Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 48

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 46

The Buttertubs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

You’ve come so far with me, now we’re approaching the climax. 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 46

The police said the mountain rescue teams would be out at first light, assuming she hadn’t returned. Once I’d confirmed with an anxious Matilda that Netta hadn’t somehow made her way home, I persuaded her to stay put in case she did arrive there. Ma insisted I ate, and prepared a quick meal for me. She glowered as I prepared to set off with a torch and my backpack stuffed with warm dry clothes from Netta’s case, and a couple of flasks of hot coffee generously laced with brandy.

‘You’re wasting your time, Leigh; you’ve no idea where she’s gone. And it’s dangerous out there in this lot.’

‘No, Ma. I have some idea. She told me once, when she was trying to taunt me, that she has a favourite place for sunbathing. She laughed and lifted her shirt. “Lovely Seat.” You know it; top of the pass leading down to Buttertubs. Three, four miles as the crow flies.’

‘I can just see that ‘un flaunting hersen up there, knowing full well there’d be tourists within sight, teasing them with her body. Little hussy.’

‘It’ll not be easy, walking and searching in this lot in the dark. Don’t wait up for me, Ma. I’ve no idea when I’ll be back. But leave the door unlocked in case she’s somewhere else. She won’t have her key.’

‘Serve the little madam right to be kept out all night.’

‘Mebbie. But I’d not do that to her, Ma. She’s done a great deal for me.’

‘Done a great deal to you, more like. Done a lot of damage; I know that.’

I was in no mood to argue. I’d started the morning with two beautiful young women available and wanting me. The most important had abandoned me out of some incomprehensible need to find herself, whatever that meant. The other had run off, pretending anger and hurt, into the hills. Faith was safe, as far as I knew. But Netta might very well be in danger. She was bound to be cold and wet. I must, at least, attempt to find her and bring her back into the warmth and shelter of my home. Even if I did intend to throw her out once there.

Crossing the river on stepping-stones, at night, even with the aid of a torch, was no fun. The rain had swollen the river and a slip could well have put me into real danger. It was slow going to reach the far side where I began the laborious trek across the fields by the side of the river and up the fells.

She was unlikely to have remained on top of the hill, where the viewpoint gave panoramic vistas of the surrounding fells and dales. In this storm, it would be exposed and very dangerous. But it seemed likely that, had she made for her special place that morning, she might have fallen on her way back and hurt herself. If I found her, it was most likely to be somewhere near the path, en route.

I was sparing with the torch at first, though I had fresh batteries with me. Occasionally, I called her name into the pouring rain and the blackness.

‘Netta!’

Nothing replied but wind and rain. From time to time, a rumble or a crack of thunder drowned the sound of rain, followed by sheets or jagged forks of lightening.

It was a difficult, tiring journey to the top of that fell, with many stops to search pockets of darkness on the way. And there had been no sign of her near the path, none as I reached the soft, round summit at last. It looked as though she’d chosen some other secret location to sulk for the day.

I decided to do a quick search around the top of the hill and then return to Longhouse until daylight gave me a better chance of finding her. Disappointment at the futility of my search vied with growing conviction that she was already back at Longhouse, laughing at my concern and waiting impatiently for my return.

As I swept the area with the powerful beam of the torch, thunder crashed overhead and lightening crackled out of the sky and along the length of barbed wire fence a short distance away.

‘Jesus wept!’

The narrowness of my escape paralysed me for a moment. My first thought was to run like the devil from the isolation of the exposed hill. But, in the bright brief light, I’d seen something white, flapping wetly in the wind. It was some two hundred yards away along the fence and I couldn’t leave without trekking across the boggy ground to find out what it was. Even though it would most probably turn out to be nothing more sinister than an abandoned fertiliser sack left behind by a careless farmer.

I walked into another fence, catching myself on the sharp barbs, as the strands of wire on their waist high posts joined the more substantial barrier that constituted the parish boundary.

‘Bugger!’ I sucked at the cut on the back of my hand and tasted blood.

Following the beam of my torch along the wire, I picked up the patch of white that had caught my eye. From this close, it was clearly an item of clothing. I struggled over the lower, less substantial field boundary without further injury, and reached the spot, wondering why Netta would bother to make such an effort.

I knew at once it was her summer dress. Not just a portion of it, torn off as she climbed the fence, but the whole garment caught on the barbs as, presumably, she’d climbed the barrier and jumped down the other side. The weight of her body must have attached the barbs so firmly she’d been unable to free it without first slipping out of it. But why had she left it here?

When I began to untangle it, I found it relatively easy to disengage from the wire. It was caught only lightly on a couple of barbs, for all the world as if it had been tossed there in careless abandon.

‘Netta!’

I stopped to consider; rain soaking my hands and face. Why had she been going away from Longhouse? It was hard to believe she would still have been so upset by that time. Her sulk was no more than an attempt to make me feel guilty; there was nothing genuine about it. She’d always come back once she’d made her point in the past. Returned hungry for food and sex, ready for the fun of reconciliation. There was no need for her to behave any differently this time, unless she felt more than straightforward lust for me and saw Faith as a threat.

‘Netta!’

