The Face

by Ivan B

  He spent another hour checking the car over and giving it a thorough wash before going back into the house. It was totally silent and the kitchen was both empty and no cooking was in progress. He washed his hands and tentatively went upstairs. Amy’s double bed was empty, as was Bau’s single bed. He climbed to the next floor wondering if the women were watching TV, they weren’t. Instead they’d laid out the dining table for a romantic meal for three, including wine glasses, napkins and candles. Amy was busy cooking in the kitchenette and Bau was busy arranging chairs. The table was round and she’d placed the chairs at almost exactly one hundred and twenty degrees from each other; it spoke volumes about equal treatment. She looked up; “You’re early. Go away and watch the football results or something. Dinner is at seven.”

  He nodded, “Just to let you know that Verity has invited us all to dinner tomorrow.”

  Amy stopped stirring a saucepan and looked round in wide-eyed amazement, “She’s what?”

  “Invited us all to dinner.”

  Amy looked dumbfounded; “She’s not had anyone to Sunday dinner for years, not since granddad died.”

  Brian smiled, “Perhaps she’s had no-one to ask.”

  Bau shot him a severe look, “Football results – now!”

  He made a strategic retreat.

  When he returned, at seven o’clock, self-consciously dressed in a smart white open necked shirt and black casual trousers he found the dining room glowing with candlelight and Amy glowing in a slinky red silk dress with bare shoulders and a modest neckline. “You look wonderful,” he marvelled.

  Bau appeared from the kitchenette wearing a Japanese style green dress that fitted her like a glove without making her look like an animated matchstick. “You look wonderful too” he murmured.

  Bau laughed, “Told you so” she said to Amy, who giggled.

  Bau gave him a seductive smile. “You don’t have to say the same thing to each of us all the time. We know that you trying to treat us equally, but we’re different people. We won’t get jealous of each other just because you say fifteen words to one and fourteen to the other.”

  Brian relaxed and swept his hand above the table. “This all looks wonderful too.”

  They all sat down, Amy and Bau looked at Brian. He was perplexed, “Am I missing something?”

  Amy half rolled her eyes, “We’re waiting for you to say grace.”

  They might as well have hung him upside down over the Grand Canyon; this was the moment he’d been dreading. He could convince himself that having a femme and an épouse was a genuine act of love for them both, but could he talk to God while he was doing it? He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and said a short grace. It didn’t feel any different from normal and a thunderbolt didn’t come down through the ceiling. Amy smiled and went to get the starters; Bau gave him a knowing smile. “You’re not committing adultery because we are both your wives. You’re not committing bigamy because you’re not trying to legally marry both of us against the law. You’re not committing fornication as Amy and I both regard ourselves as your wife. Your not being polyamoric because you’re not sleeping around merely to gratify your sexual appetite without due commitment. We are just one family, perhaps a little unusual, but not setting out to do so and cock a snook at God. It’s a matter of true polygyny, or in your case bigyny, that is dual love and commitment, not love and betrayal.”

  Amy carefully placed a bowl of bread-crumbed garlic mushrooms in the centre of the table. “Discussing theology are we?”

  “Briefly,” said Brian, “Though actually I’d rather we told each other about ourselves. You know I have no idea what either of you would want as a birthday present, or a Christmas present or dream of becoming or want to do next.”

  Amy poised with mushroom between plate and lip and said softly, “Actually I’d just like to become a normal housewife. It would be so nice to be normal.”

  It was poignant and from the heart.

  After a suitable pause Bau added, “And I’d like to be free and not worry about whether or not this will all end up as a dream while I cross off the days on a prison calendar.”

  Brian felt two pairs of eyes staring at him and he blushed, “And I’d like to be a good husband. It’s hard for a man to be a good husband to one woman, two make it doubly difficult.”

