After Katie dropped the bombshell about Olivia, I said I’d like to go for a walk to clear my head.


Changes
Chapter 25
By Susan Brown

I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream...

ABBA/ Benny Goran Br Andersson, Bjoern K. Ulvaeus

Previously…

‘–But she said–’

‘–That she was a virgin?’

‘Yes.’ I replied, rather lamely.

‘I’m sorry, Samantha, she wasn’t: in fact she had an abortion when she was fifteen, and another at eighteen.’

‘Oh my God,’ I said putting my head in my hands.

‘In addition to that, she’s pregnant again. I take it the child isn’t yours?’

I looked up, tears in my eyes and just shook my head.

And now the story continues…

After Katie dropped the bombshell about Olivia, I said I’d like to go for a walk to clear my head. It was plain to me that she was concerned, but I told her I would be alright and just said, ‘goodbye.’ I walked along the quay and down the steps to the beach. There were crowds of people there with their children playing on the sand and splashing about or paddling in the water.

There are some rocks on the far side of the east beach, under the cliff. The tide was out and I vaguely noticed some sand in between the large rocks. I just walked through to see what was on the other side and there it was–a tiny bay sheltered by yet more rocks.

I made my way to the back of the diminutive beach and sat down with my back against a warm rock, smoothed by countless centuries of being battered by the sea.

Sitting there, I could envisage that I might be almost anywhere in the world. No one was about and apart from the distant happy sounds of the children on the other beach; I was quite alone.

The sight of those children made me feel rather sad; I had always wanted children and yet Olivia, who had a chance to give life, had chosen the abortion route. I had a feeling that she would do the same with the child in her belly now and that saddened me even more. I wondered why, if she was going to have sex so freely, why she couldn’t at least use contraception if she didn’t want to have a child?

What I found to be most hurtful was that she didn’t want to have a baby with me. Was I that bad a person, just to be used by her and then discarded like a plaything that had lost its appeal?

It was peaceful here; the sea in front of me–a deep azure blue–contrasting against the golden sand and grey rocks, inevitably my thoughts returned to Olivia and how I had never really understood her. Maybe she was shocked that I had decided to divorce her–that meek and mild Tom would never dream of doing such a thing. Well, Olivia, Samantha’s made of sterner stuff. I realised I had made mistakes and not a few, but I would from now on–as the song goes–do it my way. The words might be slightly out but the sentiment holds true.

I think I will always be a kind-hearted person; I could never do what Olivia has done to me. It just isn’t in my nature to be nasty to anyone–except a certain doctor’s receptionist. From now on I wouldn’t be walked over by anyone.

I had found a new life in Penmarris and I would my best to make the most of it.

Then there was Abby–

I would have to make my feelings known to her. I had a feeling that she felt the same way as I did, unless I had got the signals totally wrong. But she had the right to know about me and what I was–in transition. No lies, half-truths or deception. If she couldn’t accept me for who I was, then there would be no future for us and I would just have to accept it.

After about half an hour, I could see the tide coming in and as I didn’t want to be cut off, I stood up, brushed the sand from the back of my skirt and moved through the rocks to the main beach again. I went down to the water and with my sandals off; I strolled along the shore with my feet at the water’s edge. It was a pleasant feeling having the wet sand ooze between my toes as the water washed over my feet. I stood still and gazed out to sea for a moment and my feet sank slightly.

‘Hello.’

I looked up and there was Jocasta.

‘Hi, Jo.’

‘So, erm, how are you?’

‘Katie’s been talking then. I thought she was supposed to keep the things I say to her secret.’

‘Oh dear, feeling a bit down? Katie rang me and said you were rather upset. She worries about you, you know, and so do I.’

‘You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be okay.’

‘So that stuff running out of your eyes and down your cheeks is just a coincidence then?’

I wiped my hand across my eyes. I thought I was supposed to be strong now.

‘If you don’t want to talk, I don’t mind. You know I’ll always be here for you. After all, you helped me overcome my terror of hairdressing salons and that’s a biggie in my eyes.’

I gazed at her and felt a strong desire to unload.

‘Can we talk back at my place?’

‘Of course.’

Ten minutes later, with the inevitable mugs of tea, we sat in my sitting room while I spilled all that Katie had told me about Olivia’s infidelity, abortions and the fact that she was pregnant.

‘You poor love,’ she said, giving me a hug as I cried on her shoulder. ‘What a class one cow,’ she continued.

‘Jo! and you a vicar’s wife, too,’ I said laughing through my tears.

‘I could have said something an awful lot stronger. You’d be surprised at the words you learn at Sunday School. Now how do you feel about all this?’

‘Betrayed, a bit of a fool; that she took me for a ride, useless, unworthy and several other things unprintable and unmentionable.’

‘Do you still love her?’

‘No. The person I thought I loved seems to have been a figment of my imagination. I—I’m so upset about the way I was duped, taken in or whatever by her. I don’t think she ever loved me. I was just happy to have found someone who accepted me for what I was, or what I thought I was–a cross-dresser. At first she was fine with it and even came to some meetings of the group I belonged to, but gradually she seemed to go off me. I wondered if it might have been something I did, but now I don’t think it was me; she has serious issues and has had for a long time.’

