The Tallow Image

by J. T. Brindle

  ‘He searched the whole of Bedford for you… scoured the embankment. Then he thought you might have gone on to Cambridge. He knows how you like to rummage about in the old bookshops. He couldn’t find you, though. That was when he decided to check whether you’d returned home.’

  ‘Was he pleased when you told him I was here?’

  ‘Pleased!’ He was out of his chair now, hurrying towards her. ‘For heaven’s sake, Cathy, what do you think? Of course he was pleased! And relieved, and wanting to get back to you as quickly as possible.’

  ‘How long will he be?’

  ‘Can’t say for sure… depends on the traffic’ He glanced up at the wall clock. ‘Ten past seven… shouldn’t be too busy at this time of night. Three quarters of an hour, maybe.’

  ‘Did he ask you to stay with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Cathy swung round, looking directly at him. ‘Do you want to?’

  He stared back at her, curious, hurt. ‘Well, of course I want to. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?’ It had not occurred to him that Cathy might think his presence here an intrusion. It occurred to him now. And though he did understand, it was still a painful realisation. ‘Is that it, Cathy? Would you rather me not be here when Matt gets back?’

  Cathy saw the fleeting hurt in his eyes, and she was filled with remorse. ‘You’re a good friend,’ she told him, reaching out and touching his face, ‘and I could not have wished for a better father.’

  ‘But?’ He was smiling now. The hurt had passed.

  ‘You’re right. Matt and I do have a great deal to talk over. Some of it might get a little heated. It would be best if you weren’t here when he got back.’

  ‘I understand.’ He returned to the table and drank the remains of his coffee. Bringing the mug to the sink, he rinsed it out under the tap and placed it upside down on the draining board. ‘Maybe I will go and see Emily after all… take her to the hospital.’ He came to Cathy and kissed her on the forehead. ‘You and Matt are so right for each other,’ he said anxiously, ‘don’t throw it away, sweetheart. It can’t be so bad that you’re not able to put it right between the two of you.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  He looked at her now, so calm and confident, and he remembered that desperate, haunting look he had seen in her only a short while ago. ‘If there was anything else troubling you, anything you couldn’t discuss with Matt… you would turn to me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Haven’t I always?’ she told him firmly. ‘But there is nothing, Dad. Matt and I will sort it out.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Like I said. Don’t worry.’ One way or the other, she thought bitterly, she and Matt would ‘sort it out’.

  ‘Then I’ll leave you to it. Tell Matt I’ve gone with Emily to the hospital.’ Suddenly he remembered. ‘You didn’t tell me… why did you go to see Emily?’

  ‘I was down by the river, it seemed the natural thing to do.’

  ‘I’m glad you like her, Cathy, because I’ve grown very fond of her, and I think she feels the same way.’ He did not tell Cathy of his intention to ask Emily if she would consider marriage. It was still too soon. Cathy might not understand. But she was young, while he and Emily had seen life slipping by too fast.

  ‘Don’t keep her waiting, then,’ Cathy teased, seeing him to the door and remaining there to watch him stride away. How she wished she could have confided in him, but there was no way to begin, nothing he could do. After years of real loneliness, her father had found someone to share his life. She was glad of that. Let him enjoy his newfound happiness. She would not overshadow it by revealing the pain and horror that stalked her every moment. But what of Matt? Could she tell him? Dare she tell him? How could she start? How would he understand? Half of her cried out to tell him, to seek his help. But then there came the fear, the resentment, part of her craving his love, part of her craving his blood.

  Suddenly she was afraid to tell him, terrified that he might guess. They had been so very happy, so much in love. Was it Matt who had changed? Was it her? Or both of them? So often of late she had toyed with the idea of leaving Slater’s Farm to begin a new life of her own many miles away from here. Each time she had let the thought enter her mind, another, more powerful, had told her that she must stay. Here, she had a role to play out, a certain need to satisfy. Matt was to be punished. He could not escape. Soon, he would know, but it would be too late then, too late for him. Matt was a sinner, condemned. She was the executioner. There could be no pardon. Not now. Not ever.

