Scimitar

by Terry Wheeler

  If only it were that easy, he thought. I’ve never done this before. What do I have to do? He knew the mechanics, of course, but the finer points of technique were foreign to him. Jennie seemed to pick up on his hesitation.

  ‘Is this your first time Jack?’ she asked bluntly.

  Jack nodded miserably, sensing the whole experience slipping away from him. Still, he thought, I’ve been in a room with a nearly naked girl. He looked up, trying to remember how she looked. She was smiling.

  ‘I remember my first time,’ she said. ‘I was scared and slightly tipsy. I’ll be gentle!’

  The coffee was cold by the time they were ready for it; they tipped it down the sink and went back to bed. Jack learnt more in those two hours than he had done in the whole of the two weeks that he’d been at university, not least that he needed to buy condoms and carry them with him at all times, just in case, although he was relieved to find that wise girls are always prepared.

  Above all he discovered that he liked sex. Liberated from dirty thoughts and cheap magazines, and tutored by a willing partner, it filled him with a new vigour and brought him to life. Suddenly he found plenty of things to talk about. Actions speak louder than words and the awkward silences vanished, filled with caresses.

  ‘I’ve got a tutorial in an hour’s time,’ Jennie said at last, ‘and I need something to eat.’

  Jack hadn’t realised how long they’d been there; time seemed to have stopped.

  ‘Can we do this again?’ he asked, desperately trying to cling on to the moment.

  ‘You don’t think I’ve wasted all that effort and time just for a one-off, do you?’ Jennie propped herself up on her elbow and Jack immediately kissed her nipple. ‘Let’s sort out our timetables and see what we can do. Now, you must go.’

  Back in his hall of residence Jack felt as if he was on fire; he’d never felt so alive. He flung himself down on his unmade bed and imagined that Jennie was with him, re-living each moment of their torrid afternoon. He was in love, he knew that now, and Jennie was going to be his soul mate. Never before in all his life had he felt so close to anyone. He had reading to do and he knew he ought to make a start but he couldn’t settle to it. He decided to go down to the town. Being in his room only reminded him of the time he’d spent in Jennie’s room and he felt he needed a change of scene.

  He found himself noticing people as he walked into the town centre. It was a hot, late October afternoon, one of those days when it feels as if summer had returned pushing the imminent prospect of winter far away. He bought a coffee and took it out to a table on the pavement. Sitting there, waiting for it to cool, he realised that his life had changed. He was one of the cognoscente. This morning he was but a boy but this afternoon he had become a man. Not only that, he was a man in love.

  As he looked at the girls walking past he found himself appraising them. Before today they would just have been people passing by but now he knew better. He studied their breasts; too large, too small, too droopy — not like Jennie’s heavenly orbs. And as they passed he studied their backsides; too fat, too thin, too wide. The more he looked, the more he thanked his lucky stars that Jennie was so perfect. If he hadn’t been blessed he could have hooked up with some other girl and his life would have been one disappointment after another.

  He was burning up with passion for her. Did she feel the same about him? She must do, he rationalised, why else would she have taken so much time with him? If she didn’t love him she would have chucked him out after their first time, not settled for more … and more. Just the memory of it made him hard.

  The night was hot and Jack tossed and turned, lonely in his bed. Memories of the afternoon tormented him and he wondered what it would be like to fall asleep, his lust satiated, with Jennie beside him. In his imagination he reached out over her, curling his arm round her shoulders and drawing her naked body close to him … but it didn’t work. The bed and his feelings remained obstinately empty. He was scared that the his nightmares would come back to torment him. If only he had someone with him, something to distract his imagination, everything would be all right.

  The following day Jack made a decision. He had fallen asleep in the small hours of the morning and he woke late, feeling slightly disorientated. Sitting on his bed he decided that if he and Jennie were going to spend the rest of their lives together he ought to discuss it with her. He had no doubt that she’d leap at the chance; clearly she reciprocated his feelings.

  He made his way in for the morning’s lectures, frustrated that he and Jennie weren’t on the same schedule. He hoped to meet her at the mid-morning break but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. The morning dragged on and he found it difficult to concentrate on the complexities of Tudor politics. As soon as he’d grabbed a snack at the student’s cafeteria he made his way over to her hall. The Porter recognised him from the previous day.

  ‘I’ve got some papers to give her,’ Jack said, the lie coming easily. ‘She’s expecting them. Can I go on up?’

  The porter took his name and nodded towards the stairs. His heart beating wildly in his chest, Jack made his way to the second floor and along the corridor to Jennie’s room. He stood outside for a moment and then knocked. Everything was quiet and he waited. It was possible, of course, that she wasn’t in. He was about to knock again when she opened the door.

  ‘Jack!’ she said, clearly surprised to see him.

  She was wearing an unfastened boy’s shirt and was holding its open edges together.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I came to see you. Can I come in for a moment?’

  He got no further. Martin, another boy in their history group came and stood behind her. He was wearing just his briefs.

  ‘Fuck off,’ he said. ‘Can’t you see we’re busy?’

