Where the West Wind Blows (12 page)

Beside him walks a woman; a
young
woman, her black hair streaming behind her. Her head barely reaches his shoulder and his arm is looped casually about her, hers is around his waist. As the sickness rises in my throat, my courage and confidence drains away. I watch them. I see them stop and he turns her to face him, I see him grasp her shoulders as he speaks earnestly into her upturned face before dragging her toward him. They embrace for a long moment before they pull apart, then she nods and they turn and continue on their way. My ears hum and squeak with sudden stress and my head reels, my breath stolen away.  I slump to my knees in the sand and watch them leave the beach together and, hand in hand, begin to climb the cliff path toward his home. I know that path so well I could walk it in my sleep. Jezz and I have trodden it together so many times, sometimes we cried but mostly we laughed. And when we reached the top and he opened the door into his scruffy home he loved me, as I have never been loved before. In a few more moments will he be loving her, in my place?

I close my eyes and try to dislodge the sharp pain in my throat. There is nothing I can do but sit there while she takes him, steals my man and my child’s father. Powerless, I clutch at the sand but it trickles through my fingers, seeping away like a love that is clasped too tightly.

Am I dreaming?

I know I am not. I know I have lost him. I had thought Jezz was a loner and that, since the day he killed his wife, I was the only woman he has ever let close.

That’s what he says
… Mrs Davis mocks me.

Should I have listened to her?

Was she right?

Am I an
absolute
fool?

Slowly the knowledge that I have been a dupe, a gullible, middle-aged
idiot
, seeps into my realisation. How people must have been laughing at me. I walk like a zombie back to my cottage bedroom and begin to unpack my bag. Then I stop and plump heavily onto the mattress.

Maybe I shouldn’t stay.

I don’t want to see him.

I will go back.

“
God.” I curse out loud. “What on Earth will I do now?”

London is no longer home;
this
is my home, now.

Now that I can’t bear to stay.  

But, without Jezz, it is
nothing.

I have no home.

I don’t want to spend every day watching him love another woman. I have been so stupid envisaging my child raised here, secure with a parent on either side of the bay. In my dream world, even if we didn’t live together, Jezz and I could have watched over him and raised him between us. But we can’t do that now, not now
she
is here.

He doesn’t owe me anything. I have never asked for any sort of commitment from Jezz and I wouldn’t want it now anyway, not forced. He will
never
believe I didn’t fall pregnant on purpose.

So why tell him?

Oh, I am going mad!

I dig my fingers into my skull as if it will help me clear my head, think …think
…think!

The longer I sit there, the deeper the picture of him with
that girl
etches into my mind. The deeper the etching, the angrier I become. I begin to pace the floor, cursing the man I love, cursing his tart. I sit down again, punch my clenched fists into the mattress and my jealous rage grows so much that I can no longer contain it. At length, I leap up and run down stairs, stopping only to kick off my stupid city shoes and pull on my Wellingtons.

They look ridiculous with a skirt.

Disregarding the fact that the tide is coming in fast, I start to march off across the beach and by the time I reach the stony path up to the point, the waves are lapping at my ankles. I begin the climb, trying to take it steady but I am so angry that my breath comes in a short and jerking wheeze and I am forced to rest.

To an outsider it might look as if I am just pausing to look across the bay but a storm is raging, my heart is banging like thunder, my breath issuing in gasps while jagged fury tears at my mind, an internal whirlwind of emotion that I cannot contain.

It is a fine evening, the cloud high and white, the sun, now on its downward journey, already pinking the horizon. Out on the water a flock of gulls are bobbing in the waves, enjoying a late feed. With the sound of the slapping sea in my ears, I grip the wooden rail and haul myself upward. Onward and upward, I urge myself forward, gulping back the tears.

Even on a fine evening the wind is strong up on the point and as I emerge above the cliff edge it whips at my hair, blows my cardigan back so I am forced to grope for the two halves and draw them across my breasts. Then, I put my head down and approach the cottage.

Jezz’s garden is never very productive, what plants do survive the exposure are stunted and rimed with salt but a crate of carrots is on the doorstep, beside them his muddy wellies are upended to keep out the rain. Determinedly, I pull back my shoulders and let the brass knocker crash against its plate.

I’ll bloody well show him just who he is messing with and his little scrubber as well!

After a few moments the door opens and I come face to face with
her
. She can’t be more than twenty and, to my dismay, she doesn’t look like a scrubber. She is fresh-faced and cheerful. I feel really sick and try not to hate her, but
really
shouldn’t her mother do something about this.

“Excuse
me
.” I say through tight, judgemental lips and pushing her aside, I march into the kitchen.

