The Butcher's Daughter

by Jane E James

  ‘Have it your own way.’ She shrugs offhandedly. ‘You know best, I suppose.’

  When I see her stuffing the apron back in her bag, I can hardly believe I got off so lightly. But when she walks dejectedly towards the door, where she pauses for maximum effect, I know I am right to be cynical.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you later anyway. Daniel’s asked me over for supper.’ Her voice is tight with emotion. ‘If that’s all right with you, Natalie,’ she asks pitifully.

  She has never needed my permission before and I am not fooled by her display of false humility now, but I go along with it anyway.

  ‘Of course.’ I grin, not meaning it.

  Now that Mother-in-law has been sent packing, I decide to get on and finish the pie, but it isn’t going exactly to plan. Keeping one ear out for Darkly, who is still sleeping, I have got as far as stretching the bottom layer of the pastry over the pie dish, but it is full of holes. I may as well give up now, I decide, because it will never live up to Daniel’s mother’s efforts, but I plough on regardless, hardly knowing why. When I tip the pale pink cuts of flesh into the weighing scales, I fight down a feeling of nausea that isn’t new.

  Whoever heard of a butcher’s daughter not eating meat?

  You’d better not let on to folk around here.

  Convinced I am about to throw up, I claw my way to the sink and pour myself a glass of water, knocking it back quickly while it is still lukewarm. Although this seems to do the trick, I no longer feel sick, I still feel squeamish. Gripping hold of the edge of the sink with one hand, I use my other hand to sweep the hair out of my eyes and feel my whole body stiffen when I see a man standing outside the window.

  He is about 150 feet from the house, too far away for me to see his face, but near enough for me to identify he has long scruffy hair and a beard. There is something about the arrogant yet weary way he holds himself that is familiar too, but I cannot place him. This is no casual passer-by, I observe, because he makes no attempt to move away, just continues to stare straight ahead at the house as if he knows I am here, alone.

  It enters my head at this point, that, like a lot of other things happening in my life, he might be a figment of my imagination, so I close my eyes tightly and keep them closed for the count of ten, before opening them again.

  When I see that he has disappeared, vanished without a trace, I suspect that that this was not the outcome I was hoping for. Strangely, his not being there unnerves me more than his being there.

  Chapter 62

  The sun is hidden behind partial cloud, but Darkly and I will still be protected from its rays once it comes out again, because we are enjoying the shade of a tree in the garden. For the past five minutes, I have been pushing her on the swing, smiling every time she giggles, which is often. When she stops laughing and points a chubby finger at the house, I think at first that the stranger has come back again, but it is only Daniel.

  ‘Dada. Dada,’ Darkly chirps excitedly when his pickup truck comes to a screeching stop outside the house.

  When I see him scramble out of the truck and run into the house, leaving both the truck and porch door open, I know something is wrong. Lifting Darkly out of the swing, I make my way over. Hating to be carried, Darkly squirms to be free, so I put her down, but grab her hand to stop her running forward when I see black smoke pouring out of the porch door.

  Hanging back, worriedly biting my lip, I wonder what can be happening inside. I don’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed when Daniel reappears, wearing oven gloves, to throw what looks like my blackened pie dish onto the sun-bleached grass outside.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Natalie!’ he shouts, all the while fanning the smoke away from the house, ‘You could have burned the whole place down.’

  ‘Oh God, the pie. I forgot.’

  As it dawns on me what I have done, and what the consequences might have been, I gasp and without meaning to, let go of Darkly’s hand. Before I know it, she is racing ahead of me; toddling eagerly towards her father.

  ‘Dada. Dada.’

  When Daniel furiously brushes past her, intent on throwing water over the smouldering heap on the ground, she falls over and immediately begins to cry.

  Feeling angry, I run to scoop her into my arms. ‘Daniel,’ I hiss reprovingly, wondering how he can be so heartless.

  ‘I haven’t got time for this. I’m meant to be at work!’ he barks, not once looking our way.

  ‘So why aren’t you?’ I demand.

