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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 48

Posted by Unknown at 2:00 AM on Friday, December 14, 2012

You’ve come so far with me and the end is close. Continue to enjoy the ride.

For those who haven’t been following the free read, I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number. If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 48

Sunday 12th September

‘Sorry? Sorry? Does that bring back Netta’s laughter and joy? Does sorry make it better? Will sorry restore her to me? You think you’re sorry, you shit of shits; you will be when I’m done with you.’

‘Matilda! Leigh was out all night looking for her. It wasn’t his fault she ran off the way she did, she was always doing it.’

‘You would stick up for him. You’re as good as his mother, you’re bound to side with him.’

‘Want someone to blame, Matilda? And you do. Blame the devil who chased her across that fell and threw her into the pit.’

She looked at Old Hodge’s face and something reached her. He had a way of getting through to people with few words.

She broke down and wept without restraint and allowed me to comfort her this time. Ma made the ubiquitous pot of tea as I nodded my thanks at Old Hodge.

When she’d sobbed herself into exhaustion, she asked me to explain, to tell her exactly what had happened. It was a chance to explain to Ma and Old Hodge as well and they listened with few interruptions.

‘When’s Faith due back home?’

‘Week on Saturday.’

‘Netta’ll be long underground by then. I don’t know what…’

‘Not if there’s been foul play. They may not release her… her body, if there has to be a trial.’

But they did. The inquest followed on the Wednesday and they found her to be the victim of unlawful killing by a person or persons unknown. She’d been brutally raped and one of the fractures to her skull had occurred before she’d been thrown into the pit. Conjecture was she’d been chased, caught, bound and raped. She’d then been knocked unconscious, and dumped in the pit, probably still alive until she hit the bottom. It sickened and enraged me but I was powerless to act in any way at all.

Heacham had been the obvious culprit except his own time of death coincided with Netta’s. Whilst the forensic and medical evidence allowed a short overlap between the two events, it was unlikely he could have made it back to his cottage and done away with himself in the time allowed. In any case, there was nothing at the cottage to indicate he’d been out in that rain. His clothes were dry. His note, confessing relatively minor sins other than the multiple rapes of Hope, made no mention of Netta’s death.

To our relief, the coroner released Netta’s body for burial, though not cremation, once all tests were done. There was little forensic evidence to help the case. The rapist had either used a condom or removed himself before ejaculation. The only semen found was mine. There were no foreign pubic hairs mingled with hers, no skin, raked from his back, beneath her fingernails. And the rain had washed her skin clean of any pollution from her murderer, no fibres, nothing on her that wasn’t her own. Only one thing puzzled them; the grit and tiny shreds of vegetation lodged within the flesh of her bruised vulva. The conclusion was she’d been kicked by a booted foot. But whether before or after the rape, no one could say.

The guilty rock he’d used to club her was belatedly discovered on the hillside where I’d waited for the dawn. Nearby, in the heather, lay the cup from my flask. I hadn’t even missed it. When they arrested me for the crime and I admitted my complicity, Ma’s strident denials were treated with indifference. But Matilda came to my rescue, explained to them in terms they understood and secured my release. She drove me home in time for me to change for the funeral.

She remained at Longhouse, as Faith was due back the next day and she wanted to be there. I spent the afternoon in a state of restlessness that drove Matilda and Zizi almost to despair. They sent me to the office with instructions to do something useful and to get out of their hair. Going through the backlog of mail on my desk, I came across Faith’s letter.

I read her words with growing disbelief and almost tore up her pastel sheets of pain. I almost took her things and threw them on the drive. I almost laughed at her amazing innocence and honesty and callous indifference about my feelings. How could she do that in cold blood and then write to me about it in such candid detail? How could she say she loved me and then go off and screw a stranger, just for some peculiar experience? How could she…?’

I was so confused and bitter, I gave the letter to Matilda and Zizi, asked them the questions, how?

‘How could she, in perfect innocence, do just once what you did all the time in full knowledge of the facts before you finally took her? How could she fulfil what she saw as a sacred duty to her dad? How could she not?’

‘How could Faith forgive you all the pain and rejection you heaped on her? How could she hang on to her love for you when all you gave her was hurt and dismissal? I know how, Leigh, because through all the hopelessness and pain I love you just as she does.’

‘Oh, Leigh, what’ve we done to them, to Netta and to Faith? What have we given them? What lessons have we taught? I hope they’ll forgive us.’

We went to separate beds and slept uneasily. Zizi, who’d come up, at Ma’s request, to support me for the funeral, spent the night in Faith’s bed and left first thing on Saturday morning. I’d slept alone since Faith had left.

I saw her car come up the lane. Matilda stood beside me, waiting in the office. Faith was getting out of her car when I went out to meet her. The smile of joy and expectation on her face died in concern as she looked into my face.

‘Leigh, what’s happened?’

I had it all planned; how I would lead up to the events, skirt around the final tragedy, leave out the gruesome details and break it to her gently.

‘Netta’s been raped and murdered.’

She looked at me for the briefest of moments as if I’d uttered some meaningless foreign phrase, then she took me in her arms to comfort me. She, who’d lost the sister she loved, supported me in my grief.

She had to know it all and I felt compelled to tell her. Matilda was silent throughout and let me tell the tale in its entirety. At last I made my confession to the woman I loved. ‘It’s my fault. If I hadn’t taken advantage of you, she would never…’

‘If that makes it your fault, Leigh, it makes it mine as well. You took no advantage. I invited you. If our making love caused Netta’s rape and murder, then I’m as much to blame as you.’

