My Secret
There was a strange comfort to lying on the firm, freezing ground where yesterdays thaw had turned to tonights icy crust. The cold seeped through me, yet inside, I was burningblood pounding in my temples, a throb in my chest, my cheeks aflame, and an unbearable dryness in my mouth.
I scooped up a handful of snow, sluggish, as if half-paralysed, barely parting my teeth as I pressed a ball of icy wetness into my mouth. It was soothingthe numbness spread pleasantlybut the taste was marred by iron. Blood leaked from my battered gums, making me cough and choke it down. I simply hadnt the strength left to turn and spit.
The snow dulled the pain, and for that, I was endlessly grateful. A free anaestheticpraise be! But the cold couldnt quench the ache entirely; it just pushed it somewhere distant, somewhere past the horizon, where the sun was sliding down in a red orb. Even the sunset stung to look at; the light was so blinding my eyes burned and watered.
I screwed my eyes shut, but the smooth, enormous disk of the sun still painted itself grey-yellow behind my eyelids.
How I longed to crawl away, find sheltera hollow, a ditch, under a hedgeto curl up, whimpering and trembling like a whipped dog. But I had no strength. My legs lay upon the snow like two logs, occasionally twitching with cramps.
I tried to roll onto my side, bracing myself with my right hand, but it collapsed beneath me, a sharp, splintering pain darting through my shoulder.
“Right, then… No matter. Another way, then,” I muttered through clenched teeth. The sound of my own voiceraspy and hoarsestruck terror in me.
The left side of me, at least, felt whole, and with effort, I managed to pull myself up and sit, though my hand sank deep into a drift and my body met the chill again.
To dieyes, that was what I should do, right here, right now. And then it would all be over. What became of me after, it hardly mattered. Truly, Id bitten off more than I could chew. My faultId lost sight of the banks, drifted where I didnt belong. There was no saving me now.
Come morning, theyd look for my bodythey promised as much. But perhaps the wolves would get there first? They needed to eat, too Yes, then I could laugh at my enemies. All they’d find would be my bones.
Night closed in swiftly. I wanted only to sleep. I drifted into the dark, floating in its inky emptinessstrangely peaceful. Then pain dragged me back. Red sparks swam before my eyes, the fire spread through my veins, wringing my muscles with cramps, making me grind my teeth. I clung to the anger that flared up within mefutile, wingless, empty, but no less savage for that. Like hurling yourself at your foe, arms flung wide, screamingyoure unarmed, helpless, but the madness of your charge makes your enemy recoil. I longed, too, for revenge. But I couldnt strike a womanI truly couldnt. So revenge was denied me.
Rage kept my mind movingscreeching and groaning, gears grinding, but working.
And from somewhere deep in my belly came feara primal, ancient dread of death. It, too, kept me awake.
A wolfs cry carried through the undergrowth to my left. I grimaced. No, chaps! I wont be had so easilywhether you walk on two legs or four, you wolves wont get my bones!
I had to move. Somewhereanywhere. Crawl if I had to, just to shift from this point of utter wretchedness.
Mother Poor Mum. Shed be hoping for me, fretting, wondering if I was all right. She didnt know where I was, would never find out how it endedalthough, odds are, someone would tell her, eventually. Shed cry, and her tears would be my doing. Father would curse me. Deserved it, I suppose
My stomach churned and tears pressed from my eyes, freezing on my cheeks before they could fall onto my torn coat.
I began to crawl, clumsily propping myself up with my good arm, flailing my legs, painting the snow with red streaks, edging myself farther from that desperate, hungry howling
And then I slipped into nothingnessa place so light, so easy, that I felt nothing, thought nothing. Total blankness. If this was hell, then I found I didnt mind; Id have stayed if I could. Come on then, demons! Im yours. Ive sinned; take me, my ruined bodys of no use now, anyway
But even in hell, I was surplus. A blinding yellow light smashed into my eyes, icy, burning water poured between my lips.
“Whats this then? Got nothing to cough out? Cough it up, lad! Wash it from your throat!” Someone was slapping my cheeksroughly, each strike making the pain in my gums throb.
“Ooooo,” I groaned in protest, turning away, spitting bloody snow to the side.