I pointed the torch through the fence and searched the ground beyond, but could see no sign of her. When I aimed the beam closer to the fence, I discovered one of her sandals lying abandoned and half covered by black peaty water in the mud beyond the fence.

This made no sense. Why would she abandon her dress? And why leave her shoe? What possible reason…? Unless she was being pursued. Try as I might, I could think of no other set of circumstances that would cause her to act that way. Someone must have chased her.

I struggled over the fence and discovered how easily she would’ve caught the dress as she jumped down. I almost hung up on my backpack, even though I was in no hurry and forewarned of the danger. My landing sank me ankle deep in the black muddy water where her shoe lay. I bent and retrieved it, placed it inside the dress I’d tied loosely to the strap of the pack.

Carefully, I walked forward, scanning the ground ahead with the beam of the torch. Another peal of thunder startled me with its proximity and the accompanying flash of lightening scared the pants off me for a second time. I sat down heavily in the soggy grass and cursed as the wetness soaked into the seat of my trousers. For a while, I stayed put, though; unsure what to do or where to go.

‘Netta!’

I rose again and scanned the ground ahead, all too quickly discovering her second shoe lying upside down a short distance ahead. At least I seemed to be moving in the right direction. I slowly continued in what I hoped was something like a straight line as the ground began to fall steadily away from me before it rose for a few paces and then fell away again more steeply. Soon I was in danger of losing my footing, as the slope grew ever more precipitous.

I stopped and tried to picture my whereabouts in my mind’s eye. I knew the area well and was aware of dangerous scars and steep slopes on certain parts of the hill. My torch shone into blank darkness when I pointed it more than ten or twelve feet ahead. It was simply too dangerous to go on in this manner. If I continued, I may well end up lying at the foot of a scar, as perhaps, Netta had in her flight from whoever had pursued her.

‘Netta!’

I checked the time. It was well after dark, around eleven o’clock, when I’d set off. Since then, I’d covered a few miles at snail’s pace due to the nature of my search along the way. But I was staggered to discover it was approaching half past four in the morning. The sun would rise in less than two hours. I could do nothing more until it brought its light to guide me.

Sweeping a full circle, I noticed a small rocky outcrop a short distance to my right and higher up. I made for it, falling knee deep into a cold black puddle on the way. At length, I reached the rocks and sat there, wet, chilled, weary and now desperately anxious about Netta.

‘Netta!’

I did a quick search of the backpack and took out a flask of coffee. Its heat and spirits revived me a little. The storm moved away to the southeast. Two more cups of coffee and I was dangerously close to setting off down the hill again. But I recovered my senses when I noted the shapes of hills emerging as pitch black silhouettes against a sky that was now merely inky and studded with stars in the east. The steepness of the slopes dissuaded me from setting off again.

Slowly the clouds moved away until the whole sky above was clear and stars replaced the blank darkness. The moon, a pale sliver of crescent waning toward the new phase, was no help at all and I sat awaiting the glow of sunrise that would shortly illuminate the sky in the northeast.

I was shivering when the first signs of sunrise gave the ground vague shape and contour at last. But I remained seated until I could see enough to move safely. There was little point in me falling to my death or serious injury in my search.

As I moved and retraced my steps to the point I’d ended my hunt in the darkness, I struggled to find new reasons why she’d abandoned her clothes. Perhaps she was just being more of an exhibitionist than usual, perhaps the storm had brought out the pagan in her and she’d given in to primeval urges to run, a free spirit in the rain. But, knowing her terror of thunder, I knew I was clutching at straws. Perhaps her dress had caught up as she sought a more comfortable spot to sunbathe before the clouds had descended and she just couldn’t be bothered to retrieve it there and then, thinking she would reclaim it on her way back from wherever she’d decided to go. Her love of the freedom of nudity certainly fitted that fantasy.

‘Netta!’

As I made my way slowly down the slope I discovered that fifty or sixty yards further on I would have fallen down a steep scree slope onto the road. In the growing light, I managed to slither and slide down to the tarmac in one piece, stepping onto the highway as the disc of the sun broke the horizon.

I stood and pondered. She’d apparently been heading in a specific direction. Would she have continued the same way on the road or would she have turned and headed the other way, knowing she would eventually come to Simonstone and the hope of help? I shrugged. If she’d chosen the hamlet, in all probability she was safe and snug in some lucky farmer’s bed, probably with the farmer. The other way, the road clung to the side of the steep valley, passing through the Buttertubs; strange pots that were sunk into the ground, like limestone wells: vertical caves in all but name. Further along, the road dropped down a steep hill to pass through the villages of Thwaite and Muker. It was that route I followed.

I decided to go as far as the Buttertubs themselves, search the area and then return home. I could go on forever and never find her on my own and I was already weary, cold and hungry. The professionals would be out soon with their numbers and knowledge to make the search more productive. Unless she had somehow returned to Longhouse and Ma had called off the search.

The road made walking easy and I covered the distance to the tourist spot in minutes. During that time, the sky faded from indigo through azure to iris with a hint of rose around the now full orb of the sun. It was light enough to read and colour was returning to oust the black and greys of predawn.

The holes in the ground, varying from two to ten feet in diameter and from six to fifty feet in depth, spread across a small area of the saddle shaped hillside. The fell sloped down to this area quite steeply and the road ran through the middle. At the valley side of the road a small lay-by marked a place for tourists to park their cars before the ground began to slope again. It ran down towards the valley slope, which was precipitous and dropped into a deep, narrow, serpentine canyon too close to vertical even for sheep to crop.

