Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Forty-Six

Forty-Six

“Vert ou bleu? Je pense bleu, qu’en pensez-vous?” (Green or Blue? I think blue, what do you think?)

“Oui, oui.” (Yes, yes.) I nodded, barely looking up. The colour which Jacqueline was going to order her new curtains in was the least of my worries and I did wish she would stop twittering away in French, when she could speak perfectly good English.

I sighed, turning my head to gaze at John, who was sleeping. The skin on his face had now puckered up, stretching over his wounds, but he still looked so arrogantly handsome. How could I think that, when I loved Bobby? Did I love John a little bit too? I could feel my stomach swirling around. I should’ve been looking after John.

I had done a lot of looking myself. Ever since Father had threatened us, I had taken to peering over my shoulder and holding a mirror as I turned corners. Yes, I was that worried. Panic tightened my chest at every move I made. What if something happened to Susanna, Mother, Mary, or even Emma? I felt like he was watching me, as the list of the things I felt guilty over grew steadily longer.

“Elthee.” I jerked my head up as John squeezed my hand. His jaw had been operated on by the finest surgeons, but he spoke with a lisp, stuttering at some letters, and only uttering simple phrases.

“We go Spain!” I frowned.

“Oui, El-sie. You must go wiv him. He leaves on ze twenty-ninth of Jul-y.” Finally; some English.

“‘He leaves’?”

“Oh, non non- absolument pas! Ze climate es too ‘ot for me!” (Oh, no, no- absolutely not!)

I pressed my lips together, inwardly sighing. Everything was being decided for me. No-one asked me if I wanted to be the Kingston Heiress. No-one asked me if I wanted to marry to John. No-one asked me if I wanted to go to Spain. I was fed up of being me, Elsie King- Knowlbodye. I didn’t really feel like I was married, albeit the ring on my finger. I had so many things on my mind and the one question I couldn’t stop asking myself was: Bobby or John?

Because in my heart, I knew that one day I would have to choose. I swallowed.

“John,” I whispered, looking into his eyes, “I love you.” And then I walked out the room.

*****

On my way home, I agonised over that question. I had known John all my life, Bobby a matter of months. Could I risk social stigma for a baker’s boy? Could I really run away with him? No, I couldn’t do that to Mother. I needed to stay, in case Father really fulfilled his promise. He had put so much weight on my shoulders. Why was everything so complicated?

It felt weird to walk unchaperoned on the streets, to see great ladies abandoning their carriages and carrying their own parcels, rather than having a servant scurry behind them. The side effects of the war.

I trudged up the gravel path to the front door of my home. Instantly, I knew something was wrong. The door was half-open. I pulled off my bonnet and felt the straw brim slip through my fingers. I stepped through the empty rooms, footsteps echoing. Goose pimples crawled up my arms. My heart was thumping so hard; the Minton tiles were daubed red.

I took in shaky breaths, tears stinging my eyes, which were wide. What had happened?

“Susanna? Mary?” I croaked, “Mother? Emma?” At first, I walked briskly, but soon, my heart rate increased and I was flying up the stairs two at a time, urgency pumping through my veins.

My mouth went dry. My heart stopped beating. Because someone was screaming.