“Alive then, are you? Come on, lets get you home. My places not far. Up you get on the sheepskin, Ill do the hauling. Cant manage? Ill manage for us both…” Someones strong hands lifted me, set me on a warm, sour-smelling sheepskin coat. “Theyve given you quite the beating, havent they? I heard an engine hum, peeped through the windowheadlights out on the field, as usual. These lot come here all the timetreat this place like a graveyard. Silly folk, silly,” the stranger carried on as he made me comfortable. “Never mind, lad, well patch you up, and see about what we do next.”
I mumbled something about wolves, about my enemies returning soon, but then warmth and peace claimed me, and I lost consciousness
“Youre so sweet, so gentle!” laughed Isabel, letting my lips trail across her smooth, oval shoulders. “A little calf, arent you? Youre my little calf!” She cupped my cheeks, pressed her mouth to mine, lingering as if to catch my fevered breath. Then, suddenly, she sprang up, tied her dressing gown tight. “Time you were off. Go now.”
“Izzy” I stretched contentedly across the stiff, starched sheets. “I could sleep. Its still earlylook at the clock! Chasing me off again”
I often spent the night at Isabel’s these days. Shed serve me supper, then send me for a bath while she made up the bed with crisp, fresh linens, always neatly ironed. Shed switch off the light and wait for me. The night slipped away unnoticed. Fresh back from the army, starved of any warmth, I fell straight from the bath into paradise. Isabel was beautiful, gentlefar superior to the giggling girls who once tried to catch my eye…
I would watch as Isabel slipped stockings up over her pale, silky legs, as she dressed behind the screen. The mirror showed me everythingthe sunlight on her, making her glow, dazzling, and so incredibly desirable.
“I said, out you go,” she whispered sharply. “Zip me up and leave, Max. Youre only making it harder. Come tomorrow, all right? Tomorrow”
We slipped in another kiss, and then Isabel tossed me my clothes and left.
I heard her in the kitchen, striking a match for the gas and grinding coffee. The strong scent filled the air. Her husband, Arthur, loved his coffeeas robust as possible, with a little pepper added, hed say it was divine. Izzy would perch across from him, awkward on a stool, smiling and nodding, careful as she tucked in her feet and balanced them on a rung so as not to call him by the wrong name by accident
I lingered a while, slipped into the bathroom, splashed about, took my time dressing. I sauntered to the kitchen door, leaned on the jamb. Isabels dressing gown glowed with sunlight, the fabric nearly transparent, hugging the elegant lines of her bodya silhouette shaped like a guitar.
Isabel was fifteen years older than me, but that never bothered me. If anything, I was proud shed chosen me over all the young fellows orbiting her.
Isabel She was experienced, indulgent of my bumbling advances, melodious in her laughter, and her kisses always left me dizzy. Shed let me stay in her wealthy, tastefully decorated flathigh ceilings, crystal chandeliers, polished wood floors, beautiful dishes. She fed mealways so hungrywatching as I wolfed down hash or mashed up cutlets straight from the pan, swilling vodka clumsily. Shed toast me, laughing as she threw back her head and exposed her elegant, pale throat for my hungry kisses.
She wanted us not to be too familiar, but I pressed her.
The first time Id seen her on the Tube, Id forced my way through the crowd to introduce myself to this striking woman, half-drunk and brash, my mate Greg somehow left behind. Id pushed, asked to walk her home, but she kept gently turning away, embarrassed.
Still, I walked her to her door. She told me to go, and I acted compliant, but stayed, hiding under the archway to watch her window.
She lived on the ground floor, her window facing my side of the courtyard. I could see her silhouette through the curtainsshe was changing. I watched, nearly whimpering with anticipation, until the caretaker chased me off with his broom.
I kept coming back every eveningobsessed. I told Mother I was out wandering, but I was always beneath Isabels window.
I saw her husband, too. The kitchen windows faced the same way. Isabels husband would stalk about in a faded vest and sagging, baggy trousers, gaunt, bony, with a stoop. “Why would she marry a fellow like that?” I marvelled. “Did she truly love him?”
