TAINTED LOVE

by Anna Chilvers

  Richard took my hand.

  His palm against mine was cool and dry. I tried to concentrate on the scenery. The sheep in the fields, caked with December mud, and the brown-red swathe of trees filling up the valley, out of earshot below us, But my mind kept slipping down my arm to those hands, to the place where our bodies touched. So different from Peter.

  Peter came round to see me two nights ago, the first time I’d seen him in ages.

  He said, ‘Lauren, you’re being selfish and stubborn. Let her tell you what happened.’

  He said, ‘She’s your mother. Give her a chance.’

  He said, ‘You’re behaving like a child.’

  That’s how you’re supposed to behave with your parents. I’m just making up for lost time.

  We argued and he left. We didn’t even kiss. I’d felt like I was reading from a script and the words didn’t mean anything. I was angry and shouting at Peter. But I was thinking about Richard and how it felt that night in my room when he kissed me, how our mouths didn’t quite fit together and we had to adjust the angle of our heads to get it right. I knew I had to stop shouting and kiss Peter, make everything fall back into place again. But that wasn’t in the script I was following, and I watched Peter leave my room and slam the door, heard his footsteps on the stairs, the front door closing behind him.

  We left the road to cross a stile and the path took us along a stone wall, edged with paving slabs to keep feet from the worst of the mud. We had to walk in single file and Richard was in front of me. We weren’t holding hands any more.

  A few fields later the path split into two: the path we were following going up, and another down into Rose Dean Clough.

  Richard marched on ahead, but I caught hold of his arm.

  ‘Can we go down there?’

  ‘That’s not the way.’

  ‘Just for a few minutes. It’s one of my favourite places. I want to show you.’

  He hesitated and frowned.

  ‘We haven’t much time. It’s dark by four.’

  ‘Not for long. Just into the clough.’

  He shrugged.

  The path drops down steeply and it was slippery with mud; we had to walk with our feet angled out to the sides. Then it got steeper and there were rough stone steps made of boulders leading down to a footbridge. There was a lot of water in the stream and it roared over the rocks. I could hear the trees further down the valley.

  On the other side of the bridge Richard stopped.

  ‘Does this lead down to Rose Mill?’

  ‘Yes.’ I leaned against him and slipped my arm inside his jacket.

  ‘Lauren, I’d rather not go this way.’

  I nuzzled against his neck and kissed his hair.

  ‘But it’s where we first kissed. It’s a lovely place.’

  He held my face in his hands.

  ‘Lauren, look at me.’

  I looked at him. He had those sunglasses on and I couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘I’m Richard, not Peter. You’re getting mixed up.’

  I remembered the kiss. We were sitting on the old wall of the mill, high up, way above the water, our legs dangling. I was scared and he was laughing at me.

  ‘Why would you fall? You’re sitting. You don’t fall off chairs when you sit on them.’

  ‘I don’t get vertigo on chairs.’

  ‘You don’t have vertigo, you’re just scared. I’ll catch you if you fall.’

  He grabbed out and caught me and my heart leaped in my body and I leaned back away from the drop so I was pressing against him, and when I turned my head his face was right up close and I didn’t say anything. We stayed like that, millimetres apart, eyes open, our faces blurred, and I forgot about the looming death beneath my feet. We both moved at the same time and our lips came together and I wasn’t scared any more.

  ‘Come on, I’ll race you.’

  I pulled away from Richard and ran off into the clough. It was a narrow path that wound its way along the steep banks. I didn’t get far before Richard caught up with me, put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Please Lauren, stop.’

  I shook him off and ran on.

  The mill was just round the next bend, what was left of it. The chimney had fallen at some point and the half that was left didn’t even reach the level of the trees. One of the walls was still standing, but trees pushed their branches against it and shoved them through the window holes. Down near the water moss grew over the stone and, higher up, lichens.

  I stopped running. Richard hadn’t run after me this time, but after a moment he appeared, walking slowly.

  ‘Don’t you love it here?’ I said. ‘The way the mill is being absorbed back into the land. Listen, can you hear a humming noise? The trees, the moss, that’s them growing. In another hundred years you won’t be able to tell the mill was ever here.’

  I looked at him and he was crying.

  I blinked and looked back at the mill. The stone walls stood grey against a blue sky, the same colour as the branches of the winter trees. How could he be crying? He had sunglasses on, I couldn’t see his eyes, I must be wrong.

  ‘Do you remember?’ I asked. ‘After we kissed I jumped off the wall and ran down the path and you chased me all the way to the stone bridge at the bottom.’

  ‘Lauren!’

  His voice sounded strange and tight. I looked at him but his eyes were still hidden.

  ‘Lauren we haven’t been here before. Not together.’

  Where had his horns gone? They’d been growing quite nicely but I couldn’t see them now. I reached over to him and touched his head with my hands. His hair was glossy and thick, softer than I remembered. Definitely no horns. I felt a bit sick and I swallowed. I wanted this day to be perfect. At the stone bridge we’d kissed again, and that time it had gone on for longer and our bodies had joined in a million places.

