A Family Affair

by Nancy Carson

  Together they went to where huge bales of hops, called pockets, were stored and, between them, manoeuvred one towards the copper. When Elijah opened it they lifted it and poured a measure of dry, compressed hops into the steaming wort. The aroma from it all was heady.

  ‘Did you know that father’s sold the house?’ she asked him as they allowed more hops to fall.

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘So when shall we be able to meet?’ she asked in an urgent whisper. ‘More to the point, where shall we be able to meet?’

  They allowed the pocket containing the remaining hops to fall back to the floor.

  ‘We’ll work something out,’ Elijah said reassuringly and, with a warm smile, pulled her towards him so she was in his arms. His hands roamed over her buttocks, firm flesh under the flimsy, loose dress she was wearing. ‘By Christ, you’ve got a lovely arse, our Ramona. I swear if your father wasn’t upstairs I’d have you on this floor right now.’

  ‘He won’t be down for ages yet…’ She looked at him hungrily. ‘And we don’t have to get on the floor. We could stand.’

  ‘Either way we could get caught.’

  ‘We wouldn’t. Not if we do it standing up over there behind the hopback where he can’t see us. We’d hear him coming down the stairs. We wouldn’t get caught.’

  ‘I worry about you, Ramona. You’re too impulsive – like a pig at a tater. Just bide your time till we know we can be safe…He’ll be going back into the pub soon. Anyway, shall you be all right for Saturday?’

  She knew what he meant; her monthly bleeding. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you at the house Saturday morning. I suppose you’ll be going shopping to the town?’

  She nodded and smiled, happy that he’d suggested it.

  ‘I shall go to the barber’s Saturday morning and get me hair cut,’ he told her. ‘I’ll meet you at the house after.’

  ‘I could meet you somewhere else before then,’ she suggested hopefully. ‘What if we went to the fields over Oakham one afternoon while the weather’s fine? It’d be a change. We could go later in the week.’

  ‘I doubt if there’ll be time.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait till me father’s out of the way then. Like we did before.’

  It was another hour before Jake finished. After cleaning the mash tun, he immediately began another wort with grist and hot liquor. While it worked he returned to the pub for a cup of tea and a sandwich of chawl. Elijah looked lustfully at Ramona and he signalled with his eyes that they should go upstairs, to the top floor.

  They lay on the sacks of malt as they had before Elijah became nervous about being compromised there. At this moment, his thoughts were no higher than Ramona’s navel and their being compromised was not uppermost in his mind. But right now it would be safe enough. They kissed ardently while his hands roamed over her lissom body, then up her skirt to savour the smooth, soft skin of her inner thighs that were moist with perspiration. He lifted her skirt above her waist and she raised her bottom while he eased down her drawers, which he allowed to fall to the floor. She unfastened the buttons of his fly, thrust her hands inside and felt his hot, insistent hardness.

  ‘I want to see you naked,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Get your clothes off and let me see you.’

  ‘Afterwards,’ she whispered.

  ‘What good’s afterwards? I want to look at your backside and your titties. They hang beautiful when you’m standing up.’

  ‘Why d’you want to look at them when you’ve already felt them? Besides, what if somebody comes up?’

  ‘That sounds rich coming from you. We’ll hear anybody well before they reach us.’

  She let go of him, sat up on the malt sacks and pulled her dress over her head. Beneath that she wore a thin chemise and she doffed that as well. She was wearing no stockings today and was as naked as the day she was born.

  ‘Move over there where I can see you…’

  She slid off the sacks and moved away, her bare feet padding on the warm wooden floor. She stood with her back towards him and wiggled her backside then looked coquettishly over her shoulder to witness his reaction. His lustful stare pleased her and excited her.

