How Do I Love Thee? Read online

  Could he be a rapist? ‘Listen (maniac),’ she could say. ‘I’m not your type.’ That would go over well. ‘I’ve picked up several social diseases—and a bad cold. Germs, germs, germs, you know? I’m a thespian … uh, lesbian. Would you believe that I am actually a guy in drag?’

  Naomi gave up. Her terror would act as a silencer, so why waste time planning speeches? She’d just have to wait for Belfry Man to rescue her. Ha!

  Then inspiration hit her. He was probably (she hoped) an ordinary mugger, just after her money. Naomi was carrying the princely sum of ten dollars and assorted change in her purse. If she just casually dropped the money on the footpath, the mugger would surely understand that this was all she had. He would take the cash and leave her alone.

  Still walking, Naomi blindly dug into her purse for her last two five-dollar notes, trying to look oblivious to her pursuer’s presence. One by one, she casually let the notes flutter to the pavement. Then, she picked up her pace.

  The footsteps also accelerated. Didn’t he understand? That was all the money she had—couldn’t he just take it and leave her alone?

  She began to run—the mugger also ran. She could hear the pounding of his footsteps, mocking her attempt to escape. It was no use. No matter how fast she ran, he could run faster. She’d never make it home before he caught her. Then she felt a strong hand on her shoulder, restraining her.

  ‘Slow down, will you woman? I’m out of breath,’ said the mugger. He didn’t sound very scary. In fact, his voice had a pleasant, musical Irish lilt to it. ‘What’s your hurry?’

  Turning around slowly, her heart thumping so hard it could register on the Richter scale, Naomi faced her attacker. He was grinning at her. Obviously, he enjoyed his work.

  ‘Wh-what do you want?’ she stuttered. She hoped her voice held a commanding tone but it probably sounded more like gibbering.

  The man was not evil looking. He was rather handsome, in a rough sort of way. A two-day stubble sprouted on his chin and his eyes glittered with … was that amusement?

  He held her paltry pair of five-dollar notes and shook them at her. ‘Are you rich or something?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘Can you afford to throw money away?’

  She shook her head, trying to clear it. Her tongue was frozen in her mouth. Her great plan had backfired. Instead of understanding that this was all the money she had, he assumed she’d been throwing it away—so there must be plenty more.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why couldn’t she have run like the wind as soon as she’d heard his footsteps? But no, she had to be clever—and now, she was in big trouble.

  ‘Just leave me alone, please.’ She knew she sounded pitiful, but pity was her only hope now. To her dismay, she felt herself reverting to that scared little child her family still wanted to coddle. Maybe they were right—she hadn’t grown up as much as she had believed. She drew in a deep breath and tried to stem the tide of panic rising in her throat.

  The man seemed puzzled. He squinted at her, head cocked to the side. ‘Look, lady, I just wanted to tell you that you dropped these,’ he said. He waved the bills at her again. ‘Didn’t you notice?’

  Naomi’s heart squeezed out a drop of hope. Could it really be? Was there still a good Samaritan left on the face of the earth? Looking into the man’s eyes, she could see no evil intent there.

  The darkened street seemed to lighten a shade or two. Maybe the moon had emerged from behind a cloud or perhaps it was only an illusion.

  She let her face relax into a smile and snatched the two bills from his hand. Feeling very foolish, she laughed at herself. The air suddenly thinned as if she’d been miraculously transported to a higher altitude. Her giddiness returned.

  ‘Thank you. I didn’t realise I’d dropped them,’ Naomi lied. ‘I was rummaging for my keys in my handbag and the money must have fallen out.’

  Logical, believable explanation, she hoped. She felt a flush of embarrassment surge to her cheeks, colouring them rosy. At least her blush of shame wouldn’t be revealed in the gloom.

  ‘Right. I’ll be off then.’ The man simply nodded to her, tipping an imaginary hat and walking away, his good turn accomplished. She watched him stroll up the street, leaving her unmolested and unnoticed. She stared until he had receded into the night, his ghostly white shirt becoming a speck of light bobbing along at the horizon.

