Episode 4

Previously…

Joshua was in tears now, making a continuous whining sound to try and blot out the noise. Samuel threw his chair back and stormed after Beulah. But she hadn’t gone up to her room. She’d made a run for it...out the front door and down the street before Samuel realized his mistake.

Clara scooped a distraught Joshua off his chair and bundled him upstairs into his room. She closed the door and sat the two of them on the bed, hugging him tightly to her. Samuel had never gone this far before. She’d never seen him this out of control. They were breaking new ground and no-one quite knew how to deal with the situation.

After a while she heard her husband come upstairs and stop outside their door.

“Clara?”

She didn’t want to talk to him but she realized she had to say something if she didn’t want to make things worse. He’d probably kick the door in, the mood he was in.

“What?” She wasn’t giving him anything. Swine.

Silence.

“Never mind.”

She and Joshua listened as he got himself ready for work and finally left, slamming the front door behind him. At that moment she almost felt sorry for him. She hoped he wasn’t losing it. She had often thought that she was the one who would have the nervous breakdown. Turns out she was stronger than she thought.

And now...

Clara slid her hand smoothly over the suggestively shaped cap on the bottle of perfume perched on her dressing table. She let her hand linger on its silky surface while her eyes drifted down to the contents of the bottle. Inside the shell-shaped bottle was a dark amber liquid containing the reddest, deadest rosebud she’d ever seen. She turned the seldom opened bottle around in her hand. ‘Bewitched’, it was called. ‘Temptation in a bottle’ it said on the gold and russet label. ‘The Damask Rose is renowned for its ability to rouse the most dormant of passions’ it boasted underneath. 
It took pride of place on her dressing table so that she could look at it everyday. But like everything we see every day, we quickly stop noticing it; except once in a while. This morning the bottle fairly jumped out at Clara. She had bought it for herself once in a fit of exuberant and romantic optimism, because it reminded her of the rose she had worn at her high school dance. There had been fairy lights strung between the trees and coloured lanterns hanging in the arches, twinkling over the young couples as they listened to the band playing in the pavilion. She could still hear the music, the muted trumpets playing soft and low while she danced with her beau. They had fallen in love that night and let the whirlwind carry them where it may.

Her mother had caught them making love in the bushes. And whirlwind indeed she was. She had then driven them straight to the boy’s house and threatened his parents that if he ever came near her daughter again she would bring rape charges against him. That was the last she ever saw of him.

She looked at the perfume. On an impulse she opened it and patted a few drops on her cheek and throat. It wasn’t very strong, more like a cologne really, but the scent caught in her throat and memories of that night tumbled over in her mind. Oh how she missed him. Oh how she missed being in love. How she hated this grey grimness that was her life. She looked in the mirror and was shocked to see two dark ringed eyes staring back at her…haunted and harrowing. This is because of Beulah and Samuel, she thought. For the last six months they’d been grinding against one another; ever since Beulah had begun her periods the house was a bloody nightmare. It seemed as if she was purposely antagonizing her father. She did everything she could to ignore, contradict or upset him. Clara had tried to speak to each of them but only succeeded in bringing their wrath down on her own head. That’s what happens when you stick your finger in someone else’s fight. But it was getting her down…and it was starting to show.

She couldn’t go to work like this. People would say things. Hurriedly she sat down and began to put on some powder and paint. That was all she had wanted to do really, to cover up her bruised eyes, but once she got started her hands just seemed to keep going. Eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, all carefully and lovingly applied. She combed out her long blonde hair which she normally wore tied back in a no-time-for-fun bun.

And there it was again. The magical transformation. Not just of her face, but her confidence, and that feeling of….happiness wasn’t quite the right word…..celebration? Almost. Joie de vivre. That was it. The joy of life. She hadn’t felt that in years. She felt lovely, strong…beautiful.

But she couldn’t go to work looking like this. People would think she was having an affair. Her hand reached automatically for the cleansing pads, but she stopped herself. Why not? Why not be a bit different for once? A bit daring. Give people something to gossip about. Why always be one of the grey people? This was her life going to waste. A few more years of this and it would be over. As it was she felt like she was clinging to the last leaves of autumn. Indeed, they could be more beautiful than the summer ones…if she gave them a chance. Screw it. For once in her miserable life do something courageous and exciting, she thought. Do something worth living for. Do something worth dying for.

She looked approvingly at her face in the mirror. Not bad. But now the face had to have a dress to go with it; and shoes. Full of confidence she flung off her old work-frock and, from a meagre selection in her wardrobe, selected a silky summer dress she had worn once in Barbados, together with a pretty pair of high heels, only ever used in first gear.

She took a last admiring glance in the mirror, then grabbed up her purse and rushed from the room before she could change her mind. The front door slammed behind her as she click-clicked down the path, feeling ten feet tall and irresistible. God she felt sexy, and God seemed to agree with her because the bus arrived on the dot, giving her no time for second thoughts. She got on the bus feeling everyone was looking at her - and indeed they were - for she glowed with happiness. She made her way swayingly down the aisle to her normal seat, greeting the occasional familiar face with a smile and a nod. It was a wonderful day. The windows were wide open and a slight breeze kept it from being too hot. Even the driver was mellowed out and didn’t throw them around as much as usual. She looked out the window. How she loved this little town. Suddenly she wished she had been a little bit more public minded…or public spirited. She should get more involved in local events. There were lots of things she could do to help the community. It would make her feel better about herself and she wouldn’t feel so trapped at home. More importantly she’d be able to meet more people. She turned to look at her fellow passengers and suddenly there he was…the boy. Her heart turned a somersault and a warm flush spread out from between her legs. She realized that she had done all this for him without being aware of it; as if she were two people and the one didn’t know what the other was up to. She’d just caught herself out. Her body had betrayed her. There was no denying her visceral response to him. Her body was crying out to be touched and for one shocking, blessed moment she was truthful with herself. She just wanted some sex. No wrapping it up in acceptable euphemisms or hiding it behind a romantic veil. No true love fairy tale…just sex. The thought thrilled her to the bone. It had been too long. She had too many years of strangled emotions under the hood. The wolf in her had been let loose and given a sniff of blood.  And her blood was up and baying for release.

