The Milieu Principle

by Malcolm Franks

Amy glided past Mike in much the same way she used to expertly run rings round him on the ice rink. Throwing off her damp overcoat and wet brolly into his arms, he deposited them on the coat rail by the door. Her scent overwhelmed the lacquer smell of the wooden floor and camped itself in the atmosphere. He remembered it to be the same expensive brand he’d bought for her last Christmas, the one he’d said made Amy smell incredibly intoxicating. He turned and she narrowed the gap between them to kiss him warmly. He didn’t resist.

  “Hi, Mike,” she smiled. “I was concerned for you.”

  “Actually, I’d forgotten it was today,” he replied. “Maybe that explains my irritability.” He hadn’t, but he wanted to try and limit the conversation.

  “Let’s see if I can cheer you up for a few minutes then, before you go. You mentioned something about a coffee?”

  She clasped her hands around his and tugged firmly as she back-peddled towards the kitchen space, smiling all the way. Following obediently he understood now what first attracted him to Amy. She was totally gorgeous.

  Her perfectly groomed bottled blonde hair fell around the high cheekbones of her narrow face. The slim waist and figure accentuated by the clinging, white sleeveless dress left little to the imagination. Certainly she wasn’t wearing any kind of upper support. The bright, sparkling brown eyes would make any man want to rush and dive into her embrace. For a Civil Servant she had an incredible fashion sense, an exquisite taste, and he recalled her skin as being as flawless as the white dress she was now barely wearing.

  Amy seemed effervescent tonight, bright and cheerful. The happiest and healthiest he had seen her for a long while. She was a million times different from their last face to face meeting.

  “You look as though you’re ready to party rather than go shopping,” he observed.

  “All part of the course,” she replied. “Looking good for every minute of the day builds up your self-esteem, it works too.”

  “So the treatment is going well?”

  Amy never fluttered an eyelid.

  “Great!” she exclaimed. “You’ve no idea how much better I feel these days. It’s like someone has given my life back to me. I can’t thank you enough, Mike.”

  She embraced him tightly, as if genuinely grateful, and it warmed him to know his intervention had helped.

  “I’m pleased for you,” he replied as he poured out the coffee and carried the mugs through to the living area.

  Amy positioned herself in the centre of the long sofa, the contrast of the white attire against the black leather only serving to highlight her attractive figure. Mike put one of the drinks onto a place mat in front of her and then sat opposite, in the single chair. The initial expression betrayed her surprise at his choice, but the look soon disappeared.

  “Let’s not talk about me, I came to see you,” she said with a warm smile. “Sounds like you’re gradually coming to terms with everything.”

  He paused.

  “Probably,” he said with a shrug of the shoulders. “Have you returned to work yet?”

  “Yes, just finished my second week. Everybody has been so kind and supportive since I went back and they’re easing me into the old routine gently. I’ve been very, very lucky. If it hadn’t been for you, Mike, then God only knows where or how I would have ended up. The very thought of it gives me the shivers.”

  “You would have come to your senses eventually. I was little more than an interested observer.”

  “That’s not true and you know it,” she said quietly, maintaining a steady gaze. “I owe you everything.”

  He looked into her eyes. They were vibrant, full of life and energy. Matt found it difficult to reconcile how he had failed to spot the first signs of her problems much earlier in their relationship. Looking back, they were so, so obvious.

  “The counselling support has been out of this world. I don’t know where you managed to find these guys, but they’re absolutely brilliant. I couldn’t have achieved half the things I have so far without their help and support.”

  Her smile said it all. She was definitely on the mend.

  “Did it cost you very much to hire these people?” she asked quietly. He hesitated before shaking his head.

  “No, their rates were reasonable.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “Why did you help me, Mike?” she suddenly asked in a serious tone, gazing with all her old tenderness into his eyes. “Any other man would have run several miles in the other direction rather than get involved.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, trying to suggest he didn’t know himself.

  “Because I could, I suppose,” he replied.

  In truth, Mike felt duty bound. They were in some sort of relationship at the time, so believed he was partly responsible for her welfare. At least, that was the reason he’d convinced himself was behind his actions. She had no family in the area to fall back on, no support mechanism other than the ‘friends’ who had got her into that state. It pained him to see how far she’d fallen.

  Amy kept her gaze fixed on his face.

  “You should try counselling. It might help you with your issues.”

  “What issues. I don’t have any bloody issues.”

  “Your commitment issues,” she said seriously.

  “I don’t have any problem with commitment. I’ve haven’t yet found a woman I’m happy to settle with on a permanent basis, that’s all,” he replied defensively.

  “Not just with women. You seem to have problems with everybody. We were together for nearly a year and I didn’t know you any better the last time we met from the first. If you had any close friends I never met them, and all you seem to want to do is shut the world out of your life. It’s like you’re afraid to let people know who you really are.”

