Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Eighteen

Eighteen

“So, do you really love Bobby then?” Susanna asked me the next morning as she brushed my hair. I frowned, thinking back to last night.

“What did it feel like, being kissed?” She almost sounded envious.

“Bubbly?” I responded, unsure. After all, we had downed the ale beforehand so how could I be sure Bobby hadn’t acted because of that? But then I remembered the way I had pressed back, almost ravenously, Bobby’s startling green eyes hungry, searching into mine with what could only be described by a most inexperienced kisser as lust and desire.

I remembered the way my stomach had tingled with a sweet, fluttery sensation. Did all of this mean I loved him? Wasn’t our friendship moving too quickly? His gesture was most definitely improper! Surely my reaction was improper, for, as my stomach gave a sickening lurch, I remembered the glowing engagement ring on my finger, given to me by the man who had struck me black and blue.  

I lamented on this topic all day. Why hadn’t I just pushed Bobby away and ended our secret friendship like that? Because you love him, came a taunting voice in my head. Because you were drunk, came a more scornful voice.

I had thrown myself into such a web of despair that I had decided to talk to Mother (but I wouldn’t mention Bobby. I would have talked to Susanna; however, she was on an errand.) After all, she must have loved my father to get married to him. Hadn’t she?

I walked along to the parlour, where Mother usually resided as it was rather cosy, with a glowing fire, armchairs and family photographs on the mantelpiece.

“Come in,” came the response to my knock on the door, which creaked open with one tiny push.

“Mother, can I talk to you about lo-” Oh. Mother and Father were staring at me. Immediately, my face burned and I felt silly and self-conscious. I was about to say I would come back later, when Father spoke:

“Ah, Elsie. Just the girl we need.” Mother was throwing him maddening gazes and as I moved forward into the stiflingly hot room (the heavy velvet curtains were closed) I wondered what on holy heaven was going on.

“Do you remember that article about Roxanna Kingston?” he pressed.

“Vaguely,” I replied.

“Well, I have made some enquiries and the girl is indeed our cousin.” I stared blankly, not understanding his point. Cousin? A look of greed, almost panic overtook his face and suddenly I remembered the article more clearly, I knew what he desired and what he wanted me to do.

*****

For the second time in two days, I was wearing a disguise. This time, a brown wig, an extremely tight corset and a maroon dress with an open neck, velvet trimmings and a sash. A ridiculous feathered hat pressed down my abundance of fake curls. I realised Father had been planning this for ages. It was all thought out.

No-one saw me leave the house under Mother’s large lilac parasol and climb into the automobile with her. We pulled on our bonnets and goggles. Father slammed the doors as we settled into the uncomfortable stiff leather seats. Father had already started the engine, so all he had to do was drive.

Except the car didn’t move. It made a wheezy stuttering noise, stalling, tyres screeching on the pebbled driveway. I shared a look of faint amusement with Mother as Father, face reddening, fists clenching, got out.

“Bugger!” I stifled a nervous giggle.

“Isabella, come and look. NOW!” Father said sharply, half yelling. Mother jumped, startled. We peered over the side of the Chevrolet. The tyres were slowly deflating.