  ‘Got a call from Mam.’ This time he does look at me, and I am taken aback by the animosity on his face. ‘She was upset. Said you practically threw her out of the house.’

  So that’s what this is all about. I might have known it would be something to do with his precious mother.

  ‘I don’t need checking up on, Daniel,’ I tell him, defensively folding my arms for the second time today. But I have the grace to blush when I see Daniel glaring pointedly at the black smoke oozing out of the porch door.

  ‘She’s been coming here every day for what feels like forever, to cook, clean and look after the baby. Doing your job! And that’s how you repay her.’

  I have never seen him this angry before. Part of me thinks I ought to back down. After all, a lot of this is my fault. But I can’t help myself—

  ‘You resent me for not being here, don’t you?’ I yell back. ‘Why don’t you admit it,’ I hiss, remembering to lower my voice because I don’t want Darkly going through what I did as a child; hearing her parents row all the time.

  For a minute, I think he is about to turn his back on us and walk away. The frustration on his face is plain to see, but he stands his ground.

  ‘You’re not the only one who suffered, Natalie,’ he sighs, all traces of anger gone from his voice. ‘I want my wife back that’s all. Is that so wrong?’

  If I were a better wife, I would see that he is close to tears, but my pride gets in the way.

  ‘I am not going to be watched over in my own home.’ My snotty words sound arrogant even to my ears and I immediately wish I could take them back.

  ‘Your home!’ Daniel is beside himself with disbelief. ‘Frank signed this place over to me years ago. If it weren’t for me and Mam, he’d have gone bankrupt. Lost the house, the business, everything.’

  ‘You’re lying.’ I seethe, not caring that Darkly is tugging at my clothing, trying desperately to get me to stop shouting. All I can think is— How dare he? How bloody dare he?

  ‘My father never spent a penny in years. He must have had a small fortune put aside. Is that why you married me, Daniel? So you could take over the business?’

  The hurt expression on Daniel’s face somehow cuts through my temper and all the fight goes out of me when I hear him say, ‘What happened to you, Natalie? Where’s the girl I married?’

  When he turns and walks back to the pickup truck, I feel guilty as hell. I went too far, I know I did. Whatever came over me? Realising I can’t let him go like this, I follow—

  ‘Daniel. I’m sorry. Please… I didn’t mean it.’

  But it’s no use. Rather than hear me out, he gets into the truck, hits the accelerator hard and spins away, leaving a cloud of depressing grey dust in his wake.

  With no hope of resurrecting the steak pie, I manage to rustle up something else for Daniel and his mother, but neither show up for supper, so I have to assume they ate together at her house. She probably cooked him steak pie on purpose, I think spitefully, forgetting for the moment that I am meant to be feeling contrite. I have been crying on and off all day, beating myself up over what happened. But it bugs me that Daniel might have confided in her, told her all about our argument and the shameful things I said.

  When it grows dark and there is still no sign of Daniel, I trudge wearily up to the bedroom and sit on his empty side of the bed. Too long, I sit staring out of the window hoping to catch a glimpse of the pickup truck’s headlights. My mother always swore that the secret to a happy marriage was to never go to bed angry, insi
sting that couples should stay up and fight instead. All good advice, I am sure, but I cannot argue with Daniel if he isn’t here.

  Making up my mind to put on the silky nightdress that I know he likes, in case he does decide to return later, I walk over to the matching his and hers wardrobes and pull out items of clothing, not entirely sure where I put the nightdress. I can hardly believe that some of the short revealing dresses in here belong to me. They are nothing like what I would choose. But then I come across something that I am 100% convinced is my taste.

  Hugged by a smooth layer of cellophane, the simple white lace wedding dress, Bohemian in style, is exactly my size, I am sure of it. Taking it out of the wardrobe, but retaining it on the hanger, I go over to the full-length mirror and hold it up against me.

  It has long sleeves and a not too revealing V-back, perfect for a bride who does not want to display too much flesh. And the length is right too. The material feels luxurious against my skin and I long to put it on, to relive one moment of my forgotten life.

