by Diane Wood
When Nathalie saw that her door didn’t lock, her heart began to pound. She looked around, but there was nothing she could use to jam the door. Finally, after lying awake watching the door for over an hour, she began to drift into a troubled sleep. An hour later, she woke with George on top of her.
“I need you, Nat,” he whispered, forcing his kisses onto her. “Mother said we could.”
“No, George,” she spat, struggling beneath his wiry body. “I’m not doing this anymore. Don’t touch me.”
“Only you understand what I need,” he whispered, pulling away the bedclothes and tightening his grip on her wrists. “I need to be near you, please,” he cajoled, holding her to him. “Like when we were kids. You loved me then, I know you did.”
“We’re not kids anymore,” she growled, struggling to break free. “And we did it because Mother and her clients made us. I hated it then and I hate it now…and I will never do it again…ever. Now get off me.”
“But it makes Mother happy, and I missed you so much,” he moaned, continuing to hold her down. “I do love you, you know that.”
That’s when it hit—waves of nausea and revulsion—horror at what she knew she could not stop. There was no more fight in her. Helpless, she turned her face away, tears trickling down her cheek. “Take what you want, George. Mother will be proud of you.”
“Oh God, Nat, I just want you to love me,” he murmured imploringly.
But she didn’t respond.
Rolling from her, he curled into a ball, his back to Nathalie, his arms around his own body. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, rocking slightly. “I’m so sorry. I just needed to feel your arms around me. I just wanted you to hold me, to look after me, like you did when we were little. I hate it without you.”
She lay staring at the ceiling, her mind in turmoil. “It can’t go on,” she whispered eventually. “I’ll kill you if you ever try this again. You can’t keep doing terrible things just to please Mother and because she says it’s okay.”
“She loves us,” he mumbled without turning round. “That’s why she wants us to be together. And I’ve missed you so much, Nat. You went away and left me.”
“Does this lifestyle make you happy, George? Or do you feel like I do—like cowardly filth, like something that doesn’t even deserve to draw breath?”
“She loves us,” he repeated. “It’s different for you, it’s always been different for you, but I need her, and the only way she’ll love us is if we’re together and we make her happy.”
For a long time they lay in silence, neither moving.
“I won’t tell her what happened,” he said eventually. “She can think we did it.”
“I can’t stay, George. I can’t spend another night in this house. You know what she’ll expect tomorrow night, and I just can’t do it.” She knew he was crying from his smothered gasps of indrawn breath. Turning, she curled her body into his muscular back—putting her arms around him and holding him—just like she had when they were children—after Mother and her friends had finished with them.
“You have to say no, George. If you go to America she’ll own you forever and she’ll ruin your children’s lives, like she did ours.”
“It’s not that simple,” he mumbled. “I’ve done things for her…bad things. Things I did to please her. I think she’d tell what I did if I tried to leave. And besides, where would I go? What would I do? The house is in my name, but Mother really owns it and the business. And she needs me.”
“What are you talking about? What bad things did you do?” she asked quietly, not really wanting to know.
He didn’t answer.
They stayed like that for hours, sometimes dozing, sometimes talking. Outwardly, he was a grown man, but emotionally he was a scared little boy, even more damaged than she was. Her heart ached for the two people they might have been.
* * *
In the morning Mother’s look of triumph wasn’t lost on Nathalie, but it changed swiftly when Nat announced that she would be returning home in the afternoon. George’s son, Jeremy, was due to return from his mother’s shortly and Nat wanted to meet him. Somehow knowing she had a niece and nephew in the world had made this visit a little more bearable.
Charlotte Silver wasn’t happy. “So when do you propose getting information from George to put together the application for custody of Samantha?” she demanded harshly. “You’re hardly going to be able to do it before you leave.”
“I’m not doing it, Mother,” she stated, as bravely as she could. “If Samantha’s mother still has contact and doesn’t want her going overseas, then I believe you should respect her wishes. Besides, as I said, I don’t do family law.”
“Then we’ll find a lawyer who’ll see things our way,” stated Mother flatly. “I was giving you a chance to participate as part of this family, but quite obviously you can’t overcome your need to be selfish—even for your own brother.”
She’d gotten off lightly. Usually when Mother was opposed, it led to a tirade of vicious, cutting words that could flay the most hardened personality. And as children and teenagers, they had known it would also lead to further physical or emotional pain, sometime when they least expected it. Nobody displeased Mother and got away with it.
“You might as well leave now then,” she snapped, after sending George to make coffee. “You haven’t seen either of us for years, but you can only spare us one night. You always were an ungrateful bitch.”
Suddenly, just for that moment, what Mother thought didn’t matter.
“I’m staying to meet Jeremy, Mother,” she said firmly. “I want to meet my nephew and I want you to leave him and Samantha alone.” It was said.
Shoulders snapping back, the beautiful woman lunged and in one swift movement grabbed Nathalie by the throat, her slender frame belying the strength of her grip.
But it wasn’t her physical strength that prevented Nathalie from fighting back. She was a lot more solid than Mother after all. It was all those years of Mother being in control.
