Educating Harry Ch. 20

Jennifer intervened, "Susan let me just check you out, photographers often mess up my work," Susan followed her into the family room, a couple of miniscule adjustments and Jennifer pronounced herself satisfied.

Jane returned, "Joe's here and we leave in ten minutes, I told him to wait in the lounge room until the photos were done.

Joe stood up as the women entered but he only had eyes for Susan, "Susan, you're beautiful, absolutely stunning."

"Joe Callaghan," replied Susan censoriously, "that's a wild exaggeration, don't be so silly."

Joe looked to his sister for a moment, but Jane just shrugged her shoulders in an expression of, 'What can you say?'

Carrie settled the matter, "No Susan, Uncle Joe is absolutely right: absolutely," she repeated with conviction.

Only a few minutes later Joe and Susan dropped Carrie off and continued on their way, as soon as Carrie was through her front door she texted her mother, 'Joe and Susan with you in five minutes, Susan amazing, never seen anything so amazing.' Maggie smiled for a moment, "Just like Carrie to send a completely ambiguous message."

Maggie was busy however, and at that moment spotted the arrival of a guest her mother particularly wanted to see. "Ah Marcia, so good to see you," she greeted her brother's former fiancée with dulcet insincerity. "My mother is particularly keen to have a few words," she added, steering Marcia towards a carefully laid trap.

Ellie waited to greet the guests at the foot of a sweeping staircase, "Ah Marcia so good of you to come," murmured Ellie, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had banned any invitation to Marcia for the previous seven years. "Now Alvin," added Ellie to Marcia's husband, "run along for a minute or two, I want everyone to see Marcia and I chatting, to know that we have made up." Alvin did as he was bid and Ellie continued, "I've been told that Joe has just arrived with his new young lady, I'll introduce you to them."

Marcia was pleased with the effort Ellie was making and only the faintest tinge of suspicion crossed her mind, "And who is Joe's new young lady?"

"Susan Tremaine; Joe met her in the country, she's a widow."

"Oh I see," responded Marcia, more relieved than she would care to admit, "A country girl...an older woman."

At that moment the music stopped for just a few seconds, Maggie's cue to send Joe and Susan down the staircase. Almost all the guests had arrived, and not unnaturally heads turned in that direction as the major domo announced: "Mr Joe Callaghan and Mrs Susan Tremaine."

Marcia turned towards the stairs, and saw Susan for the first time, her mouth fell open, astonished, "Oh my goodness, Ellie, she...she's lovely, utterly lovely."

Ellie smiled, as did almost everyone taking in the new arrivals. What they saw was Susan in a high necked gown with three quarter sleeves, essentially silver, but with a small pattern picked out in just enough gold, which somehow projected warmth. The light seemed to play over her, giving the impression that it caressed her perfect figure as she moved, first clinging ever so slightly, and then moving on.

Two hundred and fifty women momentarily each felt a little bit drab, Marcia like many of the others, instantly doubted the deep cleavage, the final application of makeup, and realised that the spectacular piece of jewellery was perhaps a mistake.

None of them knew what Susan was thinking. For the first time in her life she realised, she knew the impact she had made, "I am beautiful, I really am and I feel it completely." The consciousness of it caught her by surprise, but whereas a few short weeks ago it would have been self consciousness, tonight it was an overwhelming awareness of herself and how good she felt.

Introductions were made, cameras flashed, and Marcia knew with a dull certainty, that the comparisons in the society pages of the weekend press would not favour her. But she put on a brave face and greeted Joe and Susan warmly enough. They turned away into the crowd. Ellie could not resist a comment, "Remarkable isn't she?"

Marcia smiled ruefully, "No Ellie, much more than that, she's going to be a sensation, look at the men jostling to meet her... most of them old enough to know better; it won't be long before the young wannabe women will want to be seen with her too. Susan's just got it, she's a star, beautiful is one thing, but she has that indefinable 'je ne sais quoi' that sets her apart."

Ellie was lost for words, but only for a moment. "Marcia, whatever response I expected from you, I didn't expect that."

Susan's night was perfect, she could barely believe that so many people wanted to meet, her, spend time with her and partly because and partly despite her inexperience she revelled in the attention. The minutes and hours flew by and late in the night Joe recovered her from the attention of his friends to dance with her. "Having a good time?" he asked obviously.

