Love is my Destiny

by Paul Kelly

  “We’ll have to pray, Fern. I can’t get this thing moving at all and the skies are beginning to look overcast again.”

  “What shall we do?” asked Fern as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes but Peter had already got a petrol can from the boot and was about to set foot for the nearest garage which he estimated to be approximately three miles from where they had broken down. He slammed the bonnet into place and started to walk away from the car.

  “Wait, Peter ... let me go. It is better that you wait here with the car and if you can get it going, you can pick me up along the road. I’d rather go, since I would never be able to get the thing going on my own anyway,” he giggled. “I can’t even drive ... What am I talking about?

  Here let me have the can.”

  Peter agreed to the logic and Fern started off, with the petrol can under his arm but he had only been gone a few moments when the rain came down again. It fell in sheets with a vengeance… and the mist clouded Peter’s vision as he strained to see Fern through the car windscreen. He went outside but his view was little better. The boy was nowhere in sight. He had walked faster than Peter had imagined he would. There was nothing in the horizon but mist as Peter returned to the car, worried and feeling useless. He could do nothing but wait and the waiting seemed endless. He tried to start the car repeatedly, pulling the choke out as far as he could, but it was no use and it seemed hours before a bedraggled figure appeared once more on the skyline.

  Peter left the car and ran towards Fern. The boy was soaked, but he held the can of petrol high above his head as he greeted Peter with a wide grin and rubbed the rain from his eyes and nose with his sleeve.

  “Let’s get this car started as soon as we can and get out of this place.” Peter called out in anger after having seen the drenching that Fern had taken and the engine purred after a few moments as the car roared into action. In the speediest time they made for home and headed for Fern’s place first, before Peter drove to the presbytery.

  “Thanks Peter.”

  “Thank YOU ... and dry off as quickly as you can. Might be a good idea to have a warm bath too….”

  Fern ran into the house with the rain spattering around his feet as he went and it seemed there was no-one at home as he made for the stairway, but within a few moments, he heard her voice.

  “Gracious, whatever has happened to you?” Laura called from the lounge, having seen his arrival from the window. “You must dry off quickly; you’ll catch pneumonia if you don’t take care.”

  Fern was upset that she had seen him and wanted to continue on his way to his room.

  “I’ll be all right when I’ve changed. It was a silly thing to happen,” he said, using empty words in a vain effort to dissuade Laura from making further issue, but she persisted in making her presence felt.

  “Come here, by the fire.” she demanded with a firm voice…”I’ll get some towels. Your father is out on a sick call or something like that ... I can’t remember.”

  With that, she left the room, but appeared again within minutes with Fern’s robe and some towels over her arm. He glanced at the stairs, but knew that she would have overpowered him if he made a move in that direction.

  “You could do with a brandy too,” she added briskly as Fern took the robe from her and begun to undress warily, but swiftly as Laura left the room again and he tried to remove his tie, but suddenly she appeared at his side.

  “Let me dry you ... you are soaking,” she said with outstretched arms inviting the suggestion.

  “I can manage,” said Fern and after a few seconds, in the hope that she would leave him alone, he added a very pronounced, ‘thank you’ “Come on,” she insisted… “What are you dithering for? Don’t be so bloody modest. I won’t see anything new.”

  Fern was tense and nervous. He glanced towards the stairs again hoping that she had lied about Stephen being out and that he might appear, but there was no sign of life at all in the house, except for the woman who sat beside him and she was determined to bar his way from going to his room. He removed his shirt slowly, conscious that Laura’s eyes never left him, and tried to manoeuvre his bath robe so that he had it around his chest as he undid the belt from his trousers, but Laura moved forwards with the towel and pulled his robe away from him as she commenced to dry his chest.

  “You’re only a little boy,” she gloated and wet her lips as she studied his young frame and Fern stood in silence hoping she would not observe his tremor. His damp hair fell across his forehead and he flicked it from his eye, with his sight firmly on Laura. Every muscle of his body was tense as she disregarded his nervousness and undid his belt, allowing his trousers to fall to his knees.

  “My God ... even your underpants are soaking” she snarled as she clawed to remove them but Fern snapped his hand over hers on his belly.

  “No, don’t do that,” he demanded, fixing his glare on her and Laura sneered, swaying her head from side to side like a cobra about to strike, before she released her hand from his grasp and put her finger on his chest where she drew a little circle… and stared into Fern’s eyes. He saw a strange look there that frightened him…

  “I can manage perfectly well myself, “ he said as he pulled away from her.

  “I bet you can, Lovie,” she smirked.

  Laura poured the brandy into two heated glasses that she had prepared since she had intended to join the ‘toast’ and the cognac glistened in the fire rays as she slopped it carelessly into the glasses. The fire blaze would have been welcome under different circumstances and Fern welcomed the warmth, but he did not want her company. His thoughts were jangled. He wanted to run upstairs, but it could have been worse had she followed him as he remembered he had no key to his room. She was a powerful woman and he wanted at all costs, to avoid a scene that might involve explanations if Stephen did come home and he wished with all his heart that SOMEONE would come in at that moment. Meanwhile, he sat down by the fire and drew his robe around him carefully as Laura handed him the glass and took her own drink to sit beside him. Her eyes were glazed.