  ‘You’ve got a fine arse, Ramona,’ he said, his words thick in his throat with desire. ‘Turn round to face me now…I love the way your belly curves below your belly button to that patch of hair between your legs. Go over there so’s I can see you walk…Now back…’ He ogled her for a few seconds more. ‘Ooh! Come here you little minx…’

  As she rushed to him he caught hold of her and thrust her onto the malt sacks. With a groan he flung his full weight on top of her, burying his face in her breasts, kissing her hard and biting her remorselessly. He pushed himself urgently into her wet softness and, as she felt him fill her up, she gave a whimper of pleasure and they writhed together like wild, frenzied otters. Greedily, Ramona arched her back, pushing against the firmness of the malt sacks and rubbing herself against him till she uttered a profound sigh of relief. The deep ache of longing was sated once more. While her eyes were closed and a satisfied smile played on her face, he withdrew and she felt his hot, sticky seed drizzle reassuringly over the curve of her belly that he admired so much.

  They lay for five minutes before Ramona thought she heard him snore. She moved, deliberately disturbing him.

  ‘You can’t fall asleep here,’ she said in a hoarse whisper, for once wise.

  She slid from him and collected her drawers from the floor, giving them a shake to dislodge the dust and the bits of husk they had inevitably collected. She thrust her legs into the openings and pulled them up, then grabbed her chemise. When she had her dress back on she shook her hair out and sat beside him again on the malt sacks and ran her fingers through his hair. Beads of sweat lingered on his forehead. Today, he’d desired her greatly. Today she’d paraded naked for him. Seeing her naked body excited him more than she had realised. At last she knew what lit his candles.

  ‘Tell me, Uncle Elijah,’ she said kittenishly, ‘who do you enjoy making love to most – me or Dorcas?’

  ‘Why d’you want to know that?’ he answered drowsily.

  ‘Because I do. Tell me.’

  ‘It makes no odds to you.’

  ‘How do you know what makes odds to me?’

  ‘Because I don’t see as it matters. I like doing it with you. But I like doing it with Dorcas as well.’

  ‘Do you love Dorcas?’

  ‘’Course I love Dorcas.’ He sat up, put his feet to the floor and tucked in his shirt and hitched up his trousers.

  She remained sitting on the sacks, her knees drawn up. She began rocking to and fro like a schoolgirl, her arms around her knees.

  ‘How can you love her if you’re not faithful to her?’

  ‘Easy. Like I said, I enjoy doing it with you.’

  ‘Do you love me then?’

  ‘Not in the way you mean.’ He dusted off his trousers with the flats of his hands.

  ‘Do you love me at all?’ She sounded slighted now.

  Her persistent questions irritated him; they were so puerile, so immature. Why could she not just accept that what they did was for pleasure? For them to become emotionally entangled was taboo. ‘I’m your uncle, Ramona. You’re my flesh and blood. I love you like an uncle. I happen to like you as well, but don’t get any daft ideas that I’m in love with you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think it’s such a daft idea. How d’you know I’m not in love with you?’

  ‘I hope to Christ you’re not, Ramona. You’d better get any such stupid notions out of your head.’

  ‘Why? Just because I’m your niece?

  ‘Yes – because you’re my niece.’

  ‘What if I wasn’t your niece? What then?’

  ‘But you are, so what’s the point in saying “if”?’

  ‘Clover isn’t your niece,’ she remarked huffily. ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘What’s Clover got to do with anything? Come on, back to w
ork now. You’re getting on my nerves with your barmy questions – and insinuations.’

  ‘Odd how you always turn funny when I mention Clover,’ she pouted, sliding off the bags and following him to the top of the stairs. ‘Do you like doing it with Clover as well?’ she goaded, persisting with the fixation that still tainted her reasoning.

  His back was towards her as he approached the stairs and he rolled his eyes in annoyance. He genuinely liked Ramona but her immaturity was leading him to wonder whether his involvement was worth all the hassle. She could be trouble – big trouble. Sometimes she seemed as unstable as nitroglycerine and liable to explode at any moment. The consequences could be disastrous. Trouble was, he was in it up to his neck. One word from her to Jake that he had made advances towards her, that he had taken her against her will…Maybe it was time to make a tactical withdrawal. Get out while the going was good. So far, they had both come through it unscathed. Better not push their luck any further.

