Love Patterns

by Michael B. Malone

  She shouted, “Are you all right, Kirsty.”

  Kirsty appeared and sank gratefully onto the settee, “I’m okay,” she sighed.

  Claire bent over her, feeling her forehead, “Are you ill?”

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Kirsty smiled happily up at her, “I’m pregnant!”

  There was a long moment of shocked silence, then Claire put her hands to her face and exclaimed. “Oh! my God.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Kirsty. “It’s no big deal, we’ll get married after Alan comes back.”

  All sorts of thoughts raced through Claire’s head in quick succession. Would she have to care for Kirsty and her child, while more years of her life slipped away? Would this mean the end of Kirsty’s hopes of university? after all her own sacrifices. What would the relatives and the neighbours say? Would Alan marry Kirsty? And finally, how could the bastard get Kirsty pregnant and then desert her? The thought of a termination passed through her mind. She opened her mouth to suggest it, then bit her tongue as she remembered Kirsty’s happy smile.

  Still mentally reeling, she could only say weakly. “What about university?”

  “I can still go,” Kirsty replied confidently. “I’ll take David with me.”

  “David?” Kirsty smiled. “Yes! Alan’s middle name. I know it will be a boy.”

  Claire exclaimed in disbelief. “But … “, then lost track of what she was going to say and stared into space.

  Kirsty gave her a shake. “Can I make you a coffee?”

  Claire’s eyes focused on her. “No!” she exclaimed. “But you can get me a bloody big vodka.”

  Kirsty disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a half-filled tumbler which she offered to Claire who like an automaton, raised it to her lips and in one gulp swallowed half the contents. After a while her numbed brain started to work again.

  She asked, “How did it happen? Did neither of you take precautions?”

  “I was on the pill.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Nothing went wrong.”

  “Then how did you get pregnant?”

  “I wanted to.” Kirsty thought that Claire was about to faint, but she pulled herself together, drained her vodka glass and after a while said quietly.

  “You wanted to?”

  Kirsty smiled dreamily. “Yes. I wanted to have something of Alan’s still with me when he left.”

  Claire stared at her in disbelief, then muttered. “Well you certainly got that.”

  She sat for a while, stupefied, then stood up, swaying slightly and sighed.

  “I’m going to have another vodka, go to my bed and hope that when I wake up I’ll find this has all been a bloody bad dream.”

  With exaggerated care she made it to the door of the lounge, turning to give Kirsty, who was having a fit of giggles, another look of incredulity as she left.

  Kirsty left work, did some shopping, then caught her bus. Isobel and David had been delighted to hear of her pregnancy and had invited her down. It was the Dundee holiday and she had a long weekend off, so she planned to spend it in Edinburgh. Claire had spent the last week finding fault with Alan and she felt she couldn’t take much more. She arrived home to find Claire already there, with the tea prepared, but in a bad mood, and they hardly spoke during tea.

  After washing and drying the dishes, Claire mumbled. “There’s a letter for you on the mantelpiece.”

  Kirsty squealed. “Is it from Alan?” but rushed through to the lounge without waiting for an answer. To her disappointment it was from the pre-natal group at the local health centre, asking her to make an appointment.

  She showed it to Claire who read it then asked, “You’re going ahead with the pregnancy then?”

  Kirsty was puzzled. “Of course.”

  She saw Claire frown, then suggested. “You could have a termination, you could always have more children later.”

  Kirsty was so shocked she couldn’t speak for moment.

  “Kill my son? How could you think of such a thing Claire?”

  Claire look at her then looked away. “What if he doesn’t come back, or doesn’t want to marry you? You wouldn’t be the first young girl who’s been left in the lurch to bring up a child by herself.”

  Kirsty brindled, “You’ve hated him ever since he started going out with me. It was a different story when you were seeing him, you thought he was so special.”

  She saw Claire’s face redden. “I’m a grown woman and it just shows how wrong you can be about men, at least I wouldn’t have let him get me pregnant.”

