The World Made Yonder Pt. 04

'How can you enjoy uncertainty?' he said, with a hint of accusation.

'But I'm not uncertain,' she said. 'That's the point.'

'I don't understand.'

'Joey, I'm sitting here with a man's seed inside my body ... and it feels right. I can't think of any other word. And that is so contrary to what I've been taught—that what's "right" is having a career or having my own money or being an "independent woman". Now, I'm not saying those things are unimportant, but they're not what my life's about. This feeling, this simple feeling of having been impregnated, feels way more comfortable than I ever expected it to be. I'm kind of shocked at how "me" it feels. It's like all my career goals were school exercises I did to please the teachers, whereas this means something. And even if I have my period tomorrow, that doesn't change things. That simply means that I'm not having my baby this time—but I will have a baby. It's no longer a "someday" wish. It's what I want now. And knowing that changes everything.'

***************************

As soon as Celia and her mother arrived in the kitchen, Stephen came in from the garden wanting someone to play swingball with him. So they skipped coffee and Patricia prepared lunch while Celia played with her son. After lunch, Patricia changed into her walking shoes and the three of them went on a hike through a nearby forest. The afternoon was sunny with patches of cloud and Celia found that the simplicity of tramping through the woods was doing her a lot of good. It still hurt to think of Joey with another woman, but it also felt distant, like an unpaid bill which can be ignored for the time being.

After half an hour's walking, they came across a fallen tree, roots exposed to the air, the branches already sawn off and taken away. Stephen climbed on at the narrow end and made his way along the trunk, getting higher and higher. Patricia walked on the ground alongside, keeping pace with the boy and warning him to be careful. Celia smiled, watching him from a distance. It was clear to her that Stephen was being careful. Then a little voice in her mind said, 'Would you be smiling if you were here with your husband instead of your mother?'

No, thought Celia, she wouldn't. She would be criticising Joey under her breath for allowing Stephen to climb on the tree. She would be the one walking by the trunk, incessantly warning the boy, moving to catch him if he fell. And she would complain to Joey about it all the way home. Yet here she was, doing what Joey would have done, letting a boy climb on a tree. Letting him take a risk to see if he could do something. Smiling with pride as he reached the end, watching him take hold of a giant root and then turn to wave to her. Celia waved back, a smile on her face and an ache in her heart.

When they got back to the cottage, Celia gave Stephen a bath while Patricia made supper. Stephen was tired out and began to nod even before dessert. Celia kept him awake long enough so that he changed into his pyjamas and brushed his teeth. He was sleeping on a camp bed set up in the spare room where Celia would also be sleeping that night. Within five minutes of settling him in, the boy was fast asleep.

Celia went downstairs and found her mother in the living room, drinking a small glass of sherry. She was sitting in one of two matching armchairs and there was a small couch for guests. Until today, Celia would have had no compunction about taking the second armchair, but this time—after getting herself a sherry—she took a seat on the couch. There was a large television set which, despite being sleek and black, looked like an antique in the era of flatscreens. Celia and her mother sat staring at the distorted reflection of the room in the blank screen.

'Thanks, Mum,' said Celia after a while.

'For what?'

'For a really great day. And for giving me space. I know you must have opinions on my marriage situation and I really appreciate that you're keeping them to yourself.'

Patricia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She took a sip of sherry and said:

'Stephen seems remarkably fine for someone who's been told such traumatic news.'

'Oh, he's had his moments, believe me. But yes, overall, he's doing okay. Better than me, I think.'

Patricia looked across at her daughter. The older woman seemed to want to say something, but wasn't sure how to put it. Celia stared at the television screen, then looked over at her father's chair.

'What happened last night?' she said. 'After I called?'

'Your father was watching television in his chair,' said Patricia. 'I came in and told him that you wanted to stay the weekend here with Stephen. He was delighted, of course, but he asked about Joey. So I told your father what you told me on the phone.'

There was a pause while Patricia finished her sherry. Celia held her breath as Patricia looked at the now-empty glass.

'He didn't believe me at first,' she said. 'I had to repeat it. Then he asked if someone had rung up impersonating you. I told him that I knew my own daughter, to which he said: "Well, that makes one of us".'