“You will not demand anything of me, you ugly, frigid little bitch,” Charlotte hissed into her face. “I am your mother and you owe me everything. The cards told me that you would betray me, but I will not allow it. Do you hear? You can stay to meet Jeremy, but when you leave you will have no further contact with any of us. You will not corrupt those children into feeling guilty about something that is natural and exciting.”
Releasing her grip, but with her face only inches from Nathalie’s, she sneered, “Now get away from me. You repulse me. You always have.”
Charlotte sauntered back to her seat, rearranged her clothing and sat down as if nothing had happened, while Nathalie stood, her face drained of color, her mind trying to control the pain of her mother’s words.
Nathalie didn’t doubt when George returned that he was aware something had happened in his absence, but she knew the issue would never be raised. Fortunately, only moments later the door flew open and a small boy strolled into the room.
“Hello,” he said, shyly looking at Nathalie, who was still standing. “You must be my aunty.”
“Call me Nathalie or Nat,” she replied, still trying to regain her composure. “And you must be Jeremy.”
“And hello to you too, young man,” interrupted Mother, obviously annoyed that the boy hadn’t given her his immediate attention.
“Oh, hi, Grandmother,” he said, moving toward his father.
“Charlotte,” she snapped. “Remember, Jeremy, I told you to call me Charlotte.”
His interest had moved on. “We went swimming at the beach yesterday,” he gabbled exuberantly to anyone who would listen. “And we caught a fish and I brought back shells.” Turning to Nathalie, he asked, “Do you like the beach? My dad takes me to the pool, but I go to the beach when I visit Mummy.”
He had George’s slim build and fair hair, but his eyes were the deepest brown and his skin the color of honey. One look into those happy, beautiful eyes told Nathalie that J
eremy had been loved and looked after and had not been used in George’s business. At least not yet. Looking up, she saw George watching her, his face proud, his look conveying that she had nothing to worry about.
They spent the rest of the morning in the garden, she and Jeremy and George, the adults playing with the child and sitting on the swing seat talking. They even ate lunch together picnic style under the big tree. Not since their early teens had Nathalie and George spent this much time talking. It made Nat realize that she too missed the emotional closeness she and George had shared as children.
Mother remained indoors making overseas phone calls.
“How long have you had custody of Jeremy?” she asked quietly as the child climbed trees and ran around the garden.
“Technically I’ve always had joint custody, but I wasn’t interested. Then he started spending time here when he was about two and a half. When he started school he came for the holidays and he just kind of grew on me.”
“How does his mother feel about that?”
“Claire’s okay, she was only fourteen when she had him and she struggled to look after him when he was small. I didn’t help, except financially. I paid the bills and provided a house, but basically she was on her own. She loves him and is good to him, but she’s happy for me to raise him for a while. She’s started university now, doing nursing, but she has him every second weekend and during the holidays. We work it out between us.”
“But will she let you take him to America?”
“She won’t have a choice.”
“What does that mean?” she asked softly.
Looking at her with sad, blue eyes, he replied, “I don’t know exactly, but Mother has something in mind—possibly trying to pay her off.”
“George—”
Putting his finger to her lips, he shook his head. “Don’t, Nathalie. Just don’t. You have to walk away now. You have to let it all go. I won’t let her hurt my children, I promise.”
Before she left, she held Jeremy’s warm little body to her and he put his arms around her neck, snuggling his sweet-smelling face into hers. “I think you’re very pretty, Aunty Nat,” he said innocently. “You look just like my mummy, except she’s not as brown.”
The smell of him and the sound of his happy young voice stayed with her on the short journey home, and for the first time in a long time she felt attached to someone.
Chapter Four
Sandwiches and a New Woman
Bella noticed Nathalie’s improved mood as soon as she returned to work on Monday, and she reminded her about dinner on Tuesday.
That evening Alexandra Messner rang and offered her services to the center, suggesting that she pop in on Wednesday to work out a schedule, get a copy of the center’s protocols and meet those she hadn’t already met.
“Thank you,” replied Nathalie happily. “There’ll be some paperwork and we’ll have to sort out an office, but I’ll pop in myself to get you settled.”
“Terrific. Bring some sandwiches,” Alex requested down the line.
“Sandwiches…?”
“I’ll be coming straight from work,” she said with a laugh. “I figure that’s the least you can offer me.”
“How about pasta instead?” Nathalie replied quickly, unsure if she was doing the right thing. “The center closes at eight thirty and there’s a little Italian place around the corner that does the best pasta. I’m buying.”
“Sounds great,” Alex agreed eagerly, struggling to hide her surprise.
* * *
Bella’s house was an older-style brick with four bedrooms and a small garden. It was neat and clean, but the fixtures and furnishings looked like she’d inherited them along with the house, and there was little color to be found inside. As usual, Jackie seemed cheerful and willing, and the meal, a simple baked dinner followed by apple pie and cream, was delicious.
“Just like Mother used to make,” sighed Bella, finishing her last mouthful and pushing away the plate. “She’s a good cook, my Jackie,” she commented, unwrapping a cigar and putting it in her mouth.