  Twenty minutes elasped, then it was half an hour, now forty minutes, and still Matt was not home. Cathy had wandered the house, looking out of every window in every room, nervous, anxious to talk with him, wanting him to understand, to forgive. She prayed they could find each other again, go right back to where it all started to go wrong. She loved him so much. Why couldn’t she tell him? What was it that kept them apart? How could their happiness have been so eroded? Why? Why? WHY? Suddenly, her mind was clear, her heart brimming with love for him. Things would be all right between them now. They would. She would make them all right!

  Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was ten minutes past eight. Where was he? Eager now for him to walk in through the door and take her in his arms, Cathy grew excited. She would talk to him… tell him of her deeper fears, and trust his guidance. He would know what to do. Matt was always the strong one. ‘Matt will know what to do,’ she said aloud, the conviction growing in her.

  Coming into the hallway, she paused to examine her reflection in the long mirror. All was familiar… the small trim figure and the corn-coloured shoulder-length hair, the wide-awake grey eyes, the bright lovely face, all the same. Leaning forward, Cathy spoke into the mirror. ‘Matt will know what to do.’ Dark eyes smiled back, the full lips parted, softly laughing, the voice was mocking. ‘Matt will know what to do.’ The eerie calm infiltrated every corner of her being, an echo; in the mirror she saw herself, saw a stranger, saw what she must do. Slowly, she moved away, her black heart soaring, purposeful. There was no fear, no pain or regret. Only a unique and sinister dedication that was ageless, relentless. At last, at long last, the time was near, so near. And she had waited so very long.

  In the bedroom, Cathy watched from the window, cradling the doll, softly singing, waiting for Matt to come home. It was growing darker now, the daylight fading fast, black scurrying fingers scraping away the last remaining rays of the sun. Soon the blackness would be supreme. She laughed. That was how it should be. ‘Where is he?’ she asked the doll, tracing the tip of her finger over every feature. ‘Matt must know we’re waiting for him. Why isn’t he here?’ The doll stared back, deep empty eye-sockets, silent, compelling. Cathy nodded. She understood.

  Replacing the doll on the windowsill, Cathy slipped off her shoes and went on bare feet to the bedside cabinet. Here, she picked up the small marble clock. It had stopped. She switched on the transistor radio, the ensuing music enchanting her. She began bending and swirling to the rhythm, deeply satisfied, a wonderful sense of power gripping her. The music accelerated, her dancing became frenzied. Faster, faster. Excitement coursed through her veins. Oh, such a longing. Wanting. A devilish mood took hold of her.

  Suddenly, the music stopped. A voice came on the air, introducing the next record. Laughing, exhausted but exhilarated, she switched off the radio and threw herself on to the bed, her heart beating furiously. Turning sideways, she looked at the bedside clock… eight thirty-five. Where was he? Already the evening shadows were darkening the room. Had he left her? Was he even now travelling further and further away from her, leaving for good? No. No! He was on his way home; he had to be. But where was he? Why was he so late?

  The questions tumbled over and over in her mind. She was agitated, then afraid, lonely. And tired, oh so tired. She ached like an old woman, her bones feeling like lead weights pressing against the bed-cover, her eyes burning, hurting inside her head. With a sigh she closed her eyelids against them. She had no
strength, no resistance, it was ebbing away, her life was ebbing away. Sleep swayed her in its soothing arms, hypnotic, paralysing. Soon the darkness descended and she went willingly, longingly, into its embrace.

  It was his presence that woke her. In the blackness of the room she sensed he was there. It made her warm, and wanted, and she knew she had won. Secretly smiling, she raised herself on one elbow, her grey eyes penetrating the darkness, exquisite grey eyes, marbled with shadows, avaricious and compelling, feeding on the tall, masculine figure now straddling the open doorway and silhouetted against the light from the landing. Slowly, he came forward, his breathing harsh and rhythmic, his steps determined. He wanted her as never before. He would not let her leave him, ever again. They would live together, or they would die together. He heard her voice, softly calling. Enchanted, he gazed down on her waiting, watching while she undressed, her clothes slithering to the carpet, making a curious misshapen pile there. One by one he dropped his own discarded garments on top, smiling when he saw how they mingled with hers, entwining one about the other. He heard her call his name – it sounded like the soft swish of silk.

