FEAR
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IS IT REALLY OVER?
The kettle had long since boiled, yet she stood mug in hand, empty but for a single teabag.
‘Where did it all go wrong?’ was all she could think. It had begun so well, albeit by chance. But doesn’t everything, in one way or another? She smiled as she thought of her embarrassment, when he had bent down and retrieved her ‘Always’ that had escaped from her shopping basket. She took them from him quickly, muttering a quick thank you, before turning away, pretending to check how many were in front of her in the queue. She had, however, noticed how handsome he was, how his blue eyes sparkled when he looked at her. Did he fancy her? She thought so, hoped so. Would her shyness put him off, or turn him on? She had smiled at that thought at the time, just as she was smiling now, a wry amused upturn of the lips.
He had been the consummate gentleman, not pushy yet not backward in coming forward. She was just opening her car door, when she felt his presence behind her. Surely she hadn’t dropped something else, although she wouldn’t mind dropping them for him. She had to compose herself before turning around.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m a stalker, or something. I just didn’t want to let the opportunity pass. You might think it strange if you were to find me hanging around the supermarket, hoping to pick up women. How else would I find you?’
‘Oh!’ she feigned surprise, and ignorance.
‘Oh!’ he echoed ‘Sorry, I’m not very good at this.’
‘Stalking you mean?’ They both laughed. That broke the ice.
‘Can I take you to dinner sometime?’ he blurted out ‘tomorrow night, if you’re free?’
She didn’t reply immediately, just looked at him intently. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.
‘I would like that’ she replied eventually.
From that moment on it was full on, flowers to her work, and home, with loving messages, texts, gifts, more dates and eventually the proposal, which she readily accepted. After all she wasn’t getting any younger, and she so wanted children. No, she wasn’t desperate, but even though she wasn’t in love, her feelings for him were enough to tell him that she loved him, and mean it. And he loved her, or so he said. And so it seemed they were happy, happy enough to be man and wife, to be a family.
What broke the spell was the revelation that he had had a vasectomy, that he had no intention of having children, that he had lied, at least on that point. What else had he lied about? Nothing, according to him. But then why did he begin staying out late? Why did he start treating her so badly, so cruelly, berating her for nothing, criticising her appearance, calling her useless, not wanting to touch her, to be near her? He was having an affair. A mid-life crisis. She should have walked away, divorced him. But she didn’t, couldn’t, for no reason other than she still liked being married, liked being a wife, living this life. She forgave him. They started having sex again. She brought up the question of ‘artificial insemination’, and although he was reluctant at first, he seemed to be coming around. That is until it all changed again.
He became withdrawn, kept himself to himself. Spent his time at work, as far as she knew, or watching television, without uttering a word. She humoured him, still ironed his shirts, made his dinner, his cups of tea. They still exchanged pleasantries, like ‘thanks’ for the tea. But there was no joy, no intimacy, no flowers, no sweet nothings. What was he doing, what was he thinking? She wanted to know, needed to know. And so she confronted him, demanded an answer. She was entitled to know what was going on, where she stood, what she was doing here? That’s when he told her that he didn’t love her, had never loved her, that he wanted out. And that was it. He wouldn’t be needing that cup of tea now. She stepped over his lifeless body, And went to bed.
THE LAST FAREWELL
Staring at him through the window, she realises that he is totally unaware of her. He sits, taking a drink of his coffee from time to time. He is old, and looks his age, not as she remembered him. But it had been years since she had set eyes on him. Then he was much younger, much stronger. Now he’s just a harmless old man. Or is he?
She had just turned sixteen when it happened. She had gone there looking for her friend, his daughter. He never said she wasn’t there, just pointed her in the direction of her bedroom. She thought nothing of the fact he was following her up the stairs. Why would she? It was his house. It wasn’t until he was behind her, just as she reached the bedroom door. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. And then his hands gripping her shoulders, guiding her through the door. There was no one there. No one but the two of them. The door was closed behind them, but not by her. She heard the click of the lock, and turned to face him.
‘Don’t scream’. She was just about to, but his words confused her. They didn’t sound threatening. Maybe he just wanted to talk to her. But why lock the door?