  The texture of the world had somehow altered. Oxford Street didn’t seem dark and spooky anymore—just full of mysterious possibilities. The glass had magically transformed from half empty to half full. You’ve got to be in it to win it—wasn’t that what they always said?

  Putting karate lessons on the agenda for next week, Naomi decided she wasn’t going to think like a victim anymore. Her confidence was so high, she felt like a black belt already. The lessons were just a formality.

  Then she heard more footsteps behind her. ‘Oh, come on!’ she groaned. ‘What now?’ She turned around, hands on hips, ready to face whoever had dared to follow her.

  ‘Hey there, old friend. How’s it hanging?’

  ‘Hi, Roland.’ Her voice sounded small, shocked and scared. All the confidence she’d felt a second ago evaporated. She tried to smile but could feel her mouth hanging open like a flytrap, not obeying her.

  ‘You were rude to me back there, Naomi.’ He talked down to her as if she were a naughty puppy. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I don’t like it.’

  ‘I’m … I’m sorry, Roland. I didn’t mean to be rude. I had stuff to do, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, I saw you with some guy. That your boyfriend?’ His nose wrinkled as if he’d just smelled something rotten.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she answered truthfully.

  ‘Baby, once you’ve had me, you’ll never go back to that creep. How about it?’ He moved closer to her. She felt menace radiating off him in waves.

  ‘I don’t think so, Roland. You and I—we’re just old friends, that’s all.’ Not even that. She hardly knew the guy!

  ‘Oh, no, we’re much more than old friends, baby.’ He grabbed her arm and wrenched it painfully. ‘From now on, our relationship is going to be much closer. Much, much closer. It’s two country hicks against the world, right? Your parents love me. They’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘Let me go, Roland. I mean it.’ Why couldn’t The Wolf jump out of the bushes and skewer her attacker with one of his spikes?

  As if reading her mind, Roland pushed her towards those very bushes. He began pawing her and making animal groans. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he still had the strong body she’d lusted after as a teen. He swatted her other hand away as if it were an insect.

  ‘Don’t make this difficult, Nay. You and I are going to get it on tonight.’

  ‘No, we’re not!’

  ‘You’ve got to learn that what I say goes.’ He placed one hand around her throat and pinned her to the tree so that she couldn’t escape. Naomi used her other arm to punch him in the eye.

  ‘Ouch,’ he yelled, stumbling backwards. ‘I was being nice to you, for old time’s sake, but you shouldn’t have done that, little bitch.’ He slapped her hard, stunning her into a dizzy blur.

  ‘What’s going on there?’ called a familiar voice. Belfry Man, defender of the weak and nemesis of wrongdoers, had arrived! ‘Hey, let her go.’

  ‘Help me!’ she screamed.

  ‘Oh, it’s your little friend.’ Roland dropped her and she fell to the ground but quickly stood again. The world spun momentarily, forcing her to lean against the tree. A few seconds later, an alarming scene snapped into focus.

  Roland was walking towards Brad, hands raised in a classic boxing stance, as if a bout between a football jock and a lanky geek would be perfectly fair. Maybe Brad was stronger than he looked, just like Marvellous Mouse who could lift an elephant with one tiny claw. She could only hope that was the case.

  ‘I’ll teach you a lesson, boy. You’re going to learn about minding your own business.’ Roland
growled and punched the air, moving closer with every step.

  ‘Don’t hurt him, you cretin,’ Naomi yelled.

  As Roland advanced slowly, Brad gamely held his ground. His courage shocked and thrilled her, but she couldn’t let Roland pound him into a pulp on her behalf. The thought of Brad lying on the ground, injured and in pain, made her sick to her stomach. She did care about him after all, but there was no time to think about that now.

  Frantically, she searched in the bushes, finding a stack of twigs and lots of dirt but not much else. She had a mobile phone, but by the time she rang the cops she and Brad could both be in real trouble.

  She looked up to witness Brad kickboxing his opponent with a blow to the belly. Roland roared like an angry bear.