  Kirsty raised her voice. “He wouldn’t even want to try, and I’m getting fed up with your constant criticism. If you don’t want to help. just leave me alone.”

  "HELP!" Claire shouted. “What do you mean help? If you think I’m going to waste more years of my life caring for you and Alan’s bastard, you’ve got another thing coming. Get his parents to look after you. Don’t expect help from me, I’ve done enough.”

  Kirsty shook head to shake tears away. “You think it was a waste looking after me? I didn’t ask you to and I don’t need your help, especially the kind of help you gave Alan and me.”

  “I was trying to protect you from that swine,” Claire retorted.

  “And stop calling him disgusting names, you’re just jealous.”

  “JEALOUS!”

  “Yes, you’re jealous because he prefers me to you.”

  Claire erupted, “Jealous of a pervert who seduces young girls? You must be joking! I wouldn’t have that wimp if he was the only man left on earth.”

  Kirsty was furious. “Don’t worry, he wouldn’t have you anyway, you’re too old.”

  Claire’s scream startled her. “TOO OLD? and why am I too bloody old? Because I’ve spent the best years of my life taking care of you, you selfish bitch!” She jumped to her feet. “I should have put you in a bloody orphanage.”

  Kirsty almost lost consciousness at the force of the slap on her face. Claire was screaming. “Get a bloody abortion, I don’t want that pervert’s filthy bastard in this house.”

  Kirsty couldn’t stop herself. She flailed at Claire, but she was too furious, and kept hitting her arms. She stood back, panting and screamed.

  “That’s the last time you’ll ever slap me, you, filthy cow!” She turned and stomped to her bedroom too angry to cry. Claire realised that she’d gone too far.

  She followed her. “I’m sorry Kirsty”, but her sister ignored her as she threw clothes into a suitcase. Claire felt guilty. “Kirsty I’m really sorry, I didn’t, mean it, I will look after you, we’ll get through this together.”

  Kirsty wouldn’t turn to look at her but muttered. “Don’t worry I’ll let you get on with your life. I’ll move into a flat when university starts.” Claire gave up.

  “Well do what you bloody well like. But don’t come running back to me when you’re in trouble.” She left, to sit. fuming in the lounge, feeling ashamed. It was the first time she’d ever hit Kirsty, apart from a rare smack on the hand when she was a toddler, and all because of that swine Alan, who’d come between them.

  Kirsty appeared with her case and her coat on, and white-faced, marched through the lounge, ignoring Claire.

  “When can I expect you back?” Claire enquired meekly but Kirsty gave her a furious glare.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever come back,” then marched out, slamming the door behind her.

  Claire sighed, plodded to the kitchen and poured herself a large vodka. Wearily, she lowered herself onto the settee and sat brooding. She remembered how soon after her mother had died, she’d been weeping. Kirsty had wrapped her arms around her neck and pleaded.

  “Don’t cry Claire, I’ll look after you.”

  She jumped up, ran to the door and raced to the bus stop but there was no sign of Kirsty. She thought of getting the next bus into Dundee, but she’d run out of the house without her purse. By the time she got home, returned an
d waited for a bus, Kirsty would be long gone. She swore as she trudged back, feeling guilty and mentally flaying herself. She decided that she needed company and phoned Frank, but he said he was busy and couldn’t manage to visit that night. She was too proud to tell him she needed him and started on the vodka and eventually went to bed quite drunk tortured by memories of Kirsty as a young girl and crying bitterly.

  Kirsty marched down the road choking back tears. She vowed that she would never, speak to Claire again. How could she suggest that she murder her child? She would ask Alan’s parents if she could stay with them until she started at university. Alan would be home soon afterwards. She caught her bus, got off near the station, found that a train left in twenty minutes and phoned Isobel to tell her that she’d quarrelled with Claire and could she come down that night. Isobel agreed, promising to meet her at the station.