Jezz is standing before the fire. “Fiona!” His face is open, surprised and he looks as if he is delighted to see me.
Hypocrite!
I do not return his smile. My chest heaves as my eyes dart about the kitchen, taking in the tumbled blankets on the small sofa, the haversack spilling clothing onto the floor. She must be some hitch-hiker he picked up on the path.

They haven’t wasted any time.

How often does he do this?

He comes round the table, his arms open, inviting me into his embrace, but I step backward, turn my shoulder away, my face stony and he halts a few feet away.

“What’s the matter?”

“What do you think?”

I stick out my chin, waiting for him to embark upon his lies but at that moment, the door opens and a girl pokes her head into the room; a different girl surely for the other one is still in the lobby? I shake my head in confusion and stare at her dully as she comes toward me.

“Are you Fiona? Oh, how glad I am that you came back in time. Dad has been miserable, not wanting to leave before you came. He was so worried you’d not understand. I am Beth, by the way. I’m so pleased to meet you.”

She is pumping my arm up and down. Slowly, I turn to look at him. His cheeks are scarlet, making him appear almost bashful. He is more disconcerted than I’ve ever seen him. He rubs his hand over his face, smudging his features, and reappears with guilt written all over him.

“Erm, Fiona,” he says, “I might have forgotten to mention I have daughters …two of ‘em. They’re twins,” he says, as the other one slips smiling into the room. “They came over a few weeks ago because they’d something to show me. Or rather Kirsty here had something to show me.”

While I stand stunned and scarlet faced and feeling more ridiculous than I ever have in my life before, he rummages among the blankets on the sofa, lifting something up in his arms, his face suffused with pride.

“I’m a granddad, look.”

And while I blink at him in absolute astonishment Kirsty hurries forward and grasps my arm. “I think you’d better sit down, I’ll get you a glass.”

I plop my bottom gratefully into a chair and try to fight back annoying tears.
Do I never do anything but cry? What is wrong with me?

I have never felt such a fool. If it wasn’t so humiliating I would be able to laugh but, this news is astounding, Jezz is a
grandfather
and there I’d been, feebly plucking up the courage and dreading how he’d take the news that he is to be a
father
.

He is coming toward me, pressing the baby into my arms. He leans close beside me so I can smell the fresh scent of the wind. “Isn’t he cute? Like his granddad, don’t you think? And they’ve named him Jezz, after me.” 

While he beams at his daughters I continue to gape like an idiot. Jezz’s delight is oozing from every pore. I look down at the baby, at the fine down of dark hair that covers his skull, I note his closed eyes, his button nose, his mouth sucking on an imaginary tit.

I smile, in spite of myself. How can I not?

I have no idea how I should respond, what I am supposed to say? It’s not a situation I’ve ever found myself in before. My emotions are in turmoil and my crazy hormones begin to leak from my eyes again and run down my cheeks. When I do speak my voice is hoarse, my words broken, my eyes misted.

“I had no idea …”

There’s nothing I can do to stop the tears.

“Hey, there’s nothing to cry about.”

He squats before me and, because I cannot dry my own eyes with his grandson on my knee, he dries them for me with a distinctly grubby handkerchief. “Blow your nose,” he commands but I turn my face away.

“No,” I protest, “that’s disgusting.” I sniff instead and look longingly at the tumbler that Kirsty places on the table before me. She smiles and I look from her to Beth and notice the familiar features. They are identical and both exactly like their father, although drawn with a softer pencil by a much lighter hand.

I grin back shyly, feeling foolish and Beth moves to the sink and starts rattling tea-cups.  Jezz stays where he is, kneeling at my feet, gripping my hand, looking from me to the baby as if he is king of all the world.

“Hey, we can all go to The Highlands together now,” Beth calls from the sink.

“The Highlands?” I say.

“Yes, its just for a week or so, for the Christening. It’s a while since I saw my mum.”

Jezz is full of surprises today. I blink at him. Maybe my wits have finally gone.

“Your mum? Jezz, I thought you were alone in the world.”

“Well, I am when I’m here, or I was, until I met you.”

I don’t know what to make of it. Don’t know what to believe but I feel better already, I am even beginning to believe that things might be alright after all. But there is still one thing I have to get over with and I have no idea how he will receive my news.

I hand the precious bundle back to his mother (at least, I think its his mother but I’m not sure) and stand up, one hand on the table for support, the other growing sweaty in Jezz’s grasp.

My knees are shaking.

“I, Erm, I do have something to tell you,” I say, “erm …” I don’t know where to begin but while I hesitate and swallow my fear, I become aware that all three of them are staring, wide eyed, at my stomach. I follow their gaze and realise that there’s no need to announce anything, for my child has taken it upon himself to make his presence known.

My hand comes up to rest protectively on the rise of my belly and then, as boldly as a lioness, I meet their gaze.