  How long I stand there, staring dreamily at my reflection, trying my hardest to remember anything about my wedding day, and failing, I do not know.

  ‘You were the most beautiful bride Little Downey ever saw.’

  Caught unawares, I spin around to see Daniel smiling sadly at me from the doorway. For once, I do not worry about where he came from or how he crept up on me unannounced like that, because he is looking at me with gentle, almost apologetic, eyes.

  ‘You said we were happy.’ I hang my head because I wish I could be as beautiful as he seems to think I am. If only I could be more feminine, like my mother, like—

  ‘We are.’

  Daniel comes to stand behind me, close enough to touch me, and our eyes meet in the mirror. We smile shyly at each other, but I am the first to glance away.

  ‘Was that our first row?’ I hug the dress for comfort, in case I do not like his answer.

  ‘We’ve had a few humdingers before.’ He chuckles, putting me at my ease.

  ‘But we always make up, right?’ I ask, remembering my mother’s advice.

  ‘Right,’ he agrees, bending down to kiss my neck.

  I know then that I am to be forgiven and I feel the luckiest girl alive but I can’t help feeling I haven’t done enough to deserve it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ I say too quickly. ‘I’ll try to be a better wife. It was selfish of me, getting sick like that…’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to go through it again,’ he admits, with a catch to his voice.

  ‘I’m going to put it on. To see what I look like,’ I mumble excitedly, taking another look at my reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Later,’ he insists, slowly turning me around to face him. The desire on his face is enough to make anyone blush but when the wedding dress falls forgotten to the floor at our feet and he covers my mouth with his own, I do not mind it quite so much as I once did.

  Chapter 63

  A month has passed since our row and every day with Daniel now feels like a honeymoon. Laughing and holding hands, we explode onto the porch like runaway teenagers unable to stop touching and kissing each other. I am still in my nightdress, but for once I don’t care who might see me, because for the first time in my life I feel loved. These last few weeks have been a real eye-opener. At last, I feel normal. For Daniel’s sake, I’ve even made my peace with his mother.

  ‘You won’t forget about Mam coming over,’ Daniel says at last, when it seems as if we must part for the day after all.

  ‘I’ll be extra nice to her, I promise.’ I laugh, deliberately crossing my fingers.

  We both pause to glance at the liveried post van bouncing along the drive towards us and when we turn back to each other, we smile, as if to acknowledge that we have missed each other in the short time our attentions were elsewhere.

  ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to work,’ Daniel grumbles, leaning in for one last kiss. Just as I start to think it will never end, he straightens up and presses his finger against my nose, a habit I now find rather endearing. What a difference a few weeks can make!

  ‘See you later,’ Daniel calls, acknowledging the postman with a passing nod as he climbs into the pickup truck. I blow him one last kiss and watch him drive off, before I ever get around to signing for the parcel the uncomplaining postman has under his arm.

  ‘You two must be honeymooners behaving like that.’ The postman’s eyes are lit up with laughter; and something else—a touch of jealousy perhaps.

  ‘It just feels like it.’ I laugh. ‘We’ve actually been married three and a half years.’

  ‘Get away,’ he jokes. ‘My wife hasn’t kissed me like that in months and we’ve only been married a year.’

  As I watch him stroll back to his van, a feeling of uncertainty settles on me, depriving me of some of the confidence I felt earlier. Could there be an element of truth to his words?

  While I unwrap the parcel, which I have only got around to thinking about after a busy morning spent chasing around a full-of-beans toddler, I keep one eye on Darkly, who sits in a booster chair at the table, dribbling milk from a plastic cup onto her jam-smeared soldiers.

  ‘Look, Darkly. A present,’ I say, sliding out a hard-backed reference book and a sheet of paper, which instructs me to: “Read page 205. Paragraph 62.” I poke inside for a letter or any other clue as to who might have sent it but find nothing. Wondering if the medical encyclopaedia is really intended for me, I check the brown paper wrapping again, but it has my name and address on it, so there can be no mistake.

