I do hope you enjoy this rather long story. If you do. or if you don't, then please tell me. I want to make my story telling better for you, my readers.
*
It was quite late on a Friday evening when Trudi knocked on the door. My wife showed her to the room where I was working. I hardly recognised her, but it had been a few years since we had last seen her. Trudi asked to talk to us.
Trudi had lived, with her parents, a few doors away. It was her Father that was the problem. He worked in the building trade, and whenever his team had finished a job they would celebrate, and when he had had a few drinks his temper emerged. It was his wife and daughter who were the targets.
The first time we were aware of this was one evening when we were sitting in our back yard and we heard shouting and breaking crockery. Some time later I saw them sitting under a tree. They were both weeping. My wife and I had a quick conversation, and so she went to them, and they came back into our home. They spent the night in our spare room.
We assured them that they were welcome, and later, after we had housed them a few times in similar circumstances, we showed them where we hid a spare key. Of course, we kept this arrangement secret. We did not want to attract the attention -- or worse - of the Father.
Trudi wanted to talk, but she saw that I was busy. She apologised and said that she would not disturb me. I needed to finish what I was doing, so my wife took Trudi through to the kitchen and they drank tea and chatted for a while. When I had finished my work, I joined them. I could tell that something interesting had been said. My wife had a smirk and a twinkle. Trudi was blushing.
"Darling, I don't know what you will think of this, but Trudi..."
She was choosing her words carefully.
"Trudi, would like to..."
She paused.
"She would like us to ... help her to ... to ... to make love."
Its not the sort of thing that you hear every day! At least, I don't.
At first I thought that Trudi was asking if she could bring her boyfriend to our home. I said as much, but soon realised that she was asking me for more than discrete accommodation.
Trudi.
I remembered Trudi as a young child. She, and other kids used to play in the field behind our home. I sometimes worked at home and my desk overlooked the field. Some of the kids were noisy, or got into mischief, but not Trudi. I think she was a bit older that most of the others, and that she seemed to calm things, to set limits.
I remember her growing up. She grew up deliciously. Her figure developed in all the usual ways. She did not become one of those stick-thin types beloved of the fashion industry, no, she became a real young woman. If she was on the field then I would find myself distracted from my work.
I never saw her with a boyfriend. I did hear that one lad had tried to befriend Trudi but had been threatened by her Father.
When she left school she had a job in a shop somewhere. It was at this time that they started to use our spare room quite frequently. Then I heard that the two of them had moved out. We had a card from them thanking us for our help, but with no contact address.
A few months later the Father stopped being seen around the street. Some time later his house was occupied by another couple.
Now Trudi told us the story. One night her father had come home in a worse state than usual. Food had been ready hours before, and they had kept it hot. This was not good enough for him, and he had thrown the pan across the room. It had hit her mother, and the stew has scalded her badly, and some of it had burned Trudi. She pulled up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal an angry red scar.
Her mother came off worst. Trudi told me that her father had stormed out of the house, and she had phoned for an ambulance. Her mother was in hospital with the burns for some time, and they never returned home, except to collect belongings.
Since then, the pair of them had lived in cheap rooms. Her mother had needed a series of skin grafts, so they both had to live off what Trudi could earn.
Now her mother was seriously ill again. One of the grafts had become infected, and the infection had spread; she had suffered serious blood poisoning. This had hit her kidneys and other organs. She was on dialysis, but needed a transplant.
"I want to give Mum one of my kidneys."
"The doctors have talked to us. They have explained the operations, and told us that it is not risk free. Kidney donors can have problems. In a few cases they have died."
"I accept the risk -- it is just that ... "
She stopped, and thought.
"I've been talking to Mum a lot. She's been telling me things about herself. Did you know her before I was born?"
"No love."
"Well, it seems she was a bit of a tearaway. She liked the boys, and she loved ... going with them."
"Mum has been comparing my life now with hers then. She says I have not had a chance to live. It's important to her."
What could we say?
"You don't mind me telling you this, do you?"
"It's fine, Love."
"No, It's OK.
"Well Mum needs my kidney. But she says that she won't accept it until I have had a bit of fun in my life."
"You mean ..."
"She wants me to have some of the fun that she had."
"Are you saying that she won't accept your kidney while you're ... well ... still a virgin. Is that right?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
I started muttering something about someone her own age, but she said "No!"
"Mum and I have talked a lot about things, and I don't want just any pimply kid. I could go onto the street, and get money -- I've thought of that -- but that's not what Mum means at all. To lose it, yes, but to have fun as well. I want someone I care about, someone experienced, someone loving."
My wife and I looked puzzled.
"You two were the only people who seemed to care about us. Mum and I saw the way you loved each other. Your walls are not that thick, we heard things too. Without knowing, you taught us stuff. You gave us the strength to stay away from him. Mum thought that you ... "
She paused, and made a decision. She continued.
"And I used to see you watching me through the window."
My wife laughed. I blushed.
"You watched me, yes. But you respected me. It felt nice. It felt right."
"The boys at school just wanted to stare, to grab a feel. You just liked looking at me. You made me feel beautiful. Thanks!"
Beneath the table my wife's hand sought my own. She squeezed it most eloquently. She was happy.
"Lets not hurry things," she said. "It's late. Will you stay here tonight?"
"Yes please, if that's OK."
"I'll go and make up a bed for you. Let's we talk again in the morning. Decide then?"
She left the room. Trudi and I tried to avoid each other's glance, but of course, our eyes met. We sat in silence. I have no idea what she was thinking, but I felt a glow. This young woman was so trusting, caring, loving. I felt a smile creeping onto my lips. I saw it reflected on hers. At the same instant we both lifted our hands and reached forwards and touched fingers.
