The Dreamers

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The Dreamers Page 4

by Tanwen Coyne


  Could she have broken it off with Ceris in a better way? Maybe. Could she have thought it through before she’d started dancing with her like that, before she’d started kissing her, before she’d started rubbing against her. She’d had far too much to drink.

  Jennifer sat in front of her easel at the back door, which opened onto her little garden. Beyond the garden, she could see the beach. The cove, for which the village was named, was blue and sparkling. There was a curved beach, golden sand stretching out between the high cliffs. The sea moved gently. There was almost no wind down there. Jennifer adored the colours; the blues and greens all mixing in together fluidly.

  She began to paint. She wanted to capture the peace of that quiet little beach. She longed to feel that peace inside her. She began to mix up her colours. The sea was so many shades of blue and green, she knew she could never capture all of them. She would be satisfied with capturing just an impression of it.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked the empty room as she considered the blue green mix she’d created to use as a base. ‘Is that about right?’

  The answer she got wasn’t with words. Instead, she was rewarded with a skipping refrain on the piano.

  She smiled. ‘I guess you approve then.’

  Jennifer began to paint: slow, careful strokes across the canvass. She wanted to recreate the pleasure she felt whenever she looked at that view. She wanted to make herself feel at peace again.

  As she painted, she wondered about her companion. She wanted to know more about her. She felt sure she was a real person, no matter what her logical mind said. She was learning about her, learning her soul or her spirit.

  Her companion’s music filled the cottage: soft and lilting but tinged with sadness. They were communicating in a way deeper than words.

  Jennifer smiled, painting and listening to that music. She felt at peace, that she could stay here forever. She would never have to face the world and its pain again.

  ‘Arianwen, will you go out and fetch the plaice from the fishmonger’s?’

  ‘Yes, mother,’ Arianwen says wearily. The days hear stretch into one long expanse of time. She wishes there was something else to do besides play her piano, stare longingly out of her window and do errands for her mother.

  Still, at least she gets out of the house. She walks slowly up the hill, letting her footsteps count out the time. If she is careful, she can use up an hour of her day on this errand.

  The hill rises to its finish and Arianwen can see the spread of the village laid out before her. She was born in this village and she is sure she will die here. Every moment of her life, her love, her loneliness, her boredom, they have all been here. When she has gone, will the village remember her?

  She has walked along these rough tracks, across those cobbles hundreds of times. She has passed these buildings nearly every day of her life. The sky, the sand and the trees have been there through every joy and sadness of her life. Will they remember her when she is gone?

  Why is she thinking like this? She is young; she has years to live. Yet why does it feel as though she is done?

  She passes Blodwyn in the street. She is walking to the bakery, hand in hand with her fiancé. Arianwen turns her gaze to the ground, hoping Blodwyn will not look her way. Surely, after the letter, she will not want to be associated with her.

  It takes effort to keep her head down. As she feels Blodwyn getting nearer, the temptation to glance up rises. No, she must not. She would ignore. Blodwyn would ignore.

  She feels the heat of the couple as they reach her. At the last moment, the temptation is too much and her eyes lift and a shock jerks through her body. Blodwyn is not ignoring but staring straight at Arianwen. A sneer mars that beautiful face and she turns to kiss her beau on the cheek.

  ‘Oh, my love, I do love you so.’

  He smiles and cups her cheek. ‘Ah, cariad, I know you do.’

  Arianwen’s insides rock and swirl. She pinches her wrist to prevent herself from crying out. It throbs but it cannot cover the pain pulsating inside her.

  She stumbles and behind her Blodwyn’s laugh rings out. Arianwen runs, tripping over her long skirts until she turns the corner and is finally alone. Tears soak her face and her whole body trembles.

  She thinks of that pretty face, mocking her and she hates it. Yet the love crowds into her and she cannot escape it. How can she ever?

  Jennifer sighed as she leaned against the counter washing her paintbrushes in the sink. She’d painted three new canvases over the last few days and her mind was absorbed by them. She no longer thought of the look Ceris had given her, well perhaps she thought of it a little, but she forced it away each time.

  All day, she had entertained her mind with the blues and greens of her painting of the sea, with the browns and reds of the woodland and with the turquoise and white of the sky.

  Now her thoughts turned to what dreams she might have that night. She ate dinner alone at her kitchen table and retired to bed whilst it was still light outside.

  The world outside seems so dark. Arianwen closes the curtains against its grey light, undresses and, in her long cotton nightgown, climbs into her welcoming bed.

  The warmth envelops her and she wraps her arms around herself, longing for the touch of her sweetheart. Can wishing bring her?

  ‘Please, please, I wish, I wish.’

  A glimpse of dark hair, silky touch of the strands. Reaching out, kisses on soft skin, a gasp in reply.

  Pleasure dimples her body and she surrenders herself to it, letting the shared touches overcome her. She does not care if this is a sin.

  Jennifer lay on her bed, closed her eyes and welcomed her lover into her embrace.