‘No. No, you were an innocent party in all this.’

‘Leigh, you’re wrong. It must be both or neither of us. You did nothing to me Leigh. What we did we did together, with each other. I was no more innocent, or guilty, of our making love than you were. What we did was make love with each other, not you to me, nor me to you. If not making love, then what can be mutual between two people?’

‘You’re not to blame, Faith.’

‘Then neither are you. Did I run off to the hills to sulk every time you had sex with Netta?’

‘You found other ways to retaliate.’

‘Once, and under extreme provocation and for reasons far more complex than your display of mutual obsession.’

‘There’s no one else to blame.’

‘Except Netta herself.’

Matilda drew in breath sharply and looked at me. But, though I found it hard to think of Netta being culpable, I couldn’t argue with Faith’s logic and I was too drained to fight.

Faith understood the quandary she’d given me and softened her attack. ‘There’s only one person to blame, Leigh: the brutal bastard who did it.’

‘They don’t know who it was.’

‘I do.’

I saw my own incredulity echoed on Matilda’s face.

‘Have they interviewed Mervyn?’

‘He’s got an alibi.’

‘With those brothers, I bet he has. It doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.’

‘No one can prove it.’

‘Perhaps.’

Matilda thought we needed time and space. She went home, her way of life under review, her head and heart full of ‘if only’ and ‘what if?’ and the joy in her eyes extinguished.

Faith and I went to our separate beds that night, until she came to me in the early hours seeking and offering comfort. We embraced and found some help in that, but for the first time ever, I was incapable of making love.

‘It’s not important. It isn’t what I came for, Leigh. I just wanted to hold you and be in your arms, be next to you, that’s all.’

But I didn’t sleep that night. When she woke, I tried again, but the image of Netta lying used and broken in that pit wouldn’t leave my mind and I couldn’t respond to Faith’s touch. All I could see was Netta’s cold abandoned body, hurt, abused and defiled. I left my bed, disturbed and anxious at this new torment.

‘Come back and hold me, Leigh.’

But I wanted more than that, I needed more. I feared each time I moved to touch her I would find that appalling image of Netta excluding all else from my mind. I went down to breakfast alone.

So, the days and nights went by and nothing changed except that the lack of sex grew like a cancer between us, cold and cruel in its isolating force.

Faith came to me later that week with pictures from her holiday, pictures of her at the cottage, in the sea, lying under the sun, all taken with me in mind and all wonderful but useless now. Netta, lifeless and defiled, invaded my mind every time I looked at her.

She undressed me one evening, in the sitting room, and removed her own clothes, simply and without ceremony, slowly unveiling her beauty for me. She knelt before me, and all I could see was the image of Netta, damaged and used in the pit.

So, at my unexplained request, we slept in separate beds and I avoided her touch for the pain of the memory. Netta lived on in my mind when I was alone. I printed the series of pictures I’d taken of her in the hills, intending to produce a book. But the prints became mine and I wouldn’t share them with others; I didn’t deserve the acclaim they would bring. As long as I kept her mine, she would still be around and untouched.

Faith did her work and daily tried reaching toward me, but I couldn’t bear the pain of her disappointment.

Four weeks after we buried Netta, Faith came to me with tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks. She was desolate and needed comfort only I could give.

‘Eric’s dead. The doctor’s just phoned me.’

It did something to her, that news. She seemed to withdraw into herself, seemed to lose her will to reach me. The funeral, another that year, brought Zizi faithfully back up, this time to offer support and comfort to Faith.

And that night I took Zizi to my bed and fucked her and fucked her and fucked her all night.

‘Bastard, aren’t you, Leigh? I came to comfort Faith and you take advantage of me, instead. I’m glad I’ve been some use to you. I can’t hate you; I still love you too much. But I don’t like you, Leigh, I don’t like you one little bit.’

‘It’s because I love her I can’t…’

‘It’s because you love yourself too much, you selfish shit.’ And Zizi returned to London.

Faith rescued Bruce from certain death at the local vet’s and brought him, with my grudging acceptance, to Longhouse. Later that week, she found she would inherit the cottage that Eric had shared with her father. She and Bruce moved out of Longhouse the following day.

###

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 43

Posted by Unknown at 2:00 AM on Friday, November 9, 2012

I suspect you’re already reading Breaking Faith, if you’ve come this far. We’re reaching the denouement, moving towards the end of the story now. So, I hope you continue to enjoy the ride.

Read, enjoy, invite your friends along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 43

Friday 10th September

I spent the first part of the evening packing for my holiday, which I intended as a sort of retreat: a quiet time and space away from the madness of a world that seemed intent on making my life miserable. Perhaps Heacham had been right; perhaps I was wicked and was being punished for my rejection of his teachings. In my current turmoil, I couldn’t make up my mind on that or anything else.

A crofter’s cottage, on the edge of the ocean, seemed ideal. No telephone, no electricity, no television or radio. The nearest shop was the village post office stores, seven miles along a single-track road. It would be perfect.

Except that I had Dad’s dying wish; his gentle injunction to mate with more than one man before taking Leigh as my lifetime’s partner. It wasn’t a prospect I welcomed but it was Dad’s final request of me and therefore something I must do; something I felt compelled to do. The sooner I achieved it, the sooner I’d be free of that obligation and able to contemplate the life I still hoped might become mine.