I moved to the side next the valley first. Here, the holes were less spectacular and fewer.

‘Netta!’

The light was clear enough now to reveal the bottom of each pit as I approached, and each was empty as I expected. My search had no conviction but was simply something I must do whilst in that place with its vaguely sinister feel.

I crossed the road, aware it was an unnecessary exercise, a completion of my futile quest. I would return home, as soon as I was done, and find Netta asleep in my bed.

Would I join her? Would the tide of elation at finding her safe, overcome my sense that I was no longer a free agent but must remain true to Faith? And who imposed this condition? Faith had made it clear she expected my fidelity if she was to be mine. But recalling so easily our single night, such a short time past, when we’d made love, I knew it was nothing to do with conditions and everything to do with what was right. I wanted to be faithful to her. I wanted to be hers and hers alone. No, if Netta were in my bed, she would remain there alone until I roused her to take her home to Matilda.

‘Netta!’

Slight irritation returned to me as I walked the ground, searching. Netta’s childish sulks had caused me grief in the past. It was absurd that I should have to be out here hunting for her when she’d had no need to run off in the first place. It would serve her right if she had been in some sort of trouble. Perhaps, then she might think twice before pulling such a stunt again. Though, on reflection, that was unlikely to present a problem for me any more.

‘Netta!’

I started with the pit nearest the road. They were wider on this side and significantly deeper. Tourists had made paths through the grass with their passage and I followed one to the edge of the nearest sinkhole. As I swayed at the top of the opening, my fear of heights made me step away from the brink. The dark bottom of the pit was wet with the rain but was otherwise as it had been for centuries. I moved to the next and the next and found them devoid of all but damp and early morning darkness.

The last pit was the deepest. Furthest from the road, it bored into the ground close under the slope of the fell. A small rowan struggled to grow at the lip of the gaping mouth, leaning over the hole and lending the scene a touch of lightness to dispel the sinister aspect of the pit. I moved towards it, knowing I would end of my search here and then return to Longhouse, still uncertain of Netta’s fate but content I’d tried to find her. She would be lying warm, dry and eager in my bed, ready to demonstrate her sexual prowess, mistakenly determined to show me Faith’s simple love was no match for her own experience and skill.

I stopped for a moment, listening to the silence of the hills. A soft breeze soughed through the grass, a sheep bleated wetly somewhere out of sight, and closer, the sound of trickling water, falling, caught my ear. I shrugged myself back into action and approached the edge of that dark pit quite certain it was empty like the rest. On the brink, I hesitated; it was deep and foreboding, a threat to my fear of high places. The sound of falling water was rain run-off trickling in a small fall over the edge near the tree. I leant forward and followed the falling water to the bottom.

She was on her back; her arms flung out and above her head. One leg was almost straight, the other bent at hip and knee. Her skin was pallid, almost without contour in that dim reflected light, uniform but for the stark contrast of her dark nipples and the smudge of short hair. I looked at her face and had to kneel to stop myself falling. Her eyes stared up past me to the sky they reflected.

I called her name, softly now she was in hearing. I upbraided her for running off like that, asked her why she hadn’t retrieved her dress, why she’d left her shoes.

‘I’m sorry. I came as soon as I could. You were so hard to find. I’ll go for help and we’ll get you out of there. There’ll be rugged men with ropes to lift you. You’ll enjoy that; all the attention, the way they’ll look at you with admiration and desire. We’ll warm you up with soup and blankets. I’ll make them jealous; cuddle you beneath the blankets for warmth.’

I heard sounds of other people. The mountain rescue team had found the place I’d described to Ma and were searching in vain.

‘I’ll call them in a minute. I just want a little time with you alone. You don’t mind, do you? Not too cold? Only, you look so beautiful, so very beautiful.’

I think it was the thought of the sweet beauty gone and wasted that dragged me back from that temporary madness. I found my feet and stood and waved to the professional rescuers, yelling until they noticed me at last.

They brought ropes and the other paraphernalia of climbers; contacted the police on their special radiotelephones.

‘It’s obvious she’s dead, so we’ve not to move the lass until they give the word. Jack, Monty and Jim, if you’ll hang on with me so we can lift her when they’re ready? Rest of you might as well go home. Thanks for the effort, lads.’

A beautiful young woman lying naked at the bottom of an isolated pit was too good to miss. They must lean over and look at her with eyes that saw her naked skin, her woman’s body but forgot she was a person.

The rescuers had food and brought me warmth with insulated blankets. I told them what I’d discovered, how I’d spent the night. One or two seemed ashamed they’d waited for the light, but castigated me for taking risks that might have meant another body to retrieve.

The policemen had to come from urban distance, so the sun was warm, the ground drying by the time they arrived. They were all questions and procedures. I should have left her clothes where I’d found them. I would have to take them to the exact location I’d found each item, though there would be precious little use in the tracks after I and the rescue team had pounded the ground. Where was her underwear? I explained and they looked at me with cynical curiosity and I became a suspect.