  Breath of a kiss across her jaw, her cheek, her lips.

  She reached out and stroked the soft skin close to her. It felt so real. It was real, as long as she kept her eyes closed. Her lover was with her, would always be with her.

  Kisses down her body, caressing each turn of her body with soft lips.

  Jennifer let out a cry of pleasure into the still air as she felt lips and tongue press between her legs, push inside her and fill her with pleasure.

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ she cried into the stillness of her bedroom, of their bedroom. They were together. They were going to stay together, no matter what.

  Jennifer’s hips moved uncontrollably as her entire body rocked with pleasure. This was more than she’d ever felt, more than she could bear but she wanted more, more and more. She wanted to see the face of her sweetheart as they made love to each other. She wanted to return the pleasure she was receiving. She wanted everything.

  Fingers firm on her hips, holding her steady as her lover’s hot, hard tongue moves inside her, flutters inside her, and she can feel her heart pounding through her whole body.

  ‘Please! Oh please, more,’ she begged.

  Her lover grasps hold of her, flicks her tongue over her hot swollen clit, and Jennifer bucks and shouts her pleasure into the room.

  Jennifer collapsed on the bed, eyes still firmly closed. Strong, soft arms wrapped around her and held her tight.

  She turned her face into the warmth of her lover’s neck and breathed in the scent of the sweat they have created together.

  Her insides ached. She wanted to give back to her sweetheart but didn’t know how. She could feel her lover in her arms but one glance, even through half-opened eyes, and Jennifer knew she would disappear, that she’d be left alone in her bed. She would be left alone without the comfort of her lover.

  Arianwen exists alone now. Her parents have stopped trying. They have realised they cannot reach her. Arianwen does not want to be reached. She longs to be alone, to let the blackness surround her. She welcomes the emptiness for it brings her ghostly lover; only then is she happy. In those moments, she does not care about Blodwyn, only about her sweetheart, her cariad.

  Blodwyn’s wedding is approaching. Arianwen will have to go. She will have to be there and watch Blodwyn marry her fine young man.
She will pretend to be joyful for a match made under God. She will pretend not to notice the disgusted looks Blodwyn will send her way.

  She can feel all this, feel the hurt she knows Blodwyn has caused her. But it is not constant. She wonders about that, why she should feel so close to the pain one moment and then so far away from it. It is her lover who takes her away. When she is at home, at her piano or in her bed, she can feel her lover there with her and nothing else seems to matter.

  At night, when darkness fills the cottage, Arianwen sits at her piano, strokes her fingers over the keys. She always feels her lover close to her when she plays and sings. Sometimes, she can hear her lover singing the words with her. It does not matter what she sings, as long as she does.

  Arianwen begins to play. The music is soft, whispering sound into the corners of the room. She sings.

  Holl amrantau’r sêr ddywedant

  Ar hyd y nos.

  ‘Dyma’r ffordd i fro gogoniant’

  Ar hyd y nos.

  Golau arall yw tywyllwch,

  I arddangos gwir brydferthwch,

  Teulu’r nefoedd mewn tawelwch

  Ar hyd y nos.

  She knows her cariad does not understand the words, though she can hear her listening. She wants her to understand. She wants to share the beautiful words with her lover.

  All the stars’ eyelids say,

  All through the night,

  ‘This is the way to the valley of glory,’

  All through the night.

  Darkness is another kind of light

  To show true beauty,

  The Heavenly family in peace,

  All through the night.

  As she sings the words again, in English, her lover’s singing joins her. Her voice is soft but, underneath the sweet tones, there is sadness. Arianwen wonders what has caused the sadness, if her cariad feels alone like she does.

  Arianwen wants to take her to bed and comfort her, hold her close and give her pleasure. She wants her life to be only their dreams together. She wants to be everything to her lover.

  Her lover is already everything to her.

  Chapter Seven

  IT WAS A SATURDAY morning. Jennifer woke early, feeling brighter than she had felt in a while. She got dressed and had breakfast. Her cottage really felt like her home now. She felt as though she had been here forever. Her life back in the flat with her dad seemed a different lifetime. She had been happy though. She and her Dad had muddled along just fine together, had done since she’d been five years old and her mum had run off.

  Jennifer glanced at the photograph of her dad she’d placed in her living room. There he was, all smiles, as always. He’d never moaned, not even when he’d had to spend his last days stuck in bed. That was him though. He muddled through, as always. And so would she.

  She headed out, taking her camera with her. This was the first time she’d been out since finishing things with Ceris. She felt her insides twisting at the thought of running into her.

  She reached the chapel and stopped. She hadn’t intended to go in; she didn’t even believe in God, but something drew her. She tried the door and it opened.

  Inside, silence thrummed against her eardrums. There was no one else here. Perhaps there was a minister somewhere but he didn’t make himself known. She walked up the aisle to the front. On either side of the altar were stands of candles and a collection box. A few candles were lit.

