Chapter 9

Charlotte

I charge in behind him but as I catch up with Michael, “No, you don't.” Grabbing my wrist, he revolves me with a speed that sets my head reeling, then shoves me back towards my Master, who is right behind me.

He grabs my arm, holding tight and tugging me to him. “Stay out of it.” He pins me with his gaze. “Michael can handle this.”

My mother is down, backed against the wall, feet scrabbling to get away from Frank. “Don’t you touch me you bastard!" Her nose is bleeding and her arms are raised over her face as he looms over her, hand raised.

From behind Michael folds fingers into Frank’s shirt at the shoulders, lifting him back and away from her, then spins him and lunges forward, forehead first. Frank's nose explodes blood.

“Not so much fun when you're on the receiving end is it, you fucker,” snarls my husband.

“Who the fuck d’you think you are...”

Michael bangs him back against the wall, knocking out his breath. “I don't have a lot of time for men who hit women. Especially women who don't know how to protect themselves. If I'd not been here, Jenny would have caved your face in for this…” My mother glances at me, looking startled… “… but since I am here, I'll save her the trouble.”

Frank’s fists flail, but Michael has him by the shoulders and arms don’t bend that way. Not a blow lands. Michael jolts him back, banging him against the wall and knocking the air out of him.

He looks to my mother, still crouched on the floor, pressed into the corner. “You want to come with us?”

Her face crumples to tears. She shakes her head. “I'd only have to come back again and have to face him then.”

“No, I mean come with us. Stay with us. It's a big house. There's room.”

My Master's head swivels. His grip around my waist tightens.

“You mean, leave?” she says. Tears stream from one semi-closed eye. “Stay with you and Jenny?”

“Yes. Even if it doesn't work out, you'll be safe and you can figure your future from there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” His eyes slide to mine. “I know my wife wants this. That's good enough for me.”

Her chest heaves. “I'm outta here.”

Frank roars... “You can't…”

Michael silences him with a look. “No, you can’t. You've had your chance.”

Frank looks panic-stricken. “No, Mitch…” But she’s scrambling to get up. My Master stretches out a hand, helps her upright.

“I'm just going to get some stuff. Five minutes” She gives Frank a hard look as she leaves the room. Footsteps sound - the hollow noise of shoes on bare floorboards, up and then above us.

In a lot less than five minutes, she reappears with a suitcase. It bulges. The end of a tee-shirt sleeve pokes out, flapping as she moves. To Michael, “You sure about this? You married my daughter. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough. Like I say, we have space. We don’t have to be on top of each other. You can have your own space. We’ll work out the rest.”

“Done.” She looks to her husband…

Who I once believed was my father…

… red-faced, sweating, panic-stricken. “Mitch… don’t go. It can be better…”

“Really? After twenty years it’s going to be better? Bye Frank. Have a good life. I hope it’s better for you.” She turns to Michael then smiles at me. “Let’s go.” Suitcase in hand, she sweeps by and out.

My Master, his arm still hooked around my waist, murmurs, “You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You want to say goodbye to him?”

“No… I don’t…”

I survey the wreck of a man standing across the room.

You gave me to Klempner…

“… Like she said, let’s go.”

My Master kisses the side of my face. “Come on then.”

*****

My mother is there, leaning against the car, suitcase on the ground beside her. She watches, a wary look in her eye as we follow her out.

My Master steps forward, catching up with Michael. “Is this sensible?”

Michael grunts.

“You don't think it could get a little complicated?”

“We should have left her there, you think? With that bastard?”

“I'm just saying...”

“Shut the fuck up, James. She's coming with us.”

My Master mutters to me from the side of his mouth. “You better explain a few things to your mother.”

“I will, when I have a few minutes with her.”

Michael opens the trunk, cocks his head to the suitcase. My mother picks it up, moving to the back of the car. One eye is swelling up and she's limping. My Master strides forward, snatches the case from her, lifts it into the trunk then nods down. “What's hurting?”

“I turned an ankle when I went down.” She frowns. “Did he get you as well? You're limping too.”

“Alas, in my case, it's built in.”

