Forever Mine

* * *

The first flakes of snow were beginning to fall when the taxi dropped her guest off at Mary's front gate. Her heart missed a beat when the doorbell rang, and she rushed to answer it. The house was spotlessly tidy and the smell of roast beef drifted through from the kitchen.

Her guest looked tired as Mary opened the door with a shy smile. He stood on the threshold of her home, a large holdall in one hand and a black bulky bag in the other.

"Something smells good!" he commented appreciatively as Mary stepped aside to let him pass. Outside the snow swirled like silvery confetti in the light from the street lamp. It was almost magical and Mary felt like fate had finally conspired to send something wonderful her way.

She shut the door and locked it securely. She knew he wouldn't be going anywhere again tonight, so she hung the key up on the hook beside the hat stand. Her guest removed his black coat speckled with snowflakes and hung it up carefully. Mary cleared her throat nervously; she was horribly unsure of herself in the company of this man.

He turned to look at her expectantly and she realised he would probably want to see his room and maybe have a bath.

"The room," she said hesitantly; "It's upstairs. Follow me, please."

"Thanks!" the man smiled. "I could do with a shower or something, if that's okay. I've had a long day." He didn't elaborate as he followed her up the worn stairs covered with patterned carpet. Mary would have asked what he had been doing all day, but she was too nervous to, so she showed him to the guest bedroom with its large double bed and small sink.

It was clean and pleasant; the walls decorated with a small rose print paper and the furniture shiny and dust free. Mary watched anxiously as he glanced around the room, taking in the vase of snowdrops on the dressing table and the small selection of books next to the bed. He seemed happy with it.

"The bathroom is next door," she told him, her eyes cast downwards demurely.

"Thanks," he replied, walking past her and into the room, placing his bags by the window.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," Mary said. Then she left him to do whatever he needed to do.

From down in the kitchen, she heard the pipes rattling as he ran his bath and she busied herself with stirring the gravy. The meat was roasting slowly in the large oven, parsnips and potatoes in another tin above the meat.

Mary had prepared carrots and sweet peas to accompany the meat and she knew that her guest would have no cause to complain about her food. She was a good cook and she was justifiably proud of her skills. There were also Yorkshire puddings, but they needed to be done last.

A small drop of gravy splashed out from the pan and on to the tiled wall. Immediately Mary dropped the wooden spoon and grabbed her cloth. She wiped the droplet away and inspected the tile to make sure she had missed nothing. No, it was all clean again. She smiled happily and placed her cloth back in the sink. A clean kitchen was very important to her.

Cleanliness was next to Godliness, her mother used to say. Then she made her daughter sit in a scalding bath and scrub her skin with a coarse bristle brush -- just to make sure all the sin was washed away.

* * *

Her guest appeared and Mary showed him the dining room where a place was laid for him at the mahogany table. She had lit candles as well as a fire in the grate. The room was bathed in a soft yellow glow and it looked almost romantic. Mary wondered for a panic stricken moment if maybe she had made a mistake with the candles. She hoped he would not draw any inferences from them; she only wanted to make the room as nice as possible for him. He seemed appreciative however. He told her it looked lovely and gave her that smile again.

The smile that made her knees wobble and her tummy flip.

Blushing hotly, she hurried back into the kitchen and dished up his meal. When the warmed plate was piled high with food, she proudly carried it back through to the dining room and placed it in front of her guest.

He looked surprised at the amount of food she had given him.

"Wow!" he said, "I wasn't expecting such a veritable feast! Thank you very much - you shouldn't have gone to so much trouble..."

Mary said nothing. She merely smiled and backed away, intending to leave him to eat in peace.

"Aren't you going to sit with me? I'd rather not eat alone." He stared at her hopefully and she wavered. Although she preferred to eat her meal in the kitchen, she didn't want to offend him, so she nodded and went reluctantly to fetch her own smaller plate of food.

Mary sat at the other end of the table and picked at her plate while her guest tucked in with gusto. She couldn't help but stare at him as he ate. He had such lovely manners. Her father had had the manners of a pig. He rarely used cutlery, preferring to shovel the food in with a hunk of bread. It was like watching an animal eat -- only animals had more finesse.