  She caught the train and sat fretting. Occasionally wiping away angry tears as she recalled Claire’s remarks. After a while, when she had calmed down she thought of all the good things Claire had done for her. More tears came. She went over the quarrel in her mind, remembering what each of them had said, and it was her turn to feel ashamed. She remembered telling Claire that she was too old for Alan. No wonder Claire lost her head.

  She thought, ‘I’m lucky that she didn’t hit me with the poker!’

  She realised that she had to go to work on Tuesday and she decided that she’d go back home for a little while and then move into a flat. She thought of Claire’s remarks about Alan and remembered the wildness in the field in Glen Clova and what she’d seen in his eyes. No! he couldn’t leave her. He was hers and would always be hers. She felt uneasiness, wrongness, but it passed. Thinking about him cheered her up. She touched the connection to him again.

  Alan’s father was waiting for her and helped her from the train. He took her case, smiling and looking closely at her face, then he led her to the car. When she reached their house, they asked her about the quarrel but Kirsty made light of it, telling them.

  “Claire suggested an abortion and I got upset and we both said a lot of things we shouldn’t have said.”

  Isobel and David felt relieved. Neither wanted to get drawn into a quarrel between the two sisters. The conversation turned to Kirsty’s health, and to Alan. They showed her a letter they’d just had from him and suggested there would probably be one waiting for her when she got home.

  Claire went to work in the morning with a hangover, and had one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. She arrived home, in a foul temper, dumped her bag on the settee, made a cup of coffee then flopped down exhausted. She wondered what Kirsty was doing. She remembered the previous night’s row, and Kirsty’s comment that she was getting old. She sat brooding for a while, then sighed and clumped through to the hall to pick up the pile of mail. Among the letters was a thick envelope with foreign stamps. It was from Alan. With his address on the back. Suddenly furious, she threw it, with all her strength against the wall. It burst open and many closely written sheets of paper fluttered over the floor. Leaving them lying there, she went back to the lounge to sort through the rest of the mail, muttering to herself as she opened the envelopes and discarded the obvious junk mail.

  She finished her coffee, then feeling some remorse collected all the sheets of Alan’s letter and apprehensive about Kirsty’s reaction she started to arrange them in order. The pages were not numbered, so she started reading. She found the description of Basra and the marshes interesting, musing that at least Alan was a good writer. She skipped over the more intimate parts, sneering to herself, then stopped, hardly able to believe it and re-read a passage.

  Alan had written. "I still laugh at Frank’s expression, when I told him about his madwoman. Does Claire know yet? She was shocked. The three of them were in a conspiracy, they were laughing at her! She hadn’t even known that Frank knew Alan. She felt like tearing her hair out with rage. She might have expected this from Alan, but Kirsty and Frank! Alan must have turned them against her. She composed herself to read over the rest of the letter.

  A sentence at the end stood out. Alan had written that he was looking forward to getting his first letter from Kirsty. Claire’s rage cooled from a white heat as a plan came to her. Her writing was fairly like Kirsty’s. She found her writing paper and composed a letter to Alan telling him that she was seeing someone else, and ordered him not to write again. She signed it Kirsty then read over it. Chuckling to herself. She thought of adding that the new lover was much better in bed, but refrained, knowing that it wasn’t what Kirsty would write, and might make Alan suspicious. She looked at the clock and decided she would just make the post office and set off. She bought the stamps that she needed and slipped the letter into the post-box, gleefully picturing Alan’s reaction. She then decided to have things out with Frank and walked to his shop, but she found that he was away on a job and wouldn’t be back until the following evening. Frustrated, she went home made her tea, then sat watching television and learnt that there was some quarrel between Iraq and Kuwait, and other Arab countries were trying to mediate between them. She wondered if it would affect Alan and thought it would serve him right if he got caught up in the middle of a war.