Celia flinched. Patricia now seemed to regret the physical distance between them, but it didn't seem like the appropriate time to move seats. She took a deep breath and continued.

'I left your father alone for about half an hour,' she said. 'You know, sometimes he just needs time to chew things over in his mind. But when I got back, I saw that he had finished the whiskey. It scared me. Your father is not the nicest of drunks. He was on his feet and lurching around the room.'

'What did he say?' asked Celia in a small voice.

'To begin with, he was going on about the friends he had lost,' said Patricia. 'I mean, I know he saw active service in the Falklands and Northern Ireland, but I didn't understand why he was bringing it up now. But, as he went on, I realised that he wasn't talking about men lost to enemy fire. He was talking about men who committed suicide or became alcoholics because of what their wives did. He knew so many horrible stories.

'The one which stuck in my head was a friend who had saved his life. This man returned home to find his wife pregnant with another man's child and the news that his four-year-old daughter wasn't his. They didn't have DNA tests at the time, but the blood test was considered conclusive and the woman took the little girl away to make a family with the new guy. So this friend of your father drove to the coast and drowned himself in the sea.'

Celia had her hands over her face. She felt sick, grief-stricken and utterly bereft. She could almost hear her father's voice as he stumbled about this room, condemning her with every utterance. Patricia stared at her empty sherry glass, turning it in her fingers.

'I always knew he took marriage seriously,' she said. 'It was one of the reasons I wanted to marry him. I also knew what I could expect if I were to ... to do anything untoward. He made that very clear. But this side of him—I never really saw it before. He so rarely talked to me about his time in the military. I knew he was fiercely loyal to his fellow servicemen and the few I met had the same attitude towards him. And I knew that he hated disloyalty. But this anger at women who ... who did things outside of marriage—it goes much deeper than I realised. He considers it the worst form of disloyalty, to betray a man who is quite literally risking his life to provide for his family. And as for the wife who cuckolds her husband, well...'

Patricia went silent. Celia looked over and saw her mother staring out through the window, her profile almost in silhouette against the light of a standing lamp.

'Mum...' said Celia tentatively. 'What did he say about me?'

'I'm not telling you that.'

'I need to know.'

'Then you can hear it from him!' Patricia turned to face her daughter. 'If he wants to disown you, he can do that himself! I'm not doing his dirty work for him!'

And to Celia's shock and surprise, her mother burst into tears.

***************************

After brunch, Lorna sat Joey down on her couch, logged into the streaming service on her flatscreen and pressed the remote into his hand. Then she went off to clear the table and do the washing up. Joey tried to think of the last time he had sat and watched television while a woman did housework. Maybe Celia had done it before Stephen was born, but certainly not in the past few years. Joey realised that he liked it.

He used the remote to go through the titles and—on a whim—typed a word into the search box. There it was: The World Made Yonder. He clicked on the info button, calling up the plot summary and a still from the movie. It was a different image from the last time—instead of the heroine and her son, it was a portrait of the villain.

Joey studied the image and recalled the fateful evening he had watched this film with his wife. He had been so furious at the heroine's cuckolding of the husband with the 'alpha male', yet it now struck Joey that the villain was more alpha than either of the other men. He was the strongest character in the movie, the force which drove the story, and he had more charisma than the rest of the cast put together.

He was also a complete bastard.

Lorna finished with the dishes and came over to sit next to Joey. She slung her bare legs over his lap and snuggled next to him, looking at the screen.

'Oh, I like that actor,' she said.

'Yes, he is good.'

'I haven't seen this film. Do you want to watch it?'

'Perhaps later,' said Joey. 'I fancy some exercise. And fresh air,' he added quickly, just in case Lorna was about to make another lame innuendo.

The two of them got dressed and went out for a walk. Joey still only had his work clothes and it felt odd to be walking along the high street on a Saturday afternoon wearing a suit jacket and shiny, brown brogues. They arrived at the city park and, once they were inside, Lorna took his arm.

'Relax...' she said, as she felt the man tense up. 'Nobody here knows us.'

