Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Seventy

Seventy

The family festivities continued.

"The war will not dampen our spirits,” Father had proclaimed. No other person would arrange a large party in their house, in honour of their knighthood and daughter’s belated debutante ball when innocent soldier’s, John’s own cousin’s, hearts were being blasted away. No one except a selfish, selfish man. A selfish, selfish murderer of a man.

The old Elsie would have ‘enjoyed’ the party, and associated with the other haughty little girls, the spectacle of the night, the little heiress. The new Elsie, the Elsie with the black hair because of Ludmilla, the woman she had killed, wanted to escape from the claustrophobic press of people, remembering her last party, in King’s Lynn, and the Zeppelins that still haunted her.

*****

I sat there, hyperventilating on the back stairs, whilst Emma pressed a wet kerchief on my forehead. I held a glass of water in my trembling white-gloved hands. Emma made ‘ssh’ noises, stroking the coal-coloured spirals framing my face, topped with three white ostrich feathers, for I was dressed as a debutante, even though I was married, and my coming-out ball should have been earlier in the year. Not that I cared. I could feel sweat building under my short sleeves as all the events of the past year tangled together in a giant web of query. Had I failed to see everyone else’s point of view?

Perhaps Mother hadn’t told me about my brother’s fate, so as not to upset me.

Perhaps Carlos Lutenez was a German, maybe that’s why Father shot him.

Perhaps Beatrice didn’t steal Rose’s whisky.

Perhaps I had started the hate between Emma and I.

Perhaps it was an accidental kiss, maybe Bobby did love me, maybe Susanna hadn’t betrayed me…

“Elsie please, we were going to tell you.” My world shifted and shattered again. I had been a fool, a fool to trust, a fool to fall in love, and a fool to dream.

“Emma,” I cleared my throat, “You dreamed, didn’t you? You loved being the best, and now you’re just a housekeeper. I know how that feels now, because here I am, sitting hiding on the stairs. I just want to say thank you for being here for me, even though I have been quite horrible to you.” Emma sighed. All the colour, vibrancy, seductiveness was drained out of her; her dress hung loose and her hair was lank, eyes filled with unquestionable sadness. What had become of us? How could I help her? She took my hands.

“Nothing hurts more, Elsie, than destroying someone you love, who doesn’t know you love them.” I blinked, trying to process the meaning of her words.

“Let’s return, you don’t want to miss your Father’s speech, do you?”

*****

Father’s speech droned on about his ‘dangerously life-threatening’ contribution to the war effort, resulting in his knighthood, Mother bearing his child, me being married and having this belated debutante ball, and he even mentioned his ‘talented younger daughter Mary’.

There were two real debutantes, Isadora Noell and Pollyanna Creswell, who both gripped me with hands like crab’s pincers and called me the Kingston Heiress. I wanted to pull the stupid veils off their heads and kindly remind them I was Mrs Elsie Knowlbodye now. Where was John, anyway? He was meant to be arriving soon. A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“John!” I turned round, eyes wide, ready to throw my arms around him, the husband I hadn’t seen for ages, but instead I gasped, “What are you…” A few other people were staring at this tall man in a rigidly pressed brown uniform, holding a matching peaked cap to his breast. He wore his trousers tucked into his long socks, and his black boots were polished to perfection. I drew a huge breath as everything went fuzzy around me.

John steered me around the edges of the dance floor. Taking my hand, I took him up to my room, where no one would dare disturb us. I shut the door, pressing my back to it. This felt so much like our private engagement where he hit me that I felt sick. John wouldn’t do that now…

“You’re going. To war.” I heard my voice crack and beg for him to stay. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Why are you going, John?” I whispered.

“I have to avenge my dead cousin; his parents already think I’m a coward for not signing up, when fourteen year olds run away from home, expecting a big adventure, and get shot down instead. Alfred’s- my cousin who died- sister even handed me a white feather- a white feather! She soon shut up when immediately on my signing up I was given the position of Second Lieutenant, because of my wealth.” He pointed at the little badge on his coat, but I barely acknowledged it. 

“Oh John. But how could they have let you in? You were in an automobile accident in June! Your mental state is-” His eyes became as narrow as his moustache.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whimpered, shrinking against the door.

“Oh God, Elsie, did you really think…? I love you Elsie, you know that.” He moved towards me, tracing his finger down my cheek.

“So this is where my wife sleeps,” he murmured, embracing me. We looked into each other’s eyes, knowing fully well that he might never come back home, and that this might be our only chance.

*****

As I lay there, later that night, I allowed myself to think the one question I had always tried to block out. Did Bobby or John love me most? I still didn’t want to believe it was true, the fool I was, I still wanted him to have loved me. Bobby or John? John or Bobby? Bobby Bobby Bobby. John John John. John was going to avenge his dead cousin and fight for his country and fight to win my heart.