"Oh yes, wonderful," and then changing tack slightly she said, "Joe, earlier you said, 'you're beautiful, stunningly beautiful,"

"Yes."

"You can say it again if you like."

Joe did so and held her a little closer.

Susan was silent for a few seconds..."Another man said exactly the same to me a few months ago...I told him it was a wild exaggeration too, but tonight, tonight I feel ok with it, you might just be right."

"Of course I'm right," asserted Joe but after a few more seconds thought he added, "But who is this other guy you're talking about?"

Susan smiled serenely, "No one to concern you Joe, he was my dance teacher, and only a teenager at the time."

"Oh, that's alright then."

Susan made no further comment and rested her head on his shoulder for a few moments.

It was very late when the car picked up Joe and Susan to take them home, Susan was silent on the short journey and Joe just put his arm around her and left her to her own thoughts. Joe's own mind was surprisingly confused, "We've had a fabulous night out, but I wonder, should I ...would she?" Joe didn't want to spoil anything, and though his desire for Susan was almost overwhelming, he was as nervous as a teenager, that he might somehow spoil it all. If only Joe could have read Susan's mind, she was quite certain what she intended to do.

They stopped at the door of Susan's bedroom. "Joe, thank you for this evening, it was wonderful, better than I could ever have imagined." She put one hand against his cheek, then leant forward and kissed him gently but quickly on the other.

Joe went to respond, he meant to respond, but quick as a flash Susan was through and behind the closed door.

Joe stood for a few seconds, cursing himself silently: he was hardly to know that Susan was leaning on the other side, her back to the door listening intently, breathing heavily.

After a few seconds she heard Joe walk to his room next door and the door open and close. Susan moved surprisingly quickly, she undid her dress a little and took off her bra, then hitched up the skirt of her dress and pulled off her panties. Susan then readjusted herself a little and waited... five minutes had never seemed so long, but she was determined it had to be five minutes.

At last the minute hand came round to the twelve; Susan left her room quietly and made her way along the passage. The softest of knocks drew no response from Joe so she turned the handle and went in. Joe was already in bed. She could see him in the moonlight which just penetrated the room.

"Joe, Joe," she whispered, "I need your help."

Susan stepped into the pale moonlight. "I need your help... to unhook my dress."

She turned her back and sat on the edge of the bed.

Joe sat up quickly and did as he was asked, despite a slight trembling.

Susan then rose and stepped forward a pace, she let the dress fall to the floor, just as a tree outside swayed in the slight breeze sending faint light playing over her nakedness. She picked up the dress and placed it over a chair before turning back to Joe. "Joe," she leant over, her breasts brushed against his chest. "That's not all I need, I need..."

Later, much later, as the sun rose over the harbour Joe Callaghan fell into a dreamless and utterly contented sleep.

Harry Salt arrived at the Hawksworth oval right on time on Saturday morning. Most of the team was already there and the one or two stragglers soon made up the numbers.

The visiting team arrived in a small convoy of cars and utes a minute or two later. Harry didn't know at least three of his own team and introduced himself to them first. At least a couple of them looked very young, no more than fifteen or sixteen, obviously still at school. "At least the Reverend William is playing," he said to himself, "he should be good for a few runs."

"Talking to yourself Harry?" Pete broke in him.

"I was just wondering about our team, by my reckoning, we are at least one bowler and maybe three batsmen short of ideal."

"No negative thinking Harry, we have to do the best with what we've got, At least one of these school kids is a really good batter...I'm hoping that you'll be surprised. We'll just have to give it our best shot."

Harry said nothing more and nodded in agreement.

Pete then turned to the rest of the team, "Listen up; we've lost the toss and they have decided to bat first, remember it's a fifty over game so we can't afford to give away any easy runs. Clarrie," he added, speaking to the youngest and smallest member of the team, "You're wicket keeper so get your kit on."

"I thought you were the wicket keeper," said Harry as they went out on the field.

"I am normally," said Pete, "but the Reverend's got a twinge in his hammy so I may have to be fifth bowler... not good, especially in the semi final."

