Beautiful

by Anita Waller

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘Yes it is. Particularly if they get a tiny baby.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Don’t tell me it’s the same, David, because it most definitely isn’t.’

  David was surprised by the vehemence in her tone.

  ‘Pat, sweetheart, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ she said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice. ‘But how the Hell do I tell her that I’m pregnant?’

  13

  The man sat towards the back of the church, on the side allocated to the bride’s family. No one queried who he was and anyone who happened to notice him just assumed he was a friend.

  He turned as the organ swelled with the opening bars of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March and stared with awe at the ethereal vision that was Amy. Clouds of billowing whiteness surrounded her and he inhaled deeply.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, ‘absolutely…’

  14

  ‘…beautiful.’ John mouthed the word at his new wife and was taken aback by the glacial eyes that stared back at him.

  ‘Mrs Thornton!’ the photographer called, trying to organise the boisterous crowd outside the church.

  ‘Yes?’ said John’s mother and everyone laughed.

  ‘Sorry, love’ the young man said with a grin, ‘I meant the other one.’ Amy felt a blush spread across her face.

  ‘I want you and your husband together and then a group photograph. Okay?’

  She nodded and John led her across to the side of the church. They looked into each other’s eyes as the photograph was taken and then everyone else gathered around them, pushing smaller ones to the front.

  ‘Now say sausages,’ the photographer yelled and was rewarded with a loud shout.

  The noise was deafening and no one noticed the man on the back row of the picture, the one with the horn rimmed glasses and blonde hair.

  Amy and John led their guests into the marquee, the early September sunshine casting a welcoming glow through the canvas sides. The sun had been in evidence for the entire day and during the service had reflected brightly through the stained glass windows of the church.

  Amy’s white dress had been a swirling kaleidoscope of rainbow colours; even her cascading blonde hair had picked up the brilliance of the moment.

  The seventy or so guests laughed uproariously throughout David’s speech then sobered as John began to talk. He kept his speech deliberately short and they all began to realise just how much Jack Andrews was missed on this special day.

  Their first dance was to Cilla Black’s You’re My World, a song that had become special to both of them as they had worked on their flat; the applause at the end of the dance was overwhelming, and John took Amy in his arms and kissed her. He wanted the world to know how much he loved her.

  .The next few hours passed in a blur for Amy. She refused drink after drink, afraid of losing control. She was glad when ten o’clock approached and they decided they could leave their reception. As they began to make their way to the door, David and Pat stopped them.

  ‘Hang on a minute, John. Dad wants a word with you before you go.’ David’s smile spread across his face. John looked over the crowd searching for a wheelchair containing Alistair Farmer. He saw a hand wave and headed for the corner.

  ‘Mr. Farmer? You wanted me, sir?’

  The old man nodded without smiling.

  ‘Yes, young man. There’s something I want to give you. It’s not a wedding present, more of a going away present that I want you to think about when you have a spare moment. But don’t you neglect that pretty bride of yours.’ The smile finally broke through and he handed John a large envelope, adding ‘Have a good holiday.’

  John looked at the envelope, unsure what to do next.

  ‘John? Are you going to open it?’ Amy was by his side, obviously as puzzled as he was.

  John exhaled slowly. He lifted his eyes from the envelope and looked at the older man.

  ‘It’s about my book…’

  Alistair Farmer nodded.

  ‘A contract. Study it well then come and see me as soon as you get back. I have good feelings about the book, John, very good feelings. I knew three weeks ago that we wanted it but I held back to make your day doubly special. I think your apprenticeship is over.’

  Amy and John left the hall, arms wrapped around each other. He clutched on to the envelope as though it contained a million pounds and it was only when they were in their hotel bedroom that he finally opened it.

  He grinned, absolutely delighted by the word ‘contract’ at the top of the first sheet.

  ‘Well, I don’t understand a word of it but what a start to married life. I never expected…’

  ‘Well I did and I never doubted your ability.’ Amy was firm. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself, John. I’ve read it and I know it’s good. We’ll have to see whether Mr. Farmer recommends the changes that I suggested or whether I was wrong. One day your name will be so well known, we won’t be able to go anywhere without being recognized. And then I can stop working,’ she added with a grin.

  ‘Dreams, dreams,’ he laughed. ‘Come here, wife, and kiss me.’ He pulled her into his arms and held her close. ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?’ he murmured.

  He felt her withdraw immediately and a frown crossed his brow.

  ‘Hey! Hey! What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you? You looked absolutely stunning when you walked down that aisle…wonderful. Can’t I tell my gorgeous wife just how I felt?’

  ‘I…I’m sorry. It’s all so new, isn’t it? I mean…oh, you know…’

  He laughed.

  ‘Amy, it’s me. You don’t need to be nervous. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world – didn’t I just promise to love you till death us do part? I meant it, you know. We are forever,’ and he once more tried to kiss her.

  ‘I’ll use the bathroom first, shall I?’ she whispered, pulling away from him.

  He released her and watched her walk to the door to the right of him, bewilderment etched across his face. He cursed their inexperience; hoped their love was strong enough to guide them through the first difficult days of adjustment. He crossed to the drinks trolley and poured two glasses of the champagne provided by the management.