Arthur would slowly eat his dinner, reading his newspaper, and then Isabel would bring his tea with a biscuit while I watched from the shadows. Once, he looked out sharply, as if he felt my gaze, leapt up and closed the curtains. Two shadows merged into one, and suddenly the idea that she could kiss such a man turned my stomach. How could my Isabel do that?
For a long time, we just played this game of hide and seek until I broke and crept in her open window one eveningher husband was away, suitcases in hand, I saw him off myself. I was ready for my daring feat.
Caught at her table, Isabel was startled, ready to scream, but I leapt up, clamped my hand over her mouth, and kissed her.
Oh, the scent of her! Her hair, lips, the light summery fabric of her dressall had their own perfume
Mother, I think, never had any perfume of her ownshe always reeked of the chemicals from the factory, or tobacco. She smoked those horrid, cheap cigarettes, chain-smoked themcould demolish half a pack in an evening. Her teeth went yellow for it; she never smiled with her mouth open, always ashamed. But Isabels teeth were like pearls, magazine-perfect. My mother rarely dressed up, and Id never noticed, until now. Now I found myself comparing, and the comparison made me ashamed for Mother. I wanted to buy her something, but stinginess stopped me. Fool that I was, I spent my money on bouquets for Izzyher husband never bought her flowers; he seemed altogether a sad, feeble man. Yes, they had a splendid flat, classy furniture, real paintings on the wallswhile our house had only magazine cuttings. Isabels china could have served kings, and her jewels were fit for empresses. But she let slip once that all of it came as inheritance. Her husband simply enjoyed the spoils of her family. Cunning, he was.
As for me, all I wanted was Isabel herself, not her things. A hearty supper and soft sheets sweetened the joy of being together, but I was sure Id have been as happy on a hayloft if she were beside me.
That summers scent on Isabelwas it French or Italian perfume? I couldnt tell. I only breathed it in, that scent on her hair, her skin, the hollow of her neck…
I always adored my womanyes, I claimed her: “My woman.” Id won her, invaded her sanctuary, and shed fallen at my feet.
Everything Isabel did was gracefuleating, dressing, smoking. Each movement harmonious, as if her body was a songa melody shaped like a guitar. Goddess. My goddess.
That first night, Id never forget. Isabel was truly herselfgentle, open, unguarded. She melted in my hands, and I felt myself melting in the force of my own passion. I knew, come morning, that she loved me. With her husband, she merely did her duty, endured his presence; with meshe breathed, lived, delighted. With me, the fire ran wild through her veinshot, sweet, reckless.
Still, I often had to sneak out at dawn.
“Get up, love! Wake up, you have to go,” shed kiss me after our third night together. “Hell be home soon, back from business. Come on, Max My dearest, beloved For a week, dont come. Hell be home, then hell leave again.”
“Why dont I just have a chat with him?” Id laugh. “Man to man. I want you for myself, Izzy! I want to be your husband!”
She laughed so freely, tossing her head back, chestnut curls tumbling down her shoulders like snakes, like a stream of golden syrup. I leapt up, caught her in my arms, kissed her.
“Mine! Mine, do you hear? Only mine! You really think I couldnt handle your Arthur? Id snap him with a stick!”
“I dont think about anything, darling.” She slipped from my arms. “I want things to stay the way they arelet me be your secret, and you mine. Some things arent yours to poke into, Max. Off you go now; I need to tidy up.”
I sulked then. She didnt want to be my wife! How could she?
But as she shut the door, she leaned forward, kissed me on the lips. I was spellbound. Finehowever brief, only at nightshe was still MINE. Shed think of me going to bed, remember me at breakfast, compare him to me, and I would always come out ahead. Whatever else, she was mine. Her Arthurhe was the fool…
After Id left, Isabel began frantically cleaning. Her husband had called late, saying hed be home sooner than planned. Clever, polite mandidnt want to catch her wrong-footed. Isabel, flustered and flushed, threw open the window to air out any scent of another man. But Arthur understood anyway. The old fox smelt a rival.
“It stinks in here, Izzy!” he muttered, dropping his suitcase on the rug.
“What of, then?” she asked, feigning confusion, drawing her wrap tighter.