The game started uneventfully, the wicket looked hard and true and would have helped a genuinely fast bowler, but the Hawksworth opening bowlers virtue was accuracy rather than outright speed. Runs accrued steadily and it was almost a surprise when one of the batsmen flicked at a loose ball and Clarrie took a simple catch. Little happened until the score passed sixty when the other opener played all around a straight ball to be bowled. The visitors reached one hundred without further loss in the twentieth over and despite several bowling changes lost no more batsmen.

Suddenly, a few overs later Pete tossed the ball to Harry, "You're on mate."

"You want me to bowl spin," suggested Harry.

"No," responded Pete decisively, "I want you to bowl your quicker stuff, medium pace left handed. Pitch it in line with their legs to the right handers, but don't stray offline. I want you to slow the scoring rather than get them out, build pressure on them; hopefully they'll get themselves out at the other end."

It seemed that the first part of Pete's strategy worked, as the score slowed to a crawl against Harry's defensive bowling, but then an expensive over at the other end conceded ten, but caused Pete to take a risk. He brought on the other youngster, Brad, a tall quiet boy who played in spectacles; it was immediately apparent that he had talent, a talent for bowling one good ball, often followed by an equally bad one. But fortune favoured the youngster, within a matter of minutes he had conceded twenty five runs but had also dismissed four batsmen, two skiers off bad balls, and a sharp stumping, and another catch to wicketkeeper Clarrie.

"Just keep going mate," grinned Pete to Harry, "I'm gonna take Brad off, I reckon he's had more than his share of luck. Harry kept going, and at the end of his ten over spell had taken none but, only conceded thirty four runs. Pete then brought the openers back and despite one or two big hits by the tailenders, the visitors were all out in the forty eighth over for two hundred and ten.

"Good result so far," Pete told the team at the break between innings, "I expected we would be chasing two fifty at least, but don't be complacent, their bowlers are a lot quicker than ours and we might struggle more than you would think."

Harry decided to take a walk around the oval but was called back by Pete, "Hey where are you going, you need to get ready, you're opening the batting."

"You're kidding; surely you've got better options!"

"None of the options are that good," conceded Pete, "You're a slow scorer but at least you're difficult to get out... your job is just to hang in there whilst the Reverend William scores the runs. If he gets out cheaply, we really are stuffed. Don't worry if he outscores you by three or even four to one; just stay there."

Pete's assessment was correct, the Reverend William was easily Hawksworth's best batsman, and having played every match that season was in top form. Harry neither as talented and completely out of practice soon fell well behind. Against a steady and fairly quick opening attack Harry only opened his account when the vicar had scored twenty and the modest crowd was applauding the Reverend William's fifty before Harry got to double figures. Harry mistimed or just missed every attacking shot he played, and the opposition quickly started to sledge him unmercifully.

"Don't take any notice of the abuse," recommended the vicar, "it was one of the reasons Pete put you in to open, he thought the youngsters might be rattled by it."

"Not exactly a recommendation," grinned Harry to himself, but he hung in there. The opposition made several bowling changes but without result, the vicar passed eighty and Harry struggled to fifteen. Numerous bowling changes were made but with no result for their frustrated opponents.

Then just as the opening partnership passed one hundred in the twentieth over, the opposing captain brought on their fifth bowler. The Reverend William had a brief discussion with Harry, "I don't know why their captain didn't open the bowling with this kid, he's really quick, genuinely fast, but a bit wild, I saw him in juniors last year."

The new bowler was a tall slim aboriginal teenager, his approach was deceptive, very relaxed, but the instant he released the ball Harry knew what his batting partner meant. The ball whistled past the vicar's bat and thudded into the keeper's gloves who had moved much further back. The Reverend William was clearly troubled by the newcomer's sheer pace, but when the bowler dropped short he had no trouble pulling the ball to the fence.

When Harry faced him it was an entirely different story, he saw the first ball well enough, but just didn't react in time, five and a half ounces of rock hard ball slammed into the back of Harry's right hand. The pain was excruciating and Harry could barely hold the bat for the next ball, fortunately it was way off line and whistled through harmlessly.