  I leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. He didn’t move, so I pushed myself against him and tried again, teasing his mouth open with mine, pushing with my tongue.

  Our teeth knocked together and I tasted something salty. I moved away and looked. He was definitely crying. There were tears. There were no horns because he was Richard and this was not where I was meant to be. The sick feeling rose up again and my throat tightened. I turned and ran, but this time I didn’t stop. Down to the stone bridge, over it and along the path through the clough to the valley below. I ran down the road past the church and the houses and across the main road on to the canal, all the way back into town.

  When I reached home I stopped. There were voices inside the house and one of them was female. I really didn’t want to see my mother just now. I turned quietly and walked away, hoping no one had noticed me.

  I went to Jimmy’s house. Jimmy would tell me what to do. He knew about everything: Peter, Richard, my mum. He knew what it was like to love someone and still be attracted to someone else. He knew about confusion.

  It was Suky who opened the door. Her face was swollen and her eyes were red. She smiled a watery smile.

  ‘Come in, Lauren,’ she said.

  I followed her into the kitchen and she put the kettle on the stove.

  ‘Peppermint tea?’

  I nodded and she got a box from the cupboard, mugs from the shelf.

  ‘I’ve seen him,’ she said.

  ‘Who?’ Richard hadn’t run after me and couldn’t have got here that quickly anyway. It must be Peter.

  ‘Jimmy. I’ve seen him with that woman.’

  Oh god!

  ‘He wasn’t back from the pub and I could tell it was happening again. I didn’t want to lie there in bed, worrying and helpless. So I got up and dressed and went down there. I thought I’d find him.’

  ‘Was he in the pub?’

  ‘He was just leaving. With her. He was talking and she wa
s laughing.’

  ‘Maybe they’d just been drinking together in the pub. It might not have been anything.’

  ‘I followed them to her car.’

  ‘Car?’

  ‘They both got in it and she drove off. I was standing there on the pavement under a tree watching. They would have seen me if they’d looked.’

  I tried to remember ever seeing her driving.

  ‘What sort of car has she got?’

  Suky frowned at me. ‘I don’t know. Something sporty, expensive looking. Black. She patted him on the bum while she was unlocking it and he grinned at her.’

  That was not Steph. What the hell was Jimmy getting into?

  ‘Did he come back?’

  ‘Eventually. He was gone for three hours. I pretended to be asleep and in the morning he acted like everything was fine. Like he’d just been to the pub. Same as he always does.’

  ‘Have you said anything to him?’

  ‘Lauren, I don’t know what to do. I love him.’

  ‘He loves you as well Suky, you know that. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘He had a mark on his neck. It looked like a lovebite. I don’t think he knew it was there.’

  I put my hand on my own neck and rubbed. I could only think of one woman round here with an expensive, black sports car.

  ‘She must be ten years older than him.’ The kettle on the stove whistled and she stood up. ‘Shall we have vodka instead?’

  I looked at the clock. It was only just past midday. ‘Why the hell not!’

  I wondered, briefly, what Richard was doing now.

  35. Peter

  Lauren had told him not to eat the berries, but he thought he knew best. She lived in a house in the town, he was the one who knew the outdoors. She’d told him the plants spoke to her, but that was nonsense. She was making it up, the same as she made up stories to tell him about wood nymphs, wily foxes and old grizzled witches. None of it was true.

  So he ate the berries and, later, after she had gone home for tea, he’d crept up to the cave and was sick. So sick it felt as though everything inside him was being forced out. The front of his body pulled hard against his spine, his pelvis jerked upwards. He bent over and the hot bile rushed out of him, over and over. His dad stroked his hair, wiped his forehead with damp moss.

  Later he was empty. He lay in the cave and heard whispering coming from the woods. He saw stars through the cave mouth, shooting across the sky with tails of red and green. He turned his back and the cave tipped sideways. He slept, then woke again.

  Someone was arguing with his dad outside.

  ‘You can’t have him. You can’t ever have him.’

  ‘It’s too late, he has my mark.’

  ‘Fuck your mark. You’re not having him. Go!’

  Peter curled into a ball. There was a tussle at the cave mouth. Someone was trying to get in, but his dad was fighting them. They were both shouting and Peter covered his ears.

  He opened his eyes just a crack and peeped. His dad was standing over the other person. He looked huge, much bigger than he normally did. The other figure was cowering, retreating.

  ‘You know you can never beat me,’ his dad shouted, ‘I don’t know why you keep trying.’

  The figure hissed. Gradually it faded, disappeared into the dark of night. The hiss became words which hung in the air after the figure had gone. ‘One day. One day.’

  Peter’s dad stood silhouetted at the mouth of the cave, watching until the night settled. A sheep called on the hills and its lamb answered. An owl flew over, and the stars were still in the sky. Peter felt the tension leave his limbs and sleep came to cover him like a warm blanket.

  His father came into the cave and crouched next to him. He felt Peter’s forehead, then lifted his wrist and felt his pulse. Peter’s eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open.

  ‘Am I going to die, Dad?’ he said sleepily.

  ‘No Peter. No, you’re not going to die.’

