Love Patterns

by Michael B. Malone

  He moved slightly, “What do you mean?”

  She pulled away to look at him. She sighed. “It doesn’t matter, go back to sleep. I’m just being silly.” She snuggled back into his chest. His deep breathing started again.

  Her remark came back to him after he’d left her at the shop the next morning. He knew what she meant, but it affected him when he saw a little girl in plaits looking out of her eyes.

  They set off early on Sunday for a hill walk. They parked the car at the head of glen Clova, then started along Jock’s Road, the old drover’s road that snaked across the hills to Braemar. They turned off and followed a valley for a while that wound down to lower ground, past a small calm green loch sleeping in the bright sunshine. They found a field dotted with buttercups, with cows grazing at one end, and enjoyed a picnic. Afterwards they wandered hand in hand to the other end of the field.

  Kirsty stopped to hold onto Alan while she stood on one foot to get her shoe off.

  “I want to feel the grass under my feet,” she said in answer to his quizzical look. She took her other shoe off then rolled down her tights.

  Carrying her shoes and tights in one hand, she walked on, enjoying the blades of grass tickling her ankles. She breathed in the scents and the sounds, the strong animal smells of the cows who nervously moved out of their way, the drone of bees in the clover and poppies that dotted the field, and the chirps of birds as they went about their business. A blackbird with a bright yellow beak alighted near her and turned its head sideways to survey her, interrogating her with low chirps. The earth and her body were trying to tell her something. She felt a deep swelling song start inside her as if all the cells of her body were awakening and clamouring in resonance to speak to her! She listened and surrendered. Some elemental part of her took control. Laughing, she tore off her clothes and rolled in the grass, among the flowers, among growing things. She lifted a handful of earth and smelled it, loving its rich, sweet, aroma and feeling closer to her body than she’d felt as a child.

  She glanced at Alan who was nervously looking around, to see if anyone was watching. She giggled. Her giggles became a deep bubbling laugh that came from deep in her throat. She rose to her feet, pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with abandoned passion. She tore his shirt off, feeling the buttons pinging past her ears. She undid his belt. He tried to protest, but she threw herself at him, kissing and stroking.

  She laughed at the passion she’d kindled in him. She wanted to drive him insane. She wanted to be used. Overcome with desire, she wanted to drag her stomach along the ground with her rear raised like a bitch in heat. She arched her hips, and rubbed herself lasciviously against him. He gasped, and his hands moved down her body. She moved away a little and he followed her, gripping her firmly, his lips demanding, breathing in short gasps. She felt his hands caress her body.

  She looked directly into his eyes and told him what she wanted him to do to her loving the old Anglo-Saxon word, the feel of the “F” blowing through her lips and the rattle of the final “K” in her throat. She saw his eyes widen in shock, and as he relaxed his grip, she danced away from him, teasing him. “Hard,” she added, her eyes dancing with mischief.

  Moving after her he grated. “You’ll be walking like a chicken when I’ve finished with you!” She half turned and eyed him sidelong through her hair.

  She grinned, the corner of her mouth turning up voluptuously. “You’ll have to catch me first,” she laughed, then she was running and dodging, her flaming hair streaming out behind her.

  She felt every muscle in her body as she ran. She felt the thrill of the chase as if some deep racial memory of pursuit was coming alive. She’d never felt such freedom in her life. He almost caught her several times, but every time he got within touching distance she dodged, increased her speed and drew away. Eventually she conveniently, stumbled, and he caught her.

  Something primeval had taken over him. Her laughter enraged him, he had to subdue her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and bent her head back, then his lips were on hers, silencing the bubbling laughter.

  She sank to the grass, arching her hips as he was on her like a raging bull. She knew she’d have bruises the next day, but she didn’t care, some primitive part of her had taken her over. Eventually they both screamed, causing the curious cows that had gathered around to snort and retreat a few paces. Alan glared down suspiciously. Kirsty looked back into his eyes and felt her love for him overwhelm her, as she stroked the masculinity of his face. She felt soft and submissive. She loved him totally and wildly. She wanted to parcel herself up and present herself to him. Overwhelmed by his dominant maleness, she obediently surrendered herself to him. Making herself seem even smaller.