  He was about to react angrily to her ungrateful criticism when she sat bolt upright.

  “What’s that smell?” she asked.

  “What smell?”

  “It’s coming from the kitchen.”

  “Oh shit!”

  He darted for the oven, closely followed by Amy. Smoke billowed out from the opened door, almost choking them both. Mike frantically waved his hands around to try and clear the air. Cautiously, he tugged at the shelf with the tea towel and then lifted out the charred remnants of his convenience meal. Amy began to laugh.

  “I should have included cookery lessons on the list,” she giggled.

  Mike stood quietly, holding the blackened case and staring blankly down in despair. He was looking forward to this meal. A sound to the left stirred him from his deliberations. Amy was searching through the freezer drawers and the fridge to see what he had in stock.

  “Don’t bother, Amy. I’ll get something later.”

  “Nonsense, it won’t take very long to knock something up. Here, grab this,” she said, passing over a large pack of frozen peas.

  “Amy, it doesn’t matter,” he insisted.

  She stood upright and looked him clear in the eye.

  “After all you’ve done for me the least I can do is cook a meal for you. Go and finish your coffee, it won’t take long.”

  “You can’t cook done up like that, you’ll ruin the dress.”

  “Then give me your apron.”

  He stood in silent response.

  “No apron either eh? Okay, I’ll have to lose the dress,” and reached behind her neck to feel for the zip.

  “You are not cooking without any clothes on,” he said and disappeared quickly from view, returning a few moments later with an unbuttoned dark blue shirt which he tossed over to where she was standing. Her smile widened as she turned her back on him and flipped her hair up so he could unzip the dress, a manoeuvre with which he was all too familiar.

  Gazing out of the patio doors across the river, he shook his head gently for allowing things to get this far. Perhaps, sub-consciously, he thought this might help Amy’s recovery. More likely it was because he felt a little lonely tonight, the fifth anniversary of his father’s p
assing.

  The repast placed on the glass dining table in front of him instantly appealed, the freshly cooked ingredients steaming with flavour and colour. Mike could hardly believe such a masterful dish could be made from so little, and his nose breathed in the appetising aroma rising up from the plate.

  He poured the first of the red wine into Amy’s glass, one of the best from his stock, as a reward for her culinary ingenuity.

  “It’s not much, but it will do you a lot more good than the processed rubbish you were about to eat,” she said.

  The light from the brightly flamed candle flickered across her face. Amy looked radiant having been reacquainted with her dress. He realised how fortunate he had been to have spent time with her before the addiction took its toll. Though unlikely to be a permanent arrangement, he wondered how far things might have gone had she managed to resist the lure of class A drugs. It wrecked any chance of a meaningful liaison as far as he was concerned, and there was no going back.

  He had once quipped to Tina, shortly after hooking up with Amy, that he was now only interested in blonde and beautiful women with figures to die for. The thoughtless remark had lent him notoriety almost as soon as it had exited his lips and he had regretted the indiscreet remark ever since.

  “How is it?” she asked as the first morsel glided down his throat.

  “Delicious,” he replied, and it truly was, making her beam with delight.

  They exchanged a few minutes of small talk, the food on the plates rapidly vanishing, before she returned to an earlier topic.

  “Mike, you are one of the kindest yet most mysterious men I’ve met. I wish you would let me, or someone, get inside that bubble of yours. It would probably help you enormously.”

  “Let’s not spoil a good night,” he replied quietly.

  “Mike, please don’t push me away.”

  He gazed at the concerned expression. A part of him wished to rid the albatross from around his neck, to talk to someone and try and get it out of his system, the other part refused to countenance the matter.

  “I know your Dad had an affair and your mum left him because of it. But these things happen all the time, all over the world. It’s part of life.”

  “Are you trying to counsel me?”

  “No,” she laughed, “trying to know you better. That’s all.”

  He paused for a few moments, not quite sure how to react to her directness. Amy appeared far more grounded now, to have so much more personal confidence.

  He sighed in indecision.

  “It’s the betrayal,” he said. “That’s what I found difficult. It’s the worst kind of human sin, and it destroyed them both. Dad made a mistake, which he regretted. Mum couldn’t accept this weakness and took off. He betrayed her trust and she betrayed him by being unable to forgive the indiscretion and stand by him. Eventually, Dad betrayed me because of it.”

  Amy frowned before responding.

  “How did he betray you? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Mum took a coach when she left and it was involved in a serious accident. She was one of the victims. Dad tried, but couldn’t live with the guilt. When he died suddenly, the pathology report couldn’t find a physical reason for it. The Doctor seemed to think he died of a broken heart.”

  Mike paused for a moment.

  “He could have stayed on this world, with me. Instead, he chose to leave. Dad often used to say ‘everyone betrays you in the end,’ and he was right. I’ve learned the more distant a man is from people, the less impact their ultimate betrayal will have.”