There he was, not so much a boy as a young man, hanging on his leather strap, eyes wide with wanting her, just like the first time they had stared at each other. She had seen him many times after that but had always avoided his eyes. This time her eyes wouldn’t let her look away. She looked boldly back at him, tired of having to squirm away from him. She felt her power run up and down her skin like electricity. The phrase ‘sparks flew between them’ came to mind. She was sure the whole bus could feel it…and she didn’t care. And then to add dynamite to the mixture she smiled at him, casually, and let her eyes drift slowly away from him and out the window. She felt strangely strong and in control of herself for once in her life.

Outside the window the colours were overly bright and the air crisp and clear. Even the sight of the factory ahead didn’t depress her as much as it usually did. She turned back to the boy but he was looking the other way now. ‘Probably lost his nerve’, she thought. He wasn’t bad looking, but he was very young and probably useless in bed. But that wasn’t the point. She wanted to be touched. Any which way. She hadn’t been touched in ten years, not counting the occasional grope and poke from Samuel. Who could blame her? The bus was nearly at her stop so she got up from her seat and made her way to the front, her dress brushing briefly against the boy as she went past.

At the last moment she turned and gave him a searing come hither look; half hoping he would follow her, half knowing he wouldn’t, which was just as well for she didn’t know what she’d do if he did. That thought made her do a double take. What would she do if he did approach her? Would she actually go through with it? She couldn’t just turn and run away from him. She felt the craziness begin to creep up on her.

The sweat trickled down between her breasts as she stepped down onto the pavement and frantically elbowed her way through the waiting crowd. Suddenly it was all too much for her. She felt like all her circuits were overloading……too much, and too late; too right, and too wrong. She couldn’t deal with all the contradictions. Then she had one of those moments where she didn’t quite know where she was, like her brain had just blacked everything out. She couldn’t remember whether she was coming or going, and far away she thought she could hear Joshua calling to her, and that made her even more frightened. Maybe something bad had happened to Joshua because of what she was doing. Maybe this was the way God was going to punish her for her wicked thoughts.

“Oi lady, you can’t stop there. There’re people trying to get on the bus.”

The rest of the day at work was wrapped in cotton wool, with dislocated thoughts poking out here and there; the tired old make-up not doing its magic anymore, the dress now just inappropriate and embarrassing. No one dared ask her what was going on.

That afternoon, on the bus home, she sat and stared out of the window, looking like Cinderella after the ball, her Tesco’s bag on the seat next to her. Of course the boy was there…the young man, and she was all too aware that he was now looking at her with renewed vigour and determination. Oh dear God what had she done. She just wanted to run and hide. The fairy tale had turned into a nightmare. And to make matters worse, when she got off at her stop, the boy got off as well. He’d never done that before. He obviously intended to follow her home. Her worst fears were coming true. Her legs went weak with fright. On top of that, she was enveloped by a cloud of petrol fumes as the bus pulled off that made her feel sick and dizzy. She hurriedly made her way home as best she could, wobbling self-consciously on her high heel shoes as his eyes burned into her back. When she got to the house she went inside without looking back and slammed the door with a shiver.

“Ma, look at the drawing I did.”

“Yes dear that’s very nice,” she said, hardly even noticing the piece of paper Joshua was holding up. She was relieved that he was alright and made a silent promise to God never to do that again. “Now help me put these groceries away.” She didn’t know which way to turn. She dared not look out the window. She knew he’d be there because she could feel it in her loins.

‘Damn.’ She’d forgotten the Bisto. ‘Oh well, its going to have to be home-made gravy tonight and watch him moan about it.’ Suddenly she felt very old. She was just so tired of all this…thankless servitude. Life seemed to be closing in on her with a vengeance now; her little taste of freedom emphasizing her slavery.

Everything had gone so horribly wrong: right from the beginning really. Trapped with a man who thought it was his right to complain about everything and never lift a finger to do it himself; whose only conversation was reading bits of facile nonsense from his newspaper aloud to her when she was trying to cook a meal, or get the kids ready for bed, or doing the washing.

“Listen to this…” If she ever heard that sentence again it would be too soon. And what happens when the children leave home and she’s left alone with him? She just couldn’t bear thinking about it. These are things depressions are built on. These are things murders are built on. And then there’s her latest disaster waiting outside on the kerb. And tonight? Round two between Beulah and Samuel?

“Can I go and play at Trevor’s?” She hadn’t wanted to look at his drawing so he had lost interest in her.

“What? Oh yes. Sure. Just don’t be late for dinner,” she intoned liked a parrot, just saying what a mother is supposed to say, like some mechanical toy. She wished she hadn’t said it though. It would actually be best if he was late tonight. She didn’t want him there when the action kicked off. Bloody men. Bloody husbands and daughters. They deserve each other.