Joey let out a controlled breath and walked with Lorna's hand through his arm. The park was essentially a giant garden with rough grass, trees and bushes, all planted to impersonate a natural environment. There were well-maintained paths for walkers and bicycles and a bench every hundred metres or so along the paths. Joey saw an old couple vacating one and he steered Lorna towards it.

'No,' said Lorna. 'Let's keep walking.'

'I want to have a sit down.'

'No, you don't. You want to "talk".'

Joey stopped on the pathway and removed her hand. She was absolutely right, of course. He turned to face her.

'Yes, I want to talk,' he said.

'Well, I don't.'

'Lorna, we have to.'

'No, we don't! Joey, I already told you—I want to live in the moment and enjoy the day.'

'How can we "enjoy the day" with a Sword of Damocles hanging over us?'

'For God's sake...'

Lorna stepped away, folding her arms and staring at the grass. Joey noticed that they had both sidled off the path, giving themselves a little distance from passers-by. When Lorna looked back at him, he saw tears in her eyes.

'Look, Joey, you may see our potential baby as a "Sword of Damocles" hanging over your head, but I don't see it hanging over mine!'

'Lorna, I—'

'But even if you're right,' she said fiercely, stepping up to him. 'Even if our baby is a terrible, ruinous, disastrous...'

'Lorna...'

'...life-shattering catastrophe ... am I going to have that baby today?'

'No.'

'Then why do we have to talk about it today?'

Joey put his hands on his hips and stared around the park. He caught sight of what looked like two teenage mothers picnicking on the grass with their toddlers.

'I want to talk about it,' he said.

'And I don't!'

Joey looked back at Lorna. She was still glaring at him. He seemed to have a knack for picking women who ended up glaring at him.

'Well...' he said slowly. 'It seems we have a stalemate situation.'

'I didn't cause it,' said Lorna.

'Yeah, that's what Celia always says.'

'Don't compare me to her!'

'Sorry.' Joey took a breath. 'So, what do you suggest?'

Lorna sighed in exactly the way Celia would have sighed. Joey's gaze hardened as he recognised the pattern.

'Listen,' said Lorna. 'Tomorrow, you're going back to your life. Back to Celia and Stephen and that whole story. But, today, you're here and that's precious to me. And I don't want to spend that precious time having painful conversations like this.'

Lorna went up to him and put her hands gently on the back of his neck. Joey felt her breasts press against his sternum.

'I want to spend that time walking in the park,' she said. 'Having ice cream, watching a movie, making love and falling asleep in your arms. I want to spend the day as Joey Gardner's woman. And, for one day, I want you to be my man. Is that really so much to ask?'

Joey knew that she wanted him to agree and then kiss her. But there was a nagging voice in his mind telling him not to—telling him to say no. Yet a second nagging voice was saying, 'You enjoyed fucking her, didn't you? You enjoyed coming inside her juicy cunt, didn't you? So why not do something for her in return? It's only one day.' And since that first nagging voice offered no reason to say no, Joey said yes and he kissed her.

He gave Lorna her day and played the part of 'her man' to perfection. He bought her ice cream in the park and made her laugh with his banter. They got Thai food on a whim and ate it while watching The World Made Yonder. And he made love to her that night, holding her tight and coming inside her. But as Joey felt semen pulse through his penis into her body, he didn't feel like a Cave Man having his way with a sexy woman with big tits. He felt like a robot carrying out its programme.

Joey held Lorna until she fell asleep. Then he turned away and lay on his side, staring at the wall in the darkness.

***************************

It was a bright Sunday morning.

As Celia drove across a roundabout and into the city outskirts, she pulled down the car's sun visor to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. Her smartphone was set in its dashboard holder, a male voice giving directions. The destination address was the home of a retired sergeant called Harry Fenning. It was also where Celia's father had spent the night.

Celia's heart pounded as she drove. She had the window open a crack and was taking slow, deep breaths. Her mother and Stephen would probably be having breakfast about now. Celia felt a burst of gratitude towards her mother. It was Patricia who had gone through her home phone's call history the previous night and found Harry's number. It was also Patricia who had persuaded her husband to at least see his daughter, strongly hinting that he was running away from the situation rather than facing it.

