Beautiful

by Anita Waller

  She pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll look after you. From now on Dad will take you to school and collect you at night…’

  ‘No!’ Amy screamed the word. ‘No! Don’t you see, Mum, if we behave like that, like scared rabbits, he’ll have won? We carry on just as normal – and don’t worry, I’ll be extra careful.’

  ‘But you don’t even know what he looks like.’

  ‘Then we’ll get a picture from the police. Surely they won’t deny us that?’

  ‘No, I’m sure they won’t but… oh, Amy, I’m so sorry, love.’

  ‘No, Mum, it’s him who will be sorry if he ever comes near any one of us,’ she said quietly. There was ice in her voice and Brenda shivered. ‘Will you get me a photograph of him?’

  Brenda nodded and moved towards the lounge.

  ‘I’ll ring now,’ she said leaving her daughter to adjust to her new reality.

  Amy decided to push thoughts of Treverick to one side. Her exam results were good and her interview at Curran, Trebuthnoe Ltd in Padstow went so well that they rang the following day and offered her the position. Working in a solicitor’s office as a junior meant she could inhabit her own world most of the time without having too big a responsibility during working hours.

  She was efficient at her job and went to night school and day release for shorthand and typing. Although the partners recognized her value to them as an organizer and frequently spoke about their plans for her future career she knew she wanted nothing more than straightforward clerical work.

  She spent a quiet eighteen months not rocking any boats, building a good working relationship with her employers and spending most of her free time with John.

  Pat and David grew ever closer and when Pat confessed to her closest friend that she had slept with David, Amy was supportive and understanding. On the inside her stomach churned and she felt sick at the thought of such intimacy.

  For her own part she kept John at arm’s length and he grew to accept that the love of his life was still damaged, but time would heal her.

  He would heal her.

  ‘Marry you? But…’

  John took hold of her hand.

  ‘Yes. Marry me. You know, hearts and flowers bit, better or for worse, sickness and in health, forsaking all others. You know the sort of things they say on these occasions.’

  Her eyes clouded.

  ‘Don’t mock me, John,’ she said softly and he suddenly had the feeling that things were going badly wrong.

  ‘Look, forget all I’ve said and I’ll start again.’

  They were standing in the kitchen of Amy’s home and he led her gently to the kitchen table pushing her down on to a chair. Dropping on to one knee he took hold of her left hand.

  ‘Miss Amelia Rose Andrews, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Will you marry me? Please.’

  ‘Why did you call me Amelia?’

  He groaned.

  ‘Okay, we’ll do it again. Miss Amy Rose…’

  She placed a finger on his lips.

  ‘Sssh, idiot. And you know what my answer has to be.’

  ‘Huh? What does that mean? Yes or no? And can I get up now; it’s a bit hard on the knees.’

  ‘Of course my answer is no.’

  He looked astounded.

  ‘Amy, did you or did you not say you loved me only five minutes ago?’

  ‘Yes, I love you.’

  He began to feel angry.

  ‘Then what is it? Is it because you’re only seventeen? I’d thought we could get engaged officially on your eighteenth birthday and if you want it that way, we’ll wait until you’re twenty one before we get married. Just tell me you want me as much as I want you. You know there’s never been anyone else for me.’

  The anguish showed all too plainly in Amy’s face.

  ‘John, tell me in words of one syllable that you will never want children.’

  ‘I can’t. I would love a son one day but, my lovely Amy, that doesn’t mean we have to be the natural parents. We will adopt, silly cuckoo. Did you really think I hadn’t thought all this through? Come here.’ He pulled her close, kissing away the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  ‘Is it yes?’

  She nodded, hardly trusting herself to speak.

  Jack and Brenda were delighted. The plans for a huge party to celebrate the event took weeks to complete and the Andrews became very close to John’s parents as a result. It came as no surprise to them that Lilian and Tad Thornton thought a great deal of their daughter. On a normal day Amy was charm personified. Only Brenda knew just how dark the other side of her lovely offspring was.