  In the morning Kirsty found David and Isobel discussing the headlines in the paper. Iraq had invaded Kuwait, and President Bush and Mrs. Thatcher, who was at President Bush’s ranch in Colorado, were condemning the invasion and threatening military involvement. Middle East experts were airing their opinions. Kirsty worried about the effect it would have on Alan, but David and Isobel reassured her, telling her that the group were in Iraq to help the country and surely, they would be in no danger. But Kirsty still worried, especially later in the day, when she heard that thirty-five British servicemen had been captured in Kuwait and that America was planning to send troops to Saudi to defend the country in operation “Desert Shield”. Kirsty wanted to stay in to watch the news flashes on the television, but Isobel persuaded her to go shopping. They bought some clothes had coffee and chatted. David took them out for dinner, in the evening but most of the time Kirsty stayed in the house and helped lsobel or watched television and listened to the tales of fighting, looting and atrocities in Kuwait.

  Claire woke up still feeling tired. She’d tossed and turned most of the night. She had breakfast then moped around the house, completely unsettled. She watched some television in the afternoon and learned that Iraq had invaded Kuwait and America was threatening military action.

  It was about time for Frank to return, so she set off, prepared for a furious row, ready to tell him that she was finished with him. She stormed into his shop, and despite his wide grin of welcome, attacked him bitterly for having meetings with Alan behind her back, and laughing at her.

  “What did the letter actually say?” Frank asked. Looking serious.

  Claire took the letter from her handbag and flourished it under his nose. He read the paragraph she indicated, and laughed.

  “You think the term "mad woman” refers to you?”

  Claire had a horrible premonition and gave a very subdued, “Yes.”

  Frank explained and Claire remembered jokingly telling him that Kirsty was mad. He went on to tell her that he hadn’t mentioned it to her, because he was not the sort of person who commented on men coming out of women’s bedrooms. As Claire stood shocked he also suggested that they take a break from seeing each other, commenting.

  “You’re not the same Claire I remember from before. You’re too hard and vindictive for my liking and opening Kirsty’s letter shows how spiteful you can be.”

  “No! Frank, listen!” Claire began but Frank told her to go home and think things over.

  “In a couple of weeks, we could meet and see how things are.”

  With her idea of a conspiracy turned upside down, Claire staggered out of the shop, feeling as if she’d just stepped out of a spin drier.

  She was halfway home, still dazed by the turn of events when she remembered the lett
er she’d sent to Alan. She stopped and stood still on the pavement, her face deathly white.

  “Oh my God!” she quavered. “What will Kirsty do when she finds out? She’ll never forgive me. What will Alan say when he gets back?”

  She visualised a life of barren loneliness stretching ahead of her. Kirsty, Alan, Frank none of them would want to know her. She rushed back home to write a hurried letter of apology to Alan, telling him the reason for the other letter, then she hurried to the bus stop and caught a bus. She arrived breathless at the main post office in Dundee and joined the queue. She cursed silently while she waited for the old lady in front of her to have instructions repeated to her three times about a pension form. Eventually it was her turn. She watched as the assistant weighed the envelope and attached stamps.

  “When will it be collected?” she asked.

  "Overseas mail will not be collected until Monday morning,” the assistant replied.

  Frantic, Claire asked. “It’s very urgent. Is there no quicker way?”

  The assistant. a middle-aged woman with dirty looking hair gave a condescending smile that made Claire want to smash her fist into her protruding teeth, and replied, “Apart from going to London and posting it yourself, which would only save a day, there is no quicker way.”

  Claire half considered going to London, but thinking that a day surely wouldn’t make a difference, posted it in Dundee. She felt sick to her stomach all the way back on the bus and during the walk home considering the possible consequences of her actions. When she returned to the house she took Alan’s letter carefully out of her handbag, and as some of the pages were crumpled, she setup her ironing board and pressed them flat again. After putting the pages back in the correct order, she sellotaped the envelope where it had torn and put it on the mantelpiece with Kirsty’s other letters.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, and started to make a meal, but something inside her, a kind of foreboding, shadowed her mind. She had a premonition that dire results were to follow from what she’d done. She prayed when she went to bed that night and asked her mother for help. She often imagined she could sense her mother when she was worried, but tonight she could sense nothing and felt more alone than she’d ever felt before.