The World Made Yonder Pt. 04

'Did you serve with him?'

'No. But when you meet others who've been in the military, there's a bond you have. A shared experience.'

'I can imagine.'

'Can you?'

Graham sipped his coffee, his gaze fixed on the lawn. Celia swallowed and looked into her cup. She heard her father let out a long breath through his nostrils.

'How's my grandson?' he said.

'He's fine,' said Celia. 'As lively as always.'

'Good, good,' said her father, nodding. 'And Joey?'

'Um ... he's been better, obviously. He's very upset about the whole ... the whole situation. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't really know how Joey is.'

'I see,' said her father. 'And how about you, Celia? How are you doing?'

Two big tears dropped from Celia's eyes. She was so moved that he asked.

'I'm doing really badly, Dad,' she said. 'I'm making a real mess of my life. I feel stupid and scared and ... and...'

Celia burst into tears. The cup shook in her hand and she spilled coffee onto the patio. Graham reached across and took the cup from her hand, but he made no move to comfort her. He sat and drank coffee, waiting patiently for her to finish.

It took a minute or so, but eventually the crying jag passed. Celia had some paper tissues in her coat pocket, and she used them to dry her eyes and blow her nose. Her father refilled her coffee cup and even poured in some cream.

'There you go,' he said.

'Thanks.'

Celia sipped her coffee and looked up at the sky. It was clear blue with very few clouds. She heard her father's chair creak as he sat back and crossed his legs.

'So, what's going to happen with your marriage?' he said.

'I don't know,' said Celia. 'I've told Joey that I want us to stay together, but it's up to him now. It's his decision.'

'I see.'

Graham sat and sipped his coffee. He swallowed it and frowned.

'Why do you want to stay with him?' he said.

'Because I want to keep the family together,' said Celia.

'But why do you want to be married to a man you don't respect?'

'I do respect him!'

'Celia, you can't respect a man and have another man's child!'

'That was an accident.'

'Celia, you can't have sex "by accident"!'

'I wasn't talking about the sex itself.'

'I know that, Celia. That doesn't change the fact that a woman who respects her husband does not cheat on him.'

His voice rang out across the garden. Celia's face and neck had gone bright red and she saw her father looking sternly at her. She looked down. There was no answer to that.

'Do you know what a cuckold is?' said her father.

'Yes.'

'Tell me.'

'It's a man whose wife is unfaithful.'

'No, that's the polite version,' said her father. 'I'll tell you what a cuckold is. A cuckold is a man whose manhood means nothing to his wife. It's a situation whereby one man's "hunkiness" is of more value to a woman than another man's sacrifice and commitment and integrity. Celia, no matter what you say or what apologies you make, your actions demonstrate that one night with Bjorn was more important to you than Joey's lifelong commitment.

'And here's the rub. If Joey doesn't divorce you—if he stays with you—he is effectively endorsing your view of his manhood. He is supporting your decision that bringing up another man's child is the best that he deserves. I've seen countless men do that, Celia, and believe me, after a couple of years, it's hard to even see them as "men" anymore.'

Graham was sat forward, his feet flat on the tiles. He rested his elbows on his legs and stared at the garden.

'Did your mother tell you about this friend I had?' he said. 'The one who took a walk into the sea?'

'Yes,' said Celia quietly.

'Well, I went to his funeral,' said her father. 'And his ex-wife was there with her daughter. But you could tell that she was only there because someone in her family had the decency to point out that maybe the little girl needed to say goodbye to the man she thought of as Daddy. Anyway, afterwards I went up to this woman and asked, "How do you live with yourself?" Do you know what she said?

' "A woman has a right to be happy."

'That was her answer! That was her justification! "A woman has a right to be happy"! And all that other "shit", like morals and ethics and promises and marriage vows and children who need their fathers and good men ending up six feet under because they "weren't quite good enough" ... all that meant nothing to her! Not a thing! The only thing that was of any importance at all was her own personal happiness. That was it! That was the extent of her interest.

'And she's not the only one, Celia. Not by a long chalk. I've seen more men go down because of women like that than through any kind of war. These women whose "Right To Be Happy" supersedes everything else.

'And it breaks my heart to realise that one of them is you.'