  9

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack, Brenda, if I could hold out any hope at all…’

  Brenda’s ashen face turned towards the specialist.

  ‘What do you mean? Are you trying to say it’s inoperable?’

  Reginald Smythe nodded slowly, wishing himself for the thousandth time in any other job but this.

  ‘The lumps that we removed from your neck, Jack, were secondary carcinomas.’

  Jack’s hands shook and he gripped his fingers tightly.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘I can’t play God, Jack, but…’

  ‘Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?’ Brenda screamed. ‘Playing God? Deciding what’s removable and what isn’t. Why can’t you try?’

  ‘Mrs Andrews, Brenda…’ The man in the grey suit tried to hold her eyes with his. ‘You must believe me…’

  She stood and staggered towards the door, blind with rage and tears. ‘Just don’t sit there, you bastard, and tell me my husband’s dying…’

  Jack’s quiet voice cut into the charged atmosphere.

  ‘How long?’

  Brenda stared at her husband in horror, unable to comprehend his acceptance of death.

  ‘How long?’ He repeated the words.

  ‘Four, maybe six months.’

  There was an anguished wail from Brenda followed by the slam of a door. Jack couldn’t move, couldn’t follow his wife, couldn’t comfort her or accept comfort.

  ‘So six months is the outside then?’

  Smythe nodded.

  ‘The very outside, Jack. It’s well advanced. Did you think this diagnosis might be a possibility?’ A long sigh escaped from Jack’s lips.

  ‘Yes, I knew. Never mentioned it to Brenda, she’s enough on her plate.’

  ‘We can control the pain, Jack. It will be dignified, but… I’m sorry, even if we operated it wouldn’t grant you any extensions.’

  Jack stood and held out his hand.

  ‘Thanks for being honest, Mr. Smythe. At least I can put my life, or what’s left of it, in order. I’ll go and find Brenda now. Got to talk, you know.’

  He discovered her already sitting in the car, a screwed up handkerchief clutched tightly in her fist. He slid behind the wheel but made no attempt to start the car.

  ‘We have to talk, Bren.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t want John and Amy to know. At least, not until…’

  ‘Not until there’s no denying it, you mean.’ She concluded bitterly. ‘Why us, Jack, why us?’

  He slid his left arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

  ‘Do you love me, Bren?’

  ‘You know I do.’ Her head dropped as if her neck could no longer support it.

  ‘Have you always loved me?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Then that’s enough. You’re the only woman I ever wanted and you’ll be there with me when things get rough. We have to accept it, love.’

  ‘We don’t, Jack. We could get a second opinion.’

  'No good, Bren. The cancer has spread through my body now. Let’s make the most of what we have left. I love you, Brenda Andrews and I won’t let something like this spoil our last few months together. And I damn well won’t let it spoil the kids’ engagement do next week.’

  ‘And Freda?’<
br />
  ‘We tell her tonight. I don’t want her to find out accidentally from my notes at the doctors. Besides, I think she suspects anyway. She’s not a fool. No, it’s Amy who mustn’t know. Not yet.’

  The party was a complete success and Brenda, Jack, Amy and John were the last to leave the hall; all the gifts had been loaded into the back of John’s car before they could set off for the Andrews cottage. The boot was eventually full and Jack and Brenda safely ensconced on the back seat.

  ‘Well that’s it, young Amy,’ John remarked with a laugh. ‘Time to get you home. Have you had a good day?’

  Amy, her eyes shining, kissed him enthusiastically in answer and missed seeing her mother wipe the sweat from the brow of her father, his face ashen as a wave of pain washed over him.

  It had been pain that had brought them together twenty-four years earlier and Brenda closed her eyes and moved into memory. It had only been three steps that she had tumbled down thanks to Monty the cat but she had landed awkwardly and finished off a bad day sitting in accident and emergency at the local hospital. She had shared the waiting room with a young man who was also nursing a suspected fracture to his arm and they had begun to talk.