"Whaddya think the fuckin bat's for," chortled the opposing captain, enjoying Harry's obvious discomfort, and the chortling turned into complete hilarity when the following ball smashed into Harry's ribs. Harry was in trouble, completely out of practice he was no match for the young fast bowler, a fact instantly confirmed as the next ball glanced off Harry's forward prod to again rattle his rib cage. Harry felt like throwing up and the Reverend William had a few words with him to give him a chance to recover.

The last ball from of the over was just what Harry needed, hopelessly short, it deserved to be hit over the fence, Harry swung hard... but it didn't go over the fence, short it may have been but it was still very fast, Harry connected but only with the edge of the bat. The next thing he felt was a massive thump on the side of his head as the ball deflected into the visor of his helmet.

"One," yelled the vicar, and Harry ran the single though his head was still ringing from the blow.

The next thing Harry remembered was a sharp pain and the bowler asking, "You alright mate?

He had only passed out for a few seconds but when he came round Harry was sitting up with his shirt covered in blood. One of the fielders was holding his helmet and Harry could see what had happened, the ball had broken the visor and the jagged edge had made a deep cut in and above his eyebrow. His eye was closing rapidly, and there was no chance he could continue. Harry was led from the field holding a cloth over his eye and various people offered conflicting advice on what to do next. "Harry needs to go to the hospital to get it stitched," decided a familiar voice. It was Trixie, the Reverend William's wife. "I'll take him," she added. "Here, hold this tight over your eye," instructed Trixie, and she handed him a tightly folded cloth.

It was less than five minutes to the Hospital and Harry was in luck, there was very little activity which was most unusual. A nurse had a quick look, "Hmm we get queues of footballers in here on a Saturday but cricketers, not so often...let's take a look... not too bad, a deep and ragged cut in and above the eyebrow, it'll need stitching."

The Doctor then arrived, "Hello Harry, I'm Doctor Gear, Frances Gear. She soon confirmed the nurses comments, "We'll need to put some stitches in... you might feel a bit numb already, so we could manage without a local, it's up to you." Harry elected to try without the anaesthetic and found that it wasn't too bad, the doctor worked methodically and a few minutes later announced all done. "Your right eye is unharmed, though you won't be able to see much out of it for a couple of days because of the swelling, Trixie tells me you passed out, probably shock rather than concussion, but do you have someone at home who can keep an eye on you?"

"My aunt."

"Good, tell Mrs Salt that if you vomit, or anything gets worse, you're to contact me straight away, and in any event I want to see you next Tuesday.

"Well Harry I had better take you home now," suggested Trixie, "don't argue, its not far, and not out of my way either."

When they arrived, it was to discover that Harry's aunt was not in fact at home. "I'll give her a ring," said Harry, "she probably hasn't gone far." Aunt Diane had not; she was visiting a near neighbour and said she would be back within ten minutes.

"I think I'll wait for your aunt," decided Trixie, "considering what the doctor said, just to make sure you are alright."

"Oh, there's no need to," began Harry.

"There's no point arguing, because I'm staying until your aunt gets here."

He resigned himself doing as he was told, and after a few seconds Trixie spoke up again. "Harry, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about, and now is as good a time as any.

"What is it?"

"Harry," Trixie hesitated. "Harry, William and I are expecting a baby... the thing is Harry, we wouldn't be if you hadn't helped us," she hesitated again, "You know, that evening at the church hall."

Harry was lost for words, dumfounded, "And Harry," Trixie continued, "It is William's and my baby, just ours, you do understand that don't you?

"Well, I... I just don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, I just thought you ought to know, it wouldn't be right if I didn't tell you. I chose you because you're clever, like William... and nice... and I knew you would be going away. I'm sorry if I tricked you a little, but I just had to do something, I was desperate. I won't ever talk to you about it again, but I had to tell you."

"Sorry Trixie, but I'm just lost for words."

"Well I did dump it on you a bit I suppose...just say you're happy for us."

"I can say that I suppose, and I suppose I should say congratulations, and the best of luck."

"You are such a sweetie," responded Trixie, and she squeezed his hand and gave him a brief kiss on his cheek.

Aunt Diane's car lurched into the driveway only seconds later bringing their extraordinary conversation to an end. "Now what have you been up to Harry, that's a nasty cut you have there, and you'll have a huge black eye in the morning.