“Something foul, Izzy. Havent been unfaithful while I was away, have you?” He looked up at her as he took off his shoes, then stood up abruptly. Fear tingled through Isabels chest, but she managed a smile.
“Dont be daft! It was just a chicken gone off in the oven. Imagine, Arthura bad chicken! Go on, get washed up. Ill set the table. Coffees ready, the cutlets too. Shall I heat them up? Come on, silly! Love you missed you,” she chirped, a touch too brightly.
Arthur grabbed her hair, pulled her close, stared into her eyes, then finally let her go and smiled.
“Ive brought you a present. Try them on!” He drew out a small parcel from his pocket, wrapped in a handkerchief. Earringscostly, set with blood-red stones, heavy, English clasp, slightly tarnished. “Go on,” he barked when she hesitated. She twisted the jewels, shot her husband a worried look.
“Arthur, whats that on them? Thatthat” She set the box on a shelf, wiping her hands on her dress.
“Silly! Just your imagination. Put them on, and lets have breakfast. Quickly, Isabel!”
She obediently took off her old hoopsMothers hand-me-downsslipped in the new earrings, turned to face her husband. He nodded, satisfied. Dressing her up as if she were a doll was his habitexpensive dresses, shoes, handbags, jewellery. Sometimes he insisted she sleep in heavy gold necklaces and bracelets, which left raw marks, but Arthur thought it amusing.
“Ill stay five days, then off again. Business is good, very good. Now, wheres the chicken, Izzy?” he suddenly barked, narrowing his eyes.
“What chicken?” Isabels hand jerked, coffee spilling onto the tablecloth. Arthur loathed dirty tablecloths, found them revolting. Perhaps it was from his childhoodmother a drunk, a crumbling house, nobody caring if little Arthur ate scraps or bones. He remained thin, unable to gain weight no matter how he tried. Hed nicked food from eateries and shops, dreaming that one day hed own everythingeverything delicious and beautiful and clean, a life so fine it would bring him to tears of happiness. Hed claimed Isabel for himself for that reasonshe was the best. Hed trample, crush, drown anyone in his way. Isabel once had a fiancé, a young physicist. Their wedding date was set, but he was killed in an alley one night. Pure bad lucka mugging
Isabel howled in grief, tried to leave this life too, but Arthur was therespinner of sweet words, subtle in his scheming. He enchanted her mother, supported them financially, slowly crept into Isabels affections, then struck. Her father faced prison over a theft, the family was desperate, but Arthur saved them; someone else went down instead, and next thing Isabel was sat at the wedding table beside Arthur, smiling as instructed.
She smiled now, covering the stain with a napkin.
“The chicken you cooked. Its not in the bin,” Arthur pressed.
“Oh, I took it out to the dustbins,” she waved a hand. “Couldnt leave it stinking indoors!”
Arthur smiled. Quite rightnot worth keeping rubbish in the house. The fox knew all along.
Once her husband left, Isabel called for me. She rang me at the factory, where I worked on refrigeration for the ice cream machines. Isabel loved the sort in the coneI always brought her one, feeding her from my fingers, kissing the sweet, crumb-dusted lips.
I got off work, making excuses about feeling ill, and hurried to her right after lunch. Heaven, how Id missed her! Couldnt have enough of her kisses, her burning embrace. She was fireburning, wild. That day she was all mine.
I hadnt been home in three days, hadnt called my parents. Id vanished, lost in pleasure. What of it? I was young.
I learned my mother was in hospital when I bumped into Dad at the factory gate early one morning. He stood therethin as a ghost, grey, hardly human, more like a shadow.
“Dad, whatre you doing here?” I asked, annoyed.
“Your mum She was taken in last night. Stomach again. You should visit,” he whispered, turning over his old, greasy cap in his hands. He always wore it, regardless of season. Even now.
“Which hospital?” I snapped, my thoughts still fixed on Isabel.
Dad gave me the address. I promised to go, said goodbye. He nodded, wiping his eyes. I noticed, but I didn’t care. Mum ended up in hospital half a dozen times a year, what was the fuss? There was no need to make a drama.
Isabel reluctantly packed me some food to takemy lovely, kind Izzy. An angel.
