TREADING OVER FATE, A WOMAN PASSES THROUGH
Son, if you dont leave that brazen woman, consider you no longer have a mother! That Jean is at least fifteen years your senior! My mother repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.
Mum, I cant. I just cant! I wish I could I tried to explain, feebly.
…There once was a sweet girl, Emily, fourteen. Pure, modest, bright as morning sun. I first met her at a youth disco in our village hall when I was just eighteen. Oh, how she caught my eyealmost enough to bring tears!
Through one of her friends, I managed to manoeuvre an invitation for Emily to go out with me. Did you think shed turn up? No! Like a beagle on the scent, I started tracking her down. Found her home number, rang endlessly, implored her for a meeting. At last, Emily relented. But she warned meI must visit her mother and seek permission first.
There I was, standing at Emilys door, sweating, red-faced, nerves all a-jangle.
Her mother turned out to be a jolly woman with a laugh as round as a teapot. She entrusted me with her treasure for a two-hour walk.
Emily and I wandered through the park, chatting and laughing. All very proper. Suddenly, Emily said:
Edward, I already have a boyfriend. I think I love him Only, hes a terrible flirt. Im tired of finding him with other girls. But I do have my pride. Maybe we can try being friends, you and I. Do you agree?
My eyebrows shot up and my curiosity grew sharper. So, Emily could seem untouched, but perhaps she truly did love. That only intrigued me more.
Our two hours ended too quickly; I returned Emily safe to her mother.
…Little by little, I found I couldnt live without her.
My mother, too, adored this little ray of sun. Emily was a frequent guest in our home. Mum tried to teach her all sorts of womanly tricks and wisdomstheyd chatter for ages until theyd forget about me altogether.
When Emily turned eighteen, we began to speak of marriage. There was not a shadow of doubt between us, nor our parents, that we would wed.
We set the wedding for autumn.
Summer came. Emily went down to Sussex to visit her grandmother. I spent summer in our cottage, helping Mum keep up the garden.
One day, while watering the tomatoes, I heard someone call:
Young man, could I have a spot of water?
I turned to see a woman about thirty-five, dishevelled with wild hair and a glint in her eye. I was sure she wasnt one of our usual neighbours. But how could I refuse? I handed her a mugful of well water.
Drink up, miss
She gulped it down and said,
Oh, thank you, young man! I was parched. Here, have some of my homemade cordiala little sweet but do try it as a thank you.
She pressed a brimming bottle into my hand. Well, when life hands you bottles, you take them. I called after her as she left, Thank you!
That evening, I tried the cordial over supperjust a glass or two, as Mum had gone to town and left me alone. Had she been home, shed never have touched it or let me near it.
The next day, the visitor returned. We got to talking and I learned her name was Jean. She lived somewhere nearby, in a cottage down the lane. I invited her in. She brought more of that sweet concoction. I cobbled together a little salad and some sandwiches. We nattered away, finished the bottle, andyears onI curse myself for what happened next.
Jean, as easily as plucking a dandelion, took me and made me hers. Like a calf tethered by a rope, I was entirely under her powerlost in a thick and senseless fog.
When I finally came to, Jean was gone. My mother was standing over me, shaking me awake.
Edward, what happened here while I was away? Who were you drinking with? And why is your bed in such a messa herd of horses could have trampled it! My mothers stare was thunderous.
I could barely prise open my eyes. My head was spinning. My hands shook. I could manage no explanation at all. By evening, clarity returned. I rememberedand felt nothing but shame before my fiancée Emily
Yet not a week passed before Jean was back again. AndI was glad, even missed her in some terrible way. Mum came out to the porch, hands on hips:
What do you want, woman?
I took Mum back inside.
Mum, what sort of way is that to greet a guest? Thats not like you. Maybe she’s just thirsty again
A guest? Shes Jean the Featherbed from round the lanes! Every dog knows herwanders about, seducing men from the allotments! Useless! Wants to get her claws into you too! Not a chance! Out with her, before its too late! Mum raged.
She didnt knowit was already too late. Jean must have bewitched me with her cordial; I was bound to her, not by love but by something tangled and strange. I knew she wasnt minebut I chased her like a shadow my whole life.
As for EmilyI forgot her entirely. And when I dared mention my fiancée to Jean, she just laughed,
Edward, a first sweetheart isnt a proper bride.
The wedding was called off.
My mother invited Emily round and told her everything.
Forgive Edward, love. The poor dolt doesnt know hes sliding into ruin. When he wakes up, itll be far too late. Hell be lost with that tart, worth tuppence. Go and build your own life, Emily, dont wait for him, Mum apologised for me.
Emily married well in the end.
Mum, desperate to save me from Jean, visited the recruitment office and begged them to call me up for the army on urgent ordersId had a deferment until then. I was sent off to the Falklands. No point describing what happened there I returned minus three fingers on my right handa light wound, they called it.
My mind, however, was battered. I feared nothing, cared for nothing. Jean waited for me. By then, wed a little son already. Before I left for war, not knowing if Id return, I scattered my seeds, so to speak. There was our son. On battlefields, Id dreamt of five children.
Mum stuck to her old waysstill refused to speak to Jean. She showered kindness on Emily, knitted socks and baby caps for her daughter. For some reason, Mum was sure Emilys girl was mine. Id have been elatedbut alas
Emilys life followed its proper course. Shed visit Mum, ask after me. Mum would only sigh,
Oh, Emily, Edwards still with that woman. I dont think hell break free. Whats he see in her, I cant understand
Years later, when I met Emily again, she told me of these sighs.
For now, I took a job up north. Jean and our three children came with me.
Two more babies were bornfive children at last. But then tragedy struck: our five-year-old daughter died of pneumoniathe northern cold is cruel. We returned home, where sorrows are easier to bear beneath the old English oaks.
More often, I found myself mourning for Emily, my lost bride. Longing for her seized me. I asked Mum for her number. She not only gave it, but warned meDont go stirring up Emilys marriage. Let sleeping dogs lie.
I called, and we met. Emily had grown even lovelier. She invited me to her flat, introduced me to her husbandcalled me an old childhood friend. Her husband, confident in her, went off to his night shift, leaving us alone.
Half a bottle of champagne and a bowl of fruit sat untouched on the table. Emilys daughter was visiting her gran.
Well, Edward, its good to see you. I hear all about you from your mother. Tell me, hows life? Emily asked, eyes clear and searching.
Forgive me, Emily. Thats how things turned out. Nothing can be changed. I have four children now, I stammered.
Theres no need to change a thing, Edward. Weve seen each other, remembered old days. Thats good enough. Onlybe kinder to your mum. Shes suffered a lot for your sake, Emily said softly.
I looked at her, unable to turn away. Time seemed to have left her untouched. Still beautiful, still everything. I took her hand, kissed her with every tenderness I had.
Emily, I love you now, as I did back then. Only our love drifted by unclaimed. You cant retell or rewrite life. Im sorry for all of it! My voice broke.
Edward, you should go. Its late, she said, and that was final.
But could I truly just walk away?
A rush of feeling swept over mea wild longing, a dizzying wave in my chest.
At dawn, I slipped quietly out. Emily slept on, peaceful.
We began secret meetings. This went on for three years. Then Emilys family moved from town to the outskirts, and the thread was forever cut.
Jean and I divorced after the children were grown. My mother was rightsome people stamp all over your fate, then move right on. Jean had done just thattrampled through my life, left my heart bent and broken.
…No matter how much you boil water, it remains just water.
Of all my children, only one proved truly my own. My very first boy…