  Besides, there was Dorcas to consider…

  Clover called in at Tom’s studio on her way home from work that evening. He’d been working in his darkroom and when she arrived he was hanging some prints up to dry on a line that was strung up between two walls. He was in shirt sleeves, his collar detached at the front and he looked preoccupied.

  ‘Hello,’ he said coolly.

  ‘Oh, Tom, everybody loves my engagement ring,’ she trilled and held it out in front of her admiringly for the umpteenth time that day. ‘Lucy’s really envious. She says she keeps dropping hints to her Harold, but to no avail. Not yet at any rate.’

  ‘Mmm,’ he muttered, and craned his neck to scrutinise a portrait he’d taken earlier that day.

  ‘Oh, and Sarah Mansell reckons she’s getting engaged on August Bank Holiday Monday. I think it’s catching all of a sudden, this getting engaged…And one of the girls in Bedding says she’s getting married at Christmas…I can see you’re busy, Tom. Shall I make a cup of tea?’

  He shrugged indifferently. ‘If you like.’

  ‘You don’t seem very bothered.’

  ‘I said, if you like,’ he answered brusquely. ‘If you want one, make one. You know where the kettle and the teapot are.’

  ‘Blimey, who’s pee’d in your hypo?’ Her mood instantly changed to match his. ‘No, I don’t think I’ll bother if you’re in a mood.’

  He shrugged again and pegged up another print, avoiding her eyes.

  ‘If you’re too busy to talk to me I’ll go…’ She hesitated, puzzled, awaiting his response.

  None came.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ Her feelings were unquestionably hurt. She headed for the door, opened it, hesitated and turned to look at him disconcerted. ‘Shall I see you later, Tom?…Tom?’

  ‘I’m not sure…’

  A cold shudder of foreboding ran down her spine. After all the happiness of yesterday, suddenly something was wrong. Something had happened. Last night when he left her she’d dismissed his detachment as the result of too much drink, but maybe it had not been the alcohol. Somehow she must have upset him. But how? She was not aware of anything she’d done that might make him displeased. With her hand resting on the handle she remained by the door, looking anxiously at him, trying to work out why he was so unexpectedly cold towards her.

  ‘Why are you not sure?’ she asked, her voice even. ‘What’s wrong, Tom? What is it? What’s happened?’

  He hung up the final print, picked up a piece of rag and dried his hands. ‘Spare me the pretence that you don’t know, Clover.’ He was trying to maintain an outward calm but his voice was thick with emotion and resentment.

  ‘Know what?’ she said. ‘What is it I’m supposed to know? What’s happened, Tom? Why are you so offish with me? What have I done?’ Her heart was beating fast, her mind was awhirl with events last night, trying to recall some incident, any incident that might have triggered such coldness. But all she could recall were feelings of joy and contentment, geniality and everybody’s kindness and good wishes.

  ‘Clover, I’ve always tried to be fair with you. I’ve always tried to be considerate and caring.’

  ‘Always you have been, Tom, yes—’

  ‘Well, maybe you’ve mistaken that for softness…Maybe I am a soft touch, Clover, but don’t ever fall into the trap of thinking I’m stupid.’

  She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. What was he driving at? What point was he trying to make? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tom,’ she uttered eventually. ‘If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologise. But you’d best tell me what it is, because I can’t imagine what. I can’t stand you looking at me with such scorn when I’m not aware I’ve done anything wrong.’

  His chest heaved with a great shuddering sigh and she discerned his anguish.

  A marmalade cat stalked cautiously along the top of the high wall outside, picking its way between the shards of trespasser deterrent glass.

  ‘What about Elijah?’ he said contemptuously.

  ‘What about Elijah?’ she replied with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Oh, don’t look so damned innocent. I know there’s something going on between you two.’ There. It was out. ‘God, I’m only glad I saw it when I did – before it was too late.’