‘You’re a beautiful girl, so beautiful.’ The look in his eyes told her exactly what he wanted. Not if she could help it.
‘Mr Smith’ she began, but before she could go any further he had lifted her off her feet, and thrown her onto the bed, so hard it took her breath away. The last thing she saw was the cloth that he put over her nose and mouth, with chloroform, or some other anaesthetic. Well he was a doctor. What he did to her she could only imagine. When she awoke she was back at home, in her own bed. He had brought her home, told them she had fainted on his doorstep. Luckily he had managed to catch her before she fell, and injured herself. He had examined her. She would be alright. Probably to do with her hormones.
She had a hard time deciding what to do? Tell her parents? Go to the police? He was an important man in the community, a politician as well as a doctor. She had no visible signs of sexual activity. He had made sure of that, no doubt had worn surgical gloves, cleaned the appropriate areas. It was going to be her word against his. Who would believe that he would do something like that, to his daughter’s best friend, in his own house? Not her parents. She hadn’t been flavour of the month with them recently. They didn’t want her having a boyfriend, she was too young. So she did nothing. But she would never forget.
And now here she was. Here he was. They would soon take him back to his bedroom. And she would be there, waiting. She had told them she was a niece, here on holiday, her only opportunity to see him, perhaps for the last time. It would be. She was sure of it. He wouldn’t recognise her, partly because he hadn’t seen her since she was eighteen, but mainly because he was suffering from dementia. She wouldn’t stay long, what’s the point? It would only take a minute to administer the injection, in the armpit, where it wouldn’t be noticed. His whole body would shut down, slowly. He might even realise, but wouldn’t be able to move, wouldn’t be able to speak. Part of her thought she might be doing him a favour, putting him out of his misery. But on the other hand he doesn’t deserve the chance to fantasise over little girls, those that might be visiting their grandparents, their aunts or uncles. He doesn’t deserve to relive the time he abused her, times he abused other children.
He let out a slight ‘ouch’as the needle went in, and just as she whispered in his ear.
‘It’s me, Julia, I just came to say goodbye.’
The kettle had long since boiled, yet she stood mug in hand, empty but for a single teabag.
‘Where did it all go wrong?’ was all she could think. It had begun so well, albeit by chance. But doesn’t everything, in one way or another? She smiled as she thought of her embarrassment, when he had bent down and retrieved her ‘Always’ that had escaped from her shopping basket. She took them from him quickly, muttering a quick thank you, before turning away, pretending to check how many were in front of her in the queue. She had, however, noticed how handsome he was, how his blue eyes sparkled when he looked at her. Did he fancy her? She thought so, hoped so. Would her shyness put him off, or turn him on? She had smiled at that thought at the time, just as she was smiling now, a wry amused upturn of the lips.
He had been the consummate gentleman, not pushy yet not backward in coming forward. She was just opening her car door, when she felt his presence behind her. Surely she hadn’t dropped something else, although she wouldn’t mind dropping them for him. She had to compose herself before turning around.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m a stalker, or something. I just didn’t want to let the opportunity pass. You might think it strange if you were to find me hanging around the supermarket, hoping to pick up women. How else would I find you?’
‘Oh!’ she feigned surprise, and ignorance.
‘Oh!’ he echoed ‘Sorry, I’m not very good at this.’
‘Stalking you mean?’ They both laughed. That broke the ice.
‘Can I take you to dinner sometime?’ he blurted out ‘tomorrow night, if you’re free?’
She didn’t reply immediately, just looked at him intently. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.
‘I would like that’ she replied eventually.
From that moment on it was full on, flowers to her work, and home, with loving messages, texts, gifts, more dates and eventually the proposal, which she readily accepted. After all she wasn’t getting any younger, and she so wanted children. No, she wasn’t desperate, but even though she wasn’t in love, her feelings for him were enough to tell him that she loved him, and mean it. And he loved her, or so he said. And so it seemed they were happy, happy enough to be man and wife, to be a family.
