Be With You (Loneliness)

by Alison Cole

  I look at Marcus, shocked.

  "Oh, my God, it's her petition! And people are actually signing it!"

  "Let's go and get our shopping done. Millie's back there and I don't want to clap eyes on her at all," Marcus growls.

  We walk quickly, getting into the store before Millie spots us. I lift Lizzie into a trolley and we complete our shopping as fast as we can. After we pay for our groceries, we wheel the trolley to the car and load the groceries into the boot. I quickly strap Lizzie into her car seat and we leave. I feel a sense of urgency, telling me we need to get out of that parking lot as fast as possible. I think Marcus feels that same pressure. He drives as quickly as he safely can, looking all around for obstacles - and stray church members.

  At home, I tell Lizzie to play while daddy and I put everything away.

  "Oh, my God, Marcus, they are serious about this! There had to be at least twenty people around that table!"

  "You know, I wonder how many actually signed the petition. I saw some reading it, then just leaving. Sure, there were some blinkin' idiots signing, but I counted more who just walked away," Marcus says.

  "Are you sure? You aren't just saying so to make a pregnant, emotional mum feel better?"

  "Jo, she's spreading lies about the band and different band members. I haven't wanted to say anything, but..."

  "What, Marcus? Tell me!" I say.

  "Well...are you sure you can deal with lies about you and the boys?"

  "I'll learn to deal with them, won't I? Tell me!"

  Marcus sighs deeply.

  "Okay. I have heard gossip that says you are a 'loose, dissolute woman.' That you sleep around indiscriminately. That the baby you're carrying belongs to some unnamed man. I've heard that Tim and Linny are 'raging heroin addicts,' because of their long hair. That Laslow is violent. Shit like that," he says, reluctantly.

  I am shocked by the allegations. The breath whooshes out of my lungs.

  "Oh, my God! She truly hates us, doesn't she?"

  "Yes. Luv, I am so sorry!"

  "It's not your fault, Marcus..."

  "But she's my damned sister," he says.

  "'Damned' is right. What she is displaying is anything but love and tolerance. D'you know that, if we wanted, we could sue her and her church, for defamation?"

  "Oh, yes. Let's think about this concert and get it off the ground, first. If, after the concert, she's still around to spread her venom, then we can talk about a lawsuit," Marcus suggests.

  "Good idea. Why not call your mum and dad, invite them round tomorrow after church?" I suggest. I'm thinking we need to discuss this issue with them straight away!

  Chapter 7

  The weeks speed by as we prepare for our benefit concert for the homeless of Saint Albans. We select the play list - this will be different from our usual concerts. The mayor's office has been wonderful - helping us with publicity and, overall, helping us to reinforce our good image with the citizens of the city.

  Still, Millie and her church have pressed on with their petition efforts, setting up tables outside shops, their church, and at other public events. And they have gained a following, which is truly scary. This has only served to encourage Millie and make her think she is "doing God's work." When Marcus and I have been out and about, we have encountered Millie at her petition efforts and this has led to more than one argument. For this reason, even when we are going on a short shopping trip, I call my mum and have her come and mind Lizzie for us. Lizzie has been affected by this entire situation. She really fears even the sight of her auntie. At one point this summer, before we realized just how serious Millie is with her effort to have us disbanded, we ran into her when we took Lizzie to a children's festival. Her group was out by the ticket table and she spotted us. She took the opportunity to point us out, saying that we are bad parents and that I am a loose chippie. Her hollering upset Lizzie so much that we were forced to leave without even buying a ticket. I heard later that other children were upset by Millie's carrying on, meaning the festival lost money on tickets, rides and food purchases when we all left. The only good thing that came about that day was that the festival organizer came out to the gate and forced Millie and her group to leave.

