Daniel's Story
I drove away from Kate's cottage wondering how I could have been so stupid. So fucking stupid. I banged one hand on the steering wheel as I accelerated out of the village, my mind full of the images of sweet, lovely Kate and the look on her face as I cried out Louise's name. I told her it was a mistake making love to her but I understand how she felt. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. The feel of her soft welcoming body was just too much for me and my wife certainly wasn't keeping me happy at the moment. I needed her so badly and now I was paying for it.
What the hell would it take to make it up to her? And how would she react back at work? A feeling of guilt ran through me as I realised I was worrying more about my damn career than her feelings. But she could easily cause trouble if she was so inclined. And it had taken me a long time to get where I was. Years of working awful hours and making sacrifices. I wasn't about to give that up easily.
But the real problem was Kate's similarity to Louise. That was real and scary. Not immediately obvious, I must admit, but there were so many similarities - same shape face, hair colour, eyes, smile, even the way Kate walked was just like Louise. The more I saw her the more I saw Louise. Had I noticed at work? Probably not. The stress of the job meant that I never really looked at anyone who wasn't working directly for me or had any importance. I can't ever remember seeing her before in the office and it wasn't until I looked out that stormy night that I saw it. Saw her, I mean. My Louise.
I drew up outside the house, the large pile that came with my position at Jefferson's but was empty most of the time. Tonight it was cold and dark, no welcoming lights shone in the windows, the heating was off and I stood in the large echoing hall feeling a despair that I knew would stay with me for a long time. Making my way to the kitchen I noticed the ansaphone flashing and pushed the play button. The long distance sound of my wife came down the line, asking where I was, had I managed to do some chore or other. I silenced her voice and went into the pristine kitchen that never seemed warm. I thought back to the kitchen of my youth, the hub of the house, my mother always there, always cooking.
Pouring out a large measure of whisky I made my way into the living room. Again, there was no warmth here, no cosy chairs, no family pictures crammed onto mantlepieces. A cold and impersonal room that matched my cold and impersonal marriage.
I switched the television on to lessen the oppressive atmosphere but my mind was elsewhere. Back to the summer of 1976 and a sweet-faced girl on the brink of womanhood.
We had always been friends for as long as I could remember. We lived two doors apart and our parents knew each other from way back. I have pictures of us in the paddling pool together or laughing as we attended some party. They were happy times and it wasn't until we were about 14 that we realised our friendship was different from all the rest. We loved being together and I would track Louise down to show her some model I had made, her delight and interest making me feel warm inside.
Our parents were happy of course. My friendship with Louise kept me occupied and although I had plenty of male friends it was Louise I turned to when I was sad or lonely. Our future seemed assured.
On Louise's 16th birthday, her parents held a big party for her at her home. It was such a happy day and I knew then that Louise and I were more than just platonic friends. We kissed for the first time and I could sense in her a growing wonder. Of course, nothing ever happened between us. Neither of us were ready for a physical relationship and we were too young, but I knew that one day, when we were older, things would be good between us. Our level of understanding and affection would guarantee that.
On the day of the accident we had rowed over something silly. I wanted to go someplace and Louise didn't. It was as simple as that but I was never able to make it up to her. She went home and then was sent on an errand by her mother. On her way to the grocery store a car mounted the sidewalk and killed her instantly.
The pain is as real today as it was nearly 30 years ago. I can close my eyes and see her parents crying and the terrible look on their faces as they returned from the hospital. I couldn't express the pain I felt, not at first anyway. I became moody and sullen. A withdrawn teenager who took to staying out late and blaming everyone else for the hurt I felt inside.
Years passed and although the pain subsided a little, my memories of Louise never faded. I kept a doll that used to belong to her and it would sit on my shelf in the bedroom looking at me in silent reproach. One day I gently took it from the shelf, placed it in a box with some other stuff I was throwing out and took it to a charity shop. I decided then to live my life and try and put Louise behind me.
At University I met lots of women but it wasn't until I went home that day and removed her little doll that I could start to date them. At first they resembled her in some way or another. Same colour hair, same eyes but never all in one person. That would have been too much. I made up for my lack of experience with women and slept with a lot of them. I would close my eyes and think of Louise - the way it should have been with her if some monster hadn't mown her down...
And then I met my wife, Jessica. So different from my love. Such a strong and capable woman who was destined to achieve a lot. I admired the way she initiated our relationship, almost hunting me down until I gave in and surrended. Sex with her was intense, erotic and she knew what she wanted from me. Never once did I think of Louise when I was with Jessica. She would make me look into her eyes as we climaxed together and obliterated all thoughts of Louise. She was a demanding, forceful woman and at first I loved that about her more than anything else. She let me forget.
The sudden harsh ringing of the telephone startled me out of my reverie and I went to answer it, trying to stifle a tiny hope that it was Kate, after having somehow tracked down my number. But it was Jessica, her voice impatient with irritation despite the immense distance between us.
"I've been trying to get hold of you all evening. Did you get my message?"
"Yes, Jess. I've just been tied up with work."
"Well, have you sorted out next week?"
I sighed as my wife continued to talk at me down the line. Her parents were coming to stay and she expected me to take a couple of days off work to pick them all up from the airport and show them around.
I reassured Jessica that it was all in hand and she rang off leaving me even more miserable but with a good measure of guilt thrown in as well. This was the first time I had ever been unfaithful and I hated myself for the deceit even though my marriage was as good as dead. The months spent trying to salvage it had been a waste of time, tears and recriminations being the only product of our counselling.