As we pull away, Frank is standing at the door. My mother doesn’t look back.

*****

Michael drives. My Master sits beside him, stretching his leg. In the back I sit with my mother. We don’t speak.

She’s trembling…

The tremble grows to shaking. Her head drops into her hands and she starts sobbing. I slip an arm around her shoulder; lay my other hand on her knee. She revolves, her face pressed into my chest. “I’m sorry, Jenny. I’m sorry… Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Michael watches in the rear-view, exchanging looks with my Master. After a minute, he flicks the indicator and pulls over into a service station, twists around. “Charlotte, take your mother to the bathrooms. Help her clean up a bit. We’ll wait in the cafe.”

He reaches back, lifting my mother’s chin, scanning her face. Then he reaches under the seat and pulls something out; a green plastic box. “First aid kit. Dress that cut on your face. There’s some arnica in there too. Should help with the bruising.”

*****

In the washroom I dab with cotton wool and antiseptic. She’s calming now, but the eye is going to be a real shiner. Swollen quite closed, it is already bruising.

She watches me through her single open green eye. “Jenny, is this really okay? Your husband… He doesn’t know me. You don’t know me. I’m a stranger to both of you.”

“We know enough. Michael’s the one who did the most to look for you. It was David who told us in the end where you were, but Michael tracked down your marriage certificate, my birth certificate, photos of you… all sorts. He found addresses for you." I click my tongue. “Turned out to be fake, but that’s not his fault. He really tried to find you.”

“But I’m still a stranger…”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s a good man. They both are. You’ll be staying with us for as long as it takes to get you on your feet.”

The single eye stays fixed on me. “When you say both… where does your friend fit in? James is it?”

Oh, crap…

I dab arnica ointment where the swelling is worst. “Um… I’d been hoping that wouldn’t come up quite so soon.”

“What wouldn’t come up?”

How to put this?

Mother, I sleep with two men…

Mother, we have regular threesomes…

Mother, I married one husband but I keep a spare…

“Jenny…” She takes my wrist, pulls my hand from her face. “Jenny… you hoped what wouldn’t come up so soon?”

Spit it out.

*Deep breath*

“I have two husbands. Michael is the one with his name on the marriage certificate. James is the other.”

The single eye blinks.

“That’s… novel. How does that work then? Having two men competing for your attention?” She swipes a hand through her hair. “I thought I knew all there was to know in that area, but it seems you’ve broken new ground.”

“They don’t compete. They’re very different. Good friends, but different.”

She’s trying to frown, but the swelling won’t let her. “How? In what way different?”

I’m not used to having to account for myself this way. I’ve never had to do it. Never any ‘Yes, Mama’ or ‘No, Papa’. But this is my mother.

I want her to approve of me. Of what I’m doing. Of how I live. Of how I have chosen to live.

I want her to like my two husbands.

“Michael’s… well… you’ve seen him in action. He’s… likeable. Everyone likes him. He cares. He doesn’t always have a lot to say, but he shows it in other ways. He tried so hard to find you. And he gave me the home I wanted - that he knew I wanted.”

Her head inclines. “And James?”

“James is a lot more… hidden… I mean, not with me, not now. He was at first. You can’t always tell what he’s thinking. He talks a lot, but there’s always more to it than what he says.”

“But he does love you?”

“Oh, God, yes…” My mouth is dry.

She’s watching me. She knows I’ve not said it all…

There’s a knock at the door; then Michael’s voice. “You two okay in there?”

“We’re fine. We were just talking.”

“Anyone else in with you?”

“No.”

The door opens. His head pokes around. “Why don’t you talk over food. Take a separate table if you want some privacy.” He strides over to my mother and with a slight hesitation, touches her face, looking this way and that. “Any headache? Dizziness? Nausea?”

“No.”

He lifts the lid of the one open eye with a thumb, peers in, then, “No permanent harm done, I think. But you’re going to have a bruiser of an eye for a few days.”

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

“My pleasure.” He pats her on the shoulder. “Let’s get a meal inside you. You’ll feel better for it.”

As we follow him out she murmurs. “I see what you mean.”

*****