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

Lorna awoke slowly, cocooned in the warmth of her duvet. She opened her eyes and looked to the side. The pillow was pressed in, the sheets were crumpled, but there was no one there. Lorna sat up, now wide awake, and looked at the chair. Joey's clothes were gone.

'Joey?' she called out.

'In here,' came a muffled response.

He was in the living room. Letting out a long sigh of relief, Lorna got out of bed and put on her white bathrobe. Her heart was going fast and she took a few slow breaths as she slipped her feet into a pair of fluffy slippers before going out to join him.

Joey was sitting at the table, reading something on his phone. He was already dressed, although his suit jacket was hung over the back of the chair. He put the phone face down onto the table when Lorna came in and took a drink from a glass of water.

'You could have made yourself a coffee,' said Lorna, as she sat opposite him. 'Or tea. Mi casa, tu casa.'

'It didn't seem appropriate,' he said.

Lorna felt the muscles of her face tighten. She knew that feeling—it was the first stage to eventually crying her eyes out. She wanted to scream at the man: 'We had sex, for fuck's sake! Do you really think you need permission to take a goddamn tea bag?' Instead, she swallowed and said:

'You want to go, don't you?'

'Yes,' said Joey.

Lorna nodded sourly. Tears pricked her eyes and she wiped them away. She wished Joey would say something comforting so she could tell him to go fuck himself, but he sat quietly waiting. He was handling the situation the way she had seen him handle difficult clients—with patience, with tact, with intelligence. And she hated him a little for that.

'Well...' said Lorna. 'I suppose that's it, then. I can't force you to stay.'

Joey said nothing. He seemed to consider taking another drink of water, then deciding against it. Lorna felt her anger grow.

'What do you want from me, Joey?' she said.

'I want to know you're okay.'

'No, you don't. You want to leave without feeling guilty.'

'That's not true.'

'Bullshit!'

Joey leaned on the table and looked her in the eye.

'Lorna, on Friday, you told me it was inevitable that you were going to get hurt if you had sex with a man you knew wasn't in love with you. Remember?'

'So that's your excuse, is it?'

'It's not an excuse! I simply want to point out that it's just as inevitable that I was going to feel guilty about it. I knew that even at the time.'

'Joey, what are you saying?'

'I'm saying that I knew this moment would come—the moment when you and I go our separate ways. And I knew when that moment came, you'd be hurting and I'd be feeling guilty. But I also knew that the only way to avoid the hurt and the guilt was to not have sex at all. To say no to the entire experience. And I didn't want that. I wanted to have sex with you. I wanted to...' Joey hesitated. 'Shit, I don't know if I can say this.'

'Say it.'

Joey lowered his voice, his gaze fierce.

'I wanted to pump sperm into your cunt,' he said. 'And the fact that we're playing with fire in so many ways just made me want to do it more. I now know what Lorna Jones feels like and tastes like and sounds like when she's being fucked, and that memory will stay with me until the day I die. I love that we did this and if I have to carry some guilt as a consequence, then bring it on! I can't speak for you, but for me it was totally worth it.'

Lorna's face had turned pink and her bathrobe had fallen open. She swallowed and gave the man an intense look.

'There is no way you're leaving this apartment, Mr Gardner,' she said.

'Yes, I am.'

'Not without fucking me first.'

Lorna stood, undid the fabric belt and let the bathrobe fall off her. Joey stared at her naked breasts and pink nipples, then down her stomach to the raw curve of her Venus mound. His cock was already hard at the prospect of once more disappearing into those slippery depths.

'How about it, boss?' said Lorna. 'One more for the road?'

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

W.C. stands for Water Closet and—as she sat on Harry's toilet—Celia felt as though she were locked in a closet. The room was so narrow, you could touch both walls with your elbows. Still, everything was fastidiously clean. Celia had finished her pee some minutes ago and now she sat with her jeans pulled up on the closed commode trying to recover her ... her what, exactly? Her composure? Her true self?

Celia felt like a motorbike which had been taken apart and now lay in pieces on the grass. Who in hell was she? Not anyone good, that's for sure. Her father talked like a man waking up from a dream—a dream in which he'd had a daughter he was proud of. It was so painful to hear his growing realisation that just because a child understands the values a parent believes in, that doesn't mean she has adopted them for herself.