  For a moment he imagined she called him by another name, a name he thought he had heard before, a name that was in his head, in long-ago memories, stirring something in him, making him uneasy… ‘Matt… Ralph’… which one? Somehow it was not important. They were the same. He lingered awhile, his dark eyes roving her nakedness. She saw his need, and her smile enticed him, the low guttural sounds she made only heightened his agony. Yet he was loath to touch her, reluctant to break the spell. Instead, he continued to gaze on her nakedness. In the half-light she was more magnificent than ever before, desirable in a way he could not remember. She was softly moaning now, arms held out to him, her long shapely legs opening to reveal a darker enticement, her body arched and writhing in anticipation.

  When she saw him make no move towards her, she lowered her arms, touching herself, stroking her hands over the contours of her body, long velvet fingers probing that dark inviting triangle, showing him, teasing him, her moans growing feverish and impatient. In the shifting shadows she could hear his breathing, erratic now, greatly excited. She laughed softly. ‘Love me,’ she whispered. He came forward slowly, agonisingly slowly. Then the slight dip of the bed as he brought his weight to bear. His whole body was taut, hard against her. She reached up to wrap her arms round his neck, winding her fingers in the tousled strands of his hair, wrenching him forward with a sudden viciousness, her face touching the sweat of his skin, the tip of her tongue snaking deep into his mouth, probing its softness, tasting his essence, pleasantly aware of the stiffness that probed her lower body. Between his anguished cries she heard him murmur her name. ‘Cathy… Cathy.’

  The name aroused a greater need in her. The need to cause pain, to wreak havoc and destruction. With a sudden twist of her body she was above him, her legs astride his narrow muscular thighs, thrusting herself on to him, again and again, reeling back when his hands came up to fondle her breasts. He raised his head from the pillow, mouth half-open, searching, wanting her lips on his, his green eyes half-closed, heavy with passion, jerking open with every deep penetration.

  Now she was teasing again, holding away, softly laughing. Groaning, he clutched his strong hands about her shoulders, throwing her off and laughing when she spread herself beneath him. His hands slid down, caressing the firm roundness of her buttocks, raising them to him and crying aloud when he eased forward, pushing deep into her. Instantly they were locked, frantic, passion exploding in sensuous savagery. Release, pleasure. But still he held her, strong possessive arms pinning her to him, the fluid of her body warm on his skin. Loving her still, he raised his head to kiss her. She turned away. He gently laughed, easing off, sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, his head leaning forward in his hands. ‘You frightened me today, when you didn’t come home.’ His voice was breathless, muffled, his face hidden in the palms of his hands. ‘Don’t ever do that to me again, Cathy.’

  When she made no reply, but he felt the touch of her fingers on his bare back, he half-turned. Then her whisper. ‘Go and shower… later we’ll talk.’

  Depleted and sticky with sweat he reached out behind him, squeezed her hand in his and nodded. ‘Love you,’ he said. In a moment he was gone, the sound of spraying water filtering into the bedroom. In the gloom, the black eyes were brilliant as diamonds, deep and opaque, cavernous like pockets of a night sky. A small laugh, a murmuring of words that were unintelligible. Wickedness, such wickedness.

  ‘I’ve left the shower running for you.’ Matt emerged in the shard of light from the bathroom, his arms bent upwards, vigorously rubbing the towel over his thick earth-coloured hair, his naked limbs glistening. Coming towards the bed he said, ‘You know I couldn’t live without you.’ He felt dizzy, light headed. He thought it must be the booze. When he couldn’t find Cathy he had been worried sick, half-crazy that he would never see her again. Afterwards, when Bill had told him she was safely home, his anxiety turned to bitterness. He wanted to lash out, to hurt her like she had hurt him. The boozer was warm, friendly; the company took his mind off his troubles, stilled that murmuring voice inside him… the persistent voice that warned him his life with Cathy was over. He would rather that life itself was over! He felt the urge to punish her… had even contemplated staying away all night. He almost had. But his love for Cathy was too strong. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come straight home, sweetheart,’ he told her, rubbing the towel to the back of his head, and staring towards the bed. In the half-light he could not see her eyes. He wondered if they were smiling, whether she had really forgiven him, hoping that – at long last – all would be the way it was. He peered at her; she recoiled into the shadows. ‘Why don’t you put the light on?’ he suggested.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay.’ He had been startled by the harshness of her voice, but then he laughed. ‘You’re surely not shy all of a sudden?’ He remembered with a tingling shock… Cathy was shy. She had always been shy when he saw her nakedness. He recalled how she had been just now… boldly taunting him, unashamed, savage in her love-making. He also had been savage, wild like an animal. He grew excited at the memory, but then it was a strange, empty excitement, devoid of love, robbed of the wholesome and satisfying emotions that had first drawn him to Cathy and afterwards had kept them together, brought them ever closer.