  ‘I wonder who it’s from,’ I say, flipping through the book until I find the correct page and paragraph. The chapter heading, HUMAN CANNIBALISM, is enough to make me immediately want to put the book aside, but I keep on reading—

  Forty-two cases discovered worldwide between 1911 and 2017. Clinically proven to be extremely addictive. Long-term side effects have been known to cause dramatic chemical instability of the brain.

  Angrily, I get up from my seat to pace the room. This has got be a sick joke. Who in their right mind would send such a thing, and why?

  Then, I realise that Darkly is watching me. Her blue eyes have narrowed to dark slits and the frown on her face perfectly mirrors my own. Extremely sensitive to my moods, a behaviour caused, no doubt, by separation anxiety, I know that if I remain angry, this will distress her for the rest of the day. So, I snap the book shut and slide it between some cookery books on a shelf.

  ‘We won’t tell Dada about this,’ I whisper conspiratorially, forcing myself to smile.

  The dress looks as I imagined it would. Even better on, I think, twirling around in front of the full-length mirror, so I can capture the way it falls from every angle. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the dress all morning, so eventually I gave up on my chores and raced up here, with Darkly on my hip, to try it on. Deciding it doesn’t look right with my hair down I rummage in a drawer for a hair clip and put it up. Much better, I reflect, admiring the cut of the dress from the back. I try not to feel sad that I missed one of the most important days of my life; that I have no recollection of my wedding day and probably never will. At least I have the dress. That’s something, I tell myself.

  Darkly sits on the bed watching me. She is as enraptured with the wedding dress as I am, never taking her eyes off it. Unlike me, I suspect she is going to be a girly-girl who loves makeup and dresses, because her eyes are sparkling with envy.

  ‘Pretty mama. Pretty,’ she coos.

  ‘You’re the true princess.’ I laugh, scooping her into my arms and tickling her until she giggles uncontrollably. This is a truly happy moment, I can’t help thinking, one to cherish.

  ‘You there, Natalie?’

  As soon as the shrill voice calls up the stairs, the happy mood is broken. Daniel’s mother has the same effect on both of us, I realise flatly. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I realise Darkly never goes near her grandmother at all if she can help it. Being her only grandchild, o
ne she claims to adore, I’m surprised Daniel’s mother isn’t more affectionate. It bugs me when she overlooks Darkly but so far, I have kept quiet, not wanting to cause too much upset at once.

  ‘Just coming, Mam!’ I call, scrambling up from the bed. Hurriedly, I unzip the dress and slip it off my shoulders.

  When I step out of the silky folds of material and bend down to pick it up, I notice something inside the lining that I can’t remember seeing before—a price tag attached to the dress. Even after I have found a pair of scissors and snipped it off, my fingers do not stop shaking. Belatedly, it occurs to me that the dress looks new, as if it has never been worn. But it could have been dry-cleaned, I reason. That would make sense. What doesn’t make sense is how I could have missed the price tag. First time around, I mean, on my actual wedding day. Wouldn’t it have scratched my skin having to wear it all day? What if you didn’t, Natalie? What if you never wore the dress at all? What if there wasn’t any wedding?

  I should be grateful. Daniel’s mother has spent hours cleaning the house. The table is set for dinner and there is something delicious in the oven, judging by the wonderful smell emanating from the kitchen. Having expertly rolled pastry right in front of me for the fourth time in so many weeks, I will never forgive her for that, she is now tackling the ironing.

  ‘A walk will do you good. Everything’s done. Darkly’s having her nap.’

  Realising she wants me out of the house, her house, I am tempted to refuse, to spite her, but then I decide she could be right. A walk will probably do me some good.

  Little Downey Beach

  The ocean is wild and at odds with itself today, which perfectly matches my mood. Every so often it rears up, like an angry horse, before crashing down on the rocks that jut out from the cliff edge. I am sitting here on my rock, witnessing all this, thinking how lucky I am to have this view to myself. Scooting a small pebble into the water, and hearing it land with a satisfying plop, I feel as if I am the only person alive. I guess that’s what the untameable Welsh coastline does—gives us a sense of how small and insignificant we all are.