'What do you believe in?' said her father at one point. 'Love? Equality? Anything?'

Celia struggled to answer to that question. She thought of her feminist friend, Jackie Warren, and the things she stood for. Except ... Jackie wasn't really for things. She was against the patriarchy, against male oppression, against sexism—but being against something you hate is not the same as believing in something. In the end, Celia said that she believed in being a good mother to Stephen. It sounded lame in her ears and she was grateful that her father had let it go with nothing more than a sad shake of the head.

Celia heard men's voices and a dog bark—Harry was back from his walk with Marylebone. She flushed the toilet a second time, washed her hands in the small basin and went out to join them.

The two men stood on the patio while the dog went back to snuffling along the fence. They both stood with backs straight and feet firmly planted, but Celia could tell that her father was fatigued. Harry gave her a smile, then went to examine something Marylebone found—an excuse which fooled no one. Celia took the opportunity to go up to her father and give him a hug, her arms around his waist. She felt his big arms around the back of her shoulders.

'I'm sorry, Dad,' she said quietly. 'I'm so sorry.'

'I know you are, Celia. And you did come here to face the music. That takes guts.'

'Thank you.'

The big man gave her a brief squeeze and ended the hug. He coughed and said:

'Listen, I'd like to see my grandson.'

'Oh, he would love that!'

'Good. Well, listen, I left my Jag at a parking garage in town, so could you give me a lift there and then we'll drive back home in our own cars?'

'Of course.'

Graham went over to Harry to tell him he was leaving. The two men shook hands and Harry came over to say goodbye to Celia while Graham went to collect his things. Before long, Celia was unlocking her silver Nissan and she and her father got in. Harry gave one final wave from the doorway of his bungalow, then chased his dog inside and closed the front door.

Sitting in the front seats, Celia and her father nearly had a fight. Celia wanted the name of the garage so she could programme it into her phone and Graham wanted to act as navigator. Still, after the ego-crunching conversation in Harry's garden, this bickering was almost a relief. Graham got his way, as he usually did, and soon Celia was driving into town, scowling as she took directions from her father.

'Can I ask you something?' she said.

'Shoot,' said her father. 'And stay in this lane.'

'Don't you believe that a man has a right to be happy?'

'No,' he said instantly. 'A man has a right to pursue happiness—to strive and work for it. But he doesn't have a right to be it.'

'That's a bit of a subtle difference.'

'It's not subtle at all. It's fundamental. Okay, turn left here. Celia, if you believe in the pursuit of happiness, that also means you accept that unhappiness is the norm—but you have the right to do something about it. Whereas, if you believe in the right to be happy, then unhappiness is a violation of that right and the question becomes: Who or what is violating it? My friend's ex-wife honestly believed it was his fault that she cheated on him. That's why it was so shocking. All right, we're there. You can park here on the left.'

Celia snapped on the indicator and slid the car into the layby her father pointed to. She noticed a sign saying Deliveries Only.

'I can't park here, Dad.'

'Look, if you don't want to wait, then head home and I'll see you there.'

That was the end of the discussion. Celia's father got out of the car, closed the door with a thump and walked off towards the parking garage. Celia watched him through the windscreen, walking with purpose, his arms swinging, a fit man for his age who knew what he stood for. She both admired that and felt intimidated by it.

Because, truth be told, Celia secretly agreed with that woman. Deep, deep down, Celia believed it was a man's job to win her respect and because Joey had lost it, being cheated on was what he deserved. She saw this belief—this motorbike part which lay on the grass—as clear as day and she had no idea what to make of it.

Her father had disappeared into the building. Celia drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, then snapped the indicator lever to the opposite position. She checked the rear-view mirror, then pulled out of the layby and into the traffic.

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

Joey unlocked the front door of his house and went inside. He hung his coat up on the designated hook without resentment and then went upstairs to change. After stripping down to his underwear, he noticed an oval stain on his boxer shorts and decided to take a second shower.

