Run, Mummy, Run. Cathy Glass
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happy at the shared memory.
‘Me, of course,’ he laughed. ‘I was the eldest. It had to be me!’
Mark bent down and picked up a large leaf and, curling up the edges so it looked like a small boat, dropped it into the torrent. Aisha linked his arm and they watched together as the makeshift boat rose high on the current of spray, twisting and turning, holding its own, before being sucked into the water and disappearing into the whirlpool at the bottom.
‘Oh well, you can’t win them all,’ he shrugged, straightening.
Aisha continued looking down, gazing into the swirling pool and hoping against the odds that their little boat might yet reappear. But there was no sign of the leaf, it had gone for good, sucked under to decay at the bottom of the riverbed.
‘My father has a saying,’ she said shortly, ‘one of many. He says brooks become crooked by taking the path of least resistance, and people do too. I sometimes wonder if that’s what I’ve done – taken the path of least resistance. The easiest, the most acceptable.’
Mark looked sideways at her with a mixture of humour and indulgence. ‘You say the quaintest things sometimes, Aisha. How could you possibly think that, with everything you’ve achieved?’
She looked up and met his gaze. ‘I’ve conformed though, haven’t I? I’ve always done what was expected of me. The way I met you was the one and only exception.’
‘And what’s wrong with conforming?’ he said. ‘If it’s made you the person you are? You’re perfect, absolutely perfect, as I keep telling you. Though I must confess that makes me feel a certain responsibility sometimes.’
‘For me?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Why should you feel responsible for me? You didn’t make me what I am.’
‘No, but you’re so untouched, unscathed. Vulnerable, almost. I worry that I might harm you in some way.’
She looked at him and then spoke with uncharacteristic sharpness. ‘I’m not an ornament, Mark. I won’t break. Please don’t treat me as if I will.’
He fell silent for a moment. Then, with a small start, he turned squarely to face her. Taking hold of her shoulders, he drew her gently away from the edge of the gully, then placed his fingers lightly under her chin and tenderly tilted her face up towards his. His parted lips came down on hers and Aisha closed her eyes, and felt his mouth, firm and insistent with desire. She felt his body pressing against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth as he clasped her to him. She looped her hands round his neck and clung to him, buried her fingers into his hair, and returned the passion in his kiss. How she loved him, how close she felt to him, how she now yearned for him. She wanted Mark to know that – that if his passion continued and grew, and he wanted her, then she was at last ready to give herself to him, completely. For Mark had always said it must be her decision; that there was no pressure, no rush, and that he would wait until she was ready. Now she was, and she wanted him to know.
His lips left her mouth and moved slowly across her cheek and to her neck; kissing, sucking, gently taking the skin between his teeth. Her body trembled with desire and anticipation. ‘I need you,’ she breathed. ‘I want you, Mark.’
What could be more natural, she thought, than making love for the first time in this beautiful woodland setting, with the sky as their canopy, and the undergrowth flattened to a makeshift bed. It would be perfect, she knew, and he would be gentle in this as he was in all things. He wouldn’t laugh at her inexperience or clumsiness, he would guide her, she knew. But he would have to be certain that she was ready to give herself to him because he had said he would never take advantage of her.
‘Mark, I want you,’ she breathed against his cheek. ‘I want you now.’ She pressed herself harder against him and felt the desire overpower her and the willingness to give herself up to him completely.
His hands were rubbing the small of her back and his lips were buried in her neck. Then gradually he became very still. His body was close but losing some of its pressure now as the firm embrace of his arms eased. Her hands were still around his neck and her eyes were closed as she felt him pull slightly away. Aisha thought he was going to take off his coat and spread it on the ground, then ease her slowly down and onto it. And she yearned for him now, as she never had before; she wanted him, she was ready. But there was no other movement or sound beyond the distant waterfall and a bird fluttering nearby. She felt Mark close but very still. Slowly she opened her eyes and looked into his as his hands dropped away. It took her a moment to realize that he wasn’t taking off his coat, but was standing still looking at her. Then he spoke, and his voice was flat and empty. ‘We’d better go, Aisha,’ was all he said.
He turned and started walking towards the undergrowth that led to the hill they had climbed together. Aisha went after him, not knowing what was happening. He swiped an overhanging branch as he went and his speed increased.
‘Mark! Wait for me,’ she called. He was walking fast, too fast, she was having to run to keep up and nearly tripped. ‘Mark!’ she called again. ‘Wait for me!’ But he didn’t; he didn’t stop or turn, but kept on walking, gaining distance: through the undergrowth, then out of the thicket and down the hill towards the bridge at the bottom. ‘Mark! Stop! I can’t keep up!’ she cried and ran after him, the bag of cones banging awkwardly against her leg. ‘Mark? Wait! What’s the matter?’
There was no reply. Fear gripped her. He strode on as she slipped and slid down the grassy bank, frantically trying to catch up with him. She went to grab hold of the passing twigs and brambles to steady herself, but the grass was wet and her feet kept slithering from under her. ‘Mark! Please wait!’ she shouted louder, but he ignored her.
Down to the bottom of the hill, his back was towards her, receding, moving further away as he continued, putting more distance between them. The bridge came into sight and he marched straight onto it with no concern for the rotting planks. He stalked across and off the other side. Aisha’s heart pounded as she arrived at the bottom of the hill and ran onto the bridge, trying to keep him in sight. Off the other side of the bridge the gap between them widened as he began along the track that led to the stile.
‘Mark, stop!’ she yelled, out of breath and consumed by panic. ‘For goodness’ sake stop! Tell me what I’ve done!’
She heard the hysteria in her voice and perhaps he heard it too, because he cleared the stile with a leap, then took another step and stopped. His back was towards her, his head was held stiff and erect. She ran to the stile, her breath catching in her throat, and clambered over, scratching her leg as she went. Mark was standing just in front of her now, still turned away, but not moving. She went round to face him. His face was deathly white and the fine lines of his forehead were furrowed deep. He looked past her; focusing on some distant point straight ahead.
‘Mark,’ she said again. ‘Mark, please. What is it? Tell me. What have I done?’
He shrugged, a silent gesture of despair, then slowly brought his gaze to meet hers; his expression saying it was impossible, futile even to begin.
‘Mark?’ she implored. But no, he stepped round her and continued at a slower pace towards the field.
She followed him along the edge of the ploughed field and then into the wood where they had previously sauntered hand in hand, enjoying the peace and tranquillity. And whereas before the isolation had added to her pleasure – just the two of them alone in the countryside – it now made her nervous and afraid. As she followed him, her mind frantically searched for an explanation, something that would give her a clue, a handle on what had happened. A small voice from her past said that it was her fault and she was to blame, that she had thrown herself at a man like some cheap hussy as her mother had warned against, and he had rejected her. Aisha felt bitterly ashamed.
The sky ahead burst fiery orange as the winter sun began its descent. Aisha saw its beauty and felt it bittersweet. Mark would have normally stopped and commented on it – he loved the perfection in nature as much as she. But now they continued separate and in silence, the artwork overhead an unacknowledged witness to their isolation.