"You are a wonderful cook, Mary," John said after a while. "I'm amazed you haven't been snapped up by some lucky guy!"

Mary felt a warm glow steal through her body. He thought her she was worth having. Nobody had ever said that before.

"Thank you," she said shyly before lowering her gaze demurely towards her food.

They ate some more, or rather John ate while Mary chased the food around the plate. She was much too nervous to continue eating.

"What are you doing here...I mean in town?" Mary said eventually. She was curious despite her crippling shyness. He seemed different to the normal type of person who stayed as a guest. Mostly they were workmen - rough and ready, and non-communicative. That suited her perfectly as she was not much of a conversationalist either. They ate her food and thanked her politely, which was fine by her.

This man was different. He had an air of other-worldliness about him. She sensed he was from a different life to her and a part of her hungered to know what this life was. She found herself reaching out to him, wanting...needing... to know more about him. He aroused something unexpected in her and she revelled in the strange feelings he invoked.

"I'm a photographer," he replied. "I work for a travel magazine and I'm doing some shots of the local area for an article we are producing. It's very pretty round here!"

"Yes it is. There are some beautiful places nearby. The woods are lovely..." Mary's voice trailed off and she suddenly remembered her father again. He had liked the woods too. He spent a lot of time hunting and killing in those woods. When he wasn't drinking.

"Perhaps you could show me the best spots? That is if you aren't busy tomorrow."

Mary was jerked back to the present and she suddenly beamed with pleasure.

"If you want me to, I could." The thought of spending some time with John made her soul sing with joy. It was a sign! God had finally seen fit to send her someone to love. She had waited a long time for the right man to come along. Just like the novels she read, the right man always came along in the end.

Virginia sat in the window and read the letter written on heavy parchment paper, her heart thudding hard within her chest. Count Von Trapp had invited her to his chateau... Her blood quickened in her veins and she clutched the precious note to her heaving bosom. She could hardly wait for the journey to begin.

John finished his meal and yawned heavily.

"That was wonderful!" he told her. "You are an amazing woman!" He held her gaze before glancing at his watch.

Mary was left speechless. No man had ever been so nice to her before. She blushed deeply and jumped up to clear the plates.

"No, let me," John insisted, his hand covering hers momentarily.

Mary felt a tingle of electricity jump up her arm and she stared at John, suddenly frightened of something she didn't understand. She pulled her hand away abruptly, afraid of what might happen. She was not used to men paying her attention and there was something about this man that caused her nerves to dance with anticipation.

John stood and helped her to collect the plates. He followed her into the kitchen and placed them next to the sink.

"Shall I wash?" he asked cheerfully.

"No, no -- you don't need to do that!"

Mary shook her head, suddenly feeling claustrophobic with him stood so close her. She sensed that he was interested in her, despite a natural reserve and her perceived lack of appeal to most men. It frightened her and she needed time to think about things.

"Are you sure?" John asked again. "I really don't mind you know..."

He dropped his gaze down her body for a heated moment and Mary felt a cold shiver run through her. A small malevolent shadow flitted across her mind, but she shoved it back into the dark recess and abruptly turned away towards the sink, turning the taps on and watching the hot water spew into the bowl.

"Well I'll leave you to it Mary," John said finally, when she didn't answer. "Good night."

"Good night," Mary replied faintly, not really listening any more. She was too busy thinking about tomorrow. She was really looking forward to showing him her favourite places. It would be a perfect day. She just knew it.

Virginia walked beside the Count, listening to his deep voice telling her the names of the flowers blooming in the meadow. She could feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest and wondered for a fleeting moment if he could hear it too. He was so handsome...his black hair curled beguilingly over the collar of his white shirt. She felt her skin warming, and not only from the gentle spring sunshine...

* * *

Mary was dreaming. She was back in her kitchen - or rather her kitchen as it used to be. The walls were yellow and stained with thick grease from the chip pan. The window looked out onto the yard, a broad concrete expanse of nothing, pitted with occasional weeds. The brick outbuilding lurked out at the far end, the peeling wooden door hanging off its hinges and swinging slightly in the breeze.

