Cherry Orphan

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Sounds drifted in, faint, indistinct, as the ebbing waves of sleep relaxed their grip. James rolled to his left and reached for Calley, only to discover the empty side of the double bed. He strained for a moment—trying to unravel dreams from reality and unclog his mind.

She'd gone. Fled the house and driven off, leaving him to his ugly memories.

A shrill whistle seemed to rise from below. Kettle boiling? Other sounds: music, singing, door opening and closing, hard footsteps on tile.

Someone down there, not just a trick of sleep. Thank God—despite his appalling behavior, she had stayed.

***

He padded into the kitchen wearing only his undershorts, squinting from the harsh sunlight. The table radio played Sunday Serenade. "What time do you call this, Nameth?" Calley said, pouring hot water over instant coffee. "Hope you like it black, there's no milk. Can't even steal some; this is Sunday. We don't have any food in the house either, but I do have some travel snacks in one of my bags."

Lethargically he slumped into a wire-legged chair and leaned on the small round table. The last thing he wanted was food. It looked like she'd borrowed one of the blue bathrobes that always hung on a hook behind the bathroom door. A very odd effect combined with the high heels she been wearing from the day before. Then he remembered the solitary small bag. Most of her other things would still be packed in the trunk of the car.

He held his head in both hands. "For a frightening moment I thought you'd gone. I wouldn't have blamed you one bit."

Calley placed a mug in front of him and sat opposite. "Have you calmed down enough to talk about it? Like it or not this house will be full of memories you can't avoid."

He took a sip. Black tasted bitter—exactly what he needed. "Are you always this direct? I tend to avoid problems until I'm forced to face them."

"We all do that, James. Last night you vented stuff that needed to get out. Excuse the analogy, but it was like taking an emotional shit. How do you feel now?"

"Shitty!" His head went lower. "Angry... at myself."

"Hmm, we've got to do something about that. Now what would cheer up an extremely horny sixteen-year-old boy and take his mind off family history?"

He cracked a tenuous smile. "More dares?"

"Now you're talking. I took a look out the back. Small garden, but the grass has grown long. I dare you to cut it."

The smile progressed into a laugh. "Is that what you call a dare?"

"I'm only just getting started. I needed to hear you laugh." She uncrossed her legs and got up from the table. "While you were sleeping I took the opportunity to scrape a little skin, see. You don't shave yet, so the razor I found must have belonged to your parents. This robe was theirs too. I'm an intrusion into their memory, James." She moved close, her midriff about level with his face. "Does it bother you?"

He tilted his head back. "I'd never have suggested you come here if it did. I only wish they could have seen you."

"That's the right answer. Despite moments like last night you are handling it. Here's another dare, a much tougher one: go in there and straighten things out. Put it all back as it was."

The deliberate way she metered her voice and nodded toward the front room made him flush in a warm sweat. It felt like the girl could read his mind.

"Go on, James. Do this dare for yourself, not for me."

A period of silence hung between them as she watched him internally fight it then fold. He went to his knees at the fireplace and began gathering the pieces of glass and broken frame from the hearth. Slowly he righted the pictures one by one. His hands trembled as he did it.

When the last frame had been set in place she slid her arms around his waist from behind and kissed him beside his ear. Nothing needed to be said at that moment.

***

After James showered and dressed he fetched more of her bags from the car, then ventured a look at the back garden. Calley's first dare appeared not so trivial: grass and bushes had remained uncut for a month. Tall weeds abounded and, compared to the carefully tended properties on either side, this one resembled a jungle. The day was warming fast. Temperatures were expected to hit 86F according to the radio, in a burgeoning heatwave that might rival the summer of 1976. He set to with the push mower.

As he stood contemplating his admittedly poor job, Calley came out the back door, still dressed in the bathrobe. She shaded her eyes and looked at the cloudless sky. "Another warm one. Do you have anything we can use out here?"

He kicked at the crabgrass sprouting between each flagstone. "Imagine what this will look like by September unless we hire someone. What do you mean: use?"

"A sunbed. All I need now is a deeper tan." She untied the sash and opened the bathrobe.

James reeled backwards in alarm. "For God's sake, Calley!"

"I don't like tanlines. They're bad for my professional image."

"Have mercy—the neighbors. We're ringed by houses. Someone could be watching you right now," he spluttered, half panicked, half delighted.

"Someone is: you!" Temporarily she put it away. "The sunbed?"

All he could find were two rickety old deckchairs. For two hours she sunbathed naked, but kept the bathrobe close to hand. James applied her sunscreen, and if neighbors saw the performance they never showed themselves or tried to afford a better look. Gardens and porches remained deserted. Conservative British suburbia remained true to its cowardly form.

At some point during the day they drove the mile-and-a-half to The Cock and Fox, the only place where they could eat a cooked meal for free. Mrs. Blackwell seemed cold as ice and shunned the pair, still smarting from being put in her place. She'd been overheard observing it was easy to see how James had acquired his newfound boldness and mean streak. Flashy American tarts were such a bad influence on nice young English boys.

That evening James resumed his tuition and studied long and hard as there was still much to learn. Before sleep Calley praised him, for he had shown good attention and learned the lessons well. He bowed his head, paid a final homage at her altar, then teacher and student slumbered well into night.

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