  “Have you ever been with a woman, Fern?” she asked without shame.

  There was a deathly hush when she asked her question and only Fern’s dark, frightened eyes gave her the answer she sought. She moved closer to him and put her warm hand on his knee as she looked up at him from where she sat on the carpet. Fern knew what she was thinking as the plea from her look did not lie. He froze and closed his eyes as she pulled his robe aside and kissed his thigh with a passionate hunger on her lips.

  “You’re lovely,” she said, “So lovely … So virginal and yet so demanding.” She murmured as she trailed her sensual lips across his smooth skin. “Only a boy and yet so beautifully manly,” she whispered as she touched his knee with her hand and closed her fingers against his warm flesh. Fern was mesmerized by her bold fixations until he could take no more and he leapt to his feet as Laura fell back, spilling the amber liquid over the carpet as Fern ran towards the door.

  At that moment, Stephen suddenly appeared in the doorway of the lounge and the flames from the fire threw his sombre shadow across the wall as Fern rushed past him

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded observing the pale face of the half-naked boy who had collided with him, but Laura ignored his question and tried to dry the carpet with the towel that she held in her hand. Stephen came towards her scowling.

  “What’s wrong with the lad… What’s wrong with him ... tell me,” he demanded and Laura’s mouth twitched.

  “Nothing you would understand” she said and as she threw the towel angrily from her, it landed on a nearby chair, before falling to the floor.

  Stephen poured himself a whisky and sat down wearily. He could hear a door slam upstairs as he closed his eyes and drained his glass.

  “I gather it’s sexual then ... sexual then?” he repeated as if prophetically
, displaying a greater knowledge of the woman he had married than she had ever guessed and he poured himself another whisky as he continued to talk, but his voice was slurred. “What have you been saying to him ... What have you done to him? Tell me, Laura.

  What is going on here, I demand to know.”

  He threw his drink on the fire and it exploded as Laura turned on him fiercely.

  “Who are you to demand anything?” she screamed. You are becoming less and less of a man every day. You don’t look at me. You don’t touch me.

  Stephen, I am fourteen years younger than you. Can’t you realise that I need love. I need to be loved. I need to be wanted ... as a woman.”

  Stephen felt withdrawn. He had always been a weak man and he knew it, but his passion had been aroused by what he had seen in his lounge such a little time before.

  “I love you Laura ... Love you. I need you, don’t you understand?” he said and his mouth appeared distorted as he began to belch, pulling his chin in towards his chest.

  Laura dusted her dress as she spoke.

  “Not as I need to be wanted. Do I have to spell it out to you, Stephen? With you, I am starved of emotion. You are content when your clothes are washed and ironed and when your meals are cooked on time, but it wasn‘t always like that, was it? Can you remember the times when you were all over me like a rash when we first slept together ... and so shortly after your wife had passed away ... Remember, darling?”

  She sneered and glared at him with wild eyes. “This is not the life I am used to ...You must understand that…”

  Stephen softened. “Don’t go on like that Laura,” he said and touched her arm. “I love you.”

  “Yes, once a month, SOMETIMES” ... she screamed and her lips curled around her words as Stephen poured another drink and sat down near her, staring wildly into the fire and turning the glass around in his hand.

  The air was tense. It was he who broke the silence after her outrageous statement.

  “Our discussions always end this way, don’t they Laura? I thought we both understood the situation when we married. I knew your way of life and you knew mine. You did, didn’t you Laura? I have never been a sexual athlete, but I do love you, he babbled incoherently.”

  Laura stood up and her mouth twisted as she sipped her brandy.

  “I’m going to bed now. Goodnight, Stephen,” she said softly as she took a few paces from him and stopped suddenly, hesitating for a moment before she returned to him again leaving her glass on the table as she touched his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, love. The fault is all mine … You are just fine as you are,” she said and her voice trembled with remorse. Come to bed, I want to cuddle up to you,” she said, but as she turned to leave the room, Stephen stopped her. He stood behind her and put his arms around her waist. Slowly, he kissed her neck and as he brought her round to him and kissed her lips.

  “I’ve had too much to drink, my darling,” he said apologetically and belched again. “Not the conduct of a man of God, you would say ... but come, my Love. Let’s go to bed. I need you ... I need you,” he muttered incoherently.

  “Stephen ... I am sorry ... I.”

  “No darling,” he said and his voice was sober as he looked into her eyes. “I need you ... I need you NOW ... We have talked too much ... talked a lot of rubbish... a lot of rubbish I say,”

  Chapter Eighteen

  STEPHEN ROLLED OVER AND SIGHED CONTENTEDLY, as Laura stared at the ceiling. She wanted a cigarette but she did not want to disturb her husband by her side and her mind went back to their first meeting. She was flattered by the attention of so kind and gentle a man as Stephen Lockton and more particularly because he was a man of the cloth She knew his wife was dead when she met him and she tried to give him comfort in the best way she could. If she went a little too far, well, that was how she was by nature, and he never condemned her for that.