It was after noon when they brought her up. The pathologist went down to her first to read the signs and pronounce her dead of blood loss from a fractured skull, possibly caused by her fall, if fall it was. Her wrists had been bound at some time and she bore signs of possible sexual assault but the lab would prove or disprove that.

The policemen took me home as the van arrived to take Netta’s body to be sliced open and examined, her lovely skin ripped apart to expose the gore within. I had identified her body for them.

Ma was her wonderful usual self and dispensed coffee and biscuits for the investigating officers and roundly told them they were idiots if they believed for one second I had anything to do with it. They defended their suspicions until Ma told them the truth of things and I was grudgingly reclassified as victim and given the appropriate sympathy. They decided they wouldn’t, at that stage, take me in for further questioning.

Once I’d agreed to keep them informed of my movements and they had left, Ma slipped something from her medicine chest into a cup of tea and I slept for hours without dreams.

Matilda was downstairs, demanding explanations, accusing me of complicity in Netta’s death as soon as I returned to the sitting room. I told her everything I knew. She was beside herself; had spent a sleepless night at home at my suggestion when she should have been out searching with me. Now she wanted reasons for her daughter’s death that would exonerate her from all blame and I was the obvious scapegoat. Faith, who shared the blame for Netta’s outburst, was her other daughter and therefore not responsible, being just another victim of my lust.

‘I want Faith home. She’d want to be here. Bring her back, even if you have to drive to Scotland for her.’

It gave me something positive to do.

‘In any case, Leigh, we’ve got to try to get her back for Heacham’s trial.’

‘I know, Ma. I’ll go and see the travel agent.’

‘Fuck Heacham and his trial. I want Faith home. I want to know she’s safe at least. I want my daughter with me.’

The travel agent told me only that she hadn’t redeemed my vouchers, as they couldn’t provide what she wanted. They had no idea where she’d gone.

As I left the shop, I ran into the local bobby who seemed glad to see me.

‘They’ll tell you by letter, sooner or later, Leigh. Or, rather, they’ll tell Faith. But let the lass know she’ll not need to attend court after all. Heacham’s hanged hissen. Poor Jenny found the bugger first thing this morning when she delivered his foreign porno magazine. Saw him through the window. Stark bloody naked, he was. Looked like he’d tried to cut his prick off. ‘Ell of a mess. Bloody good riddance. Save us all a lot of time and effort.’

He expressed his condolences over Netta but thought there would be no need for me to answer any further questions now they’d discovered Heacham. That should have set my mind at rest but something at the back of my mind kept me unsettled.

I found Matilda’s anger dissolved in belated tears on my return. I comforted her as best I could, her weeping on my shoulder adding to my personal distress, especially as there was no way for me to contact Faith and bring her home for both of us.

Ma tried to force me back to business so I wouldn’t brood, but I just cancelled and postponed and explained that orders would be delayed until I could find time for them. I had no heart for work.

All I could see was the look of accusation on Netta’s face when she discovered me in Faith’s bed. All I could hear was her hurt abuse as I watched her go for the last time. If I’d followed, if I’d told her I was sorry and would make it up, if I hadn’t been so tied up with Faith, that beautiful young woman would still be alive. For all that someone else had chased her on that hillside, it was my fault she was dead.

###

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 38

Will Breaking Faith suit you?  Try the reviews under the 'My Books' tab, they’ll give you an idea.

Still on 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. I’m an author; I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 38

Sunday 15th August

‘At last! We’ve all been frantic, wondering where you were, Faith.’

‘I needed time alone, Ma. I must phone Mum.’

‘She knows.’

I realised her grief was unexpressed, locked up. I didn’t like that. ‘I called Eric to find out where you were. I phoned Matilda and told her. Come and have some supper, you look all in.’

She sat where she was and gave a single nod as if further movement was too much.

‘Tea?’

‘Anything but tea!’

Coffee? And she would eat some toast. There was about her something deeply troubling, something I couldn’t identify at once. And she’d shed no tears. Netta was surprisingly sympathetic to begin with; almost demure, and silent for the most part.

Faith ate in silence, looking at nothing, simply staring into the distance and passing food and drink into her mouth. Had I asked what she’d consumed, she couldn’t have told me.

I sent her to bed and she went without a word, though I doubt she slept.

‘She’s weird, Leigh. Creepy. I don’t like it.’

‘People respond to grief in different ways. Faith’s had a hell of a lot of adjusting to do in a very short time. Think about it, Netta. How do you think you’d cope with so much change in such a short space of time?’

She shrugged. Netta had no capacity for consideration. A hedonist through and through, all her thoughts and actions were informed by her body’s responses. Nothing else was of significance. ‘Come on, Leigh, she’s made me feel miserable. I need a good seeing to by a cunning linguist.’

She was safe in bed for the night and Netta’s need was so tempting and something I could usefully comply with. It would do no harm to Faith for us to indulge a little.

I waggled my tongue and she undressed me. Later, with my head between her delicious thighs, I was vaguely aware someone had come into the kitchen and passed the table where we played.

‘Came down for a drink of water.’ Netta told me afterwards. ‘Think she was a bit surprised to find us there.’

‘I expect she was.’