  36. Richard

  We were just an ordinary family.

  I started working at Rose Mill when I was eleven and I was put to work tying ends. I worked there three days a week and on the other three I went to school. My father had worked at the Mill for many years and was well respected. We would set off together from home at five in the morning and walk up through the valley, past Silk Mill where my mother and sisters worked, past Banksfoot, Eaves and Jumble Mills all the way to the top of the clough to Rose Mill. It was the highest mill in the valley. The stream tumbled downhill and the light grew as we walked up the track, me and my father side by side. We didn’t speak much. We were two men on our way to work.

  That day there was a sudden stillness in the main hall. The machines didn’t stop working, but it was as though all the workers in the room collectively held their breath. Three men stood in the doorway on the river side, one holding my dad’s feet and two others supporting his shoulders. He carried no weight himself. He was limp and lifeless. I watched like everyone else as they carried him through the hall and out of the main doorway into the yard.

  All eyes followed the body, but as soon as he passed out of sight the eyes turned to look at me, the dead man’s son.

  ‘Back to work,’ snapped the foreman, and the breathing began again, the hum of industry.

  I didn’t move though. I stared at the door where they had gone. Then I saw the foreman walking towards me and I leapt to my feet and flew down the hall and into the yard.

  He had slipped and been crushed by the stone wheels as they turned. Two of his workmates had leaped after him and pulled him free before the wheels had gripped him completely and pulverised his body, but they were too late to save him from having the life squeezed out of his chest.

  I stared down at my father. He looked strangely loose and flat beneath his work clothes and there was a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were closed as though he were sleeping. The men were silent. Behind us was the noise of the mill, the noise of the wheels as they kept turning.

  ‘Mother,’ I gasped suddenly. I took to my heels and ran down the valley in the direction of Silk Mill.

  Lauren’s feet flashed along the path as she ran, but she was soon obscured by trees. Trees that weren’t there the day my father died. My vision blurred and I sat down on a rock. I didn’t cry that day, but it was the beginning of everything. The first crack in my childhood, which soon broke into piles of dust.

  I didn’t work at Rose Mill again. I did a spell for Mr Gibson, but he couldn’t get me to work inside, only on the pond. In the end I went to Mr S the stonemason and asked to be taken on as an apprentice. He asked why he should take me and I said that I wanted to learn to master the stone which had taken my father’s life. He must have liked my answer because he agreed and I never went back to Rose Mill again. Until today.

  There were birds singing.

  I shook myself and got up, walked back up the valley to the top of the clough and into the fields. I didn’t want to go on to Satan’s Rock now that Lauren had gone. I turned in the other direction and took the path which led over towards Hawtenstall.

  Mr Lion was walking along the path towards me. He stopped and called to his dog who’d run off. As I drew level with him I stopped and nodded good morning. There was a stone cottage which had fallen into ruins in the next field, and the little white dog was standing on its back legs, paws on the wall, barking.

  ‘Come Beauty, come!’ called Mr Lion.

  The dog turned its head towards us, gave one last bark, and then raced back over the field to its master.

  ‘Good girl, Beauty,’ he said, and to me, ‘Nice day for it.’

  I agreed, and we continued our separate ways. Once he was out of sight I stopped and doubled back, vaulted over the wall and crossed the field into the next. I walked round to the front of the cottage.

 
One half had caved in completely and a tree was growing up through the hole where the roof had been. It reminded me of the ruins of Rose Mill and I shuddered. The other half was more or less intact and the doorway gaped like an open mouth. Inside seemed pitch black compared to the bright sunny day.

  ‘Ali,’ I called.

  There was no answer but I didn’t expect one.

  ‘Ali, I know you’re there. Can we talk?’

  I took a step inside. The window was boarded up and lines of light showed between the boards. I could see food packaging piled on the window ledge in front of them. Further back was gloomier, but there were shapes. One of them was larger than the others.

  ‘Ali, I’m your friend.’ I took another step.

  She must have realised I wasn’t going to give up and go away because she coughed then.

  ‘Hello Richard,’ she said. She came out of the shadows. Her eyes shone in the darkness. ‘I can’t offer you tea, but I have cake.’ She took one of the boxes off the window ledge. ‘Past its sell-by date, I’m afraid.’

  ‘How long have you been living here?’

  ‘A while.’ She shoved the cake box at me and I shook my head.

  ‘It must be freezing at night.’

  ‘I’m ok. I’ve got some insulation.’

  She pointed to the corner. She had made herself a kind of nest out of newspapers and blankets. The papers were piled up, masses of them, with a shape in the middle just big enough for her body. She could slot into it, pull more papers over the top and cover herself with blankets.

  ‘It’s quite cosy actually.’

  ‘But why are you hiding?’

  She replaced the cake box on the shelf. ‘Not everyone is my friend,’ she said.

  She had a red blanket wrapped around her body. She looked like someone who’d been at an all night party. Her face was pale from lack of sunlight, her hair unkempt.

  ‘You need vitamin D,’ I said, and she shot me a glance.

  We stood for a few moments looking out at the field and the woods below.