The sky outside was black, although the kitchen was brightly lit. Mary was confused. How could it be so light in here when the bulb was broken, broken glass littering the grubby floor? Suddenly the back door swung open and her father lurched in, his face red and sweating with exertion.

Mary froze and shrank back against the refrigerator, hoping he had not seen her. Father belched loudly, rancid whiskey fumes erupting from his stomach. Mary watched in disgust as he scratched absently at his crotch, his eyes unfocussed and glassy, and his huge body leaning momentarily against the table.

Abruptly he turned and saw her, a slow smile spreading across his face. Mary wanted to run and hide, to do anything other than stay here like a bug under a magnifying glass about to be fried in the sun.

Her feet were welded to the linoleum. She tried to move but found she could not. Something was stopping her.

"Mary, Mary..." her father giggled, spittle dribbling down his whiskered chin. "Come to Daddy, Mary," he grinned.

Mary tried to say no, but the words refused to form in her mouth. They stayed trapped in her mind, screaming loudly, echoing round her head while the silence in the kitchen was deafening.

Her skin crawled in horror when her father touched her face. His fingers felt rough and harsh on her soft skin. She could smell the tobacco on them; see the yellow, nicotine stained nails, long and jagged.

"So pretty..." he mumbled incoherently. "Just like your Mother..."

Mary tried to shrink back, but she had nowhere to go. The chrome handle of the door pressed painfully into her back and when she attempted to shift sideways, her father blocked her passage with his bulk and she was trapped.

Strangely she could smell roast beef. Her dream self sniffed the air and wondered where the delicious smell was coming from. It made her tummy growl and her mouth water. Father stared past her and continued to mutter about her mother.

He reached and touched her breast through the thin cotton slip she was wearing. Mary looked down in horror when she realised she was still wearing her thin flannelette nightdress. Why was she wearing her nightdress in the kitchen? She should be dressed. Mother never allowed her to roam the house in her nightclothes; she said it was tempting fate.

Her body shook with fear as her Father stroked his meaty hand over her nipple before moving lower. When he pushed his hand roughly between her thighs, she finally managed to scream.

"NO!"

But he didn't listen. He just carried on mauling her flesh like he was gutting one of his kills.

* * *

Mary awoke drowning in sweat, a muffled scream trapped in her lungs. She could feel the tears running hotly down her face, soaking the pillow beneath her head. Her eyes were tightly closed, but when she felt a hand caressing her breast, she opened them with a start, adrenaline pumping wildly through her veins.

"You're so pretty, Mary..." John said, lying next to her in the dark. "Such pretty brown eyes," he crooned softly. "I love women with brown eyes."

Mary tried to scream again, but she couldn't. Surely this was still a dream? John was a nice man - he liked her. She knew he liked her -- he had told her. They were going to spend the day together tomorrow...she had been looking forward to it. She had fallen asleep thinking about him; imagining walking with him in the woods, him picking a wild flower for her.

She even had a picnic planned. They would eat some of the cold beef in sandwiches. She had some cake left and she would take some of the cheese he had told her he liked after dinner. It would have been perfect; just like a novel.

Virginia sat down beneath the shade of the massive oak tree, the blanket laid out on the grass before her. Count Von Trapp sprawled across from her, eating a cooked chicken leg with enormous gusto. She watched, fascinated as his teeth ripped the flesh from the bone. Suddenly he caught her staring and he smiled; a slow smile full of promise. Her eyes dropped to the grass and she felt her cheeks growing pink once more...

So why was he here, in her bed, his hand touching her body? Part of her knew it was wrong, but the rest of her just closed down. It was the only way she knew to protect herself from the pain.

And so Mary lay still. The tears ran freely down her cheeks as John lifted her nightdress up and touched her intimately. She felt his fingers probing between her legs and she moaned slightly, revulsion battling with unknown sensations.

"Mary, Mary," a voice whispered in her ear. The voice told her how pretty and sweet she was.