  She kissed him softly and whispered huskily. “You can do anything you want to me, Alan.” She watched the male predator disappear from his eyes and tenderness reappear.

  Covered in mud and cow dung, they again heard the singing, but now there was a deeper harmony joining in, the approving song of mother Earth.

  Kirsty felt her senses heighten and she looked at Alan out of the corner of her eyes. His pattern came into focus, iridescent and swirling, the red of passion gradually fading. Not the murky red she’d seen in some men, but a beautiful, bright, deep, thrilling red, streaked with all the colours of the rainbow. But through all the colours shone a beautiful gold, extending out to herself. She wanted to wallow in it, to get to the core of it and let it permeate her every pore. It was the colour of his love.

  Like a spectator, she watched her own and Alan’s patterns begin to interlock, the singing increased in intensity. She felt the walls of the wild, free, secret place inside her begin to crumble. In sudden panic, she shouted “No!” Alan gave her a startled look. She smiled back abstractedly and pulled his head to her shoulder. She touched the secret place, it was hers and hers alone. She felt as if something inside her sighed.

  She watched as their patterns began to separate again, then with a knowledge she didn’t know she had, she manipulated parts of the patterns, so they remained interlocked. A whisper of warning came from somewhere inside her, but she ignored it. As Alan nuzzled her ear, she examined the connection with wonder. She’d bound him to her. An exquisite flare of triumph filled her, she’d made him her own. He was hers and would always be hers.

  Eventually they rose, smiling at each other and wiped the worst of the mud off with bunches of grass, found their clothes, dressed and returned to the car.

  On the journey back, Alan kept glancing at her, at how neat and feminine she looked, and wondered if he’d imagined the whole episode. But when he caught her looking back at him with an amused look way below the surface, he mentally shook his head at the mystery and wonder that was woman.

  In a world of their own, they learned how to love and be loved and became responsive to each other’s moods. Their lovemaking was sometimes wild and primitive, when they stopped just short of physically injuring each other; sometimes gentle and tender, and he knew when she just wanted to be held. With his help, she discovered her own body and the pleasure it can give her. But there was something inside her he couldn’t reach, a wild free part of her he sensed but couldn’t share. He could subdue her for a while but never tame her.

  In a flash it seemed, the magical days ended. At the weekend they visited Alan’s parents to return the car and his father again took them out to dinner.

  On the train back to Dundee on Sunday afternoon, Kirsty wouldn’t let go of his hand.

  “Our last Sunday,” she mourned, close to tears.

  Alan felt too depressed himself to say anything to comfort her. When they went to bed that night she cried in his arms, despite anything he could say or do. She’d recovered by next morning and decided to put on a cheerful face until he left.

  As they lay in each other’s arms the next night, he played with her hair, running his fingers through it, admiring the play of colours.

  “Kirsty?” he murmured.

  She gazed into his
eyes. “Can I have a lock of your hair? I want a bit of you to take with me to Iraq.” She closed her eyes.

  He watched a tear form and trickle down her nose. She averted her face and rose.

  With a break in her voice, she said “Best do it now before we forget.” She wiped her face with her hair, and with her head turned sideways to look in the mirror, she cut a lock of hair about a foot long from the back.

  As he curled the lock onto a circle and slipped it into a plastic envelope, he felt the dampness and thought I’ll have her tears to take with me as well.

  “I’ll keep it in my shirt pocket next to my heart,” he promised.

  “Can I have a small lock of your hair,” Kirsty asked.

  Alan eyed her, trying to keep her tears in check. “Of course.”

  She stroked his hair, looking for a place to cut that wouldn’t be too obvious, cut a small lock, then carefully inserted it into the plastic envelope he gave her. She kept her face averted. He turned her to face him and tilted her chin up.

  “Kirsty?” She gazed into his eyes and he saw her bottom lip trembling. “What about us going back to bed and having a good cry?”

  She couldn’t hold her tears back any longer. He pulled her to his chest and they cried in each other’s arms, and somehow their shared grief comforted them, but Alan lay awake for a long time after she’d stopped sobbing.