  With the tone set for the evening they progressed via honey-glazed lamb cutlets on a bed of herb laced mashed potatoes towards coffee passing lemon crème brûlée on the way. Conversation passed to and fro. Bau told of her enclosed childhood and the seemingly unnatural importance given to such skills as sewing and mending while neglecting social interaction and enduring ranting about the ‘sins of the flesh’ such as pop music. Amy told of her struggles with her stammer and how teachers all seemed to associate a stammer with lack of intelligence. Brian told of the stress on his family through his sister, Joan’s, battle with cancer. They all talked about favourite music, favourite films and, above all, enjoyed listening to one another. They ended up talking over coffee in the downstairs lounge, each sitting on a different settee. It was as if the kitchen betrothal ceremony had introduced barriers, not broken them down. Brian put his coffee cup down. “I’ll wash up, but not tonight, leave it foe me in the morning.”

  “The man’s a martyr.”

  “Slave to tradition.”

  Brian had had enough. He stood up, took Bau’s hand and led her to the settee with Amy perched on one end. He sat down and put an arm around each of them. “This is where an octopus would stand a better chance.” He quipped.

  Both women leant against him. He said, somewhat wistfully, “That was a beautiful evening with two beautiful women. If this is what life is going to be like then I’m not complaining.”

  “You will when you see the washing up.”

  “Especially the frying pan, it’s definitely not non-stick.”

  He kissed each on the forehead in turn. Bau kissed him on the cheek and stood up, “I’m off to bed, see you in the morning.”

  Amy kissed him on the other cheek. “I’ll go up now, don’t be long.”

  They left him sitting in the large room feeling like a million dollars and as worried as hell. He knew he’d have to get to the point of kissing one woman on the lips without feeling guilty about the other, but how do you reach such a point? He sat and reflected on his feelings and decided that actually he’d have no trouble kissing Amy with Bau looking on, after all Amy was his épouse. It was the other way round, how could he kiss Bau without feeling that he was betraying Amy? Yet he wanted to kiss Bau with the same passion with which he kissed Amy. He sighed, perhaps God was right; a man should have a woman, not two women.

  After half and hour, when he was sure that the tooth-cleaning ritual would be over, he went upstairs and cleaned his own teeth before entering into what was now his bedroom. On the way in he couldn’t but help notice that unlike previous nights Bau’s door was firmly closed. Amy was sitting on the bed, still in her dress and high-heels. She gave a shy smile, “Silly isn’t it? Now we’re sort of married I feel self-conscious about taking my clothes off when I know you’ve already seen me naked.”

  He knelt down, took her shoes off and rubbed her feet. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “Do you want to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed with relief. Brian felt the dress between his fingers. “Tell you what, why don’t you just slip your underwear off and use the dress as a nightie, just for tonight.”

  “It’ll get all crumpled.”

  “Who cares?”

  She folded her bottom lip into her mouth. Brian whispered, “I’ll close my eyes.”

  He closed his eyes and she whipped her bra off and lay down in the bed. Brian, very self-consciously, undressed down to his boxer shorts, turned the light out and slipped in beside her. There was a short mêlée of arms and legs and then they lay comfortably in each other’s arms. “Are you sure you want me as your épouse?”

  “Oh yes.”

/>   “Oh good,” she murmured in reply as their lips met and the highly enjoyable process of lovemaking began.