Once I’d collected and packed all I needed to take with me, I found I still couldn’t settle. I wasn’t hungry and the prospect of dinner with Leigh and Netta looking at me, anxious and confused, wasn’t inviting.

I showered and returned to my room. The window was wide open and I let the air flow over my skin as I rested my elbows on the windowsill. The carved wren perched on its impossibly delicate legs on the log between my arms, its tiny pointed bill threatening to peck my breast. I picked it up and examined it. Old Hodge’s present meant the world to me. It represented real, unambiguous love and something solid and unchanging in a world that was in turmoil for me. There was within that small gift, so much care in a symbol of a natural world free of the complications human relationships seemed always to involve. I replaced it and continued my reverie at the window.

The wind changed and the air, although not cool, lost some of the heat it had borne for days.

My mind was full of all that had befallen me since I’d come to Longhouse. I was bursting with confusion and emotions I couldn’t identify, let alone express. I felt as though I must explode with anger, despair, frustration, desire, disgust and sheer perplexity if something didn’t release me soon.

I reviewed those things I could identify as changes, sources of anxiety or confusion, in the hope I might bring order to my chaotic world. But I found no consolation in the exercise. In fact, it seemed to intensify my negative feelings.

To add to my anxieties, now had come the news that Heacham’s trial was due and would prevent my holiday should I allow it.

I hadn’t been able to book my holiday through the travel agent where Leigh had bought my vouchers. Instead, I’d found private holiday accommodation, advertised in the Dalesman magazine. With a bit of gentle persuasion I might have exchanged the vouchers for money but that would have invited questions and, in any case, I might use those vouchers later to take Leigh with me on a holiday; somewhere warm, exotic and romantic.

So, I’d contacted the owner of the croft by phone, explained my situation and gained her agreement to accept cash on arrival. We would meet at the village and go to the croft together. She’d given me detailed instructions how to find the village, even explaining where to get the ferry for the crossing to the island and estimating my journey time so we could agree on a time for our meeting.

I must get away and be completely out of contact. This was an ideal way of ensuring my isolation and continued privacy whilst away. But I dreaded the arrival of a summons to appear at Heacham’s trial, knowing I couldn’t ignore such a legal requirement. I decided not to open the post in the morning and to ensure no one else could before I left for Scotland.

None of this helped relieve my internal pressure and turmoil. I still felt tight as a bowstring, felt something must trigger my release or I would snap and be utterly destroyed.

Thunder rumbled over the dark fells and I realized that night had fallen as I stood in contemplation. With the thunder came rain and, for one insane moment, I wanted to dash into the garden and let the torrent wash me clean of doubts and confusion. Lightening split the darkness, blinding me for a moment and moving me at last.

My back ached; my limbs were tense and stiff from my fixed position. I straightened up and stretched, swung my arms to bring life back into my hands and relieve the numbness in my elbows. As I brought my arms around in a full circle toward my body, my hand caught something hard and knocked it off the sill. It fell at my feet.

I crouched and, in the glow that entered through my partly open door from the landing, I saw I’d knocked Old Hodge’s birthday gift onto the floor. The wren had snapped from the log and lay as if dead beside it.

I felt rather than heard the cry of utter desolation that developed from breaking that symbol of love. The barrier to grief, to pent-up rage and disappointment, to unexpressed anxiety and confusion, to unrequited love was breached by that one cry. I fell to the floor and wept; sobbed my heart out and began, at last, to wash away my guilt and rage and grief.

Leigh came early in the cleansing process. I felt his warmth about me, his arms holding me, his hands using tissues to dab my eyes and nose. I heard his soft voice, full of concern, saying words with no meaning but comfort. And slowly I came through the first layer of my pain.

Exhausted, yet refreshed, I let him take me from the floor and lay me on my bed, his skin warm and gentle against mine.

‘Sleep now, Faith. Sleep and forget.’

I felt him move away as if he meant to leave. ‘Don’t go. I want you. I want you here.’ And he lay beside me on the bed, his body close to mine, his arms about me. He held me in a close embrace and made no sexual advance in spite of our nakedness.

The storm raged through the night about us but we were warm together, protected from its violence.

I felt safe in his arms. He was kind and gentle, holding me and stroking me for comfort, enclosing me within his soft embrace.

I wanted him to join with me. I wanted it and it was right. ‘I want you, Leigh. Please.’

I rolled to face him and he kissed my mouth, gently, for a long time our lips met and knew where they should go. When he moved away I wanted him to stay and kissed his mouth again. He guided me then, with his lips and tongue, showed me where the pleasure was, how to give and to receive. I learned quickly, desire uncovering what my body knew by instinct.

I stroked a hand along his back and felt him do the same, felt the feather touch of his palm and fingers on my willing skin. He kissed my face, my neck, my shoulders and I found my mouth seeking his skin to kiss in turn. We moved and he stroked one hand from my shoulder down the front of me across the space between my breasts and down my abdomen as far as the short hair that marked the space I wanted him to fill. He stroked on down and I moved my legs to give him access. He caressed the insides of my thighs in turn, brushing his fingers so softly against the lips of my divide that it was barely a touch at all, yet it brought such pleasure that it had me rising up to meet him. I stroked his back with one hand as the other sought new places to explore. I found his manhood. As my fingers touched and stroked and held him, he hardened and grew rigid and I knew that this part of him would enter me and penetrate my very centre.