  He put his arm round Jennie’s shoulders. Jack was speechless. What could he say. His world had fallen apart. He looked at Jennie.

  ‘You’re not —‘

  ‘It’s only sex,’ she said, cutting him off.

  She turned back to Martin and closed the door on Jack.

  How could she be so cheap, Jack asked himself? He couldn’t believe that yesterday had been just sex. Nice girls didn’t do that sort of thing. Boys took advantage, not girls. He felt debased as he imagined Martin and Jennie on her bed.

  He found himself in town. He hadn’t realised he’d walked so far and he had no memory of crossing the roads and taking the turnings. Sitting at the café table he felt stupid. A few hours ago he had been certain that he was in love with Jennie and that Jennie felt the same way about him. Now the whole idea of her felt repugnant to him. How could he have been so stupid?

  Alone in bed that night, Jack was confused. He couldn’t understand why he found it so difficult to forget Jennie, even when he knew she had only used him for sex. The only thing he could remember was that he’d enjoyed being with her. He could still sense the feel of her in his loins. He tried to recapture that elusive moment of bliss but without her it was empty.

  Jennie greeted him at their lecture the next day as if nothing had happened. At first Jack was reserved. He felt belligerent, convinced that she was mocking him. The lecture wound its weary way to its end and as they left Jennie asked if he wanted to go back with her. He was about to snap back with a cutting remark but he kept his cool. It might be ‘only sex’ for her but the memory was so sharp and the need so deep that he merely nodded and followed her.

  Chapter 8

  Arthur’s university career was a resounding success. He graduated with a first class honours degree and the university invited him to stay and undertake research.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I need to earn some money. I have to look after my parents.’

  ‘There would be a grant. It wouldn’t be a lot but it would be enough to live off and you could do some tutoring for extra cash.’

  It came as no surprise to Arthur that they didn’t understand. The world of academia was about as far removed from a rapidly decayi
ng terrace house in a broken down mining community as it was possible to be. No matter how much the idea of further study appealed to him, Arthur knew that it was time for him to shoulder his responsibilities.

  His brothers had done their best to keep the family afloat all the time that he had been at school and at university but now it was his turn to take over caring for his parents. His father could scarcely leave the house. Years down the mine, breathing the dust and filth that thickened the air at the seam, had taken their toll and emphysema was literally squeezing the life out of him.

  Arthur took a teaching job close to home. It was the only way he could look after his father and mother and earn enough money to keep the three of them. He wanted to move them out of their house and a career in teaching seemed a safe occupation with a guaranteed income. The mortgage company offered him good terms if only he could save up enough for the deposit. He rented a room and started work, saving every penny he could. Each weekend he returned home where his mother insisted on doing his washing. He spent hours with his father, biting his tongue when William went off on one of his political rants.

  He and his father were poles apart in their political beliefs. William saw the world in black and white. If the government didn’t help the workers it followed that they were against them. He had no concept of the influence of world conditions or monetary policies and attributed every political decision to the government’s desire to subdue the working people.

  ‘If they can keep us poor they think we won’t rise up against them,’ William said, gasping for breath. His days of holding forth at length were long gone and his diatribes were becoming shorter and less frequent.

  ‘But we’re not poor now, Dad,’ Arthur said. ‘I’ve got a good job and we can soon be out of here.’

  ‘It’s your money, lad. I don’t want it, we don’t need it.’

  ‘But we could make Mum’s life a lot easier.’

  ‘She’s done all right. This is where we belong.’

  Arthur respected the old man’s pride but he couldn’t understand why his father was so reluctant to move on, to spend his last days in comfort or to try and ease his wife’s heavy load. Reluctantly Arthur came to the conclusion that his father was not only proud but also selfish. He remembered the nights of heavy drinking, the way his father had struck his mother, the beatings he had given his children — he was a bully and now he was paying for his past. Painfully.

  It would be a lingering death. The doctor told Arthur that there was nothing they could do for his father. Later, when the end was close, thy could give him oxygen or take him into hospital.

  ‘He won’t go,’ Arthur said. ‘He knows he’s dying and he wants to die at home in his own bed.’

  For three years Arthur worked at a school where apathy reigned supreme. No matter how hard he tried, he seemed unable to inspire his recalcitrant pupils. He was close to despair. His only consolation was that he was saving money to try to move his parents to a better area.

  Fate played its hand and his father died. Content to be in the house where he had lived all his working life, William had resisted all Arthur’s efforts to move him away. The funeral was quiet. Most of William’s former friends had either moved away or were dead. It was the first time the whole family had been together for many years and the little house was crowded to bursting.

  While he was taking a breather in the back yard, Arthur’s eldest sister came out to him.

  ‘Mum’s going to come and live with us,’ she said. ‘She can’t stay here on her own and she needs looking after.’

  ‘I was about to move them both out,’ Arthur said. ‘I’ve saved enough for a deposit on a house.’

  ‘She knows and she’s grateful but she doesn’t want to go with you. She says she won’t know anybody.’

  ‘She’d soon make new friends. There’d be so much more she could do.’

  ‘She knows that, too, but she doesn’t want to hold you back. Heaven knows, she’s given up enough for you and she wants you to make something of your life.’