I let her work during the days; hoping activity would help her face the death. She remained silent except for the essential connections of business and everyday contact. She wasn’t hostile, simply uncommunicative. I couldn’t fathom whether it was grief or anger, sorrow or rage that held her in that withdrawn state. But it was deeply disturbing.

Eric arranged the closing that David had desired. We journeyed the long, hot miles to the crematorium in a short cortège of hired black limousines; Matilda, Eric, Netta, Faith and I sharing the lead car. He and Faith were silent throughout the journey in spite of Matilda’s outpouring of comments and observations about David.

The cleric who greeted us was all unction and professional sympathy. Daily contact with death and the bereaved had killed any capacity he may have had to empathize. Death was routine; he made the right noises, formed the right expressions, even adopted the appropriate body language, but he fooled nobody, especially Faith.

‘Can you perform a ceremony that will satisfy Eric who’s a partially lapsed Roman Catholic, myself, my father and Leigh, all atheists, my mother and sister, part time protestants in the Church of England tradition, and the mixed bunch of mourners here who either believe in no god at all or certainly not the limited one of your imagination?’

Having been silent for so long, Faith’s challenge came as a shock.

The cleric was jolted from complacency into a gesture of condescension guaranteed to make the blood boil. ‘I understand your grief, my dear. Please don’t concern yourself with details. I’ll send your father off properly, you can be sure of that.’

‘Will you perform a eulogy based on firsthand knowledge? Will you despatch him without reference to your own peculiar god?’

‘Well, now I don’t think it’ll do any harm to give him the protection of…’

‘I do. Please, if the law or whatever regulations surround this process, mean you have to be present, simply stand wherever you must, in silence. I’ll lead the ceremony.’ Her glance at Matilda dared her to disagree; her look at Eric was more conciliatory. Both nodded their assent with differing degrees of surprise and reservation.

‘I really think it would be much more satisfactory if you were to just…’

‘Satisfactory? For whom? For you? I don’t give that for what you think. I don’t belong to your club and Dad was never a member either. He hated your false ideals, your hypocrisy, your exclusion. Let him take his leave the way he wished. At least have the grace to let me do this without opposition. It’s hard enough as it is, without the condescending interference of a Godbotherer.’

He started to speak again and I stepped in. ‘Let her be. What’s it to you? You’ll still get paid and no one here will complain if you let Faith have her way.’

‘It’s not right…’

‘Not right for whom? It’s right for Faith and it’s right for her father. Aren’t they the ones who matter here?’

He was very unhappy but knew he couldn’t go against our wishes without making a fuss and causing real problems. Not the sort of thing even the most determined conservative clergyman would want. He shrugged his resignation, made no effort to hide his disapproval, but led us into the small chapel.

Faith asked him about the mechanics and he had the good grace to show her before he took up his seat facing the congregation.

Once the black-suited pallbearers had departed, Faith stood by the foot of the coffin, her hand resting lightly on the polished oak. She waited for the piped Gounod’s Ave Maria to die away.

‘Thank you for coming. David Lengdon was a life-long atheist. That’s why the priest has generously stepped aside and allowed me to perform this last farewell. Only a few of you know me. Most of you weren’t even aware that David had a daughter. I met him a few short weeks ago. He was as unaware of me as I had been of him. Matilda, my mother, brought us together. He loved her dearly and her name was the last word he spoke.’

Matilda hadn’t known and she leant against me and began to sob silently. Others in that small chapel muttered quietly with surprise or indignation.

‘Eric cared for him these last years, since cancer invaded his body and brought him to this parting we call death. He’s been a prince of kindness and I thank him with all my heart for his devotion and selfless courage. I came on the scene late, when Dad was already dying. I was warned and given the chance not to know him, but I chose to try to understand him and came inevitably to love him. I know he loved me, too.

‘Dad was a brave man in many ways, a coward in others. He loved the truth but was willing to compromise for the sake of ease and to shield those he held dear. I lack that gift. I’m unable to do more or less than tell the truth. Had he not gone overseas, or had he known I was on the way, he would’ve married Matilda and all our lives would have been immeasurably better.

‘But that was not to be and he lost the love of his life. Literature, without his beloved, became a sham for him. He discovered the sordid incest and facile insincerity that infects parts of the world of literary education and criticism and it destroyed his love for it. Had Matilda been with him, he would’ve understood that running from the false and self-delusional wouldn’t shift it one iota. With her beside him, he’d have battled all his life to change that superficial world into a place of passion and truth where creativity did not depend exclusively on antecedents and where true originality was as valid as recognisable derivation. His words.

‘Dad was scholar, poet, philosopher and a builder of walls. I asked him about the barriers he erected and he justified them on practical grounds I couldn’t fault. Dad was a man who loved and was loved. His only physical love was Matilda and I am the fruit of their early passion. Spiritually, he loved many, finding it easier to like people than to dislike them. He was forgiving, tolerant, just and wise. He lived for years with Eric as his friend, no more, no less. He loved him as a brother. And admired his skill with stone.

‘In the few short weeks I knew him, Dad gifted me with more knowledge and more love for life and all the world can offer, than I had found in the twenty years I had lived till then.

‘I loved my father. Time is meaningless in such cases. I loved him as much as any daughter my age can love her father; maybe more. I’ll miss him every day of my future and he’ll be ever in my thoughts. My life is enriched for knowing him. He was a remarkable human being who will be sadly missed by all who knew him.’

