Cherry Orphan

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Getting into the house would be the easy part. Explaining to Mrs. Blackwell, the key's custodian, why he needed it seemed far more difficult. The Cock and Fox looked packed as it always did on a Saturday night.

"All my books are there. I need them to study," he bleated.

Crap. Even Blackwell wasn't that stupid.

"Master James, I know the kind of books you've been studying. I found them in your room. Now why do you want the key?"

Okay then. Because there's this American first cousin of mine I want to bust my cherry with and bonk the living shit out of over the next couple of days.

Start again.

"Mrs. Blackwell, how long have you worked for us?"

She stroked her chin. "Hmm, let me see. Before you were born I'd say. Must be best part of twenty year by now. Why?"

"If you wish to continue after September, please give me the key to my house. Why I want it is really none of your concern."

Blackwell recoiled as if she'd been stung. "Master James, that's an awful thing to say!"

He stared at her letting the truth of it sink in.

Angrily she stormed away and a minute later returned with the key. "Here! Your father would turn in his grave if he could see this behavior. Him barely cold, God rest his soul."

"Another thing. It's Mr. Nameth, not Master James from now on. When I return from America I don't want to have to remind you who you work for every day."

She went crimson. This would do it nicely. She'd be stinging for so long she wouldn't even notice his bed remained empty for the next three nights. The sooner he flew off to America the better. Her words were true, he had known the woman all his life, but that wasn't necessarily a living bonus. Her work habits were fair, but not commensurate with the generous wage she seldom earned.

Calley loitered in the hall listening. He wagged the key and snagged her arm, then they bustled out onto the street. "I have to admit your way worked better," he said grinning.

"Yes, but it's all in the delivery, James. You're a natural."

***

The house remained in darkness, flanked on either side by identical homes with glowing windows that flickered internally from active television screens. Street lamps intermittently lit front gardens, hedgerows, driveways, porches, parked cars.

A dog barked; a male voice told it to be quiet. Someone rode by on a bicycle whistling. The evening felt warm, the air still. Warmer than usual for this early in summer.

He studied her dark profile as she studied the house. "Calley, we can't park this thing in front, everyone notices it," James murmured softly.

She'd raised the car's beige canvas top for the first time. Calley broke her stare and looked at him. "You go inside. When I see a light come on I'll bring over some of my things then go park the car on another street and walk back. I know the house now."

"You won't just drive away?"

"Does your bathroom have a shower?"

"Yes."

"Then I won't drive away."

"I'll have to talk to the neighbors. They're a very nosey lot and never miss anything— especially Mrs. Vintaskulé at number twelve. If they see you I'll have to think of something to say."

"Tell them I'm your guardian."

That prompted a giggle.

"Well I am. I take good care of this." She grabbed his groin and squeezed, causing him to squirm against the seat. The contact triggered a necking session that lasted several minutes. Soon they were both breathing hard and perspiring.

"Now look what you've done. It's worse," he snickered.

"It'll go down. Try thinking of... Mrs. Vinta-thingie instead of me. Unless she's sexy."

"She looks like Franklin's mum." He giggled again.

"Well there you are."

***

Phase one seemed to go well.

After taking her bag to his bedroom he came downstairs to find her standing near the sideboard in the front room with her back turned. She seemed very still as if concentrating.

"What is it, Calley?"

She only turned her head at first. "The uncle I never met—never knew. This is your dad?"

Then he saw the thing she held in both hands. The framed photograph of his parents had been taken years ago at the pub. A commonplace possession he'd seen a thousand times, but now, seeing it held in her special hands, it took on new significance.

He walked over and pried it away. Tense seconds ticked by before he spoke. "I can barely remember when it was taken." His breath heaved. "Mum looked fine then, not drinking or anything. Taken before—before they sent me away. I think I was happy. I'm not sure."

Calley put an arm around him. "We always remember the good times."

What he did next shook the girl rigid. The photograph went flying, hard into the tiled fireplace, where the frame and glass shattered into fragments. He pulled away and went to the other photographs that lined the sideboard and mantlepiece. One by one he slammed them face down as if obliterating his past family life.

"Oh, James, don't do that."

"She killed him, Calley. Crashed the fucking car deliberately. You see I can say that word. She packed me out of the way, and when it suited her to die..." Both fists clenched in frustration. "I really, really hate her." His voice cracked from pent-up tension. "One time, when she'd drunk all she could, she peed all over the kitchen floor—right in front of us—then fell over. Dad and I moved her. These are the times you never forget, Calley. These are the times."

Calley grabbed hold of him while he wracked his way through the tirade and then let the anger slowly slip away.

"Shh, shh, let it go, that's it. Let it go, baby."

"He was the only one." James looked in her face. "He looked like me, small, thin, weak. Not what anyone would call a real man. But he had time for me, Calley. He wanted me around. And that, that murdering bitch went and killed him." Again he pulled away sniffing back the emotion. "Right again, Calley—you're always right—we shouldn't have come here. You made the memories go away for a while. Now look what I've done."

***

She pried him from the front room to the back of the house. His mood swing had been extreme, from a giggling, explorative schoolboy to a tragic, rage-filled survivor, in a matter of minutes. James harbored severe problems and Calley had only just begun to realize the extent she'd gotten in over her head.

That night they lay together quietly. There was nothing intimate in the union, simply two warm bodies holding each other through the night.

Is Calley in over her head with tragic James? Can she bring him back to that explorative freshman and restore a gleam in his eye?

On the eve of a flight to America the next chapter will provide a key element in their story.

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