His mouth moved to my lips and we kissed and tongued and mouthed each other in a passion that was in danger of overwhelming me. I knew I wanted him inside me and we were ready. He moved to kiss my breasts and took each nipple in between his lips in turn, sucking gently, tonguing the tips so my body arched in answer and I felt a new sensation deep inside me.

I took his manhood in my hand and guided it toward my moist divide. He led my hand from there and placed it on the firm curve of his bottom as he slowly found my entrance and explored me, the very tip discovering the magic nodule and touching it with such sweet softness that I gasped with the delight of it, my body filling with sensations of excitement and arousal.

He lingered there, caressing that one place with gentle strokes that sent ripples through my body, making every portion of my skin aware of touch and feeling, so that his lips on mine were sweet and warm and moist with love, his hands traced exquisite joy around my shoulder and my side. He moved the stroking hand along my body, caressing the curve of my breast, making my nipple rise to firmness as his fingertips encircled it, then whispering down my abdomen and gentling my hip as he slipped the palm beneath my rising buttock.

I held my breath as he drew the tip of his manhood along the length of my divide and found the willing, wanting opening. He put his lips over my mouth and tongued my tongue with his, nudging his way into my mouth as he entered my very centre. There was one brief instant of sharp pain and I was woman.

I encouraged him toward me with my hands cupping his buttocks and he thrust on past the fragile barrier and stroked into me until all was pleasure. I let him guide and show me. He kissed my mouth, my eyes, my cheeks, my ears. One hand played in my hair as his other taught me how to rise and fall with him, matching his slow movement so the base of his hard manhood touched against my magic spot and caused the growing sense of wonder to pervade my entire body. I was alive in every cell of being, every touch was pure delight, my hands discovered his delicious body, stroked his back, his arms, his beautiful firm bottom as he rose and fell above me. I spread my thighs a little wider to heighten the touch of him on my most sensitive part. He responded, moving higher up my body and gentling my bottom with the hand beneath. We moved together, rising, falling, breathing the same air and oblivious to everything that was not the single being we had formed.

The pleasure filling me grew and grew as he moved within me. It built in waves of pure enjoyment until my body pulsed with wonder and I cried aloud in joy. He let that climax take its course and moved within me, matching my pulsating pleasure as it slowly faded. Then he moved more deeply within me, thrusting his whole length of manhood deep inside me, in and out, the tip almost leaving me but returning to my depths as he plunged into my centre and touched again that heightened point of pure sensation. I held him to me, my hands moving with his body as he thrust inside me, feeling pleasure building once again, raising my hips to meet his thrusting, plunging delicious movement. He took the hand from my shoulder, drew it down my side and slipped it underneath my bottom with the other so he held me to him. Still he moved within me powerful and strong with desire and love.

I felt another wave of climax breaking over me and ecstasy discovered me as we became one with wave following resounding wave through my body from my centre to the very tips of all my being. I felt his force burst deep within me, felt the throb of his life, his being, merging with my own and we both cried out in wonder and delight as amazement surged and we became a single joyous unity of love and pleasure and delicious exultation.

Slowly we descended from that high, that other plane of being, into a soft gentle world of self-awareness. I had never felt so whole, so utterly complete, so wondrously at one with me. He stayed within me, gently moved his hands to take his weight onto his elbows, stroked my head and neck and shoulders with his fingers.

We kissed, softly, slowly, lingering as we caught our breath. My hands caressed his back, his head, his ears, his arms. We gazed at one another in the dim light from the open door.

The storm returned to us and we knew then it had raged and thundered as we loved, had rained as it still did, had strobed our glowing bodies with its lightening flashes as we moved.

I felt the gentle echo of the climax as my centre clasped the relaxing stem of him inside me in a soft rhythmic reminder of the waves of passion that had ruled me.

There were no words to say what I felt. I could say just one phrase to describe it. ‘I love you, Leigh’

He nodded in the dim light and I saw his eyes were full of wonder. ‘I promised I would never say these words unless I meant them. I love you, Faith. I love you absolutely and without conditions.’

It was enough for us just then. Practicality dictated we must part but reluctance to accept that made us stay together until moisture from our love began to leak from me and I gently urged him move and give me tissues. I smiled, recalling the garden scene with Netta, knowing now what she’d felt as I had teased her. Even her intrusion to my thoughts didn’t diminish my delight.

Leigh lay beside me, one arm round my shoulders as I lay my head upon his slowly moving chest. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘Very briefly, very little. You made me woman tonight. The pleasure was amazing. I feel wonderful. I love you.’

‘I love you, Faith.’

We spoke no more; satiation stealing passion from us so we slept.

###

If you're impatient for the next chapter, you can buy the book in paperback or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 34

Posted by Unknown at 2:30 AM on Friday, September 7, 2012

Not been reading Breaking Faith? The reviews under the 'My Books' tab might persuade you to give it a try.

To those still taking the journey, ‘Enjoy the ride.’

I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number. If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends along. As an author, I want people to read my writing; simple as that.

Chapter 34

Monday 12th July

‘What were you up to so late, Faith?’

‘She was tidying up for me after you lot abandoned your mess and went to bed.’ Ma shook her head at him and smiled at me. ‘My treasure.’