  “Do you think I betrayed you, because of the drugs?” she asked, hesitantly.

  “No, only yourself,” he replied after a pause. Mike shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s change the subject.”

  He regretted being open. To be honest left one vulnerable, he’d always reasoned.

  “You once promised me you’d shave that beard off.”

  “I lied,” he quipped.

  “Oh no, Mike Daniels, a promise is a promise no matter how or when it was said,” and with those words she jumped from her seat and grabbed him by the arm.

  He considered resisting. Something made him go along with her playfulness. Within a few steps they had entered the bathroom and she sought out the razor blade and the shaving foam. With ever brightening eyes, she disrobed him of the shirt and tie and slid open the half moon shaped door to the double shower. She kicked off her shoes with a mischievous grin and stepped inside.

  “You’ll ruin the dress,” he said.

  “Screw the dress,” she said. “Get yourself in here and kneel,” and he obeyed.

  Unleashing the shower head she sprayed the water against his finely trimmed beard to give it a good soaking, drenching her own clothes in the process, and then gently massaged the foam around his face and chin. Amy’s touch was smooth and careful, first one side of his cheek then the other. Her face was a picture of intense concentration, evidenced by the tip of her tongue poking through the side of her lips. She applied the blade in short deliberate strokes, checking each one had successfully completed its mission before continuing.

  After she’d finished, Amy once more doused his face using the showerhead to rinse away the excess. Stepping from the cubicle she reached across to the glass tray above the sink and tipped the bottle of after shave into her palm, returning to dab her scented hands to his face. Amy stroked the back of her fingers against the newly revealed naked area and smiled in triumph. She bent her frame and pressed her lips gently against his. He didn’t need to check her artistry with the blade, for there was only one thing left to do now.

  And it was glorious, on each occasion, the re-kindling of an old habit which exorcised the demons of his frustrating day and filling him with life and desire. Amy always had this innate ability to make him feel as if no-one on the planet could make love to a woman like he.

  Mike awoke around three in the morning and reached to touch Amy’s warm body, only to find she had left the bed. Curiosity aroused he rose and began the search, needing no more than a few short steps to spot her sitting on the sofa by the side lamp with her bare back to him. Her shoulders were gently rising up and down.

  His first instinct was to believe she was consuming, again, and a fierce sense of rage surged through his naked body. He was about to surprise her by illuminating the large open plan area with a flick of the switch, when he noticed she had hold of a handful of items. They looked like photographic prints and her right hand was shaking.

  She was crying.

  “Amy? What’s wrong?” he asked as he sat beside her.

  She said nothing, hurriedly trying to push the items under the cushion of the sofa to hide them from sight. He retrieved them. The images on the photos made him gasp with shock. Women’s faces disfigured by beatings and razor injuries.

  “These are awful. Where did you get them from?” he asked, aghast.

  She didn’t respond, choosing to bury her head in her hands.

  “Do you know these people?”

  She shook her head.

  “What’s wrong? Why have you got these photographs?”

  “Oh, Mike,” she cried, “I’m so scared,” and her body began to shake violently against him.

  “Scared? Scared of what?”

  “They came in the post yesterday.”

  He flipped the photographs over and tried to read the scribble scrawled furiously on the other side. None of it made sense. It seemed to take forever to cajole her trembling frame into some sort of order before she could talk again.

  “About a year ago, I ran out of money and needed a fix. I was desperate. A friend of mine introduced me to a man at one of the local clubs, and he gave me some cash to get me through the night.”

  She began to cry again.

  “It’s all right,” he said sympathetically. “Take your time and tell me when you’re ready.”

  “He just kept offering me money, an endless supply, and I was too
far gone to understand what I was getting into. When I was released from rehab, he called round and demanded his money.”

  “How much do you owe him?”

  “The man said I borrowed seven thousand in all, but now there is interest to pay on top.”

  “So how much do you owe him now?”

  “He says it’s up to twenty five thousand.”

  Mike knew instantly the man was an illegal money lender.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Bridges,” she replied. “He says if I can’t pay then this will happen to me,” she said, pointing to the photographs.

  “Is this why you came to see me?” he asked calmly.

  “No. No. I didn’t want you to know about this. Not after all you’ve done for me. I was doing so well, Mike, finally getting my life together. Now this has happened.”

  She began to sob loudly and he tried to comfort her. Mike realised going to the police wasn’t an option. This man would terrify her from giving evidence long before any subsequent court case was arranged.

  “He said the only other alternative was to work in one of his clubs,” she added.

  “As an unpaid prostitute,” Mike said, and she nodded.

  “I didn’t plan for you to find out, Mike. I promise, please believe me.”

  He wasn’t sure if Amy was telling the truth. But he was incapable of walking away and leaving her to the mercy of the likes of this man Bridges.

  “I believe you,” he said.

  Chapter Three

  Packages