Jezz’s face is white, his jaw slack with surprise. He straightens up, points accusingly at my pregnant belly. “But, but I thought …” He is stuttering, flabbergasted, so, more than a little cross, I finish the sentence for him.

“What did you think? That I was too old? So did I!”

For a long moment we all stand unmoving. Nobody speaks until Beth puts a hand to her mouth and lets out a stifled squeal. “That’s amazing! I’ve always wanted a little brother or sister!”  While the girls hug each other and Beth wipes away a tear, Jezz remains motionless, regarding me in silence.

I hardly dare look at him.

I am asking him to change his life completely.

He is breathing deep and slow, his face solemn.

“Jezz?” I whisper, dying for his answer as fear curdles my insides.

He puts up a hand and passes it over his face, erasing the puckered lines. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says, with a delighted grin, “I hope it’s a boy, I’ve always had a fancy for the name Bernard.”

Relief swamps me and I move toward him. He slides an arm about my shoulders and pulls me close, tucking me into the safety of his embrace.

“Oh Lord,” I say, “Let’s hope it’s a girl then, for his sake.”

Twenty

Five years later

“Jezz, have you seen my new brushes?”

My husband pokes his head around the door. “No, but I’d put good money on where they are, hen.”

I replace the white plastic lid on the paint tube and wipe my hands on my overall. “Oh, no, not another set, please. They are sable!”

I push past him and clatter downstairs, past the open front door and into the kitchen. Rain is battering against the window but the Rayburn radiates heat and my son is cosily kneeling at the kitchen table engrossed in his task.

Jezz is close behind me, his hand warm on my shoulder as I force my voice into scolding tones. “James McAlister, what do you think you are doing?”

My severity has no effect on my son who turns and waves a piece of paint sodden paper. Bright slobs of colour drip onto the tablecloth while, in his left hand, he clutches my new, very expensive sable brushes. Brushes that now look as if they could well have been used to sweep a miniature chimney.  “I’m painting a picture like yours, it’s lovely, look.” 

I can pretend to be cross no longer, my face melts and my bones seem to soften. “You’re right, that is lovely,” I say as I move toward him and place my hand on his silky hair. “I like that bit there, the swirly pattern you’ve made is lovely.”

He beams at me. “Yes, and look, when I put some blue paint in with the yellow, it went green! Is it magic?”

“I think it must be, sweetheart.” I pull up a chair to sit closer to him and, picking up one of my ruined brushes, I begin to help him. “Try to be more gentle, stroke the bristles across the page, like this, and look, James, if you take a little blue and a little red …do you see what you get?”

Behind me, Jezz chuckles quietly and goes to the sink, the water gushes noisily from the tap to thump hollowly into the kettle. “The child has you on a piece of string, woman,” he observes but his words are without rancour. Our eyes meet over our son’s head and we exchange smiles. Silent smiles that say so very much;
I love you and I am blissfully happy.

“What time is it? We don’t want to be late.” Jezz looks at his watch.

“There’s time enough.”

“There is always time enough for tea where you are concerned.”

James looks up from the swirling mess of his orange and brown experiment. “I forgot, Little Jezz is coming, isn’t he? And Beth and Kirsty?”

He slides down from the table, runs to his dad and allows Jezz to wash his hands for him, the blue and orange pigment merging into a dirty brown hue in the bowl. Our grandson, Little Jezz, and James are the best of friends and each summer when Beth and Kirsty join us, the two boys are inseparable.

I am ‘Granny’ now to Little Jezz, a title that never ceases to surprise me for it is one I never thought to own. Kirsty has a daughter now, a dark eyed bundle of white knitted shawl that she calls Annie. Annie will learn to call me Granny too and she will join us in discovering treasures on the windy shore. I am part of a family now, another thing I never thought I’d have and in the bosom of my family I have discovered that there are many different shades of love.

.

Once, I was afraid to be happy, fearing that happiness could be too easily snatched away. Afraid of life and afraid of loving, I hid my face in dark corners, too terrified to look up at the beauty of the wide blue sky.

But, now I have learned that love is the one thing that cannot be destroyed, I am brave again. Life may be fleeting, youth may pass too quickly and death always comes too soon but love is everlasting. Here in this small cottage, we have love in droves.

Love is indivisible, there is enough for everyone and then some more; it never shrinks but expands and multiplies like a great magical abstract, each emotion different, their colours as diverse as they are wonderful. And most importantly, love transcends even death.

The love of Jezz and I will live on in our children and grandchildren, and the memory of what I once shared with James will live on too, in his namesake, Jezz’s son, Little James.

Every storm blows itself out in time, but love? True love is everlasting.

Other works by Mary Middleton include
:

Vittorio’s Virgin

Come, Dance With Me

For One Night Only

Something for the Journey

More information about Mary and her work can be found on:
http://marymiddletonromancewriter.webs.com