  This display of ferocity didn’t seem to phase Brad at all. He stood his ground, calm in the face of his opponent’s fury. She realised Brad was definitely superhero material.

  If he could do it, so could she. Without thinking, she ran between the two men. ‘If you stop this fighting and come with me,’ she cooed, placing one restraining hand on Roland’s broad chest, ‘we can have a good time together. I promise.’

  She heard Brad sputtering curses in the background. ‘Over my dead body,’ he growled. Well, he would be dead if Roland had his way. She’d make sure that didn’t happen.

  Roland allowed her to sidle up close. He’d dropped his arms and was looking at her the way a lion stares at a lamb. She placed her arms around Roland’s neck, kissed him once, then brought her right knee up hard, slamming his manhood. The move got instant results—Roland screamed and crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony.

  ‘Well done,’ Brad grinned. ‘I’ll have to remember not to mess with you.’

  ‘He deserved it. Thanks for getting involved—I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come along.’

  ‘Of course I’m involved—and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what he had in mind. You didn’t have to step in and save the day though—I would have taken care of him for you.’ He punched his right fist into his other palm.

  ‘I know,’ she lied. Roland might have crushed him like a fly under a swatter. Brad had guts though. No sense, but loads of courage. He would have got his share of licks in. Maybe his bravery would even have scared Roland away—bullies are notorious cowards. But she couldn’t afford to take that chance.

  Brad towed her into the doorway of a neighbouring apartment block. ‘This is my place,’ he told her, fishing in his pocket for keys. ‘Handy, huh?’ He managed to close the glass entry door behind them, just as Roland revived and came charging after them like a mad bull chasing a red flag.

  They ran up the internal stairs to Brad’s third-floor apartment and stood at his doorway for a moment, panting to catch their collective breaths.

  ‘Thanks for the rescue,’ Naomi said when she could speak again. ‘You were great.’

  ‘If I’m so great, why did you run away from the coffee shop? Afraid of your feelings for me?’ There was a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

  Her first instinct was to let fly a zinger, to tell him he was a fool, but the sharp words just wouldn’t flow. A small crack had formed in her protective shell and her emotions were trying to squeeze out.

  ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she said at last, truly believing her own words.

  ‘Really? Glad to hear it.’ Inserting a key into the lock, he gestured through the doorway. ‘Come into my parlour, said the spider, et cetera,’ he laughed, ushering her into his ultramodern living room. It was the perfect habitat for a techno-nerd, all sparkling glass and chrome.

  ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Thanks. I like it. So, who is that freak? He seemed to know you. Is that the Roland you mentioned before?’

  ‘Yep. He was the hometown hero when I was a kid. Said he came to check up on me for my parents. Ha!’

  ‘Nice guy. Are they all like that back home?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s the first time he’s been out from under his daddy’s thumb, I guess. Some people just can’t handle freedom. Also, we had a less than successful date on my last visit back home. I guess he still holds a grudge.’

  ‘You dated that joker?’

  ‘Only once. Silly me.’ She shrugged and walked towards two huge floor-to-ceiling windows.

  ‘Should we call the cops on old Roland?’

  ‘What could we say? I mean, he didn’t actually do anything in the end except act like the jerk he is. That’s not against the law. Anyway, we hurt him more than he hurt me.’

  ‘How true.’

  ‘And I’ve had enough excitement for one night.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked. ‘There’s excitement and then there’s excitement.’

  ‘I’m very sure,’ she laughed.

  ‘You look like you could at least use a hug. I know I could. Come closer.’ He tried to pull her into his arms but she stood her ground.

  ‘No.’ She broke his grip on her hands.

  ‘Is it because of Roland? Has he put you off men completely? You’re killing me here.’

  ‘No—and I promise to end your misery soon. I just have something to say.’ And I need all my brain cells to function, she added silently, knowing that his touch turned her into an idiot.

  ‘First of all, I’m sorry I ran away. It was childish.’

  ‘And so you should be. It was very embarrassing. The guy at the next table asked me what I did to you. Also, you should have let me walk you home. It’s dangerous out there in the universe.’ A car whizzed past them outside, its lights dancing over the room like Tinkerbell’s flight.