As he stood under the warm water, Joey thought about the first shower he took that morning with Lorna. Knowing it would be their last ever fuck, he wanted to cross some items off his Sex With Lorna bucket list and soaping her glorious tits was definitely one of them. They spent a good half hour under her shower massaging each other's bodies and then the next item on Joey's agenda was to lie Lorna onto her back and eat out her pussy. Once again, he got the feeling that she was doing it more for him than for herself, but as he licked and slurped her delicate flesh and heard her sighs of pleasure, Joey didn't let it trouble him. When he had had his fill, he looked up across her naked body to her face.

'Any requests?' he said.

'You know what I want,' said Lorna.

So Joey gave it to her. For the last time, he penetrated her, held her tight and came inside her. And, unlike the previous time, this felt sweet and wonderful. Strange, thought Joey as he stood in his own shower. It was the same act with the same woman ... and yet the feelings were so entirely different.

Joey turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his erect penis bobbing up and down as he dried himself. He wrapped the bath towel around his waist and slung a smaller towel over the back of his neck, then left the bathroom with the intention of going back to his bedroom to get dressed. But he stopped on the landing next to Stephen's bedroom and stood looking at the half-open door to the spare room. For the past week, this had been Celia's room, ever since Joey had consigned her there. On a whim, he stepped forwards and went in.

The first thing which struck him was how cosy it felt. A white net curtain for privacy had been hung under the blue curtains and the furniture had been rearranged to make better use of the limited space. The chest-of-drawers now doubled as a makeup table, equipped with a standing mirror and Celia's tidy collection of creams and cosmetics. There was a large object by the side wall covered with a beautiful silk cloth decorated with forest motifs like oak leaves and acorns. Joey looked under the cloth and saw a chrome-steel frame from which Celia's dresses and jackets hung. Of course, the wardrobe was in his room now, so his wife had got that old standing clothes rail from the attic, given it a clean and set it up down here. Joey smoothed back the cloth, quietly impressed at his wife's practicality.

After he dressed and went downstairs to their kitchen-dining room, Joey saw Celia's hand in almost everything—in the choice of furniture, the colours, the overall interior design. As he made himself some coffee and toast, Joey mused on how three days earlier—while he was having breakfast in McDonald's—he had mentally raged at Celia's need to have everything done the way she wanted. But now, as he looked around, he felt differently.

This really was a beautiful kitchen-dining room, he thought. Celia had done a great job. So what if she refused to let him hang up a Lord of the Rings calendar? Didn't he get irritated when she tried to give him 'advice' on how to run his business? And had he ever taken it? So why shouldn't Celia have the last word on their home, especially as the results spoke for themselves?

'That doesn't make up for her cheating on you,' said an inner voice.

No, thought Joey. It doesn't.

But he felt no animosity towards Celia. Maybe it was a side effect of having fucked another woman for the entire weekend, but Joey found he could think of Celia's betrayal without even a trace of blinding rage. He no longer saw her as a double-dealing bitch, but simply as a woman. A good-looking, complicated, amoral woman. They had played the Mating Game and he had lost. It was as simple as that. A hard truth, perhaps, but not the end of the world. Joey was still young enough to divorce Celia and try again with another woman. And wasn't the situation also partly his fault?

As Joey stood eating toast and marmalade and drinking coffee, he thought about The World Made Yonder. The first time he saw it, he had been enraged at the heroine's cuckolding of her husband, a good man who treated her with love and respect. But on second viewing, Joey found himself wanting to slap the guy. He kept declaring love to the heroine, promising her happiness, virtually begging her to marry him, and it was now obvious to Joey that the girl didn't love him. Sure, she liked him and even respected him up to a point, but that bone-deep desire simply wasn't there. And Joey noticed that the heroine did not speak a single word of dialogue to suggest that it was.

He realised that a similar thing had happened with him and Celia. He was the one who had fallen for her. He was the one who had pursued her. He had been the driving force behind their getting married and starting a family. It suddenly hit Joey that Celia hadn't said yes to marriage because she was in love with him—she had said yes because she wanted to be with a man who was in love with her. Her past boyfriends—which in reality was Bjorn and a couple of others—were all men she had fallen for and managed to 'acquire', at least for a while. Similar, Joey realised, to the way Lorna had got him to agree to an affair. And Celia's relationships had also ended the same way: with the guy reaching the end of his interest and leaving.