  At the going away party, arranged by the university faculty, they chatted to Dr. Taylor who suggested they call him Andrew, as they would be in each other’s company for quite a while. He introduced them to his wife Shelagh, who was dark haired and rather plain, but when she smiled, which was often, her face lit up like sunshine. Kirsty took an immediate liking to her and they arranged to keep in touch.

  During the dance which followed dinner they stayed together until Marc asked her for a waltz. Alan was claimed by Professor Grant’s wife who chatted non-stop. He tried to concentrate but took exception to the way Marc was holding Kirsty and his predatory manner.

  His partner must have noticed, for she said smiling, “I won’t keep you from Kirsty any longer.” He started to apologise but she laughed. “It’s all right, I was young once myself you know, go and rescue her.”

  When they got back to Alan’s room, Kirsty held back her tears until Alan was asleep then cried quietly into her pillow.

  She managed to get the Saturday off, so on Friday after she finished work, they booked into a hotel in Dundee, had dinner, and danced with their arms tightly around each other until the small hours, then went to bed and lay holding each other until they fell asleep.

  In the morning they returned to his room and gave it a good clean out. Alan left his case packed, changed his clothes, giving the one’s he wouldn’t be taking with him, and the bed linen and duvet, to Kirsty to keep for him. Laden down, they left to catch the bus to her house where Kirsty found Claire in a much, improved mood. She was even civil to Alan and agreed to come to the station to see him off.

  The two went back to the town centre and wandered hand in hand, from the union along the bustling Nethergate, then down towards the Tay and along Riverside Drive to the airport, where they turned and retraced their steps. She wouldn’t let go of his hand and he felt guilty about leaving. He tried to cheer her up.

  “I’ll be back in time for Christmas, then we’ll be together for the rest of our lives.” He tried to console her. She smiled wanly.

  All too soon it was time to collect his luggage. Andrew and Shelagh were already at the railway station. Claire arrived and coldly wished him a good journey. Alan and Kirsty gazed at each other, their hearts full, then the signal went for the passengers to board. One last long kiss and he tore himself away.

  “I’ll write and phone as often as I can,” were his last words. She desperately wanted to tell him how she felt about him, how he had become the centre of her life, how his love made her whole life meaningful, but her heart didn’t have the words.

  “I’ll always love you,” she shouted, feeling how inadequate the words were to describe what she felt for him. The door shut as he started to reply. She swayed slightly and felt Claire move closer to put an arm around her.

  Alan stared through the window as the train left the station. His last sight of Kirsty was of her waving valiantly to him, a brave smile pinned to her ashen face. He sat silent in his misery, rebuffing Dr. Taylor’s attempts at conversation.

  His parents met the train in Edinburgh and managed a hurried few words.

  “Look after Kirsty,” he pleaded. “Invite her to Edinburgh occasionally.”

  “Of course, we will,” they both promised.

  After a brief hug and a kiss from his mother and a warm handshake from his father, the train left. He lay awake for a long time that night, reliving the last few weeks with Kirsty. Still thinking of her stoically waving on the platform, he eventually fell asleep, lulled by the rocking of the train.

  Once the train was out of sight Kirsty broke down, sobbing like a child, her mind full of the possible disasters that could happen to Alan in Iraq. With her sister’s face buried in her shoulder, Claire guided her out of the station and hired a taxi to take them home, where Kirsty shut herself in her room to grieve alone.

  Claire listened to the muffled sobs and again resentment towards Alan welled up inside her.

  “How could he?” she fumed silently. “How could he sweep a young girl off her feet then abandon her to further his career?” She resolved to try even harder to end the disastrous affair.

  She rose early the next morning and peeped into Kirsty’s room. Her sister was fast asleep with her teddy cuddled in her arms. She decided to let her sleep, as she’d probably been crying most of the night.

  Bonny settling onto her face woke Kirsty and she automatically felt for Alan, but the empty place next to her brought a stark reminder. She longed for him already. She remembered him waving miserably to her as the train left and sobbed into her pillow. Bonny licked the tears from her eyes, giving quiet, sympathetic meows.

  She rose and fed Bonny, forced herself to eat some breakfast, then sat in the lounge feeling listless.

  She jumped up muttering, “Better get down to some work instead of sitting here feeling sorry for yourself.”