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself. I do it every night. Sheesh.’

  ‘Yeah, I could see that. You can take care of yourself—with a bit of help, of course. We made quite a team, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yeah. The frigging Dynamite Duo.’

  ‘Dynamite Duo. Hey, that’s catchy, but I think it’s been used before.’ He was pouring her a big glass of wine and holding it out. ‘Here—drink this and you’ll feel better.’

  She took one huge gulp, then put the wineglass down on a nearby table. ‘Look, I had to be alone for a while to get my thoughts straight.’

  ‘And did you?’ He looked ready for bad news. His head hung down and his mouth was grim. He looked like Boris the Barbarian, slayer of the wicked, about to face a deadly battle.

  ‘Yes. I know what I want now.’ She took a deep breath and straightened her backbone. ‘I’ve decided to tell you that I care about you too. I don’t know if it’s love, but I’m willing to find out.’

  ‘I knew it,’ he whooped, raising one arm in the air, then bringing it down in a gesture that said, ‘Yes!’ She had to laugh—no choice. Brad always made her laugh.

  Picking her up in his arms, he twirled her around as if they were on stage, the floor lamp acting as a spotlight. Then he kissed her, ravenous as a starving man. She gave in to the rush of sensation, content to fall under his power.

  ‘Jeez. We’re illuminated,’ he said, coming to his senses and pointing to the open curtains. ‘Don’t want to put on a free show for the neighbourhood, do we? Especially not if your ex-friend Roland is out there.’

  ‘Too true.’ The thought of Roland watching them kiss was enough to make her gag.

  Brad’s eyelids were half closed, as if he’d just been roused from a deep sleep. He stumbled over to the curtains and drew them shut. ‘We could stay right here in the living room to chat and finish our wine—or I could give you the grand tour of my flat, starting with the master bedroom.’ He held up one palm in the stop position. ‘No pressure either way.’

  ‘Are you a good tour guide?’ So much for not appearing eager.

  ‘Why don’t you come with me and find out?’ He extended his hand to her and she grasped it willingly.

  Hand in hand, she walked with him down the hallway, and it seemed right—destined, as if they’d been doing this since caveman days. She felt a bond grow between the
m, silky but strong like Arachnid-Man’s web.

  It was an auspicious occasion, she decided. The world had just been promoted from half mad to half sane. Perhaps a small distinction, but surely an important one.

  The superheroes would be celebrating tonight.

  VIOLET’S GIFT

  DAPHNE CLAIR

  ‘I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life!’

  A leafless tree stands against the grey sky outside the window. The news is over and it’s too early for bed. Violet starts to pull down the blind, and decides that, despite the cool air outside, she will sit for a while on the park seat under the old oak.

  She finds her jacket and her walking-stick, and after closing the door on her small room traverses the long corridor, passing other doors—some open, some closed—then crosses the empty reception area and the carpark outside to step onto the lawn and reach the wooden seat.

  The slats are hard under her bony frame, but she likes it here, with the smell of grass and the quietness of the tree in its winter nakedness.

  Violet never liked her name. As a child she was gangly and thin with a face too big for her body. In her teenage years she shot up more like an uncontrollable weed than the flower she’d been optimistically named for. Her schoolmates called her Beanstalk.

  She had developed breasts before leaving primary school—a further embarrassment—but they never grew beyond a modest A-cup, while her hips remained boyishly narrow. Her friends, some of whose busts would have made them eligible for the weekly cheesecake photograph in the Sunday paper, professed to envy her long, elegant legs. Violet had looked at herself in the mirror, trying to believe in elegance, posing in her mother’s clothes when her mother was out, but before she was fifteen she’d grown too tall to fit into them, and her mother, with metaphorically wringing hands, hoped loudly and often that Violet would stop growing before she reached six feet. Somewhere below six feet was apparently the limit for any girl to lay claim to elegance, or indeed to normal womanhood. Above it, one became a freak of nature.