Mum lay on a hard trolley in the corridorno beds left. She was continually being sick; the orderly yelled at me to take her away.
“Where do you want me to take her? She needs treatment!” I snapped back. “Mind your lipsdont say a word against my mother again!”
Mum tugged my sleeve, begging me not to get angry, but I couldnt help it. What sort of hospital neglected patients this way? Why did I have to waste my time sorting things that had no part in my life? Mum was always being admittedshe should be used to it.
She nibbled at the soup Isabel had sent, said it was nice. I sat beside her, shoved by doctors and porters passing with trolleys, growing even more impatient, checking the time. Soonjust a few more weeks and Arthur would returnand Id have to leave Isabel again.
“Mum, can you finish on your own?” I snapped, dropping a bag of food at her feet.
“In a hurry, love? Alright, Ill manage, Max. Dont come tomorrow; dont fuss. Your dad will visit,” she smiled, stroking my hand.
I nodded and left. I had no idea the food would go to wasteMum couldnt finish it, nor that shed stay in the draughty corridor, being shouted at by the cleaners I didnt care, I was thinking only of Isabel
I returned to our nest to find Isabel sitting on the floor in tears.
“Whats the matter?” I froze in the doorway. “Whats happened?”
She trembled and pointed to a pile of trinkets glinting on the rug.
“Arthur gave me those earrings. Last time he was here. I I tried cleaning themtheyd tarnished, old things. And I foundTheyretheyre disgusting, Max! Get them out of the housedo you hear! Take them away! They shouldnt be here! Im scared of them!”
She wrapped the jewels in a rag and thrust them at me.
“Go! Take them outside, toss them out, Max! Im so frightened! Whatll happen now?” she moaned, mascara running down her cheeks.
“Dont fussIll scrub them. Arthurll notice if theyre missing! Whats so bad about them? Oh, for heavens sake”
I understood everything. Her husband still had no shame, bringing home trinkets snatched by God-knows what means. No doubt it was so before, but today hed excelled himself Black, flaking patches like the stains left by a wound. A deadly wound.
I gulped, queasy with disgustlike Id waded through muck.
“Isabel, shouldnt we go to the police? Its so…” I started, realising, as I spoke, how futile it would be. Isabel would never betray her husband.
Obediently, I left, tossing the bundle over the printers wall near Izzys building. I never noticed the thin, stooped man in the shrubs, though I should have He had been watching us for a long time.
Arthur and a pair of his toughs came in the night. We had only just fallen asleepdrunk, oblivious to the sound of the lock, the boots creaking over the parquet.
I woke to punches, blind in the darkness, someones fists hammering into me, Isabel shrieking until she fell silent.
I tried to fight back, head pounding with pain, my mouth full of blood. I swung at shadows, missing every time. Id had too much to drink.
Then the lamps blazed. Arthur was sat in an armchair, surveying me. Beside him, Isabel stood with eyes squeezed shut.
“Terribly sorry for the disturbance,” her husband said softly, “but I need to collect a few things. Izzy, dear, come kiss your husbandhes home!”
He tugged her arm, she doubled over, his lips bruising her face.
“Arthur, you have to understand, he” Isabel gestured at me.
“Dont care,” Arthur replied, nodding, and his men hit me again. I tried to dodge, to hit back, but I was spentI’d used up my strength with wine and passion that evening.
“Darling Izzy, be a good girl, fetch up all your baubles. I do need them, my dear.”
Arthur stood and loomed over me. I could barely see through swollen eyes, my breathing labouredmy ribs must have snapped.
“And you, crawl over here, you little bug. Crawl for me, go on!” he ordered.
“Arthur” Isabel fussed with a chest of drawers. “Leave him alone. You did let me, after allYou werent against itWe agreedWhy hurt this boy?”
“Because he reached for the forbidden fruit. I dont like him, Izzy, get it? I dont like him. His mums in the hospital, dying, and hes, what, playing lover on our sheets! Ours!” He kicked me savagely. “You ought to respect your mother. I despised my own, but still, we gave her a queens funeral. And you, you scoundrel, have abandoned yours.”
“How do you?” I choked, coughing.
