ she said.

  The clouds were racing across the sun making fast moving shadows.

  She lifted her hands. ‘I’m making bread.’

  I couldn’t speak.

  ‘You know me, I’ve always been a messy cook.’

  She looked up again and our eyes met and held. The space between us filled with all the things we needed to say. There were so many that the space bulged and ballooned until we could barely see each other for words. I almost ran away. But then the words vanished, because there was only one thing to say, and we fell into each others arms and hugged each other tightly like we’d done so many times before, and we spoke the word into each other’s hair.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  34. Lauren

  I dreamed of Peter and woke full of happiness because we were going out for the day together, walking in the hills. I leapt out of bed, but halfway to the bathroom I stopped. A stillness came over me and I remembered. We had argued, Peter and I. It was Richard who was taking me out. I breathed in and out, counting. In for eight, out for eight. Six times. I felt the oxygen racing though my blood.

  Richard and I were going to spend the day together, walking in the hills. I went to the window and flung back the curtains. The trees had lost their leaves but the sun was shining. It was going to be a beautiful day. I smiled and went into the bathroom singing.

  Richard turned up while I was eating breakfast and prowled around the kitchen waiting for me. He was wearing jeans and the leather jacket.

  ‘What if it rains?’ I asked.

  He shrugged.

  ‘It’s only water,’ he said. ‘People managed before Gore-Tex.’

  ‘You smell nice,’ I said.

  ‘Do I?’

  He grinned and nuzzled his face into my neck.

  ‘You smell good enough to eat,’ he murmured.

  I laid my spoon on the table and felt his breath slide behind my ear. I felt the flick of his tongue and the hairs on my neck rose up to meet it. I dropped my shoulders and inclined my neck.

  But there was just coldness. Richard was on the other side of the room and he hadn’t spoken.

  ‘Eat up,’ he said. ‘Let’s make the most of the daylight hours.’

  I blinked. I could still feel the rush of blood in my neck and my heart was racing. He was leaning against the worktop studying a map. I slid my hand inside my pocket and it was empty.

  ‘I’ll run up and fetch my head torch,’ I said.
‘Just in case.’

  Dad would have had a fit if he saw me going upstairs in walking boots, but he wasn’t in. Mr Lion was out with Beauty.

  I went into my room. Peter was sitting on the bed holding a bunch of rosemary.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

  ‘I’m just getting my head torch. In case we overshoot and get caught in the dark.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  I walked to my desk and opened a drawer. The head torch was in there, some dried roots, a bag of tiny brown seeds. I smiled at Peter.

  ‘We’re going for a walk, up in the hills. Richard’s going to show me his favourite place.’

  ‘Is he your boyfriend now?’

  Peter’s voice had gone strange. His horns were growing and stretching out to the sides. There were more than two of them and they were moving, blinking at me with slow moving eyes. He was surrounded by yellow light. The rosemary rattled and hissed.

  ‘Peter… snakes…’

  ‘Do you love him?’ His voice was stretched full of holes.

  ‘No, Peter!’ I covered my eyes with my hands and breathed. I couldn’t count. In, out, in, out, in, out. I moved my hands.

  There was nobody there. The bed was ruffled from when I’d got out, the duvet thrown to one side. The curtain was moving slightly in the wind. I closed the window.

  We walked up through the Craggs and on to the top road. There had been a frost and mud crunched beneath our feet.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘Satan’s Rock. Do you know it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s near High Dene Reservoir. Round the other side of the hill.’

  ‘Does the path go that way?’ I’d walked this way before, but I didn’t remember Satan’s Rock.

  ‘No, the path runs along the reservoir. But it’s easy enough to scramble up.’

  It was cold even in the sun and I could feel the tips of my ears going numb. A hawthorn tree shook its empty branches and the grass rattled, but I turned away. I lifted my head and took a deep gulp of air. It was good to be moving and to be getting up high out of the valley, where the vegetation was sparse.