‘Aye, it’s a shame you don’t give Faith more of your attention than that young trollop you’re allus abed with. She’ll harm you, Leigh, mark my words.’

Ma and Old Hodge often warned Leigh of the dangers in his relationship with Netta. I viewed her as an obstacle, a barrier between Leigh and me; one I couldn’t surmount. That she was my sister made my attitude ambivalent. Leigh pretended to shrug off their concerns.

I’d never noted any resentment in him over anything Ma and Old Hodge suggested, but it was creeping in over their attitude to Netta. I could sense a row developing if they didn’t sit down and discuss the issue properly. I left the kitchen to escape the slowly building storm and set about catching up on the work I’d left the previous day because of the party.

It was hard to believe my youngest sister was only eighteen. She always seemed so much older, except, of course, for her capricious nature and selfish responses to Leigh’s needs and actions. I assumed the sex she gave must be far more generous than the rest of her actions.

Leigh wandered through with a cup of coffee and a slice of toast and glanced at the diary.

‘Nothing today, Leigh. Carlisle tomorrow and Bradford on Thursday. I’ll catch up on some printing this afternoon and tomorrow whilst you’re out. Thursday I must do the invoices and accounts.’

‘I don’t deserve you, Faith. You’re far too good for me.’ He left for the studio before I could respond.

Toward midday, Netta sauntered into the room. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the studio. That set of spanners and feeler gauges, you know?’

She nodded but I doubted she knew. She had no interest at all in Leigh’s real work, only in what he did with his camera when she was in front of it. She wandered aimlessly about the office, distracting me by picking up various bits and pieces and idly putting them down in the wrong place. She’d just picked up a small white slip-cast female torso that Leigh had once warned me never to damage, when he returned looking a little harassed.

‘Where’s my incident cone for the Weston, Faith? Oh, up at last?’ He noticed what she was handling. ‘Please put that down, Netta. Drop it and you’re in serious bother.’

‘It’s where it always is when it’s not on the meter. Third drawer down, snuggled in its protective foam rubber coat.’

He opened the drawer, one eye still on Netta, and retrieved the small white cone from its place. ‘Put that back where you found it, Netta, please.’

She could never take a hint, or, rather, she was sufficiently contrary to allow her sense of bravado to overcome her common sense. She looked at the small piece in her hand, turned her mouth into a wicked smile and, without warning, tossed the figure across the desk in my direction. I glimpsed a look of horror on Leigh’s face and knew I must catch it or be equally blamed for its destruction. I rose swiftly from my seat, banging my hip painfully against the desk as I lunged forward in a desperate effort to catch the fragile hollow figure. My fingers closed around the white shape and clasped its contours firmly. I placed it gently onto the desk and only then reacted to the pain in my hip, rubbing at it and wincing.

Leigh’s face was thunder. ‘You stupid little cow! If you’d broken that …. Get out of my sight!’

I’d never seen him so angry. Netta knew she’d made a serious mistake. ‘Hit me, and I’ll be out of here so quick you’ll think I’ve got wings!’ But for all her bravado, her face was full of uncertainty and anxiety.

‘Out! Shift your selfish little arse from my sight before I …’ the tone of Leigh’s voice was frightening and, as he took a step toward her, she dashed from the office for the kitchen.

Leigh struggled for control and sat heavily on the chair I normally occupied, since I was in his leather one. He leant forward and took the small headless, limbless torso in his hand and held it. His anger seemed to give way to something close to grief.

For a long time he was silent and I let him be. At last, he was back in control and he looked up at me with sadness in his eyes. ‘I expect you think I was way o.t.t., Faith. I’m sorry if I alarmed you, but Netta deserved what she got. She ought to consider herself lucky she wasn’t within reach or I might well have tanned her backside. And I have never ever struck a woman.’ He stood as if he was about to leave.

‘I think you owe me an explanation, Leigh. I don’t think your behaviour was called for. Heacham might behave the way you threatened, but it’s hard for me to think of you being in any way like him. I think you should tell me what that was all about.’

He sat again, with the small female body sheltered in his hand and looked down at it for a while before he raised his face to mine. ‘Okay. But it’s not easy for me and you mustn’t interrupt.’ I was surprised and moved to see tears in the corners of his eyes. ‘You don’t really know much about me, do you, Faith?’

‘Very little.’

He stared at me for a while and then turned his gaze to the figurine and I watched his eyes soften with memory. ‘My mother was born here, in this house, but she married a man from Kent. I was born up here but they moved south shortly afterwards and spent most of their married lives down there. She always missed her home and we used to come up to stay in what became Uncle Fred’s house, at least twice a year. Mum’s brother was a lot older than her. He liked me even as a small child, we always got on, and I enjoyed my times at Longhouse.

‘When I was fourteen, we travelled up for what we expected to be our last family holiday in Yorkshire, or anywhere else for that matter. My dad smoked all his life and developed lung cancer. He was dying a slow cruel death before our eyes. I hated him for doing this to Mum and I was frightened of what would happen when he finally died. Every time he lit a cigarette, I had to leave the room; I couldn’t stand the look of utter desolation on Mum’s face as he inhaled the poison that was killing him.

‘Mum was an artist, you know. She painted those landscapes in the sitting room, the male nude on the landing and that portrait of herself in the library. She was a great believer in the study of the human body as a creative inspiration and teacher of lighting and form. Of course, she usually worked on the male; as a woman, she was aware of the sexual element inherent in figure studies. She was never precious or hypocritical about it.