  Brenda could still remember the feeling of loss as they moved her into the x-ray and treatment area, leaving Jack in the waiting room. Within ten minutes they were reunited, Jack having persuaded the nurse that they really did want the dividing curtain open so that they could talk.

  She smiled to herself as she remembered the conversation, but not the content. That had been irrelevant. They persuaded the nurse who put casts on their arms to give them appointments ten minutes apart at the fracture check up clinic and their love story had started.

  It hadn’t been easy. She had been seeing Tony Baxter and had to tell him it was over. He hadn’t been happy and for some weeks stalked her around town trying to persuade her that Jack was a lowlife, he would treat her like dirt, drop her when he was fed up with her.

  Now, she gripped on to Jack’s hand as she felt him tense from another pain spasm and turned to him.

  ‘I thought you’d gone to sleep.’

  ‘No, my love,’ she said quietly. ‘Just remembering, just remembering.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Me too.’

  10

  Just two weeks after Amy and John's engagement party, robbed of his final five months, Jack Andrews died as a direct result of pancreatic cancer.

  Amy felt she was quietly going mad. Having shut her father out of her life for so long, she now realised she couldn’t handle the guilt. He had been a good man, nothing like the brute who had taken her childhood away from her. She was still struggling with the realisation that ninety nine per cent of the male gender was okay.

  She held her mother’s hand all the way through the funeral service, both of them relying heavily on John for comfort. The service, the funeral tea and the mourners’ departure all passed in a blur.

  Finally the three of them were left alone.

  ‘Please,’ John pleaded, ‘come to our house for a few days. Mom’s fixed the spare bedroom ready for you.’

  Brenda smiled at the young man she had come to love.

  ‘No thanks, John, really. Your mum’s got enough on her plate with the new baby. I promise you, we’ll be fine.’

  ‘Liam’s a good baby,’ he protested. ‘And you know she can handle anything. We’d love to have you.’

  Brenda shook her head.

  ‘No, we have to be on our own sometime. Everyone’s been wonderful but we have to handle things now. I’ll ring your mum and dad and thank them later but we’re staying in our home.’

  Amy chose to say nothing, the numbness refusing to go away. She didn’t want anything or anyone around her; she wanted to grieve on her own, in the privacy of her own room. But most of all she wanted her dad back. She wanted to hold him, to try and tell him how she regretted the years gone by since the attack. Her emotions ran the whole gamut - anger, frustration, despair. She wanted to die.

  She cursed Ronald Treverick with every fibre of her being. His actions had caused her rejection of all men, including her father. She wanted him to meet the same fate as her father but more painfully; much more painfully.

  Lying on her bed, tearless and quiet, her thoughts roamed over the years, always returning to her sixth. She began to pinch the top of her left arm, nipping the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger, not allowing the pain to register.

  Slowly the tears began to fall until finally the nips ceased and a tentative peace washed over her.

  She had to wear long sleeves for two weeks until the bruises disappeared.

  Nothing helped. She missed the presence of her father dreadfully although she had never taken time to be with him, to talk to him, to allow him to be a dad. Now he wasn’t around she felt helpless, rudderless.

  The death of Jack Andrews left a big hole in the lives of Brenda and Freda, but especially Amy.

  It came as no surprise to Brenda when, six months later, John and Amy asked her permission to marry.

  ‘We know we said we would wait until I was twenty one, Mum,’ Amy said, ‘but we have the chance of a lovely flat, two bedrooms it’s got, and so it seems sensible to get married.’

  Brenda looked at the young couple.

  ‘Should sensible come into it?’

  John nodded.

  ‘I think so. You know I love Amy, have done since she was six, so you don’t need to worry. I’ll always look after her and we want to be married.’

  ‘This isn’t anything to do with Pat and David having married, is it? You’re not just following in their footsteps?’

  Amy shook her head.

  ‘No, we’re not as stupid as that, Mum.’

  Brenda smiled.