Celia arrived in a cul-de-sac with maisonettes on one side and bungalows on the other. Each one-storey building was identical, but the owners strove to make their individual marks with their front gardens, gates and other exterior paraphernalia. Harry's bungalow had a knee-high brick wall along the front and his square of grass boasted a trio of rose bushes. There was a space between two cars in front, so Celia reversed into it. She closed the window, switched off the engine and sat in the car.

Five minutes later, she was still sat in the car.

A man in his sixties came out of the bungalow, a white-and-brown cocker spaniel at his heels. Celia got out of the car and looked across its roof at the man. He was shorter than her father, stocky and fit-looking despite his age. He smiled and raised his hand, and Celia returned the greeting. She noticed that he was holding something in his other hand.

'You must be Celia!' he said in a resonant voice.

'That's right.'

'I'm Harry. And that young lady sniffing the rose bushes is Marylebone. A pleasure to meet you!'

Harry had walked around the Nissan and he offered his hand. Celia shook it, relieved to be given such a warm welcome. Harry held up what looked like a pair of giant scratch-cards.

'Guest permits,' he said. 'It's residents' parking here, even on a Sunday, and we don't want you getting a ticket, do we?'

'Thanks,' said Celia, taking the permits.

'Just put them in the car under the windscreen,' he said. 'It's one hour per permit, so just give me a shout if you need more.'

'Oh, I ... I don't think...'

Celia fell silent. Harry gave her a couple of friendly pats on the arm.

'Things will be fine,' he said. 'You're Graham's only daughter, I understand?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I have a little patio in my back garden and because it's such a lovely morning, I've set things up so you and your father can talk there.'

'You're very kind.'

'It's no trouble. There's fresh coffee too. I have one of those French plunger thingies.'

'Sounds lovely.'

'Come on, then. Let's get you inside.'

Celia walked with Harry along the path and into the house. She somehow managed to keep up the banal, friendly chitchat, while underneath feeling like a condemned prisoner on the long walk to the gallows. Her heart pounded so hard, she could literally feel the blood pulse in her head, yet she was still able to compliment Harry on the cosiness of his home and the liveliness of his dog.

Harry's kitchen had glass sliding doors which led out into the garden. It was a small, neat garden bounded by a six-foot high fence and the patio was immediately before the glass doors. Through them, Celia saw white garden furniture—a round table with two matching chairs. On the table was a glass coffee pot, along with small cups, saucers, teaspoons, a small cream jug and a sugar bowl. And on one of those chairs sat her father, his back to her as though admiring the immaculate state of the lawn.

Graham Sinclair-Johnson was a tall man and broad across the shoulder. He wore a tan polo neck jumper and pressed trousers, and the white hair surrounding his bald crown was cut short and neat. The moment Harry slid open the patio door, Graham got to his feet and turned around. His eyebrows and moustache were thick and dark, which gave him a stern, imposing expression, but his eyes were the same blue as Celia's. Those eyes never left his adult daughter as she stepped out of the house and onto the patio, and they were very cold eyes indeed.

'Celia,' he said, with painful formality.

'Hello, Dad,' said Celia. 'Thanks for seeing me.'

Marylebone was snuffling around the base of the fence, the only one not feeling uncomfortable. Harry took hold of the second garden chair—which had a flat cushion tied to it—and invited Celia to take a seat. She thanked him and sat, and Graham resumed his seat on the other side of the small table. Harry pushed down the plunger on the coffee pot and poured two cups.

'There you go,' he said. 'Help yourself to cream and sugar.'

'Thank you,' said Celia.

'Thanks,' said Graham.

'Right...' said Harry. 'Now, I need to take Marylebone for her walk. So, you two, just make yourselves at home. And Celia ... there's a W.C. next to the kitchen if you need it.'

'Thank you, Harry,' said Celia.

Harry called the dog over and took her into the house, sliding the patio door closed. Both Celia and her father sat facing the lawn, and neither said a word nor made a move until they heard the front door close. Celia picked up her cup and looked into it.

'I think I could use something stronger than coffee,' she said.

Her father made a small grunt. He picked up his cup and took a sip. Celia added cream to hers and stirred it with a teaspoon.

'I really like Harry,' she said.

'He's a good man,' said Graham. 'I've known him a long time.'