She turned away and leant over the casket, her face close and her voice so quiet only our first row could hear. ‘I love you, Daddy. I’m proud to be your daughter and proud to have you for my father. Go now to the place you know and love. Leave the flesh that has betrayed you and rise to join the web of life for all eternity. Goodbye, my darling, wonderful Daddy. I love you now and always will.’

She forced herself away from the coffin and swayed as she addressed us again. ‘I’ve had my say. It’s your turn, now. Please; come and say a private or a public goodbye to David Lengdon.’

I knew they would be reluctant and English about it. I took the lead, guiding Matilda, against her will, and walking to the coffin where I said a few words of goodbye and where Matilda eased her conscience with a whispered but heartfelt apology for her absence in his dying days. Others followed until Eric, proud and upright, took the last turn as the cleric tried to rush us to make way for the next body on the conveyor to the oven.

Whatever Eric said was private and remained between him and David but it seemed to help with his grief. Of all the people at that extraordinary parting, only Faith remained dry-eyed.

We trailed our way back along roads bathed in inappropriate sunshine to Longhouse, where Ma fed us traditional cold meats and sandwiches and the ubiquitous tea.

Faith, in charcoal grey jacket and skirt to her knees, walked through the house and onto the back lawn where she stood alone, facing the fells. The other mourners, one by one or in small groups, thanked her for what she’d done. To each she nodded her acknowledgement but there was no emotion in her, no real response.

I watched her in her desert of dry grief and wondered when the wind and rain would sweep away the dust of sorrow and wash her free of all that pain.

With Eric, she exchanged a few words before he left, but she spoke nothing to Netta or me after the ceremony itself. I watched her make her way upstairs when the last of the mourners had gone. She didn’t reappear until breakfast time the following day.

###

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 36

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

Still on 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. I’m an author; I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 36

Saturday 7th August

All the planning for the party was worth the effort. Ma surpassed herself with the catering; Old Hodge decked the gardens as if for a queen. Even the weather was perfect, with clear skies and warm balmy air gifting the gentlest of breezes. Everything was set for the arrival of the star and I’d made a promise to Netta who, in return, had pledged to behave herself.

Matilda brought Faith, as arranged, shortly after lunch. I’d already collected Eric and David from their cottage and some of the more mature guests decided they’d prefer an afternoon session to the livelier evening bash.

She was wearing Matilda’s present and looked stunning. Her hair was up, emphasising her bare shoulders and the soft curves of her unsupported breasts. As I’d requested, her neck was devoid of ornament.

Matilda had finally persuaded her to pluck her eyebrows and the finer curves lifted her eyes, drawing attention to their deep colour and size.

We collected on the gravel as she arrived, and watched her emerge from Matilda’s ancient Hillman Imp, like a butterfly leaving its chrysalis. There was spontaneous applause at the sight of her and she blushed with pleasure at our attention. The short satin dress echoing her flush in a deeper shade of crimson. I wondered how long it would be before she kicked off the matching high-heeled sandals, her preference for bare feet just one of her endearing qualities.

We gathered round her and sang the ubiquitous chorus, Eric holding David’s wheelchair to ensure him a good position. I took Faith’s hand and presented her to David.

He rose, desperately trying to hide his attempts to make it seem effortless, and embraced her. ‘I have a little present for you and it couldn’t be taken inside. That’s why we’re all gathered here for your arrival.’

Eric, on cue, helped him back into the chair and wheeled him the short distance to where it stood. Faith followed, a picture of puzzled excitement.

‘You’ll need these, of course, my wonderful, beautiful, charming and adorable daughter. Happy birthday.’ And he handed her the keys attached to a small leather fob bearing the county’s white rose.

At first, she didn’t understand what he was giving her and she looked at the keys in her hand in bewilderment. Only when David urged her nearer to the door of the car did she understand the significance.

Her face was a picture, which I managed to capture. She looked at the bright red Mini, with its gleaming white roof, and literally couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Honestly? For me?’ And then she thought she had it worked out and nodded. She was very good, betraying no trace of disappointment as she turned back to her dad. ‘How long for?’

He was quicker than I expected. ‘It’s not a hire car, my precious daughter, it’s yours. Yours to own, yours entirely and for as long as you wish to keep it. Taxed, insured and ready to drive.’

For a moment, I thought there would be tears, but she fought and won. Instead, she embraced and kissed him. When she straightened, she sought me out and stood before me. There was such delight and joy on her face as she looked up at me that I found myself deeply moved. ‘Leighton Longshaw, you are a wicked, wonderful, lying, marvellous, cheating, adorable, generous man. Thank you very much indeed.’

Without giving me chance to respond, she turned to the rest of the crowd. ‘For those who don’t know, this dreadful man sent me away on a driving course, at his own expense, and had me believe it was so I could deliver his orders for him. All the time he was plotting and scheming with Dad so that I’d be able to drive the car I’ve just been given. Can you think of a more wicked, wonderful pair of men anywhere?’

She turned back to face me as the assembled guests cheered and made rude remarks about us. Her arms around my neck, she kissed me full on the mouth, not fleetingly, as she had previously, but a full kiss with her lips slightly parted. It left me feeling more alive and wanted than any of thousands of previous kisses I’d been given.