  Anyway, the concert is this week. We are running here and there, making sure that all preparations are in progress or have been completed. We assist the mayor's office by hanging fliers announcing our concert - it's an odd thing - the mayor and our band have been hanging fliers, and they disappear! Can you imagine that? Of course, we know how they're disappearing. Members of Millie's church are going around and pulling them down. No matter. We simply print up more and hang them up, then we repeat that entire process again. Obviously, we want good attendance at this concert, because, the more concertgoers attend, the higher the benefit fund will be. The band enter into a routine of daily practice, collecting fliers, and hanging them where fliers have been ripped down.

  "Tim, we are at the point where the police are staking out areas where fliers have been posted. Any time an officer sees someone ripping a flier down, he will talk to that person. If that person belongs to that church group, he or she will receive a warning. If they are caught again ripping fliers down, they will be arrested. We have spent, literally hundreds of Euros in printing up these fliers, and I know you and your band have put considerable time in re-hanging fliers," the mayor says.

  "Good. We can't figure out why Millie and her group think we are such a bad influence. Could it be the hair, maybe?"

  Mayor Tibbles laughs. "That shouldn't matter. Your music and your willingness to turn a bad situation into something good says more about your character."

  "Thank you, Mayor. We had better go and hang more of these. Guys?"

  We leave, equipped with a bag full of fliers and staplers. Today, we decide to bring Lizzie with us. She rides in her pram, toys and sippy cup at the ready. I have some snacks handy for the three of us as well.

  I will need to visit a maternity shop this week to find an appropriate dress. It can't be too formal, but it does need to be dressy. My regular clothing won't do - it's not quite dressy enough and, though I am not yet showing, it is uncomfortable for me to wear. Because I need to be able to fully expand my diaphragm for singing, I need something that will accommodate my growing belly.

  "When do you want to visit the maternity shop? Let me know and I'll keep Lizzie at...wait, no. Call your mum and ask her to mind Lizzie. We'll go together," Marcus decides.

  "I can go by myself," I tell him.

  "Not this time, sweetie. You don't know if you will run into Millie or her minions. I go with you. Period," Marcus says.

  "Oh. That's right. I don't know how I forgot about them," I say.

  "Mummy, hungry!" Lizzie turns in her pram seat, looking at me.

  I dig in the bag and pull out a small bag of cut-up fruit. Lizzie and I both happily munch on the sweet, cold bits.

  "On the shopping trip, why don't we go tomorrow? I can call mum at home and, if she's available, we can take Lizzie there, go shopping and eat," I suggest.

  "I like that. Let's make it a date," Marcus says with a grin creasing his face. "Before I forget, has Nigel finished the publicity piece that's to go in the newspaper yet?"

  "I believe so. He wanted to email it to the paper today so they could publish it either Thursday or Friday. "

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Hadley? Tom from the Saint Albans Daily Standard here. Would you mind giving me a few minutes? Our paper is doing a story on the religious group and their petition, trying to get your band taken down. I promise, everything you say will be reported accurately."

  I look at Marcus with a questioning look.

  "Tom, may I look at your press credentials? I hope you'll understand, given everything that's been happening," Marcus says.

  "Certainly. I don't blame you at all. Here, have a look," Tom says, offering his press credentials.

  Marcus reads through it carefully and, handing it back, says, "It's up to my wife. Jo?"

&n
bsp; "I'm going to trust you, Tom, to write an accurate accounting. But...why would you encourage this group with more publicity?"

  "It's inevitable, sadly. We don't ever want to give...certain groups more publicity, but in this instance, it is trying to take down a vital part of our city. The public don't like that, and our paper want to highlight what this group is doing so the public know not to sign any petitions."

  "Okay, then. One request...no pictures of our daughter. She stays completely out of this."

  "Agreed. We will take pictures only of you and Mr. Hadley."

  We sit down in a restaurant's outdoor section, where Tom proceeds to interview Marcus and me. I give Lizzie bits of fruit as we talk. The upshot of our interview is that Tom learns about Millie's extremist stances on various issues and groups, such as immigrants, minorities, gays, lesbians and transgendered individuals.

  "She implies that you are promiscuous, that your brother-in-law is violent, and that the other two members of your band are drug addicts. All false?"

  "Definitely. We do all we can to present our true images. She continues to spread her lies," I say.