Her mind kept flitting between images of her Father and John. Reality merged with memory and when John climbed on top of her, his hands mauling her breasts and his hard body thrusting into her dry virginal flesh, she felt nothing any more.

The man grunting harshly and tearing at her painfully with his hard body did not exist any more.

Mary took herself to her dream garden, where the flowers always bloomed and the birds sang sweetly. She sat beside the stone fountain and watched the water sparkle in the sunlight, tiny rainbows shimmering in the air.

There was no pain or wickedness here, only peace and tranquillity. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. The regimented flowerbeds thrived in the warm sun. Each and every bloom was perfect, the shape of the petals perfectly symmetrical. Not one solitary thing was nasty in this garden. It was how her life was meant to be - perfect.

The sweet smell of cinnamon came from somewhere, but she didn't know where. It did not really matter. She was happy just sitting here, feeling the sun warm her skin. A part of her recognised that this was not real, but the door was firmly locked on reality for now.

When John rolled off her body leaving his sticky residue behind, Mary was scarcely aware. She lay supine on the bed, her nightdress torn and rucked up round her waist. John stood and pulled his trousers up before leaning over her,

"Thank you Mary..." he smiled gently in the half light. "You are a perfect woman!"

Mary did not reply, although she was vaguely aware of him shutting her bedroom door as he left.

* * *

The cake was almost ready. Mary peeked through the oven door and smiled brightly as she saw how golden it was. She could see it only needed another few minutes.

As she waited, she finished washing the pots and pans she had used. Soon they were all tidied away, stacked carefully in the cupboards. She stooped to open the heavy oven door. Using thick gloves to protect her hands from the heat, she carefully lifted the cake out and placed it on the side.

It was a beautiful cake -- perfect in every way. Mary looked at it proudly and considered how best to decorate it. It needed something special to mark the occasion. After all, this was the first time she had had a special person to share it with.

When the cake had cooled slightly, Mary eased it carefully from the tin and placed it on a wire rack to allow it to cool completely. It needed to be cold before she could ice it without risking the icing melting down the sides. That would not do at all. It would look sloppy and he would be disappointed.

She frowned as she imagined his face if her cake was less than perfect. No, that would not do at all. A perfect man deserved a perfect cake.

The afternoon darkened as she waited for the cake to cool sufficiently to ice. By teatime she touched it and judged it ready. Mary measured out some icing sugar and added a drop of red colouring. She mixed the white powder with water and stirred it into a paste suitable for spreading on the cake. When it was smooth, she slowly poured the confection onto the sponge and watched delightedly as it spread outwards in a pink circle. It reached the edge of the cake and slowly stopped. She rubbed her hands together with glee -- it was perfect.

All the remained was the extra decoration she had decided to place on the cake. She had wandered down to the shop that morning, looking for something to make the cake just that little bit extra-special.

Two small children had given her the idea. They had bought a packet of candy hearts -- the ones that had cryptic messages on them. Mary had thought that was a wonderful idea. She could pick the best ones out and place them on the cake. He would then realise her true feelings for him. It was easier that way; she was much too shy to actually say the words out loud.

She took the packet of sweets from the table and opened the wrapper. The small candy hearts tumbled out in a pile of pastel colours. The messages written on them seemed rather arbitrary, but Mary sifted through and found some that were suitable.

She lined them up and smiled.

Love You...Love Me...Always...True Love...Kiss Me...Forever Mine.

He would read the words on the cake and know how special he was to her. Carefully, Mary placed the candy hearts on the icing, arranging them in a rough heart shape. She then took a red ribbon from a drawer and wrapped it round the side of the cake. The cinnamon scent from the sponge was delicious; her mouth was watering in anticipation of tasting the cake she had laboured over all afternoon.

But no, she would have to wait. HE would have the first taste. It was in his honour after all. Mary washed her hands and placed the cake on a tray with a knife and two china plates.

Slowly she walked upstairs to where he was waiting for her. The bedroom was gloomy with the curtains tightly shut, but Mary was familiar enough with the layout of the room to avoid stumbling over anything.

He lay on the bed silently and Mary put the tray down on the table by the window.

"I've made you a cake," she said softly. "Do you want a slice?"