‘Thank you, Leigh.’ And, for my ears only, ‘I love you.’

I froze for an instant and a vision of the whole party falling in ruins as I failed to make the expected response washed over me. But, true to her nature, she expected no reply.

‘I’ve got to drive it. I just must.’

Everyone cheered as she let herself in and studied the controls for a moment. One of the guests opened the gate. She waited for us to clear a way and then backed easily out of the parking space, executed a perfect three-point turn and reversed the car back into its original slot. She cut the engine and locked the door. ‘Sorry about that. Rude of me to abandon my guests for so long.’

Laughter all round and the man at the gate rejoined us wearing a rather sheepish smile as we went into the house for the remainder of the giving ceremony. I felt so proud of her, so proud that she was somehow associated with me. And her ‘I love you’, reverberated through my mind throughout the evening.

Matilda, elegant in a little black cocktail number, supplemented the satin dress with a small case of makeup. Zizi, sensually superb in mock leopard-skin cat suit, gave her a Nikon camera, knowing it would accept my lenses and accessories. ‘If you can’t beat the buggers, join them.’

Paul, my doctor and friend, suited and professional, presented her with a boxed set of ‘The Lord of The Rings’ for which he received a kiss and hug that had his wife, Sarah, looking somewhat askance. Ma, minus her apron for once, gave her a pair of excellent walking shoes, which fitted like gloves, and a small backpack. ‘So you can do some proper walking.’

Old Hodge, in corduroys and checked shirt, had managed to carve a wren from a branch that was still attached to the log it sat on so that it looked amazingly lifelike. She kept looking at it all through the evening as if it might fly away.

Netta, surprisingly demure in a flowing, yellow backless maxi but nothing else, gave her saucy underwear that she’d be unlikely to wear herself. Abby, turquoise boob tube revealing as much as it hid and floral flares hugging her lovely hips, gave her a stylish hair dryer for travelling. Eric, sombre in dark grey suit, shyly placed a string of natural pearls around the naked neck he’d requested, fastening the diamond clasp himself.

‘They were my mother’s. I’ve wanted to find a suitable neck for them to adorn and yours seems just right, lass.’

 There wasn’t a woman in the room who failed to envy her that particular gift and Faith acknowledged the honour by making him blush with her enthusiastic acceptance. There were other small gifts, and some flowers. I deliberately left my own till last.

‘This young lady, a lady because she is rightly treated as such by those around her, came into my life unexpectedly and completely changed it. So far, she’s brought in more than three times her salary in collected bad debts. She’s not aware that another of her charmingly threatening letters persuaded yet more money from tenacious claws this very morning, increasing my bank balance by four figures as a result. So, she’s worth her weight in gold. She organizes, controls and directs my business life with a gentle efficiency that allows me to concentrate on the creative aspects and I want her to know that I appreciate her more than I can say. She has never celebrated a birthday before and it’s fitting she should enjoy this gathering on her coming-of age. She’s been given pretty clothes, which she is wearing delightfully, makeup, which she’ll take some time to decide about, and some very personal items I would dearly love to see in place…’

‘And remove.’

I gave Abby a stern look that made everyone, including her and Faith, laugh. ‘…but suspect I never will. There’ve been brilliantly chosen books, a handcrafted work of art made with love, a priceless family heirloom and other items to let her enjoy life more fully. A beautiful woman who claims to be my friend has given my Girl Friday a camera so she can compete with me behind the lens as she already does in the darkroom. And, of course, that small present of her first car from her dad.

‘I had a good idea of what she was to receive, since most of you seemed to think it wise to consult me over appropriate gifts. I note that you completely ignored my advice to give her money, presumably because you all thought I was likely to try to steal it from her in some guise or other. My dilemma, then, was what to give this lovely young woman for her coming of age…’

‘But you’ve already given me a present, Leigh. My driving course…’

‘Tax deductible and therefore not valid.’

‘And, of course…it’s a steering wheel cover. Oh, you wicked man. Thank you, Leigh.’ She kissed me again.

I held her hands and smiled at her. ‘As I say, what do you give to someone like Faith? Money’s too impersonal and it had to be something not only marking her twenty first in a way that she would remember, but sending her a message I think she might otherwise refuse to hear.’ I took the envelope from my pocket, handed it to her and kissed her forehead to smooth the frown of puzzlement. My hands on her shoulders picked up again that tingle of pleasure I always felt from her skin.

‘Well, open it, then.’

She stood there in that short, delicious dress that emphasized her femininity so cleverly, and looked me in the eye for a full minute without a word. I almost quailed under that scrutiny but managed to hold my own and eventually she moved her eyes to the envelope and carefully opened the flap. She extracted what she found inside and examined it carefully before committing herself to the most wonderful smile of pleasure and surprise. I received another kiss of gratitude.

‘I love you even more.’

No one else was allowed to know what it was she whispered that rendered me so uncharacteristically contemplative.

‘Well? What is it?’

She turned and curtseyed to the assembly; an action that emphasized the shapely lines of her legs. ‘This terrible man clearly wants rid of me for a very long time. He’s given me vouchers to allow me to take a holiday for a month.’

‘Perhaps he’s hoping you’ll take him with you.’