  She would have remained his mistress if that was what he wanted, but Stephen Lockton was not that kind of man and when he had asked her to marry him, she was naturally pleased. She would grow to love him, she thought, because he was nice and respectable. He was a gentleman and she didn’t know many nice and respectable gentlemen who would want to marry her, nevertheless she shuddered as she thought of the differences in their lives, and marvelled again that he should have chosen her to be his bride, as her eyes filled with tears. There was much that she regretted in her past life, but the past was the past and the dye had been cast; she was, who she was and nothing could ever change that.

  Stephen had accepted her warts and all . . .

  He moved in the bed beside her and as his snoring ceased, she put her arm across his chest and snuggled up to him.

  “If only I had been different, my darling, things might have been better for us,” she sighed, talking softly into his ear.

  Laura was the seventh of eleven children; all country born and raised in the Country of Lothair, where farming was the way of life. Her father was a surly heavy-fisted man, who thought nothing of giving his wife and children ‘the back of his hand,’ and her mother was a long-suffering, weak, sickly woman who would do anything to keep the peace. Laura hated her father, with venom that frightened her, and loved her mother with tenderness, if with impatience. She hated her youth and she hated even more to think of it, but the night oppressed her as she could not sleep and she slipped quietly from the bed and tip-toed downstairs into the lounge. Laura’s fingers shook as she lit a cigarette and the lighter weighed heavily in her hand. She closed her eyes with sheer satisfaction as she inhaled the smoke into her lungs and slumped into a chair. The memories of the past pursued her vehemently, wondering at her stubborn persistence since she hated the memories that were hers, but somehow being alone and in the dark, made her more able to cope with this period of her life …It was a period that she never ever wanted to talk about to anyone… If she could kill the memory totally and forever, that would have given her great satisfaction and even greater contentment…but she never could.

  Laura Lockton, she thought. Laura Lockton, nee Bain, one time spinster of the church of St James, the Less, in the parish of Lothair, she remembered and a tear rolled down her flushed cheek, but she brushed it away in defiance with the back of her hand.

  “Oh Stephen, I wish I could have been different ... You deserve better than I am. You should have so much more than what I can offer you. . .” she sobbed.

  She lit another cigarette from the one she already held in her trembling hand and her breathing was laboured in retrospective anger as she heard her father’s voice in her head once more as he wandered off ... after his conquest.

  “I wish I had killed the stinking bastard with the hay fork.” she said aloud, forgetting where she was and who might hear ... but it was ironical that her father died tragically one night about six months after that incident in the stinking barn. He was returning home, drunk as always and cut across a neighbour’s field as a short cut to the house. It was a dark, moonless, wet night, she remembered ... and he was found next morning having been gored to death by a bull…

  Laura puffed on her cigarette and blew the smoke nonchalantly into the air. She sniggered disrespectfully as she remembered her mother’s remarks to the neighbours.

  “ ‘Ad ‘e lived ... ‘e never would ‘ave been able to sit down again ... she had remarked so innocently ... and Laura swept her hair back from her face as she sniffed complacently and helped herself to a cognac.

  “Inconvenient somewhat, is it not, daddy?” she sneered her words into her glass. She was wide awake now and was glad she was on her own as she laughed quietly and cupped her mouth with her hand, raising her eyebrows in self-disgust. Her fantasy world crowded in on her as she reflected the dreams ... the nightmares that had haunted her ever since that dreadful day in the barn when er father had shown his true self as a disciplinarian to anyone and everyone, E
XCEPT HIMSELF “Strange,” she murmured softly and flicked her cigarette onto the floor, “Strange that they were all boys in those troubled slumbers.

  Young innocent boys… None of them were men ... None were adult men …Why is it that I have this feeling for young boys?”

  She could have sat up all night in self-analysis, but she knew it would serve no useful purpose, however she thought of her father’s famous words to her when he considered himself to be something of a philosopher.

  “Ye can’t make a silk purse out o’ a sow’s ear, ye can’t.” He would say and he never referred to Laura as ‘she’ or ‘her’. It was always ‘the bitch’ or ‘the cow’. He lived in a world of beasts and he was the king. She was glad he was dead and she thumped a cushion and threw it angrily from the settee to the floor as she threw back her hair and doused her cigarette.

  She leaned forward in the settee and studied her nails, as that memory brought back a pleasure that she had thought to be forgotten and the red lacquer was chipping.

  “What a saving it would have been if I had killed him that night,” she thought aloud and continued to study the ill-painted nails with her eyebrows arched in carefree abandon. She would have finished it all then and changed the face of destiny… not only for herself and for the months she endured at his mercy and at his call, but for her siblings too. They all shared the inheritance of shame and guilt that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. How do they feel now? Laura wondered. They were all so involved. They all knew the stench of his perversion; sisters and brothers alike and she wanted to be sick.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE SUN STREAKED LAZILY across the sky as Fern opened the letter that he had received that morning from Shona as Laura poured the coffee and the world was seemingly normal again, after the events of the previous evening, but it was Laura who appeared to be nervous as the percolator shook in her hand.