LODGERS by Terence Gibbons

Lodgers

Chapter 1

Anne was devastated!

She was pregnant. Her doctor had said as much and now she felt how any other seventeen year old would feel about it. Life, she thought, had delivered her yet another bitter blow and she wondered when all the hard knocks would cease; when would she start to have a happy life?

Her slightly uneven teeth, biting into her lower lip, did little to hold back the tears that rose within her. A troubled life had taught her that self-pity was seldom of any use to anyone; that adversity was a part of living and had to be dealt with in the same way as anything else. But she had to acknowledge that things had never run smoothly for her since the day she was born. Her father had left her mother to get on with her pregnancy. Before Anne had uttered her first cry in this world her mother had collected all traces of him in the middle of the lounge and, having sorted those articles that would sell, heaped the rest, the photographs and sundry rubbish, in the garden and burned them. So from birth Anne had never known her father; he was never mentioned in the house and there had never been any communication from him.

He was dead to them!

Anne had always wondered about him and often would dream of him; always a masculine figure who she feared; someone that she could never identify with.

When Anne was just four her mother had been admitted to hospital where she died. The young child had been hustled off to an orphanage where she remained. The house and all its contents had been sold and the proceeds put into a trust for her - a sizeable sum which would become hers when she attained the legal age of twenty-one.

Thirteen years had dragged their heels while she grew into womanhood within the high grey walls of the orphanage. These years had been interspersed by short visits to foster homes but those brief excursions into normal family life had ceased when she was thirteen. Once, when she was nine or ten, she had read David Copperfield and, inspired by his long trek to find his aunt who had subsequently taken him in, Anne had packed a small bag and set off in search of her aunt Molly, her father's sister. Aunt Molly had received her coldly, fed her and put her to bed. It was when Anne awoke the next morning that she learned the difficult lesson that fiction is a far cry from the real world. When she had entered the sitting room she had found a social worker there, summoned by Aunt Molly, to take Anne off her hands. She was unwanted.

Anne had never been able to understood why. Her aunt was the only relative she had alive. That night, back in her bed in the orphanage, she had cried herself to sleep after vowing, with her hand on her bible, that she would never read Dickens again; in her young mind she saw him as a writer of lies.

This disillusioned child became a problem for the authorities except at her school where she proved to be a willing and able student. She developed an insatiable appetite for knowledge and it was this great plus in her character that kept her from crossing too far over the line with those who strove to control her. It was not that she was outright bad; when told to do anything, instead of getting on and doing it, she always insisted on knowing why she must do it. Life became more and more unbearable as the painful years of adolescence slipped by. As she matured she would look at the drab orphanage, a solid rectangular block of stone with blank walls broken by identically curtained windows, as a place from which she must eventually escape. Walking through the private grounds she felt the oppressive strength of the high walls that enclosed the place. Now at seventeen her chance for escape had come, but was it really an escape? Of one thing she was certain. There would be those who would say she had used her body as a means of escaping. Only she knew it was not the case. Becoming pregnant was not the result of a deliberate plan but she did wonder if it had lurked in her subconscious. She had and did look forward to the day when she would have her own family. Family ties were something she really yearned for. In her dreams she had often seen herself with a husband and children - faceless figures that were her entire world. A family without character; people whose sole role it was to provide her with something she had never had; faceless as though it mattered little who they were so along as they were her family.

She rocked back and forth on the edge of her bed until her teeth bit too deeply into her lip. Drawing a deep breath she rose and straightened her skirt. It was time to talk to her house-mother. It was time she imparted her secret to another and Mrs Douglas at least would understand.

She found her at her desk in the small office busy with some papers. Anne stepped into the room after giving the door a half-hearted knock. She cast her eyes uncertainly around the cluttered office, stealing herself to find the courage to speak.

Mrs Douglas had the broad face and figure of homeliness. Her brown cow-like eyes shone with the warmth of maternal love despite the fact that she had never been a mother in the natural sense. She had never been married, the title of Mrs being no more than an accoutrement to her calling. She was dressed in a thick tweed skirt that touched her ankles; a thick cardigan of a similar drab brown covered a blouse which was fastened at the neck. A big cameo broach rested beneath her multiple chins. Her flat face split in a warm smile when she looked up from her work.

"Hello Anne. What can I do for you."

Anne stood before her, uncertain how to begin. Should she be direct and simply blurt it all out? or should she edge around until the subject came into the conversation? Any attempt to manoeuvre the conversation in that direction would be impossible. There was no route she could take that didn't sound bad. She wished she had thought it through before coming down.

She wished she had thought it through before getting pregnant!

She decided to come to the point, she wanted so much to get it over with, but when she spoke it turned into a compromise.

"Mrs Douglas. I've just come from the doctor's."

"Oh? I didn't know you were ill, Anne."

"I'm not." She twisted a damp handkerchief in her small hands.

"Oh good. Just feeling under the weather were we?"

"No Mrs Douglas. Not exactly." The words just refused to come out. They were there, burning in her brain until they hurt, refusing to transmit themselves into the open.

"You want to tell me about it? I am rather busy, dear."

Anne looked down at the strangled piece of linen in her hands and began to untwist it, stretching it back into its original shape.

