Chapter 4

Still Helen:

Geoff is so gentle, so caring ... but the six weeks after Dougie’s birth were interminable. Sharlene helped keep my mind off my desire for my husband and he certainly didn’t stint on the cuddles, massages, kisses ... oh, the little indications of his love for me. Sharlene is obviously not a problem student, either, and has settled in well both in school and in our home.

But what I started to say was that the day finally arrived when Geoff and I could once more express our love completely. April seventh; Sharlene left for school and Dougie needed to be fed and changed. I made quite sure that Geoff was not going out to do anything. He started by finishing off the job that Dougie started. I suppose that women have two breasts in order to be able to feed more than one baby, but having only one, I usually had a breast about half full, and Geoff had ‘endured’ the task of emptying the half-full one since our son was born. That was usually good for at least one orgasm, and that was true that day too. Not only that, I was left wet and very ready to feel Geoff in me again.

Geoff was very ready, too, and we were both on a hair trigger. A subsequent round of soixante neuf led quite naturally to a much longer and leisurely joining. Both of us content to cuddle for a while, listening to a couple of John Garth cello concertos. Lovely.

Sharlene:

What a difference! Dad died when I was two and a bit and I hardly remember him at all. Mum’s never been a bad mum exactly, but a succession of ‘boyfriends’ lasting from a week or so to a few months culminated in her marrying Brian Denton as I entered my teens. I’m far from stupid, despite the fallout on my education resulting from the erratic nature of my home life, and it wasn’t difficult to guess at the reason for the odd smells around the place sometimes. Of course, the ‘music’ didn’t help my concentration any. I was actually fairly happy when the two of them went out and stayed out all night, even when they returned rather the worse for wear in the morning.

The problems really started when Brian began to ‘accidentally’ touch me when Mum wasn’t looking. Funny thing, the privacy lock on the bathroom stopped working. I started going out and staying out to avoid him, which affected my school work, of course. My good intentions couldn’t stop me being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and my grades suffered too, so I ended up in that Adolescent Psychiatry place, the Ashcroft Centre. That was actually the best thing that could have happened. I was getting great support from the Centre school, and though I didn’t say much in the meetings, it was good to hear what the other kids, those in a similar situation to me, said.

Then ... there was that outing. A week, living on a barge. I’d thought, ‘Barge? Trundling up and down canals? Boring.’ I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a ship. A sailing ship. When I said that, the Skipper set me right. ‘Ship’, apparently, requires certain characteristics a sailing barge lacks, but I won’t go there. The barge, ‘SB Reminder’ was quite big enough for me. Funny thing, though. That skipper was a young man, I dunno, mid twenties? Something like that. I ... well, let’s say he’s the first man I looked at and got tingles. But he was married. Married to the Mate, who was an obviously older woman. But I soon found that she was nice, too. Patient, a good teacher, an encourager.

I talked to her. Middle of the week, one evening, I talked to her about my home, what was going on, and she persuaded me to tell my story to one of the Centre staff, Missus Su Shelby. That stirred things up. They really took what I was saying seriously. I could understand that they couldn’t do a lot just on my word, but they kept me out of Mum and Brian’s way. I talked to Missus Shelby, and I talked to my key-worker, one of the nurses. Don’t get the wrong idea, by the way. You couldn’t tell easily what the different staff were. The nurses weren’t in uniform, you see, and neither were the other staff – doctors, teachers, social workers, psychologists, occupational therapists – as I say, I talked to my key-worker.

It was an off-hand remark of mine that someone took seriously, and I ended up out of the Centre, staying with Helen and Geoff Billings, once ‘Mate’ and ‘Skipper’ of the good ship SB Reminder. And that, my friends, was a big step up in my quality of life. Helen was pregnant when we first met, though it didn’t show particularly, but when I went back to visit to see if we could stand each other, she was very pregnant. In fact, when I got there the third weekend, the baby had arrived. Douglas George – ‘Dougie’. I’d had my visit to the school, and would be a student there from Monday. I helped with the baby and the housework. Well, I was used to helping in the house, at least until I had to start avoiding Brian. But ... what a difference. Quiet, serene house, despite the baby. Music, classical music I’d never listened to before, and not loud and intrusive. Puzzles and card games, perhaps a film on t/v. Conversation. Encouragement. Church.