“I know everything. The whole citys under my heel, Max. Not surprised? Didnt Izzy warn you who you tangled with? Well, there goes another ruined life, silly girl,” he shook his head. “Ive forgiven countless others, but not you.”
I slowly lifted my head, searching for Isabel in the blur. My mind reeledMum in the hospital corridor, that stooped man at the end, the soup, the scolding orderly, the night spent with Izzy, her caresses, her innocent pleasuresas she called them All of it eclipsed by Arthurs cold, pale-blue eyes as he bent low, sneering into my face.
“Youll never see your mum again. Thats what you get,” he hissed. I whimpered, terrified. I was worthless, vile; Id die here
“Now then, what should I say to him?” Isabel recovered, shoving jewellery into some bag. “He came himself, I never called him. The boys grown, hell sort himself. Here, Arthur, all there,” she handed him the heavy bag.
He checked inside, nodded.
“Now put on those earrings I gave you last,” he said.
“Oh, they’re not the right colour for this gown, Arthur! Later, later!” Isabel tried to flirt away his demand. I froze.
“Put them on now!” Arthur roared, firing a shot at the floor near my hand.
Isabel pretended to search for the earrings, rummaging through drawers and linens.
“Shell think of something! She has to think of something! Shell save us, my sweet, kind Isabel!” pounded in my head.
“No, Arthurgone! I left them here, but nowthey’re gone! Empty!” Isabel threw up her hands, glancing at me. Through the slit my eyes had become, I saw her. “You! You thief!” Suddenly she kicked me hard, I fell sideways. “You stole from me! How could you? I made broth for your wretched mother and you cleaned me out! Arthur, please, get this hideous creature out of the house! My golden watch is gone, the heirloom from my great-grandmother! MaxDisgusting, all rottenI thought you were a good lad” Arthur
That watch had been payment to a doctor who gave her an abortion. She might have had a child with Max, but didnt want it. Arthur wanted one, but couldnt. Hed never have let her end a pregnancy, even if it wasnt hisIzzy paid with the watchfor secrecy. Now shed pinned it all on Max.
Arthur told his men to drag me up. I scarcely remember the rest. Only Isabels face stayed with meonce so beautiful, so fiercestanding behind her husband as he finished breaking me to bits.
“I wont have thieves in my house, Max,” he told me there in the snow. “I can understand most thingslove, youthful boldness, even my wife. I forgive betrayal easily enough; you think Im faithful? I have as many Isabellas as there are houses round here. But I wont abide a thief. What’s mine is mine!”
I lay down on the icy ground, my foolish heart awash with heat, listening to his car drive off, the wind howling, snow lashing my face. Then all that was left was the pounding in my temples, and the thought that the woman I loved most had betrayed me. My heart froze over, healed.
You know what happened next
I spent many days in that gamekeepers cottage. He brought in a doctor; together they patched up my ribs and legsmercifully, not broken, thanks to Arthurs thugs. These perfect strangers stitched me up. I could only thank them through gritted teeth, and theyd snort at that.
“Youll be back on your feet soon, mate,” the gamekeeper told me.
Three weeks passed before I ventured outside. The fields were awash with sunlight, dazzling and hot as molten steel poured into a mould. The snow, ablaze with light, seared my eyes; the gamekeeper lent me his dark glasses.
“Now off you go,” he said. “And next time, dont take what isnt yours. You might not be so lucky.”
As I packed my boots, I heard the pair whod nursed me discussing how much Arthur had paid them to save me. I froze, the boot falling from my hand, pressing my back to the wall.
“What did you say?” I croaked.
“Nothing. Arthurs a generous man. Greedy, but soft-hearted. His wife, thoughshes a sly one. Always selling his gold on the sly, planning to leave him, but when he catches her, she offers up a lad like you to appease him. Youre not the first, nor the last. Well, the wealthy have their oddities. Take care, Max. Next time, bite off only what you can chew. Off you go, lad,” they patted my shoulder, smiled.
I reached the city as dusk settled. Straight to the hospitalmaybe Id catch Mum after all.
“No such patient on our books. Sorry,” the receptionist snapped the window closed. My appearance must have frightened her.