  Chapter 12

  Fallout

  Brian rose at just after six and washed and dressed. Bau’s door was still closed so he figured there would be no bathroom encounters, which was fine by him as he’d had another lovemaking session with Amy to the accompaniment of the dawn chorus. He’d intended to spend an hour washing up, but the only dirty dish in the sink was the cast-iron frying pan, which looked as if it might need sandblasting. He was pretty sure that Amy had never left the bedroom, thus Bau was probably the angel who had cleared up during the night. Just before seven he left a note on the breakfast table and walked across the churchyard to sit on a bench on the sunny side of the church. He’d cast his dice and now had to cope with the consequences. While waiting for dinner the previous evening he had searched the Internet and found numerous sites on so called Christian Polygamy. Well not polygamy, but Christian polygyny as they preferred to call it, being only able to sustain any Biblical argument for men having multiple wives and not the other way around. None of the sites had been particularly convincing in their theology or polemics. There had been just one site of Asian origin that had struck a chord. It talked of a culture where polygyny was the norm and of the Christian response to new converts. Basically it said that you couldn’t tell a new Christian man to throw his second wife out on the streets to an uncertain and poverty-stricken future. There’d even been an article by a minister who had two wives speaking of the joys and problems caused by a three-way relationship. Brian sighed. Basically he had no solution and knew in his heart that he’d have to come clean to the bishop, even if it cost him his holy orders. Just before eight he slipped into the back of the church for eight o’ clock communion and to see the priest.

  Amy looked at the note and at Bau; “Well he didn’t do the washing up did he?”

  She shrugged, “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Unhappy?”

  “Not in the least, in fact I’ve probably never been more content, I was just thinking about the past. Sometimes it crowds in on me.”

  “You mean Lucy?”

  Bau nodded, “I keep asking myself ‘what-if’ questions. What if I hadn’t been massively underweight when I had Lucy? What if I hadn’t taken that sleeping tablet?” She lowered her voice, “What if I hadn’t dragged you into all of this?”

  Amy gently put her arms around Bau. “Well I’ve no regrets that you did. And it’s no good asking such questions. Hindsight is a 100% science, but it’s still not that accurate.”

  They stood hugging one another and Amy whispered, “Thank you for bringing Brian into our lives.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Church, eight o’clock communion.”

  “Think he’ll want breakfast?”

  “He’s a man.”

  Breakfast was far from his mind. He’d waited to all the congregation had left and wandered up to talk to the Reverend Lionel Hatchet, the priest of the next door parish who was looking after Burston until it got a regular priest of its own. They chatted for a few moments until, eventually, Brian came round to the subject he wanted to speak about. “Lionel, are you free on Monday in three weeks time?”

  Lionel looked to the roof, “Probably, barring funerals.”

  “Could you preside over a marriage for me? I’m engaged to Amy Jones.”

  Lionel sniffed, “Pregnant is she?” He intoned in his deep Welsh accent.

  “No, but she’s been unwell and uncertainty probably doesn’t do her any good.”

  Lionel blinked again; “You don’t mean Amy Jones, Verity’s daughter?”

  “Granddaughter, yes.”

  Consternation crossed his wrinkled ex-miner’s face and he shook his head. “In that case no.”

  Brian exclaimed, “No!” Before he got himself under control. “Why on earth not?”

  Lionel reached into his pocket and pulled out a pipe, which he began to carefully pack with something resembling dried tea leaves. “I have a duty when I act as registrar on these occasions to be certain in my own mind that the person getting marries is of sound mind and not drunk, high on drugs or so mentally disturbed that that can’t make a rational decision. You know that as well as I do. In Amy’s case I can’t be certain of that so I’d need a signed letter from a psychiatrist declaring her sanity before I could proceed.”

  He put the pipe in his mouth without lighting it. Brian decided to argue the point. “So where’s your basis for this decision?”

  The pipe wobbled dangerously about. “John, her uncle. We’re in the same quiz team. He’s always telling me that she’d deranged and mentally unstable, I can’t just ignore what he says.”

  Brian felt anger welling within him. “Can I talk to you in priestly confidence for a moment?”

  He took the pipe out of his mouth and laid it on the back of a pew as if it were some sort of symbolic action. “Of course.”

  “John groped her when she was a teenager, not once but persistently. He also probably has other, ulterior, motives in spreading the rumour that she’s insane as it would give him the chance to get his hands on her money.”

  Lionel’s eyebrows rose. “There fairly serious allegations Brian.”

  “I can substantiate the first and conjecture the second.”

  Lionel pushed out one of his cheeks with his tongue and rolled his tongue round inside his mouth to push out the other cheek. “You put me in a difficult position.” He announced.