What broke the spell was the revelation that he had had a vasectomy, that he had no intention of having children, that he had lied, at least on that point. What else had he lied about? Nothing, according to him. But then why did he begin staying out late? Why did he start treating her so badly, so cruelly, berating her for nothing, criticising her appearance, calling her useless, not wanting to touch her, to be near her? He was having an affair. A mid-life crisis. She should have walked away, divorced him. But she didn’t, couldn’t, for no reason other than she still liked being married, liked being a wife, living this life. She forgave him. They started having sex again. She brought up the question of ‘artificial insemination’, and although he was reluctant at first, he seemed to be coming around. That is until it all changed again.
He became withdrawn, kept himself to himself. Spent his time at work, as far as she knew, or watching television, without uttering a word. She humoured him, still ironed his shirts, made his dinner, his cups of tea. They still exchanged pleasantries, like ‘thanks’ for the tea. But there was no joy, no intimacy, no flowers, no sweet nothings. What was he doing, what was he thinking? She wanted to know, needed to know. And so she confronted him, demanded an answer. She was entitled to know what was going on, where she stood, what she was doing here? That’s when he told her that he didn’t love her, had never loved her, that he wanted out. And that was it. He wouldn’t be needing that cup of tea now. She stepped over his lifeless body, And went to bed.
THE LAST FAREWELL
Staring at him through the window, she realises that he is totally unaware of her. He sits, taking a drink of his coffee from time to time. He is old, and looks his age, not as she remembered him. But it had been years since she had set eyes on him. Then he was much younger, much stronger. Now he’s just a harmless old man. Or is he?
She had just turned sixteen when it happened. She had gone there looking for her friend, his daughter. He never said she wasn’t there, just pointed her in the direction of her bedroom. She thought nothing of the fact he was following her up the stairs. Why would she? It was his house. It wasn’t until he was behind her, just as she reached the bedroom door. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. And then his hands gripping her shoulders, guiding her through the door. There was no one there. No one but the two of them. The door was closed behind them, but not by her. She heard the click of the lock, and turned to face him.
‘Don’t scream’. She was just about to, but his words confused her. They didn’t sound threatening. Maybe he just wanted to talk to her. But why lock the door?
‘You’re a beautiful girl, so beautiful.’ The look in his eyes told her exactly what he wanted. Not if she could help it.
‘Mr Smith’ she began, but before she could go any further he had lifted her off her feet, and thrown her onto the bed, so hard it took her breath away. The last thing she saw was the cloth that he put over her nose and mouth, with chloroform, or some other anaesthetic. Well he was a doctor. What he did to her she could only imagine. When she awoke she was back at home, in her own bed. He had brought her home, told them she had fainted on his doorstep. Luckily he had managed to catch her before she fell, and injured herself. He had examined her. She would be alright. Probably to do with her hormones.
She had a hard time deciding what to do? Tell her parents? Go to the police? He was an important man in the community, a politician as well as a doctor. She had no visible signs of sexual activity. He had made sure of that, no doubt had worn surgical gloves, cleaned the appropriate areas. It was going to be her word against his. Who would believe that he would do something like that, to his daughter’s best friend, in his own house? Not her parents. She hadn’t been flavour of the month with them recently. They didn’t want her having a boyfriend, she was too young. So she did nothing. But she would never forget.
And now here she was. Here he was. They would soon take him back to his bedroom. And she would be there, waiting. She had told them she was a niece, here on holiday, her only opportunity to see him, perhaps for the last time. It would be. She was sure of it. He wouldn’t recognise her, partly because he hadn’t seen her since she was eighteen, but mainly because he was suffering from dementia. She wouldn’t stay long, what’s the point? It would only take a minute to administer the injection, in the armpit, where it wouldn’t be noticed. His whole body would shut down, slowly. He might even realise, but wouldn’t be able to move, wouldn’t be able to speak. Part of her thought she might be doing him a favour, putting him out of his misery. But on the other hand he doesn’t deserve the chance to fantasise over little girls, those that might be visiting their grandparents, their aunts or uncles. He doesn’t deserve to relive the time he abused her, times he abused other children.
He let out a slight ‘ouch’as the needle went in, and just as she whispered in his ear.
‘It’s me, Julia, I just came to say goodbye.’