‘Dad was a businessman and had difficulty understanding her creative urges but he was sensible enough to allow her her painting and her life classes.’

He paused and studied the torso in his hand for a moment, his eyes growing distant with memory and time. I waited, unwilling to break into his contemplation of the past and he rewarded my patience by continuing his story.

‘We’d taken a trip to West Bunton, had a short walk and were returning to the car. Dad couldn’t walk far without becoming exhausted, so we’d just been up to the waterfall and were crossing the village green to the road when I pointed out a small pottery to Mum. She loved such places and we went in, much to Dad’s disgust. He could only ever see any point in the utilitarian. Mum and I used to call him The Philistine but it was all good-natured, you know.

‘I was wandering amongst the shelves, looking at the display, when I came across this. The lines and contours, the clean feel of it, the simple beauty of the creation fascinated me. I’ve always loved women and I liked this in one sense because it detached me from the personal aspect; its anonymity allowed me to study the female form at fourteen without the embarrassment I would’ve felt looking at an identifiable individual woman.

‘Mum saw me and asked if I would like it. I was surprised she was in favour and then not at all surprised when I thought about it. Dad was dead against it but he wouldn’t argue in public. I took it to the counter and Mum took the small, hand-painted, earthenware jug she’d found. She refused to let me pay for this; it was a present, a memento of our holiday. Dad lurked at the back of the shop, eager to get back to the car.

‘The man, the potter if his clothes were anything to go by, took our money and was wrapping the two pieces in tissue when a young woman, eighteen or nineteen, I suppose, came into the shop from the studio behind. She was slender and pretty with gorgeous auburn hair down across her shoulders. She wore a tight cotton tee shirt covered in splashes of clay and colour. But, bearing in mind this was sixty-one and I was fourteen, it was her unsupported breasts, nipples prodding thin cotton, that held my gaze.

‘The man was wrapping the figure as she came through with her hands, coated in clay, held out before her and a wry smile on her face. She took no notice of me as she asked her dad to tie her apron as she’d forgotten, again, before plunging her hands into the clay.

‘Mum saw my fascination and wanted me to witness this beauty for longer. She greeted the girl and asked her, outright, if she’d modelled for the torso. She nodded, smiling and then looked at me for the first time. I was still captivated by those gorgeous breasts but I managed to raise my eyes and look into her pools of topaz. I saw humour, pleasure and understanding there, none of the condemnation, scorn or disdain I feared.

‘She grinned wickedly at me and turned so she was semi profile. Raising her near arm, pretending to pat her hair with the flat of her wrist, she displayed her shape to best advantage. I think it was that gesture and her obvious pride in her body that taught me it was okay to look at women, provided the look was open and admiring. I managed a smile of gratitude. She bent and whispered something in her father’s ear and he laughed and shook his head, gently tapping her denim clad bottom before prompting her back out of view. As she slipped through the doorway, she turned on the spot, just for me, and then disappeared into the depths of the studio. I’d been given an introduction to the exhibitionist that resides in many beautiful women, an introduction and a conviction that genuine admiration was welcome.

‘Mum made me a present of that figure and I sat holding it in the back of the car whilst Dad, hacking at almost every breath, drove us to Longhouse even though he was no longer fit to drive.

‘That evening, I ate with Uncle Fred as they went for a meal at a restaurant in Hawes. It was as they made their way back, along a single-track road with passing places, that they met a stupid murderous bastard, drunk and driving too fast the other way. They never stood a chance. They died in the car. He escaped without a scratch and was fined for dangerous driving and banned for a year. Justice. Of course, Dad should never have been driving anyway.’

He held the small figure for my inspection. ‘Mum’s last present to me, the day she died. Does that answer your question?’

All I could do was go round the desk and hug him awkwardly as he sat there. So many questions answered, so much more understood about him, so much easier to love him. ‘Thank you, Leigh. I’m so sorry.’

He carefully extricated himself from my embrace and stood, placed the figure back on the windowsill where it always stood, in full view of his desk. ‘Hip all right?’

I touched myself tentatively and winced.

‘Let’s have a gander.’

With no thought of the impropriety, I lifted my skirt to reveal the bruise already forming over my hip bone. Leigh very gently eased my knickers from the area and examined my skin for damage. He carefully released the fabric back into place.

‘Skin’s not broken but you’ll have a nasty bruise. You might be more comfortable with a different pair of pants so the elastic doesn’t press on the flesh, or none for the moment, if you can bear to be so exposed.’

I dropped my skirt and only then realized what I’d done. But there was nothing sexual in the exchange; I felt neither exploited nor exposed and I gave him a small smile of wry realization that made him grin and shake his head at me. I felt cherished and flattered that he’d recalled my injury after having recounted what must have been a very moving story for him; it certainly was for me. I kissed him in thanks and affection.

From the door, he blew me a kiss as he returned to the studio.

Alone, I followed his advice then continued with my morning’s work, glancing occasionally at the torso, and wondering whether I should explain his reaction to Netta.

I never did, though.

###

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Read This Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 27

Posted by Unknown at 2:30 AM on Friday, July 20, 2012

Are you a new visitor, or even a regular, who hasn’t started reading Breaking Faith? Looking at the reviews on the 'My Books' tab may change your mind.

On the other hand, if you're continuing the journey, I assume you’re hooked.

I posted Chapter 1 way back on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have appeared here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number.