“Pleasecheck again!” I pleaded, tapping frantically, but then gave up and walked home.
The sunset was red again, like the one in that field. I shuddered.
Homes windows blazed with light. I sighed in relief, stumbled to our front door and rang and rang the bell, until it opened and there stood Mum, tiny and thin, staring up at me in fear. I threw my arms around her, saw Dad behind her, and burst into tears.
“Weve been so worried, love,” Mum said softly, loading my plate with fried potatoes. “But Mr Petrie rangsaid youd got into trouble, but would recover and come home, also said not to show your face in the city for a bit or you might get in trouble with the law”
“Mr Petrie?” My fork dropped.
“Yes. Someone from the Ministry of Health, apparently. He visited me at the hospital, got me a private room. Max, thank you for arranging his help! Without him, I wouldnt have survived”
She went on, crying and stroking my cropped hair, while Dad watched me closely. I couldn’t hold his gaze, looked away.
Years passed. My wife Mary and I would walk the winter streets searching for the right Christmas tree. New Year was comingMary loved a real fir, its sharp, resinous scent, the needles prickling the floor, the trunk sticky with shiny sap.
Stalls selling trees were everywhere, but we struggled to find our own.
“Lets try over here,” said Mary, pointing to a corner patch behind hessian screens. The rough light of lanterns showed trees like skeletons, dead branches in a heap.
I nodded. We entered; Mary was testing a branch when a woman in old boots and a worn cardigan called out in a rough, husky voice:
“Buy first, lovethen touch. Hands off until its yours!”
She stepped into the light. A woman, no makeup, flat with bitterness, anger flickering in her eyes.
I knew her. Isabel. My first, furious love. The woman whod scarred me. Sometimes Mary would ask the story behind a scar or mark; Id invent some foolish tale. I lied because I loved hermy Mary was life itself, honest, good, my rock. Made from my rib, sent by God. I wanted never to hurt her.
Isabel looked at me, spat. She recognised me.
Arthur had her out here in the cold, flogging trees, while he sat warm in some restaurant, quaffing champagne. He didnt hit or curse her anymorehed simply outwitted her, as always. Shed lost everything. No more boys for her to save herher beauty had faded, and the bait was gone.
“Lets be off, Mary,” I said quietly, taking my wife’s hand. “Nothing good here. Ill take you to the farmswell pick our tree and cut it ourselves.”
Mary smiled, trusting. She truly loved me, and I could hardly believe I deserved it.
And is it true that for this happy life I owe thanks to Mr PetrieArthur? For not telling his heavies to finish me off all those years ago? Thin, stooped Arthur bested me, made me forever his debtor. Serves me rightBut I never told Mary any of that. You see, everyone deserves a secretone small, cold ember cupped close inside the palm, never shown, never spoken, flickering only now and then when memory passes by. Isabels eyesonce molten, now hollowflickered across me and vanished, swallowed by the gloom beyond the lights. I felt nothing but gratitude for the hand I held, the warmth of Mary’s laughter as she pulled me along, and the clean ring of winter air in my lungs.
We found our tree that nightnot the tallest or straightest, but sturdy, fragrant, alive. As we carried it home together, snow began to fall, dusting our hair and shoulders with bright, silent forgiveness.
When we paused, breathless and happy by the front gate, Mary touched my face, brushed a flake from my lashes, and smiled.
“Max, promise mewhatever has passed, whatever comes, well always come home together.”
And I did. For her, I could promise anything.
Inside, the light was golden, the kitchen warm. In the mirror, I glimpsed myselfthe crooked nose, the scar at my browand did not look away.
Outside, the city whistled and moaned, stirring all the ghosts. But behind our closed door, laughter rang, and the tree stood tall, shimmering with tinsel and hope. Somewhere, perhaps, Arthur was lifting a glass to the fortune hed earned and the empire hed built. And Isabel, selling trees to strangers in the biting cold, watched the world revolve without her.
But in our house, with my Mary and our little, ordinary joys, I knew my secret was only this: love is not the burning, desperate blaze I once thought, but the slow, steady warmth that keeps the cold outnight after night, year after year.
And for the first time, it was enough.
