The Garnett Marriage Pact

‘Quite some time.’ She didn’t qualify her statement.

‘So that response I got from you was based on physical frustration, was it?’

She wanted to scream at him that he was wrong, that she loved him, but pride and caution stopped her. Far better to let him think he was right. If she let him guess the truth she would lose him and the boys and the life she had here which she loved already. Logically she knew that it was unlikely that he would ever come to feel about her the way she did about him, but at least she would have…what?

‘Well?’

His curt demand cut across her thoughts.

‘I suppose it must have been.’ How husky and emotional her voice sounded; the voice of someone in pain. Trying to sound flippant she added shakily, ‘So now we know, frustration and anger make a pretty lethal combination.’

To her surprise his only response was a smothered curse, her mattress depressing as he got up and pulled on his jeans, not looking at her as he picked up his shirt and headed for the door. Once there he paused, with his hand on the doorknob, his voice harsh as he told her, ‘Fortunately, it’s a combination we’re not likely to repeat.’

And then he was gone, leaving her alone to dream of how it could have been if instead of disliking her he had loved her. She wouldn’t be alone now. Instead she would be wrapped in his arms, listening to his tender words of love and praise. Tears stung her eyes and she buried her head into her pillow, letting them fall.

* * *

THE NEXT FEW DAYS were purgatory. Jessica was torn between the fear that Lyle would tell her he wanted to end their marriage and the anguish brought on by the fact that he was quite obviously avoiding her. Even Stuart noticed it, commenting that his father never seemed to spend any time with them in the evenings any more.

At least she had achieved a measure of success where the boys were concerned, Jessica consoled herself one afternoon as she worked in the garden. Both of them were much more open now; much more ready to accept Lyle as their father, and from the tiny scraps of information they had unwittingly given her, she had discovered that their withdrawal from him had been caused, not by their attachment to their mother, but by their realisation that she neither loved nor wanted them and their fear that Lyle would feel the same.

It was something she wanted to tell Lyle and discuss with him, but she was far too afraid to approach him. She dreaded seeing him look at her with contempt and dislike, or having him think that she was using the boys as an excuse to force on him an intimacy he plainly did not want.

In addition, nagging at her conscience and compounding her guilt was the very real fear that she could quite easily have conceived—it would be a week or more before she could know, but already she shuddered to think of Lyle’s anger if she should discover that she had. There was quite simply no way he would want her to have his child, and yet knowing what she did about him, she knew he would never willingly consider an abortion, and neither was there any way she would want one, so that left her with the painful knowledge that if she was pregnant she would be inflicting upon him more worries and responsibilities, and that it was quite possible that he would allow the marriage to stand simply because of the child.

From there it was only a short step to the acutely unpalatable conviction that for a man who distrusted the female sex as much as Lyle did it was all too possible that he might conclude that she had deliberately engineered their lovemaking, intending to become pregnant thus ensuring that he would be forced to stand by their marriage and support her and her child. He might even guess how she felt about him, and suspect that she was using the child as a form of moral blackmail.

All these thoughts and more surfaced far too frequently for comfort, exhausting her emotionally and physically, and even the garden had lost its normal soothing effect on her senses. The boys were playing on the lawn, but Jessica checked suddenly, noticing the ominous silence. What on earth were they up to?

Putting down her trowel she headed in the direction of the lawn, coming to an abrupt and horrified stop as she saw James standing looking up into the branches of the ancient plum tree in the middle of the lawn, while all that was visible of Stuart was his legs, the rest of him cloaked in greenery.

It wasn’t so much the fact that he had climbed the tree that bothered her, but the knowledge that he had done so in direct contravention of Lyle’s wishes. The tree was old and dying, and he had already decided that in the winter it must come down because of its potential danger.

Even as she watched, Jessica heard the warning creak of the branch Stuart was sitting on. She heard James’s frightened shout, his face white as he called out a warning to his brother, and then with a dry, rending sound the branch tore free of the trunk, both it and Stuart hurtling to the ground.

Jessica didn’t remember running, but she must have done because she was there almost before the branch hit the ground, calling out anxiously to Stuart. He was lying among the foliage, his eyes closed, and his face white.

Beside her Jessica was aware of James’s thin, keening cry as he sobbed hysterically. ‘He’s dead! Stuart’s dead!’

Her stomach twisting in anguished knots, Jessica scrambled through the heavy leaves and small branches to reach the still figure of her stepson, not daring to move him as she bent over him, gently feeling for his pulse, trying to see if he was breathing.

It was only when she saw the even rise and fall of his chest that she was able to acknowledge how terrified she had been that James was right and Stuart had indeed been killed, but her relief was only short-lived. He might be alive, but he was still unconscious. Agonising twists of memory churned inside her, stories of children and adults for whom a blow on the head had resulted in a life that was no life at all, condemned to exist purely on a life-support machine.

She saw James scrambling towards her, reaching out to grab his brother’s arm.

‘No, don’t touch him.’

She saw the younger boy’s bottom lip tremble and wished she had not been so sharp, reaching out to comfort him as she explained. ‘We don’t know how badly hurt he is, James, so we mustn’t move him. He isn’t dead though.’

‘I wish Dad was here.’

The young voice trembled and grew shrill and Jessica desperately shared his wish, but Lyle was out on his afternoon calls and wasn’t due back for another couple of hours.

‘You stay with Stuart,’ she instructed, trying to appear calm, ‘I’ll go and ring for an ambulance.’

Over the telephone she explained what had happened as concisely as she could, and was told not to touch or move Stuart.

‘We’ll be with you just as soon as we can. Where are you again?’ the cool controlled voice of the emergency operator asked.