  When Amy came out of the bathroom half an hour later the bubbles had disappeared and the drink was lukewarm. Her face was as white as the all-concealing quilted dressing gown that hid her body from his sight and John stared at her; he knew that in some way he was to blame for the terror showing so starkly in her looks and actions.

  Brenda Andrews smiled happily at the departing guests. She had had a wonderful time in spite of the aching void where Jack should have been. She had felt her loss most when Amy had been standing at the altar – with Jack’s brother by her side instead of her father. She had held back the tears then, afraid of spoiling the day but now as she looked out into a starry sky, she felt a deep sense of peace.

  ‘If you’re up there, Jack, I’m sure you’re feeling so proud right now.’ The rustle of leaves and a gentle breeze playing through the treetops rewarded her.

  ‘Brenda? You ready? All the presents are loaded. There’s just enough room for you to perch on top,’ Billy Andrews called.

  She felt grateful to him for the job he had done giving Amy away and generally standing in for Jack.

  She walked across to the over-loaded car and handed Billy a key.

  ‘Do me a favour, Billy. You go on ahead and put the kettle on. I fancy a bit of a walk. It’ll only take me ten minutes – that okay with you, Chris?’

  Christine, her sister-in-law, was in the front seat of the car with a huge box on her knee and several smaller packages around her feet. She laughed.

  ‘Cheeky so and so,’ she said. ‘Leaving us to unload this lot! Of course we don’t mind. You walk, but take care. It’s dark on your lane. I’ll make the coffee and we’ll have a bit of a nightcap before we turn in, I think,’ she added, with a twinkle
in her eye.

  ‘You’re on,’ Brenda laughed. ‘See you in a bit.’ She turned to begin the short walk home.

  Her thoughts flew here, there and everywhere – they were with Amy, with Jack, with John, with the contract; in her mind she was in their tiny flat, she was in her own home.

  She soon found herself at the bottom of the lane leading to Stonebrook Cottage.

  That was when she thought she heard footsteps and stopped. Turning, she peered into the darkness but could see no one. The sound had stopped.

  She told herself not to be such a damn fool but quickened her own stride.

  Billy, standing in the open doorway of the cottage was a welcome sight and she ran the last few yards.

  ‘Okay, love?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Yes, fine. Lovely night for walking. I just thought…’

  He waited for her to continue.

  ‘Nothing. I’m just being a bit silly. Too much to drink, I expect. Is there coffee on?’

  They closed the door behind them as the sound of jogging footsteps disappeared down the lane. The man smiled as he kept up his rhythmic pace.

  John came out of the bathroom to see Amy already in bed, the bedclothes pulled right up to her neck.

  ‘I love you, Mrs Thornton,’ he said. ‘Like the name?’

  She nodded, her smile tight.

  ‘Sounds nice. I always said Amelia never went with Andrews.’

  ‘So we’re Amelia tonight, are we?’ he joked and barely heard the whispered,

  ‘I hope not.’

  The sheets were cool as he slid between them and he pulled Amy towards him. There was a token resistance as if she was fighting with herself and he prayed he would have patience.

  The white silk pyjamas were excitingly erotic although they had been bought with the opposite idea in mind.

  He began to undo the tiny pearl buttons of the jacket and Amy tried desperately to stop the tremble that started in her toes.

  He paused.

  ‘Amy, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you, you know that.’

  She nodded mutely.

  Never in a million years could she have explained to this wonderful man just how bad she was feeling, and for the first time she bitterly regretted not keeping her appointment at the doctors. Suppose there was something wrong? She groaned and John pulled her fiercely to him.

  ‘Oh God, Amy,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t know what to do to help you.’

  Seconds passed and she pushed down the bedclothes removing the pyjama trousers. She knelt on the bed and looked down at John.

  ‘I don’t know if I can handle it,’ she said simply, ‘but there’s one thing for sure, unless we make love, I’ll never know.’

  He lifted his arms and unfastened the bottom two buttons. She shrugged the jacket from her shoulders and he looked at the woman before him. Small breasts, a narrow waist flaring gently into rounded hips, he knew he was looking at something so close to perfection that it was almost unreal.

  She felt uncomfortable. His gaze was unflinching as his eyes roamed every square inch of her and she shivered. Her nipples became erect under his scrutiny and he reached up and pulled her down.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said and for the first time he touched her breasts. The softly yielding flesh under his fingers caused an erection so hard that he felt Amy inhale sharply as he pushed himself against her stomach; he knew that nothing in his life so far had prepared him for this feeling.

  He took one of her hands in his, gently guiding it down to touch him.

  She stroked him tentatively but then he removed her hand.

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion.’ He rolled over to cover her body and slowly tried to enter her.

  She attempted to stifle the scream and it came out as a whimper. He pushed a little harder, somehow sensing that if they didn’t make love tonight it would never happen.

  She stiffened underneath him and he pushed once more. Seconds later it was over and it was his turn to groan.

  ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I meant it to be so special but I lost control altogether. Come here,’ He tried to pull her to him but her look killed any hope of redeeming the situation.