  Brian thought he saw a chink of light. “Look Lionel, this is England and people are innocent until proven guilty. Surly it’s not up to Amy to prove her sanity, but for someone else to declare she isn’t. That’s what banns are for isn’t it? Why not read the banns and see if anyone objects?”

  Lionel picked his pipe up and fingered it fondly, “Just suppose John does object?”

  “Then he’ll have to produce a psychiatrist’s letter saying that she’d not mentally capable or get a magistrate to declare her legally insane.”

  Lionel nodded, “Agreed. Banns book is in the vestry, you know the drill so fill the details in yourself and I’ll do the first reading at the eleven o’clock service. Just slam the door behind you, it’s a Yale lock.”

  Pronouncement made he strode out of the church. By the time he was halfway down the path billows of smoke followed his progress.

  Following a welcome breakfast all three were in church at eleven o’clock. The church was over half-full, mainly with families and children. This was, after all, a family service. Lionel started the service with a bang – literally. He strode in, blew up a brown paper bang and clapped it between his palms. He got immediate attention. “Today,” he announced, “I want to talk about God’s creation, otherwise known as the big-bang.”

  He pulled out a paper carrier bag and started to blow into it, the children as well as most of the adults were mesmerised. Following a couple of jolly hymns and a couple more five-minute talks with suitable illustrations, Lionel picked up a clip-board and the banns book. “Before our next hymn, which is the offertory hymn where we give our gifts to God, we will have the notices and marriage banns. I put them in the middle of the service as this is all part of the life of the church.” He droned on about coffee mornings, church fêtes and an outing to the local theme park before he turned to the banns book. Amy wriggled with excitement. “I publish the banns of marriage between Martha Winifred Gutter, spinster of this parish, and Herbert Eric John Nunn, bachelor of the parish of St Luke’s, Ipswich. This is for the third time of asking. Also between Amy Karyn Hester Jones, spinster of this parish, and Brian Richard Noames, Widower of the parish of St Cedd’s Dovercourt, this is for the first time of asking. If any of you know any just impediment why these couples may not be married you are to declare it now.”

  There was total silence for a few seconds then Verity broke into the biggest smile Brian had even seem her achieve. Her joy was matched by John’s scurrilous scowl, which, since
he was playing the organ, everybody noticed. He struck up the chords to the next hymn and thumped the keys in what Brian took to be suppressed anger. Amy whispered in his ear, he whispered back, “They’re being announced back at my own church this morning, I phoned through to a colleague of mine in the Dovercourt Team.”

  The service finished with a bang too, or rather an exploding bubble. Lionel strode into the middle of the nave, placed a washing-up bowl of what looked like soapy water on the floor, dropped some crystals in and stood back. “And so God created the world,” he said, “and it was good.”

  He timed it to perfection. The crystals started to explode in the soapy mixture and swaths of tiny bubbles shot into the air to linger on the air-currents and float around the church. Bau leant over to Brian, “Follow that if you can!”

  Brian chuckled, “He was a chemistry teacher before he was ordained, though I must get that particular recipe from him.”

  He watched John leave the organ, remonstrate with Lionel and walk out. Verity waylaid him in the entrance lobby and although he couldn’t hear the conversation the message was clear; ‘don’t you dare interfere in Verity’s marriage.’ Brian hoped upon hope that she still had enough influence over him to prevent him from objecting. Amy jumped to her feet, “Let’s walk to gran's, it’s a lovely day.”

  “Well I think it was nice of Amy’s gran to lay on such a spread for us,” Brian retorted as they came through the front door.

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t,” Bau exclaimed in exasperation, “I was just saying I can’t get used to her being nice to me. She even complimented me on my dress!”

  Amy laughed, “She’s building bridges. She’s always going on about building bridges between factions of the church that disagree, so she’s taking a dose of her own medicine.”

  Amy led the way into the kitchen and stopped dead, “Who the h-hell are y-you!”