  She sorted through Alan’s clothes and prepared them for washing. She found a shirt with the buttons torn off and smiled, remembering the field in Glen Clova. She mentally touched her secret place and gave a gasp. She felt his presence inside her! She was connected to him in some way! She spent a long time examining the connection.

  She found herself remembering all the wonderful times, and that there was only six months less one day, until he returned. The memory of the field returned, and Alan’s eyes. For some reason she felt a vague disquiet. He phoned that evening from London and the sound of his voice cheered her up. He told her what he’d done that day.

  The next evening Claire looked up as Kirsty joined her on the settee and started to tell her of her and Alan’s plans. Claire hid her irritation and listened. Kirsty remembered, “Alan’s parents asked if they could meet you.”

  Claire felt surprised. “Why?” Kirsty moved closer.

  “I suppose it’s because you are my big sister and the nearest thing to a parent I have. When a couple are engaged, the parents usually meet don’t they?”

  “I suppose so,” Claire felt irritated but didn’t see how she could refuse. “You arrange it; the weekend would be best.” When she got the opportunity, she mentioned her own plans.

  “Frank and I are thinking of going to Paris for a week next month. Will you be alright here by yourself?”

  “Of course, I’ll be starting university soon,” she smiled. “I’m a big girl now. In fact, if you want to have Frank around any time, I’ll make myself scarce.” Claire gave her a hug and Kirsty was glad they were recovering their former closeness.

  Just then the phone rang, and she jumped up crying, “That will be Alan” and rushed through to the hall, closing the door behind her.<
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  Claire thought about Frank. She was growing to like him a lot, even if he did seem to blow hot and cold on occasions, or maybe, a sneaking thought entered her head, because of it. Although at times he seemed to try to give the impression he was a bit stupid, she knew he had a mind like a steel trap. There was often a twinkle of devilment in his eyes, and occasionally she wondered if he was laughing at her wiles, which infuriated her, though she was careful not to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. She’d considered dumping him but somehow never did. There was something attractive about being with a man she couldn’t bend to her will. She was really looking forward to her holiday; her first real holiday in five years. She’d taken Kirsty on holiday, but had found it restrictive with a sister so much younger.

  She remembered the year after her mother had died, she’d taken Kirsty to Disneyworld in Florida. It had been a marvellous week, even for Claire. They’d splashed out and stayed in a hotel in the Disneyworld centre itself. Part of the pleasure she remembered, had been Kirsty’s wide-eyed delight as more and more wonders presented themselves each day. She often wished she’d had one of the new camcorders to record Kirsty’s growing up. The memories seemed to fade, and even photographs sometimes failed to revive them. God! She thought, I love that girl, even more than if she’d been my own daughter.

  Maybe things would work out, she mused, Kirsty obviously loved Alan deeply, but she couldn’t imagine herself ever being able to laugh and joke and be friendly with him. At least his absence would allow Kirsty time to decide if she really wanted to marry him. It’s a pity she hadn’t fallen for that decent boy Kevin, she thought, they could have gone to university together. She’d heard about the fight from the neighbours.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if Alan started that fight deliberately to get Kirsty to help him,” she muttered.

  She grimaced. “I really detest him, don’t I?” but something inside her whispered a different message.

  Chapter 38

  As the train pulled into London at six thirty in the morning, Alan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sipped the cup of tea brought by the attendant. He peered out of the grimy window at the drab, railway architecture with rain sleeting down and felt lost, waking up to find himself alone. Kirsty would be waking soon, feel for him, then find him gone. He wrenched his thoughts back to the present and yawned. He had had hardly any sleep for the last three nights and promised himself he’d get to bed early while in London. They took a taxi to the hotel, registered and stored their bags. They deliberately dallied over breakfast then Andrew left to call on relatives in the city. At the hotel desk he found that Farik Salamah had already arrived and was in the room next to his own. When he knocked, a dark, bearded man, about his own age answered. Alan introduced himself and was invited in. They talked for a while about ecology, job prospects after university and what they expected to do in Iraq. Alan introduced Andrew when he arrived and after agreeing to meet for a drink before dinner, they went back to their room and unpacked what they needed for their brief stay. They were to outfit themselves in tropical clothes on the Monday, have a talk from a foreign office official in the evening. Then their plane was to leave on Tuesday night.