  ‘It…it was horrible,’ she said, her voice hoarse with anger. ‘Don’t touch me again – ever.’

  BOOK TWO

  1966 –1989 North Cornwall

  15

  The scream that drew itself out of Pat Farmer’s lungs threw itself into the room on the ragged edges of a long expulsion of air.

  ‘You bastard, you fucking bastard, Farmer!’ she shouted.

  ‘She doesn’t mean it, David,’ the round midwife said, looking at the devastated face of the young man trying to comfort his wife in vain. His curly dark hair was damp with sweat. He had endured every painful contraction along with Pat. ‘We’re almost there now and this is the most tiring part. She’ll have forgotten ninety nine per cent of this by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’ve known her five years, Mrs Kennedy, and I’ve never heard her say anything stronger than damn.’

  Ellie Kennedy laughed.

  ‘Well, if you can’t take it, young man, you’d better leave the room. It’ll get worse before it gets better.’ She turned her attention to the recumbent Pat who was building up to the next contraction. ‘Now come on, love. I can see the head. Lots of hair just like daddy but we need to get this little one out. A good push…come on Pat…come on, here it comes. Good girl, now just pant, my love. Don’t push again until I say.’

  David gripped on to his wife’s hand and bent to kiss her forehead. ‘Don’t you ever come near me again, Farmer,’ she growled between clenched teeth. ‘This is the most bloody awful day of my life. I’ll never forgive you for this, never.’

  ‘Right, Pat, next contraction - just push.’

  Pat’s yell as her son finally entered the world was one of exultation. When she held him in her arms at last she turned to David with tears of love spilling down her cheeks.

  ‘Hold him?’ she asked.

  David couldn’t speak. He shook his head, afraid even to touch the tiny bundle. Ellie Kennedy lifted the baby out of Pat’s arms and placed him in David’s.

  ‘There now, don’t be silly. He won’t break. He’s a beauty, does he have a name?’

  David finally spoke.

  ‘Richard Alistair Farmer. After both our fathers,’ he explained.

  ‘Mmmm,’ she said. ‘Very grand. R.A.F. Bound to be a pilot.’ And so, in the very first few minutes of his life, Richard Alistair Farmer gained a nickname that would never leave him, one he learned to spell before his real name.

  August was a wonderful month for everyone surrounding the baby. At four months of age, he was an entrancing child with a ready smile, able to twist his young parents around all his fingers.

  John and Amy became his godparents. Amy struggled with her feelings towards the baby, jealousy often rising to the surface.

  In that same month, John and Amy moved out of their tiny flat, taking on what seemed a huge mortgage on a cottage close to Stonebrook Cottage.

  ‘He’s a lovely baby, Pat,’ Amy said gently, bending over to stroke the smooth skin of the child’s face.

  Pat laughed.

  ‘You wouldn’t have thought so at three o’clock this morning! Pick him up if you want.’

  Startled, Amy shook her head and stepped back from the crib.

  ‘Amy? You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Sure. Course, I’m okay.’

  ‘He won’t break, you know.’

  ‘No, but the books say don’t pick them up all the time, don’t they?’

  ‘Listen you, this is my baby and sod what the books say. I pick him up all the time just for the hell of it – I want him to know, to sense, just how much he’s loved. Go on, give him a cuddle. He probably won’t wake up anyway, considering how little sleep he had last night!’

  Still Amy shook her head and slowly Pat began to understand.

 
; ‘Amy, do you want to talk? What’s wrong? Something between you and John? Or is it…the past?’

  ‘You know?’

  Pat nodded and watched the colour drain from Amy’s face.

  ‘And I suppose David told you, did he?’

  ‘He did, but only by accident. It never occurred to him that you would have kept it from me. He mentioned it on the morning of your wedding…’

  ‘Did he? And what did the great David Farmer surmise? That we wouldn’t be able to make love? That I wouldn’t want John anywhere near me? Go on, Pat, tell me!’

  ‘Amy, Amy! Come on. Sit down at the table. I invited you over for a coffee and a natter, not World War Three. All David said was that he hoped you would be happy, considering everything that you have gone through.’

  Amy placed her head on her arms, unable to speak. Pat felt out of her depth – something was very wrong and until Amy chose to open up, she could do nothing. She placed a cup by her friend.

  ‘Drink that when you’re ready.’

  It was several minutes before either of them spoke. Amy finally broke the silence.

  ‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you. It’s not your fault,’ she said. ‘It’s just that…’

  ‘I’m listening and it won’t go any further.’

  ‘John and I haven’t made love since our wedding night.’ She blurted the words out and felt her cheeks suffuse with colour.

  ‘Since…’ Pat stared at her friend in horror. ‘But that’s eleven months.’

  Amy said nothing.

  ‘Why, Amy?’

  She shook her head mutely.

  ‘I don’t know. It was an absolute disaster. It hurt but I don’t know whether it hurt because it was the first time or whether it hurt in my head. I still remember it, you know.’

  ‘The wedding night, or…’

  ‘The rape, Pat. It’s called rape.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Pat spoke the words quietly, relieved to see that the tears were slowly stopping. ‘Talk to me, I’m here.’