  Jennifer hesitated, then took out a few coins from her purse and slid them into the collection box. Then she picked up an unlit candle and held the wick to an already flickering flame. She thought about her lover.

  ‘I know she believes in God,’ Jennifer whispered. ‘Maybe he is real, like she is.’ She glanced up at the altar. ‘If you are real, God, would you let us be together? I keep feeling this sadness from her, like she’s all alone. She wants to be with me and I want to be with her.’

  Jennifer sighed and sat down on the front pew. She was seeing ghosts, she was talking to God. This wasn’t like her. But she needed something. She needed more than what she had. She needed her lover.

  Saturday morning, the Saturday of Blodwyn’s wedding, is bright and sunny. The water sparkles, clearer than ever and everybody is smiling. Arianwen has dressed in her best clothes. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her clothes are pretty. She wears a soft blue dress which shows off her slim figure, though the corset pinches her and she feels crowded by the wide skirt. She tries to smile but it makes her look haunted and strained. Her eyes look empty, like the eyes of a corpse. She thinks of the brother she once had; his eyes were like that.

  Arianwen turns away from her reflection. She does not want to face this pain. She closes her eyes and tries to feel the presence of her cariad. She reaches into the darkness and finds nothing. There is no answering caress, there are no soft words whispered into the stillness. She is alone.

  She takes a deep breath. Determined not to let her sadness show, she goes to the wedding with her parents.

  The whole village has turned out to see Blodwyn marry. She is marrying into the richest family in Cilfachglas. Was that why she was marrying young Mr Evans? Did she even love him? Arianwen sits near the front with her mother and watches her father prepare the altar. Most people are taking their seats now, bustling about and chattering like squirrels. Arianwen hates them. They are not anything like her.

  She focuses her eyes on the prayer candles at the front. Several are lit. Many times, she has come in here by herself and lit a candle. She wants to light a candle for her lover; she does not even know her name.

  She wants her lover there now. She wants to hold her hand, let her presence steady her. But she is not here. Why is she not here? Why can she not be with her all the time?

  Arianwen focuses hard on the pale light of the candles flickering in the cool air of the chapel. She does not feel as though she is really sitting here in the pew. Her eyes blur as she stares at the candle. The people become a haze around her. They are not really there. She is here with her lover instead. If she imagines it hard enough, perhaps God will let her have it?

  She does not watch as Blodwyn says her vows. She keeps staring at the candle. She can feel her cariad with her now.

  ‘If you are real, God, would you let us be together?’

  Arianwen wants to cry out, plead to God for them to be together. But she keeps silent.

  ‘I keep feeling this sadness from her, like she’s all alone. She wants to be with me and I want to be with her.’

  She is right. Arianwen is alone. She looks around herself. The people do not seem real. They are not really there. She is sitting here alone. No, not alone. She is with her lover. She closes her eyes and just feels her. She knows Blodwyn has a happy normal life, which Arianwen will never achieve; but Arianwen has her lover.

  Afterwards, there is a gathering in the village hall. Arianwen does not go. Her parents object but she returns home. The cottage is quiet but it does not feel peaceful. There is a darkness about it. It surrounds her, making her shiver inside.

  She goes to her piano. She needs its comfort. She drifts through the house in the darkness and takes a seat. Eyes closed, she lifts the lid and places her fingers on the keys. She takes a deep breath and presses down lightly.

  A shock goes through her, discordant chords clashing against her ears. She leaps backwards and stares in shock at her piano. It is covered in dust. The keys are yellow and tuneless. She looks around. There is nothing left in the room but the piano. Her things have disappeared. The darkness has become empty. She is forgotten and alone, existing here in a void.

  Is she dead? Is she in hell? Is she being punished for her perversion?

  Beside the sea my sweetheart lives

  She raises her head as a snippet of music reaches her ears but all too soon, it fades into the stillness of the cottage, merely a fragment of life.

  Arianwen sinks down on the filthy floorboards, feeling a sob rise up in her throat. She curls her arms around herself, presses
her face into her knees and begins to cry, sobs wrenching from her body.

  The abandoned cottage is filled with the sound of desperate weeping.

  Jennifer left the church abruptly. The urge to be at home was irresistible. She was needed somehow.

  Her cottage felt strangely empty when she shut the door behind her. All her things were the same yet something was different. The presence, which had been there, was missing.

  Immediately, Jennifer went to the piano. She stroked the smooth keys, then pressed down lightly. The soft tone of Middle C resounded through the room.

  ‘Where are you? Please come back. I don’t want to be without you. Please.’

  She listened to the silence. Her breathing seemed to echo between the walls. She pressed the piano key again, allowing her fingers to make a pattern of sound to fill the emptiness.

  If only she could really play, she was sure she could bring the presence back then. She, Jennifer’s lover, loved music so much, she was sure to come to the piano’s song. Jennifer could not play a single note of the beautiful music her lover had played for her, but perhaps she could sing it.

  Beside the sea there are red roses

  Beside the sea there’re lovely lillies

  Beside the sea my sweetheart lives

 

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