‘It sounds very like it. You can’t blame yourself; she entered the marriage knowing everything about you. I don’t know what her agenda is, but you must stop thinking that it might have something to do with you. Try to draw a line under the bad times and move forward. You’ve got friends here and a delightful place to live. You’ve got your art and that means you can express yourself in a way that you haven’t been able to since before your marriage.’

Listening to her, I knew she made perfect sense, but I couldn’t shrug off the sense of loss I had for all those wasted years.

After Jo had left, I pottered around, tidying things up and finally opening the packages that had arrived. Almost all the things I needed were there, and only a few things were left to come later. Now I had the tools I needed to start painting properly again.

I put my thoughts about Olivia on the back burner. Having a chat and a good cry with Jocasta had helped me feel a bit better. As she said–I have to look forward, not back.

It was late afternoon, and I had just finished drinking my umpteenth mug of tea, when I heard a bang on the front door.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I went downstairs and opened the door.

My jaw dropped, because there in front of me, larger than life was Lady Fairbairn. I nearly curtsied–she had that effect on me. She was wearing a hat with some sort of dead bird on it and I suppose, because the weather was still rather warm, no coat just sensible if severe white blouse buttoned up to the neck, tweed skirt, industrial strength stockings and sensible shoes.

‘I don’t have much time; my presence is required at the church.’

‘P—please come in.’

‘Didn’t you hear me, gel, no time–church! I understand from Mrs Gotobed that you’re a painter?’

‘Erm, yes.’

‘You aren’t one of those modern painters are you? The sort where you can’t tell what the hell the subject is?’ She said it as if it was some sort of disease.

‘No, I paint traditionally, I have been told that my works reflect life.’

‘Then I’ll take a chance. I wish to commission you to paint Fifi.’

‘Fifi?’

‘Yes, Fifi, are you deaf? You will come up to the house at two o'clock on Thursday afternoon for the first sitting. Can’t abide unpunctuality, so don't be late.’

‘I’m sure that I can manage that.’

‘Good.’ She looked me up and down and then said, ‘Are you sure you can paint?’

‘Yes ’m–I mean, M’lady.’

‘Hmm; well I won’t pay a penny over  £5000 and I expect a lifelike portrait; can you do it?’

‘I believe so, M’lady.’

‘Very well, I must be off–’

‘M’ lady?’

‘Yes, yes, what is it? Spit it out, gel.’

‘How old is your daughter?’

‘Daughter, daughter? I have no daughter, silly gel.’

‘But, Fifi–’

‘Fifi’s my dog, everybody knows that; are you mad–or worse, been drinkin’? Can’t abide gels drinkin’. Lager louts most of them. In my day I’d have flogged ’em around the village. Mmm, I hope that I haven’t made a mistake by commissionin’ you. Anyway–2.30 sharp. Don’t be late.’

She had said 2.00 before but no way was I going to argue with her!

With that she sailed off down the lane resembling a stately galleon under full tops’ls and t’gallants. I was left shell-shocked and suddenly aware that the multitude of seagulls normally present, strangely were absent–very odd. Then it occurred to me that they might take the dead bird on her hat as some sort of threat.

I went back upstairs, pleased that I had received my first commission but wondering what I had agreed to do.

I had a bit of a think about what I would like for my tea. Not fancying cooking and being extremely partial to haddock and chips, I went out and walked down the lane to the fish and chip shop. My nose alone could have guided me as the heady smells wafted through the air. I was second in the queue and was almost instantly being served the food of gods.

Sitting on a bench seat down on the quay, I was surprised how hungry I was. The cod and chips were lovely (haddock was off). I was about to put a salty chip in my mouth when my hand stopped in mid air.

Five thousand pounds?

The penny had dropped; Lady F was willing to pay five thousand pounds to have a portrait of her pooch.

‘She must be barking mad,’ I thought and then giggled.

Then, my mobile warbled: it was Dawn!

‘Hi, Dawn.’

‘Hello, sis, how are you?’

‘Well the day started a bit nasty but things are perking up.’

‘Anything you want to talk about?’

‘Not over the ’phone.’

‘Okay, honey; look, the reason I’m ringing is that I want to drag hubby and the kids over to Penmarris at the weekend. I need to work on them and use my feminine wiles to persuade them all that a move to the village would be a beneficial. Would you like to meet up?’

‘That would be great. Do you want to come here and then we can decide what to do.’

‘Sounds perfect. Eleven do you?’

‘That will be great. I can’t wait to see you all.’

‘Okay, honey, see you Saturday.’

‘Bye.’

I put the ’phone down and smiled. It would be great to see Adrian, Hayley and Timothy, although I did wonder what they would think of me; let’s face it, I don’t look much like Tom anymore, do I?

---

To Be Continued...

The Cove By Liz Wright

Please leave comments...thanks! ~Sue

My thanks go to the brilliant and lovely Gabi for editing and pulling the story into shape.