  Arthur was quiet. He didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Can you afford to keep her?’ he asked. ‘You’ve got three kids. Won’t she be a burden?’

  ‘We’ll fit her in. Reg thought we could give her the downstairs front room as a bedsit.’

  ‘I’ll send you something each month. You shouldn’t have to be out of pocket.’

  ‘I don’t need your money.’

  ‘Well, bank it for the kids. It’ll be there if you need it.’

  ‘You’re a softie, Art. You always were and you always will be. It’s time you got a girl and settled down.’

  The closing of his old home aroused mixed emotions in Arthur. One part of him was relieved that he would never have to go back there again, and yet it had been his home. It was the place where he had grown up. His roots were there.

  It was true that he had moved on. He had lived in other places and had friends that knew nothing of Sligh Hill and South Street, but packing up the house and its meagre contents felt as if he was destroying part of himself. He tried to remain cheerful and he encouraged his mother to look forward to her new life.

  ‘You won’t have to work so hard, now,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll still be doing my bit,’ she replied tartly. ‘I’m not dead yet.’

  ‘You know I didn’t mean that, Mum,’ Arthur said.

  ‘Hard work never hurt anyone, Arthur. It’s time you buckled down and did some. Lounging around talking to a bunch of school kids is no work for a real man.’

  ‘It’s not easy,’ Arthur protested, ‘and I do have to work. I put in long hours and even though I get good holidays I need them. I’m exhausted by the end of term.’

  ‘You’ve been stuck in that dump too long. You’ve got no ties here now. Get yourself a new job and move on. You’re twenty-six. Perhaps you should try for promotion.’

  He sensed the space between them. His mother was always like that; she managed to keep her distance from him just like she had done from his father. It was as if she didn’t trust any man, not even her own son.

  ‘You can’t spend your whole life running back home,’ she continued. ‘It’s time for you to go like your brothers.’

  ‘But I’m only trying to look out for you.’

  ‘It’s not a job for a man. That’s why a woman has daughters, to look after her in her old age.’

  He felt dismissed. Cut off. Misunderstood. After all these years and all the sacrifices he’d made to try and help his parents, it had come to this.

  He saw his mother into his sister’s car. Olive came back into the house one last time.

  ‘She didn’t mean it,’ Olive said. ‘She’s only trying to do what she thinks is best for you.’

  ‘Don’t tell her about the money,’ Arthur said.

  ‘What? The extra pocket money for my kids? That’s none of her business.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’ve done your bit. Don’t worry; she’ll be fine. We’ll row and get on each other’s nerves but that’s what families are for. Get yourself a wife and have kids. You’ll soon find out. One moment you love ‘em to bits and the next you can’t stand them.’

  She gave Arthur a quick, embarrassed hug, turned and left without looking back. When Arthur finally closed the door on the empty house he knew his past had gone for ever and the only option he had was to plan for the future.

  Chapter 9

  Robert Fielder was pacing up and down outside Kerry’s room in the maternity wing of their local hospital. She was in labour and he was in the corridor, unceremoniously ejected while the nurse checked on Kerry’s progress. It had been a long afternoon and the light was seeping away as the evening drew in, leeching Robert’s excitement with it.

  When Kerry had telephoned to tell him her time had come he had rushed home, bursting with enthusiasm and expecting to be a proud father by teatime. He had no idea it would be such a long, drawn out wait as this.

  ‘First babies are often
slow in coming,’ the midwife told them when they arrived, ‘but that’s nothing to worry about. ‘

  Now Robert was not so sure. As an accountant he led an ordered life where everything balanced, one column of numbers offset by another but here there was no comfort, no equilibrium, nothing to balance the uncertainties. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t equate Kerry’s distress and suffering with the birth of a child. This was what they had waited for, what they had tried to bring about over the past years. It should have been the pinnacle of their relationship, the single most happy and rewarding day of their lives and yet it was being marred by her pain, flawed with her distress. He hadn’t imagined that it would be like this.

  He understood that there would be some discomfort and that giving birth wasn’t the easiest of occupations; that’s why they had decided to come into hospital for the birth, just in case, but if it didn’t work, he tried to rationalise, the human race would long since have died out. As time passed the idea that everything wasn’t quite right began to creep into his thoughts, eating away at his attempt to remain calm. He became convinced that there was something the midwife wasn’t telling him, that something must be wrong.

  The evening dragged on and as darkness filled the corners of the corridor, doubt and anxiety began to cloud Robert’s thinking. Kerry was in pain. Seeing her beautiful face creased with agony tore him apart. He did his best when the contractions seized her, mopping her brow and trying to comfort her, but all the time the belief was growing in his mind that something was wrong. He became convinced that the staff were callous and begged them to do something. He asked the midwife for help.

  ‘Baby will come when it’s ready. You young men are all the same,’ she told him with a chuckle, ‘you expect everything to happen instantly. The real world isn’t like that. Enjoy the last bit of peace you’ll have for the next twenty years!’

  ‘If this is peace,’ Robert thought, ‘spare me the rest.’