  Suddenly, he knew how she was feeling… why she would not put the light on. Shame washed over him. And regret. A strong feeling of regret, that when he had joined with Cathy just now, it was like joining with a stranger. An awful awareness grew in him, a small memory of strange dark eyes. Horror rippled through him. Dropping the towel to the carpet he snatched up his trousers and pulled them on. ‘Put the light on, Cathy,’ he said in a trembling voice.

  In the half-dark he saw her arm flick out, heard her chuckle, an ugly sinister sound. The sudden rush of light was blinding, disorientating. He blinked, and opened his eyes to a nightmare. He was staring at a stranger! The face was old, repulsive, lines of time deeply etched into the yellowed skin, leering at him, chuckling. Wisps of grey hair made a spidery pattern against the pillow, gnarled and twisted hands beckoned to him, curved nails bent over the fingertips. Her body was withered, loose folds of flesh making her horribly misshapen. Naked, she was laughing now, chortling, a fiendish expression on her ancient face.

  Above her laughter he heard the screams, his screams. His mind was fragmented, in chaos. ‘Cathy!’ He closed his eyes and rolled his head from side to side, his whole being churning in horror… one last hope that he would open his eyes and the nightmare would be gone… Cathy would be lying there as before. In the eerie blackness of his mind he could not shut the wizened image out – she was there, burning like a twisting flame, staring, beckoning, laughing.

  When he opened his eyes the nightmare had not gone away. His cries mingled with her laughter as she lunged at him, the blade slicing the air, stabbing his neck, cutting his hands wh
en he grappled desperately to save himself from the savage onslaught. Pictures sped through his mind – of Cathy, of himself, together… here. But it was not Cathy… not Cathy! It was not Cathy who had lain in his arms! With a scream that was terrible to hear he thrust the knife from her hand, madness in his eyes, murder in his heart. His fingers felt her scrawny neck. The touch repulsed him, filling him with unbearable disgust. He could hear her chuckling, a low gurgling noise as his fingers locked tight, pressing into the reptilian skin, cutting deep, killing, killing. He was crying now, his fingers an iron collar round her neck, squeezing mercilessly.

  When at last she was silent, limp in his grip, he pulled away, letting her slump to the floor, her saliva mingled with his blood, trickling down his hand. He shuddered uncontrollably when the witch-like face rolled sideways, the black eyes staring at him from horrifying depths, mocking him. Backing away, he went into the bathroom to cleanse himself. In his mind her laughter followed, evil, touching every nerve. He leaned over the toilet basin to spew out the churning contents of his stomach. Still the laughter – everywhere – all around.

  Like a man waking from a trance he came back slowly into the bedroom. The laughter was gone. His shocked eyes looked down on the limp, still body there. It was Cathy. CATHY! Horrified, he froze, staring. Unbelieving. He fell to his knees, tears rolling down his stricken face. With a cry he grabbed her into his arms, rocking her, talking to her, asking her forgiveness, asking God’s forgiveness. In his arms she was lifeless, like a doll. Like a doll! Suddenly he snapped inside, the awful impact of what he had done bringing its own madness. ‘No!… Dear God… No!’ He looked again at her face, lovely, innocent, his Cathy. Through his tears her face was a blur. The grief, the guilt, and horror, it was too much. With a cry he pushed her away and fled the room, fled the house, running, into the coming dawn. Into oblivion.