  "Any chance your band will sue her group?"

  "Only as a last choice option. We would rather she and her group realize the truth without being pulled into the legal system, but..."

  "It's not off the table," Tom divines.

  "No. It isn't."

  "Okay, then. Thank you! If you will let me take a few photos of you and Mr. Hadley, I will be on my way," Tom says.

  I edge Lizzie's pram around so she won't show in any pictures.

  Tom takes several snaps, then leaves, allowing us to resume our flier-hanging errand.

  The news story appears in the Saint Albans Daily Standard on Thursday morning. I do have to say that I am very impressed with his promise - the entire interview is exactly as we spoke. There is no mention or photo of Lizzie - simply Marcus and me, smiling into the camera's lens.

  At practice, we all discuss the interview.

  "So, do you think this will help?" Tim asks.

  "At the least, it will put doubt into the mind of the public. When anyone is approached by elements of that group, they will, hopefully, know to question whatever group members might say," Marcus says.

  "And, at the most?"

  "People will begin speaking up against this group and telling them where they can stuff themselves," Laslow says harshly. "I want to tell you something...about my row and falling-out with Millie."

  We all sit down, eager to listen.

  "Before she left for the States, Millie and I were discussing a friend of mine. Marcus, you know Vic, right? My friend from school?"

  "Oh, sure, I remember him. What about him?"

  "He didn't always used to be known as Vic - or as 'he,' either. Vic used to be Victoria. He was transgender for several years, then, a few years ago, underwent a sex-change operation to become what he has always felt himself to be - a man."

  "Oh! I remember meeting him, at our wedding!" I say.

  "Yes, well. Millie cornered me shortly before she and Robert left to the States. I say 'cornered,' because she had a very specific agenda and set of questions in her mind about Vic. She inferred that he was 'faking' his feelings. That, if he would simply 'pray to the Lord,' he would come straight with Him and be straight, desiring men. I told her that it's not such an easy thing as that. I explained that Vic had always felt as though he was a man. Well, Millie came back with the old saw that God doesn't make mistakes. I said that nature makes mistakes. From there, it fell apart. We rowed and yelled at each other. She told me that Vic deserved all the bad he was getting, and would get because he was listening to Satan. Well...after seeing Vic struggle with his sexual identity, dressing as a woman and styling his hair as a woman, going out with guys and feeling bad about himself...it was just too much. I got straight into her face and yelled at her, telling her she was a bigoted, narrow-minded bitch. She came back at me, saying I was headed straight to Hell, that there was no redemption for me. I kicked her out of Gen's and my flat that minute and we haven't said a civil word since," Laslow finishes.

  "Wow. Scary," I say. "What do you think she'd do against any one of us if she is not successful in banning our band?"

  "Character assassination at the least. Public confrontations. Beyond that, I don't want to guess what she would do - or encourage her group to do."

  "Laslow's right. Jo, do you mind if I tell them what Millie has accused you of?"

  I think for a few minutes, then decide it's probably best that they know.

  "Go ahead, but sanitize it for Lizzie, please," I say.

  "Good point. Boys, it's bad. When we were at my mum's and dad's for Millie's and Robert's homecoming, we were spooning up some pudding for dessert. The bowl was directly behind Millie, and we heard her say that Johanna's a...well, loose woman. That ruined the evening, so we went home straightaway. She tried getting into our house - we still use the electronic gate. Wouldn't let her in, so she would pop round uninvited. I'd go outside to talk to her and Jo would keep Lizzie inside until Millie had left. She tried to order me to have a paternity test on Lizzie and me - I asked her who Lizzie's eyes remind her of..."

  "Shit! That's...low," Linny says.

  "Hah! It gets worse. After Jo and I found she is expecting again, we decided to wait to announce it, mainly because of Millie. Well, Millie found out and she told me that this 'latest brat isn't yours.' Jo came up with a wonderful idea - to go ahead and have paternity testing done and show the results to Millie. We're waiting on the results now. Once we have them..."

  "Slap that damn...cow across her overly big mouth and make her shut it," Laslow says.