If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends to join us.

Chapter 27

Monday 31st May

‘I’ll be back when I’ve had enough. See you.’

Netta sauntered out of the house and across the lawn to the private stile in the corner. Both of us enjoyed walking the fells, though I wouldn’t have ventured out dressed like that. My interests, apart from the joy of walking, were nature and the landscape. I wondered what Netta derived from her walks alone. She said she needed some exercise with Leigh away in London.

Mum had stayed the night after bringing Netta back to Longhouse and I’d spent the evening learning as much as I could about my real father from her, without letting on that I’d found out where he lived.

‘David was thirty-seven; I was eighteen and fell in love with him the moment I laid eyes on him. I liked clean-shaven men; David had a long, straggly beard. I liked men with short blonde hair; David wore his dark brown hair to his shoulders. I liked men of action; David’s only sport was a walk round the quad with a poetry book in his hand. But he reached me, Faith. He spoke to my mind and my heart and his eyes saw right inside me and touched my secret inner self.

‘He was never a really accomplished lover. In fact, I was probably his first and taught him as much as he did me. But he was passionate and truthful and caring and full of a love for life and things creative and I adored him.

‘He used to worry the authorities would discover us and split us up. In the fifties, romances like ours were condemned. He cared about me and loved me more than any man I’ve known since. I thought he should write; his way with words was wonderful. He would make up poetry as we walked together. Not just love poetry for me, but poetry about the world we lived in, about nature and death and life. He was a remarkable man and when I discovered I was pregnant, I couldn’t let him know. I couldn’t ruin him. So, I had to be cruel. I told him there was someone else. I asked him not to write back, even to that letter and he didn’t. I received that small book of poems with no note, sent anonymously, just two weeks before you were due and I wept all day and all night.’

The unshed tears in her eyes warned me against further questions.

When she left that morning, she hugged me and invited me to spend a weekend with her once Leigh returned from London. I looked forward to that.

Netta was still out after Ma, Old Hodge and I had eaten on the lawn under the sun. With Leigh absent, Mervyn no longer a threat, and Old Hodge almost like an uncle, whatever Netta might say about him, I risked my new bikini to soak up some sun. As I lay on a blanket, reading on the grass, Old Hodge worked at a nearby flowerbed.

He looked at me and grinned. ‘By ‘eck, lass, you look grand.’

That remark, from an older man I respected, made me feel so good about myself. I smiled my thanks at him and turned over to tan my front. Movement near the stile caught my eye. A shape struggled to reach the top of the wall from the far side. I was up and running even as I recognized her.

‘Netta!’

Old Hodge came after me as quickly as his old legs would take him. She was in a dreadful state. Her dress was in shreds and her beautiful skin beneath was a mass of raised wheals and bleeding stripes. One eye was so swollen she couldn’t open it, the other was red and weeping, both her lips were split and her nose had been bleeding.

I helped her down from the stile and she collapsed at my feet, exhausted. I sent Old Hodge for Ma and sat with her head in my lap, stroking her hair away from her wounds.

The doctor arrived shortly after we’d carried her to the spare room. He examined her thoroughly whilst I remained in case he needed my help. We turned her very carefully onto her back and he examined her front where the stripes were less numerous and not as raised or broken. One crossed her left breast and marked her nipple, making me wince. I helped Paul apply ointment and dressings and noticed his frequent glances at me.

We could make no sense of anything she said through her damaged mouth, but she seemed incoherent more with rage than with any other emotion.

In the kitchen, with Netta asleep under the influence of a sedative, the four of us shared a pot of tea.

‘I’ve seen this before. Almost identical, except that time it was only your back, Faith.’

‘You think my fa... Heacham, did this?’

‘I’m neither policeman nor forensic scientist, but this is the work of one man.’

‘Why would he beat Netta? She’s not even his daughter.’

Paul raised his eyebrows. ‘That, at least answers a few questions. As to “Why?” I’ve no idea. I hoped you might know.’

‘I can’t imagine. Shouldn’t we inform the police?’

‘That’s for Netta to decide, really. But I’d do it anyway. She can always withdraw later if she doesn’t want to prefer charges.’

‘Not prefer charges? Why wouldn’t she want…?’

‘I’ve dealt with more cases of domestic violence than I care to think about, Faith. Women frequently refuse to press charges because the men who bully them brainwash their victims into believing they’re worthless and therefore responsible for their own beatings. Did you press charges after the monster beat you?’

I hadn’t. It was the first time I asked myself why that might be and I understood his reasoning and learned another lesson about myself.

‘Yes, inform the police now, before she has a chance to prevent them at least knowing.’

Ma examined the remains of Netta’s dress. ‘This is for the bin.’

‘Save it for the police. Where’s her underwear? They’ll need it in case there was any sexual…’

Ma explained and the doctor nodded as though he’d heard it all before.

‘Do you really think he might’ve raped her?’

‘It’s a possibility we have to face, in light of what he did to Hope.’

‘Hope couldn’t fight back. Hope couldn’t even tell anyone, not even me.’

‘I still wouldn’t rule it out. The man’s a brutal pervert. I’m just thankful you escaped that side of his exploitation, Faith. Netta will have to be asked when she comes round from the sedative. The more I consider, the more I think I should contact the police. May I?’

I showed him the phone in the office. When he returned, he changed the subject abruptly to me.

‘Are you well, Faith?’