  She uttered a gasp of disbelief then looked at him, her incredulity manifest in her eyes. ‘You think—’ Her legs were weak all of a sudden, drained by the shock and disappointment of his monstrous accusation. She moved over to the chaise-longue and sat down. How should she phrase her next words for maximum impact? Whatever she might say could affect their whole future relationship, however she said it. But in her unforeseen and absolute distress no words would come to protect her, to make her future safe. She just looked at him in horror, her eyes wide, her mouth open in disbelief that he did not trust her, that for some reason known only to him he could not trust her. How could he possibly consider her incapable of fidelity and virtue when all she ever wanted was to spend the rest of her life only with him and bear his children? Hot tears welled up in her eyes and trembled for a second on her eyelashes before trickling down the gentle curves of her cheeks.

  ‘You think that of me?’ she said, her face an icon of anguish. ‘After all we’ve done together, after all we’ve said to each other – after all the promises we’ve made?’

  ‘Actions speak louder than words, Clover. I’ve seen how you look at him, how you touch him …how you kiss him. Well, I don’t intend to compete. Have him and I wish you the best of luck.’ There was acid in his tone, scorn…and grief.

  Clover perceived the grief first and it gave her hope. She looked into his eyes, got to her feet and walked towards him. ‘I don’t know what demons have got into you, Tom, but how can you possibly think that of me?’ Tears continued to run down her face, yet although she made no effort to stem them, neither did she make a great show of sobbing. ‘Ever since we met I’ve entertained thoughts of no other man but you. When I sleep at night I dream of you. In the daytime you’re always with me – when I eat, when I drink, when I work. You are on my mind constantly – never out of my thoughts. My only ambition is to be your wife, to look after you, to have your children. I live for you, Tom…I would die for you…How can you think otherwise after all we have been to each other?’

  The peaceful tick of the real marble clock on the sham, theatrical mantelpiece of the studio belied the strong undercurrent of emotion that was swirling between them.

  ‘Clover, I know what I see.’ He did not look at her.

  ‘God alone knows what you see, Tom,’ she said, her voice soft, steady now. ‘But whatever you see, you’re getting a horrible, distorted view.’

  ‘I see what I see. It hurts like hell, but I know what I see.’

  She stood close and took his hand, filled with sympathy for him, bitterly sorry that he was plaguing himself with such arrant nonsense. When he did not flinch away from the contact she felt encouraged, but she shook her head, hardly able to conceive that this was happenin
g to them.

  ‘What can I say to reassure you?’ she entreated. ‘There is nothing between Elijah Tandy and me. Hell, he has Dorcas. What man would want more? But I like Elijah…’

  ‘Huh!’ he sneered.

  ‘Tom, I’m not ashamed to say I like him because it’s the truth. But he’s not for me, and that’s the truth as well.’

  ‘I only wish I could believe that…’

  ‘He’s a ladies’ man. I’m in love with you, Tom. Not Elijah. Never Elijah. Oh, you might have seen me flirt with him, fuss him up a bit, but that’s bravado. It means nothing. Of course I don’t love him…You know I don’t love him. I love you.’

  He gave a great shuddering sigh.

  ‘How long have you harboured this stupid perception, Tom? How long?’

  ‘Not long.’

  ‘How long?’

  He shrugged. ‘It was especially noticeable last night.’

  ‘Last night? All this has come on since last night? God! The happiest moment of my life was last night!’

  ‘Not just since last night,’ he felt he had to say; he did not want to give the impression it had been triggered by something Ramona had said. ‘But last night you went off with Ned Brisco in that damn motor car he’s got…Then you were touching Elijah and you kissed him in exactly the way you kiss me sometimes. It spoke volumes, Clover.’

  She let go of his hand, self-righteous anger welling up inside her now. She was utterly innocent of everything he alleged. He was being stupid. It vexed her that he could see something that patently did not exist.

  ‘I feel insulted,’ she said softly, trying to disguise her pique. ‘I feel insulted that you should think so low of me.’ She took a deep breath and wrestled, not only with the engagement ring on her finger, but with her anger also that was mounting inexorably. Now there was only one way to make him see. ‘Here…Have your ring back. I don’t want it unless you can come to your senses.’

  She placed the ring on the table in front of him and turned the other way. Without looking back, she picked up her basket, opened the door and left.