  "Precisely. I think her exposure to these neo-conservative groups in the U.S. have something to do with all this. Though she put on the supportive, 'speak up for underdogs' pose before she moved to the U.S., I'm beginning to suspect that she has always harbored these beliefs, but never felt safe to express them."

  "Until now," Tim says. "Okay, enough about that depressing topic! Practice. Let's refine every piece we will be performing in our two sets - forty-five minutes apiece, with a fifteen minute intermission halfway through."

  Because we have been working so hard on our music, it is easy to correct any errors in our playing, timing, rhythm and singing. We refine our harmonies and do a quick run-through. Everything sounds wonderful! We'll carry off a dress rehearsal tomorrow, which is the day before the benefit concert.

  At home that night, a London television station calls.

  "Ma'am, we are interested in interviewing you in light of the publicity from that church group in Saint Albans. We would like to send a crew out now, if you wouldn't mind, so we can get some footage for tonight's late news," says the manager on the phone.

  I look at Marcus, wide eyed.

  "Sir, I'm going to put you onto speakerphone. I want my husband to here this," I say, pushing the speakerphone button. Setting the handset down, I tell him, "We're both here, sir."

  "Mrs. Hadley, the activities of that church group are known all around this part of the U.K. We are asking for your permission to send a news crew to your home for an interview, which would air on tonight's late news."

  "How would you get the report back to London in time?" Marcus asks.

  "Via satellite, Mr. Hadley."

  "One condition - I do not want our daughter to be made a part of this interview. It is to be of my wife and I only, and the only topic is this church group and their dratted petition. Nothing more."

  "Thank you. We will have a news team there within one hour," says the manager before he rings off.

  Mum calls us.

  "Jo, sweetheart, just a few questions. I know you're running ragged. How are you feeling?"

  "Pregnant, but the nausea is going down bit by bit. I have a beautiful outfit for the concert!"

  "Oooh, tell me! What does it look like?"

  "No, you won't know until you see me on-stage," I tell her, laughing. "I'm not
showing yet, but my regular clothing feels too tight."

  "So exciting! Okay, second question. What time should we pop round for Lizzie and her nappy bag?"

  "How about right before dinner time? I'll have something ready for us to eat, and you and dad join us. Then, you leave with her and her bag while Marcus and I clean up and change. We'll meet up with you right after the last song of the second set," I suggest.

  "Excellent. D'you want help with dinner? Less for you to do, and we'll be eating and ready to go sooner."

  "I like that! Yes, do come earlier. I'm planning to make a baked chicken with herbs and roasted potatoes. A cool fruit salad to follow, and we should be good - although I'll still pack snacks for my Lizzie-girl."

  "You are making me hungry! I'll bring the fruit, already chopped. I believe I have a glaze we can use."

  "Okay. I'll wash and quarter the potatoes, then chill them in water for the day. That way, they'll be ready for roasting when we come home," I plan out loud.

  "I am so glad I gave you cooking lessons," mum says.

  "Mum, I had better go. Lizzie just made an unholy mess in her nappy and she needs a bath anyway," I say, waving my hand in front of my face.

  "See you tomorrow, then. Give Lizzie a kiss from me, please," mum asks.

  "I will - once she's clean!" After I hang up, I scoop Lizzie up in my arms. As I walk by Marcus, he gets a solid whiff and follows me, plucking Lizzie out of my arms.

  "Wow! What did she eat?" he asks.

  "What we ate, but, whew! You draw her bath while I clean her up."

  "I'll clean her, you draw her water."

  "Mummy, poo-poo?" Lizzie shifts uncomfortably in Marcus' arms, seeming to want to get away from the mess in her nappy.

  "Ugh, yes, poo-poo, little girl! Daddy will clean you up and pop you into the tub presently," I promise.

  Because Lizzie is shifting so much and we are walking upstairs, Marcus shifts Lizzie so he holds her around her torso, allowing her feet to dangle.

  "Better, love bug?"

  "Poo-poo." She grunts again.