After dinner they moved to the lounge room, where Nat felt the urge to talk about Jeremy and Samantha. It was the first time in her life that she’d ever wanted anyone to know anything about her family, and it felt strange.
“Can’t see the fuss,” mumbled Bella dourly. “I’ve got seven nieces and nephews and frankly, seeing them once a year is more than enough for me.”
“And how does your brother feel about being a father?” Jackie asked, pointedly ignoring Bella’s comment. “It’s funny, but I don’t remember you ever mentioning you had a brother—”
“Perhaps because Nat’s like me—not into spilling her guts to anyone and everyone,” interrupted Bella, puffing on the huge cigar. “We don’t all twitter on endlessly. She probably didn’t think it was important.”
Expecting Jackie to react more stridently, Nat was stunned when she simply said, “Bella, you’re so rude sometimes.”
It was a mystery to Nat why Jackie put up with Bella’s constant putdowns. Or why Bella would continue in a relationship where she had little obvious affection or respect for her partner.
They spoke about work, then about the center, and Nathalie told them about securing Alex Messner’s services. But she didn’t tell them about the meal she would be sharing with the woman tomorrow night.
“I might have met this Messner woman at a seminar last year,” Bella commented, still puffing on her cigar. “She gave a lecture on personality disorders. We talked after the lecture and I remember she worked in the prisons. She was very impressive. And unless my gaydar was on the blink, I do believe the woman is a dyke.”
“Well, I don’t think that’ll worry the clients at the center,” muttered Nathalie, deciding she didn’t want to discuss this anymore. “And that’s all I’m interested in.”
“I really must come down to this center one day and see if I can offer any help,” Jackie proposed suddenly. “I’ve always wanted to do some sort of volunteer work.”
“Since when?” spluttered Bella dramatically. “It’s all you can do to concentrate on that sad little job of yours. Besides, what could you possibly do down there?”
“Oh, I’m sure Nathalie could find some use for my services,” she said almost flirtatiously. “And I finish work early on Fridays. That’s the day you volunteer, isn’t it?”
Nathalie tried to be tactful. “That would be good,” she agreed quietly. “But apart from needing a psychologist, I’m not sure what other sort of help they need at the moment.” Something about Jackie worried Nat. Everything she did seemed to be an act—the dumb blonde with eyes of steel. And it didn’t help that Jackie seemed to be flirting with her whenever they were alone.
* * *
The next evening, Nathalie was greeted at the center by a grinning Lenore Kingsley. “I knew you could convince Alex Messner to join us,” she said happily. “I’ve already made a couple of appointments for her next Friday, but I didn’t arrange anything for tonight.”
Together they decided which room she’d use and set about trying to make it presentable. Twenty minutes later, Alex arrived.
“A coffee—urgently,” she requested with a smile when they asked how they could help.
Nathalie glanced at Alex’s casual attire of jeans, a white camisole and dark blue cotton shirt open at the front. It was neat and smart, but definitely not the corporate image. The only formal thing about her was her thick, well-worn leather briefcase.
Catching Nathalie’s look, Alex smiled. “I like casual,” she commented wryly. “I find it tends to put people at ease. I do hope you weren’t expecting the formal look?” Alex’s laughing green eyes bored into her.
Embarrassed that the woman had virtually read her mind, Nathalie shook her head and smiled.
The evening went quickly and, for Alex, included an official orientation with the center manager—during which Lenore explained the aims and protocols of the various programs. Part of this i
nduction included providing a list of commonly used government and nongovernment agencies that the staff at the center had found offered a good level of assistance to the client group. Later, Lenore introduced her to a couple of their long-term clients.
“So, are you still available for dinner?” asked Alex when they’d finished everything. “I could eat a horse. All I’ve had is a couple of doughnuts.”
The restaurant was quiet and the women were seated near the window. After ordering, they started on their basket of garlic bread and a spicy white.
“So, you’re not a fan of psychology?” queried Alex with a twinkle in her eye.
“Why would you say that?” Nat asked, annoyed at how easily Alex seemed to be able to read her.
“Just a strong feeling...”
“I think it works for some—” Nathalie replied, deciding to be honest.
“But not for others,” Alex finished for her.
Shrugging, Nat answered, “It just seems that some people spend years seeing psychologists or psychiatrists and end up just as messed up as when they started. Surely the prisons are full of them?”
“Yes, but that is the extreme end of mental health, and there’s a difference between psychiatric illness and emotional or behavioral problems. Many people wouldn’t be able to function in even a rudimentary way if it wasn’t for counseling and medication. Many would give in to their pain or depression and simply end it all.”
“Which makes counseling no more than a Band-Aid solution, good for a minor scratch, but useless for a deep wound,” Nathalie argued.
Alex noted the acerbic tone. “I wouldn’t say useless,” she answered amiably. “But yes, the deeper the problem the more difficult to resolve. Psychology can’t change what happened to bring about the problem, but it can help the client put mechanisms in place to deal with the effect…so that it doesn’t escalate.”