I told him I was. ‘And happy; Mum’s more at ease now you’ve given me the pill. She cares about that sort of thing, so I just went along with her wishes to keep her happy.’

‘A wickedly personal question, Faith, but I have my reasons, and they are medical. Do you need the contraceptive pill?’

‘Mum said I would one day and I should be prepared.’

‘So, no change from when you first asked me to prescribe it? No mood problems?’

I shook my head. I didn’t think my anxiety over Leigh had anything to do with taking the pill.

‘And I can see you’ve only put on weight in the places it’s to be expected. No problem in that area. Good.’

I wanted to get the conversation away from personal matters about me. ‘Should we call Leigh, do you think?’

‘Not yet. There’s nothing he can do. But do call Matilda.’ He smiled at me and I felt there was more than professional concern in his friendly look as he left.

There was no answer when I tried Zoë’s number anyway. Matilda said she’d be at Longhouse as soon as she could. I tried Zoë again in the evening but there was still no reply.

‘Probably out on the town.’ Matilda suggested. She’d come down for a break from Netta’s bedside and was drinking coffee laced with Leigh’s scotch.

‘Will they press charges, do you suppose?’

‘No doubt about it. Bastard was on conditional bail. How did he know where to find her and why did he do it?’

‘I should’ve said before, I suppose, but it was all done and over with and there seemed little point. Tell the truth; I was glad to see the back of him.’

We waited for Ma to explain.

‘Merv never tried to rape Netta. She tricked the poor fool to get him sacked…’

‘She did what?’

‘Sorry, Matilda, but I’m sure that’s what happened. She asked me what Leigh would do if Merv attacked a girl in the house. I told her he’d fire the young sod on the spot. You can’t tell me it’s coincidence Netta accused him of attacking her that very day.’

‘Why would Netta want him sacked?’

‘You’re still so naive, lass, for all your growing up. She’s your sister. She knew Merv upset and frightened you.’

‘But that’s terrible. I never asked her to …’

‘Of course you didn’t. You didn’t have to. It’s called sisterly love.’

Matilda nodded. ‘It’s the sort of thing Netta would do, love.’

‘Poor Merv! No wonder he swore to get us both. But this was Heacham, wasn’t it?’

‘Merv would be too scared to do anything on his own. He’ll have sent pictures of Netta to Heacham, knowing the shit would do it for him because she threatened his reputation.’

‘His reputation’s already ruined.’

‘He still wouldn’t want the world thinking his own flesh and blood would pose naked for the world to see, Faith.’

I thought of the pictures of me Merv had helped print and was thankful he hadn’t been able to take any with him. ‘But Netta’s not his flesh and blood.’

‘He knows that, but the village folk don’t.’

I was amazed at the way the pair of them had apparently worked out what had happened. ‘How did Heacham know where to find her?’

‘Merv again. He’s a peeping Tom. Wouldn’t mind betting he’s been spying on this house ever since the day he left, in the hope of seeing you both without your clothes.’

‘I’ve been in my bikini in the garden. Those horrible piggy eyes looking at me. Ugh!’

‘You were feeling sorry for him a moment ago.’

‘Not if he did that. Do you really think he’d go to all that trouble, Ma?’

‘I’ve little doubt, to be honest. That lad’s got a strangely determined streak when it comes to spying on female flesh and to getting his own back.’

‘What’ll happen to Heacham, do you think?’

Ma shrugged.

‘They’ll hold him for the night and charge him with assault. In the morning, he’ll be back out and free as air. It’s only a girl he’s beaten half to death, after all.’

‘I thought you believed we were equal now, Mum?’

‘There’s no fundamental change. And cops are generally right wing and chauvinistic. As are the courts, come to that. No, I love men and their company, but I hate what they’ve done and continue do with society. It’s still a man’s world; for all we burn our bras, take the pill and enjoy sex without fear of pregnancy. Women are still second class citizens. That’s why I use my sex to get what I can out of the little darlings.

‘I’ve no illusions, Faith, so don’t look so scandalized. They don’t love me. They love sex and my body, even if I am nearing forty and I’ve had three kids. I keep myself in trim so they’re not disgusted when I take off my clothes. I can still excite them, still make their willies stand up and perform. But I make sure they pay; in pleasure for me, and clothes and food and other services. I’ve never paid a tradesman to do a job. And my little bungalow’s a palace with all mod cons.’

‘I’d far rather my Old Hodge with his faults, than all your passing men friends.’

‘Ah, but then you love Old Hodge and he loves you.’

‘You loved David, Mum.’

‘But I lost him. You can’t live on memories and dreams of what might’ve been. Anyway, I’d best get back up there. I don’t want Netta waking up alone.’

‘I’ll take over during the night, Mum. Then you can sleep.’

‘You’re a good woman, Faith. I’m very proud of you, proud to call you daughter. Proud to know such goodness has come from my love for David.’ Mum smiled at me and went back upstairs.

‘What was that about?’

‘Your Mum’s had a sad, strange sort of life, with lots of disappointment. But you do exactly the right thing at every opportunity. In you, she sees a sort of redemption for all the mistakes and badness there’s been in her life.

‘Now, away with you to bed if you’re going to be up in the early hours.’

‘I’ll just try Leigh once more.’

‘You won’t. Leigh and Zoë’ll be in bed. There’s no point interrupting them with news he can do nowt about. Call him in the morning. Bed, now.’

###

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