Emma Goldrick - The Unmarried Bride

‘Watch the bacon,’ Harry yelled at them both. Abby wheeled around. She had spooned the rest of the bacon to the top of the chopping-board to let it drain off. While the pair of them were arguing, Cleo had slithered by them, flat on her stomach, and then leaped up to seize the bacon and the paper on which it was drying.

Dog food was fine for those rainy days when there was nothing around to scrounge, but the aroma of bacon was a siren call to Cleo. If there was bacon around and no one was watching, then she would make a try for it. The dog was making no effort to share. She saw it as only right that she be entitled to anything she could snatch—and bacon was fair game. Four big gulps and it was all gone. Abby, hands on hips, turned to search the two innocent faces. ‘Why is it,’ she asked the world around her, ‘that I’m beginning to feel put upon?’ She could feel the colour of anger as it flashed up into her cheeks. Anger, and something else she had learned in her high school drama club, was helping her put colour in her face. How to cry without even trying. And Abby Spencer was very good at it. Very good indeed. She was counting on it to make a very big impression.

She managed to pull one chair away from the table. Her tall figure collapsed into it for a moment, and then she straightened her back and closed her eyes. Think sadness, she commanded. Scenes flashed in front of her eyes, but she dispatched them one after another. Finally she found the one she wanted. She pictured herself standing on the hillside on Grandfer’s farm, on the warm autumn day when her pony had broken its leg and had to be put down.

The scene solidified. She could remember every sound, every wind-blown smell, the soft muttering of the sheep. And then the sound of the gun. Abby held that sound close to her heart. The tears began. Solemn, quiet tears oozing up from under her eyelids, and running down her cheeks, one or two at a time, and then in full flood.

‘Now look what you done,’ the boy said fiercely.

‘Pay it no mind,’ his father said. ‘Women cry for no reason at all.’

‘She had a reason,’ the boy snapped. ‘I’ve told you before. This is a nice one, and you made her cry. Why?’

‘Maybe you’re right, Harry. I didn’t think she’d cry. Let me see if I can stop the tears.’

‘You’d better,’ the boy threatened.

Abby, doing her best to keep the tears rolling, was startled to hear the boy crying as well. The kitchen door slammed as Harry ran out, leaving her alone with Selby. Not exactly what I planned, Abby told herself. She threw in a couple of additional sobs.

There was movement, and a strong arm came around her shoulders. She cracked one eyelid. Selby was kneeling at her side, trying to get a big handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘I don’t understand,’ he murmured. ‘A girl as big as you are, crying?’

I’ll show you big , she thought as she turned up the sobs and slumped over, resting all of her hundred and thirty-five-pound weight against him. It took but a moment for her to realise she had made a terrible mistake. He liked having her lean on him. He especially liked the softness of her full breast, falling haphazardly into the cup of his hand.

‘Don’t.’ She struggled to sit up, but the cold intervention of the world around her ruined her comfort. With a little gasp she fell back into his arms. ‘Don’t,’ she repeated in a soft, pleading whisper.

‘Don’t?’ He pulled her closer, gently massaging her breast, and then said, ‘Oh. You mean this?’ His right hand pulled her up, his left hand continued to gently support her breast.

‘I mean don’t!’ This time indignantly. She wrenched herself away from him. His right hand came loose. His left hand seemed to twitch for a moment, and then he helped her to stand. She was still quivering. She clutched her fists and thrust them down along the seams of her jeans. Her whole body shook, until the muscle tension brought her under control.

‘Don’t you ever touch me like that again,’ she spat.

He held his hand up before him, still flexing the fingers. ‘It was delightful,’ he announced.

‘I didn’t enjoy it,’ she lied. She might have said more, but Harry came back into the room. There was a moment or two of silence then Harry said,

‘I had enough breakfast for the day. Now what am I gonna do?’

His father looked at him seriously, as if he was debating the subject. ‘Well,’ Selby said, ‘I know what I’ve got to do. I’ve got to redo those pages you used to colour on yesterday. Maybe Abby can think of something for you both to do.’

‘Why should I be the one to come up with entertainment ideas? I have work to do too, you know. Very important work!’

Selby looked over at her, and there was a tug at the corner of his mouth, as if he couldn’t resist laughing, but had to. ‘Yes. But we have a small problem,’ he said. ‘Someone has to entertain Harry and I’ve got a living to make. I’m sure you could fit childcare into your schedule.’

‘Oh? What gave you that misguided idea?’ Abby pounced on his last statement. She might not be a rabid feminist but she did hold that talent and drive were neither gender-orientated nor segregated. Women did not have to be the child-tenders. But the look on Harry’s face soon shut her up. He looked as if he had heard this argument about who was going to look after him before and it made him feel like a package no one wanted.

‘I’ll tell you what, nobody has to entertain me. I’ll go fishing by myself. You two can work all you want. Don’t think about me. I’ll go fishing!’ With that Harry ran out of the kitchen with a very set look on his face.

Abby slumped back in her chair and glared at Selby. ‘You brought the kid out to this island. Why did you do that if you weren’t going to spend time with him?’

‘I spent all day yesterday with him,’ Selby flashed at her.

‘Do you honestly think that one day is enough? What did you do for the first three weeks you were here?’

‘We did things together,’ Selby defended himself. ‘It’s different for men; we don’t have to be together all the hours of the day. And, besides, Harry is getting to be a big boy and big boys like to investigate on their own.’

‘If you both have been here three weeks then Harry must know the island very well. There’s not that much of it to investigate.’ Abby was getting more and more angry on Harry’s behalf with this whole conversation.

Stop it, she told herself, this is not helping anything and you know you want to help.

‘I suppose I could start my work tomorrow. I’ll go fishing with Harry,’ Abby said after she had mastered her anger.

‘That’ll be nice,’ Selby said, looking as if he had been giving himself instructions to calm down. ‘Especially considering the fact that Harry doesn’t know anything about fishing. If you two catch something it would enlarge our larder. Harry and I both love fried fish.’

‘I have always hated fried fish,’ Abby said, ‘and I don’t see any reason why—’ And she stopped at that point. Sucker , she told herself. He’s just trying to jolly you into looking after the boy full time. His father was staring at her with a look that said, Of course you will. Abby felt stalled between announcing, ‘The hell you say,’ or going along with the game to see what else might develop. She was fairly sure, however, what was going to develop and that it would involve Harry and herself doing things together. Her own work would suffer. Her editor would want her head on a pike. Oh, well, in for a penny.

‘Yes,’ she finally said, ‘Harry and I will go fishing. What are you going to be doing?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have a great deal of work to do. I need to rewrite some pages that were lost to the world of adolescent art and they have to be replaced so that I can finish this paper.’