I could have hugged Paul for his perception.

She looked at me for a sign that he was right. I tried to convey my agreement without signalling the same to Netta who was watching me like the proverbial bird of prey.

‘Perhaps I might. Or maybe I’ll take Mum and Dad. Maybe I’ll invite my secret lover. Maybe I’ll go alone. I’ll have to give the matter a lot of thought. Thank you, Leigh; a holiday does seem tempting. Thanks to all of you. I’m moved more than I can say and far more than I dare show. If you’ll forgive me a moment, I need a little while alone as I was raised not to cry in public.’ And, true to form, she calmly left us.

Ten minutes later, she returned, her face fresh and with no sign of tears, though her eyes held that hint of red that told the truth. For all that, she was recovered and in control.

Her father had to give up far sooner than he’d hoped and Paul offered to drop David and Eric home even though it was hardly on his route. I allowed him to do me the favour. I certainly didn’t want to miss one second of what was proving to be a very educational event where Faith was concerned.

As the evening wore on, so the drink loosened tongues and banished inhibitions. With the departure of the older people and the incursion of more young folk, the whole event livened up. Warm summer weather and daylight that only began to fade after nine, to give way to the gentle light of a fading crescent moon, leant an air of freedom to the whole proceeding.

Inevitably, at Netta’s instigation, clothes were removed and dancing on the lawn attracted some of the gang as participants and others as observers.

‘Going to join them, Faith?’

She shook her head and smiled at me as if I were being very silly. Very close, so I could hear her whisper above the music, she made a promise. ‘Alone, for you, at the right time, I’ll happily shed my clothes, Leigh. When you’re ready to love me, I’ll be more than ready to love you.’

Netta grabbed me before I could respond but all the time I cavorted with her and her abandoned friends, I heard Faith’s words and found my mind dwelling on her promise.

She was asked to dance by every man at the party and honoured them all, even the most uncoordinated and clumsy, with the same grace and favour. A couple tried to grapple her into a clinch but she managed to remove herself and maintain her own humour and their dignity so that no one was offended or left to feel rejected.

Faith impressed me more that night than any time previously. It was as if she’d suddenly become a fully mature woman in charge of her life and her being. And all through the dances and my eventual alfresco sex with Netta and then Abby, Faith’s words of love and promise haunted me, taunted me and, ultimately, declared all else no more than a sham compared with what she offered.

And she enjoyed herself, despite my other women, despite Netta’s almost orgy, despite the early departure of her father. I found my eyes drawn to her frequently during the evening, noting how she looked, how she held herself, how she remained honest but gracious with her many admirers.

Inevitably, the night turned into early morning. Some left for home with the help of the single local taxi, who made at least five visits over a period of three hours, or with reluctant parents dragged from bed, or more unwisely under their own steam. One pair returned on foot from the lane end and sought me out with exaggerated caution. ‘There’s a weird fat guy in the trees with a pair of binoculars. Just thought you ought to know. He pissed off as soon as we saw him. Big lad with an ugly face.’

I said nothing to the others but made a mental note to have another word with Merv. I wondered for how long and how frequently he’d been spying on us but said nothing to the girls. I was still positive he would do no harm, beyond his leching, especially now that my suspicions about Netta’s part in the so-called attempted rape had hardened.

Those who were too far gone or too wise to make the journey home found places to stretch out on floors and sofas and cushions.

A small group of us talked into the early hours, drinking coffee and setting the world to rights, Faith among us. She sat on the floor, opposite me, so I could study her at leisure as the talk touched on religion, politics, music and sex. Animated, her features were alive with complex expressions of emotion, her face portraying the truth of her words and her reactions to the words of others. No other face in that small group gave such a clear picture of the real feelings of its owner. I found myself fascinated by her in a way I hadn’t encountered before and wondered what had wrought this change in my perceptions of her; how she’d changed to come to my attention in this way.

Physically, she’d developed a great deal since our first meeting. Her body was now that of a woman, with firm, rounded breasts, a slender waist and the generous hips of a slim woman. Her legs were fuller and shapelier and her face had lost its pinched appearance. I could picture her now as a model and thought I might ask her to pose for me. She would refuse, I had no doubt but I was tempted, all the same.

Her eyes, when they met mine, as they did on numerous occasions during that early morning conversation, held a message of such promise that I felt almost overwhelmed by her open love for me. It frightened me that she felt so deeply about me. If I lied to her, promised her the constancy she demanded, I could have her in my bed and sample the pleasures she was so willing to share with me. But I couldn’t take that step. I wouldn’t betray her like that. And Paul’s words of warning returned even as I toyed with the idea.

Netta left the group first, dragging some other girl’s boyfriend up the stairs. It was clear she’d be with him for the night and I was sure she was trying to make me jealous. I, however, had Zizi to myself before she returned to London the following night.

Faith, of course, went to bed alone, making space on her floor for the abandoned girl to sleep in one of the sleeping bags.

Zizi was as generous as ever, and as tempting. But I felt something was lacking, not from her, but from me. ‘Hey, Stag, I’m here, remember?’

I indulged her, making up for my lack of attention with passion that was purely physical. If Zizi noticed the difference, she was grateful enough not to comment. But it was Faith who remained in my mind.

###

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