  ‘Then of course I’ll sign the papers. Did you have a date in mind?’

  ‘September Seventh.’

  ‘Phew! We’d best get cracking then. There’s a lot to organise. But you’re absolutely sure, aren’t you?’

  Even as she asked she knew it was a ridiculous question. There was no denying the happiness in their faces, the look in their eyes. She felt misgivings; Amy was too young and John had only just started to climb his particular ladder of success. She wondered what Jack would have said. Suddenly, there was a deep conviction that Jack would have said let them get on with it; they’ll sort out any problems later. He had been that sort of man.

  ‘Come on, Mrs Andrews, come with us and let’s show you our new home.’ John held out his hand to his future mother-in-law and pulled her up from the armchair. ‘It’s not far, only five minutes away so we’re within easy call if you need us.’

  ‘Oh, John, for goodness sake call me Mum, or Ma, or something, but not Mrs Andrews!’

  ‘Right, Ma,’ he grinned, ‘and give us a kiss.’

  The flat was above a wallpaper shop and boasted a tiny kitchen, a reasonable size lounge, one large bedroom and a much smaller one. The bathroom was so tiny it only just merited the title. The rent was miniscule thanks to the friendship of the owner and John’s father. Brenda looked around her and saw furniture that was clearly pre-war and a carpet in the lounge that urgently needed replacing, but nothing seemed to matter. The youngsters, she could see, were ecstatically happy about it.

  ‘It’s just a start,’ John explained. ‘I won’t be in this job for ever and besides, David’s dad has promised to look at something…’ His voice trailed away as if he regretted saying anything.

  Amy glanced at him.

  ‘John? What’s that?’

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I may as well tell you now. I intended saying nothing until I had something definite to tell you. I’ve been working on a novel for the past two years. It’s finished now, just needs a bit of tidying and Mr. Farmer says he’ll have a look at it, tell me where I’ve gone wrong sort of thing. He… er… looked at the two others I’ve finished. They weren’t any good of course but he’s sort of encouraged me…’ He looked embarrasse
d, a flush staining his cheeks.

  Brenda’s smile extended to her eyes as she tried to choke back the laughter engendered by his discomfort.

  ‘Is it good?’ she asked.

  Again he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Dunno. I’ve enjoyed writing it. It’s a mystery, set in France. Took quite a bit of research but I’ve done it now for better or worse. I’m giving it to David at the weekend.’

  ‘Does this mean I’ve to keep on working for a bit then?’ Amy laughed. ‘Could do,’ he grinned back at her. ‘But one day…’

  They began moving things into the flat immediately and John took the decision to move out of his parent’s house and live in the flat until their marriage. Amy was afraid of leaving it empty at night with all their precious engagement presents in it.

  She began to unpack a box of items brought from her own bedroom at the cottage and pulled out the photograph of Ronald Treverick. She stared at it for several seconds and shivered. Dark brown hair falling forward on to his forehead gave him an almost rakish air and although the picture didn’t show it, the police had told her his eyes were brown. A thin moustache served to emphasise the cruel lips that seemed to mock her. She had studied the photograph so many times that she knew if she ever saw him again she would recognize him immediately.

  ‘Oh yes, Amelia will know you,’ she whispered.

  They had told her he was twenty-six when he was released, twelve years older than herself and yet he looked younger in the photograph. She hurriedly thrust the picture under the mattress and then began to lay things out in meticulously straight lines. The dressing table set, her beloved collection of frogs, everything had to be straight.

  John eyed the frogs with amusement.

  ‘Is this your dowry?’

  ‘I like frogs,’ she said defensively.

  ‘Well, I like ice cream but I don’t have a collection of cones,’ he grinned. She picked up a stuffed frog and threw it at him; in his efforts to avoid it he fell backwards on to the bed and she launched herself towards him, pinning him down with her body. Suddenly he became still, allowing her to hold his wrists. She sensed the change in him and released him but he reached up and pulled her face towards him.