Yes, church. Okay, Mum (or the current boyfriend) dumped me at the local church for Sunday School, but she never passed the doors herself. Helen and Geoff went regularly, and it was obvious that they were known to the other people there. I didn’t understand what was unusual about the vicar ... no, they called her ‘rector’ ... but I could tell she was special too. Then there was this man...

You’ll understand I’m not comfortable with most men. But I kept seeing this man who wasn’t dressed like the other church people. Mostly, he wore a brown robe, like a monk, but I also saw him in denim, jeans, you know, rough clothes, clean, but worn and faded. Sandals on his feet, even in the winter, as it was when I went to live there. Long hair, tied back, sometimes in a simple pony-tail, sometimes in a thick braid. Sailors used to do that, you know, a braid, they called it a ‘queue’. Dunno why.

Anyway, one day, I went in the church after school. I still don’t really know why. But that man was there, and spoke to me. Said his name was ‘Emmanuel’. That he wanted me to be ‘free’, that that was what my name meant. Funny thing, he didn’t frighten me, didn’t make me uneasy. If anything, it was a ‘daddy’ vibe, or maybe ‘big brother’. And not ‘Big Brother’ like in George Orwell’s book. We read that in English. It made me think ... but that’s for another time. I went back to the flat, that was becoming ‘home’ to me, and talked to Helen about it.

Settled. More settled than I’d been as long as I can remember. Weekdays in school, weekends with Glad in ‘The Barge Tearooms’, except Sunday mornings. That’s for church, you see. I never thought I’d be heading to church Sunday mornings, but the Tearoom business doesn’t really get busy on a Sunday until after lunch. So where else would I be? Helen and Geoff, more like parents to me than my own mother, they go. Smiles from most of the congregation, especially Dulcie and Emmanuel when they catch my eye.

So it got to May. No news on the progress of the legal thing with Brian, but I was doing great in school, and actually enjoyed working with Glad. She had me trained to make fancy coffee and hot chocolate using that fancy machine tucked out of sight behind the counter.

It came as a shock, though, when my stepfather entered the tea-room with a girl, maybe my age or a year or so older. Happily, perhaps, I was behind the counter with Glad and nudged her as I hid out of sight with the espresso machine. Glad followed me in.

“What’s wrong, Duck?”

“My stepfather just came in. He’s not supposed to come near me, but he doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Oh ... you want to stay out of sight?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, Duck.”

I could hear his voice, and that of the girl who was with him. She was new to me, didn’t know her at all. Where was my mother? I could hear the order, so that was already under way when Glad passed it over to me – tea and toasted tea-cakes. That done and passed out, there was a flurry of assorted coffees, hot chocolate, toasted teacakes and so on, so I was busy. Too busy to worry. But when the rush was over, I texted Helen, who was out walking with Dougie again. I wasn’t surprised to get a reply saying she’d be there in a few minutes. My response was ‘don’t ask for me by name’...

Helen:

I walked in to the tearoom – the saloon door still sticks – and several customers glanced round at me as I marched up to the counter. “Hi, Glad. How’s things?”

“Busy,” with a smile, but she leaned forward, “behind you, two tables back, man with a teen girl.”

I nodded. “A skinny latte, Glad, please.” I paid, and went to sit at the only vacant table, across from Sharlene’s stepfather and his companion. I caught snippets of their conversation.

‘Doesn’t start ‘til nine’... ‘yes, I got supplies’... ‘yes, I told you’... ‘some waste ground south of town’...