"I'm pregnant." Anne was surprised at how easy it was in the end, just like getting pregnant. She was also taken aback at how calmly the housemother took the statement. Had she heard her correctly? She showed no signs of anger or shock but simply gathered the papers together and set them aside.

"So. You are pregnant. How do you feel about it?"

"I don't think I know exactly."

"I see." Mrs Douglas waved her to a chair then eased herself out from behind the desk and came to sit beside her.

"You must feel something, Anne?"

Anne thought about it. Just how did she feel? Scared? Certainly, but she would never admit that to anyone. She had made an extensive self-study of her strengths and weaknesses and, finding anything she considered negative, had endeavoured to turn it into a positive. She was always defensive against anything that could cause her pain.

"Do you want the child?"

"Of course I want it," she blurted, overwhelmed at the implication of the question. Although she rarely went to Mass she had been brought up with Catholic teachings.

"You must think very carefully about it, Anne. To go forward into motherhood at your age. Well you are still very young for such a responsibility. You have the whole of your life..."

"I'm pregnant now! Not planning to get pregnant. I'm already going forward into motherhood. It has already started. There's no way of turning back!"

Mrs Douglas waited until the tension went out of the girl before she spoke. "Something can still be done, Anne. Under the circumstances."

"Kill it? You mean I should have it taken away?"

"You mustn't jump into a decision that will effect the rest of your life, Anne. You must try to think clearly of your future and what bringing up a child on your own would entail."

"I'm not getting rid of it."

"Well you don't have to decide right away, like I said. What about the father? Does he know yet?"

Anne shook her head. How could she tell him when she had been far from certain. She wasn't sure that she wanted to tell him. He would only dump her if his mother had anything to do with it.

"Are you going to tell me who he is?"

"Steven. Steven Pagett."

"Steven? Why he's only a boy."

"He'll be twenty next birthday," Anne replied but found herself agreeing. Steve was immature. How would he take it if she did tell him. Suddenly she smiled; he would love the idea; it would make him feel manly. She wondered if he loved her enough. As her mind tripped along that path of disjointed thoughts she pictured his face when she told him. How he leapt in the air like he'd scored a goal. Then his face would turn blank before it was filled with tender concern. His pale blue eyes promised her everything. Everything will be all right, he would murmur. Anne felt herself grinning like a fool on the edge of the lecture that Mrs Douglas delivered in her velvet tones. It wasn't that Anne found the things she had to say boring though nothing she said was new, Anne knew where her future lay. She had no illusions about it; it would be difficult but she would be treading a path that millions of young girls had been forced to take before her.

Did that make it foolish?

She struggled to keep her feelings hidden as Mrs Douglas went on mapping out a bleak future for her. She waited until her house-mother had finished then rose from her chair and silently left the room.

Unaware of anything but the present problem she walked aimlessly until she found herself outside the front door of the orphanage. The sun danced behind a tall chestnut tree, furtively as though it was uncertain whether it should shine on this house of suffering. It balked at intruding its warmth and light on a world where young people had no parent to turn to for love or comfort. Anne watched as it flickered an exploratory eye over the grounds, as though it was aware of her plight and was embarrassed by its own presence. Was it making some calculation to alter its orbit so that some of its life-giving rays would fail to fall on the already mouldering walls of the orphanage? She chuckled at her imagination but stored the effect for a time when she would write a poem about it. It was a part of her nature that she should write, not in a diary like others, but to put her innermost secrets in verse. Her writings were strictly private and never seen by anyone. Poetry had provided an escape - a means of letting off steam at times when her normally quiet nature prevented her from venting it in tempestuous outbursts or arguments.

She ignored the sun's inevitable foray into the grounds. She had more to do than wax poetical. Walking to her favourite spot in the garden, dominated by an old weeping willow, she squatted on the newly cut grass and attempted to rationalise the situation, to get her thoughts lucid in her confused mind.

She did love Steve; of that she was certain. Of course she loved him or she would never have given way to his amorous urgency. When it came to it, she was just as willing to consummate their relationship as he was. It was fine and healthy, a continuation that was natural. They loved each other; Steve had said as much. He loved her; she loved him; what more was there? So much for retrospect, she thought as she dragged herself back to the problem.

What problem?

She ran her hands over her stomach where she thought the baby would be lying. There was no problem. She was pregnant and Steve was the father; how could that be a problem? The whole thing would work out no matter what. Life did that. It couldn't be manipulated. She either had her man with a child in the offing or she simply had just a child. Whichever way she still had someone to love and be loved by.

Damn him! If he thought he was better off out of it then that was up to him. Of one thing she was unwavering in her determination - the child would be loved and cared for in as near a normal home as she could achieve. Sod Steve. If he didn't feel up to the fight then she'd fight alone. Anne found herself breathing hard as these thoughts pressed through her mind. She leaned with her back against the surprisingly solid trunk of the willow, cocooned by its trailing branches, so frail yet so enveloping. The dampness of the grass beneath her prickled against her warm skin. The sun, streaking in slender shafts through the branches failed to dry the ground she mused, yet still managed to infiltrate her private world. She smiled at her silliness; the sun has no mind. It shines on good and bad with equal brilliance.

She peered at the house through the trailing foliage and wondered at its origin. A house for someone rich with lots of public power, someone who had left a great deal of capital towards its upkeep in the name of philanthropy; a person secure in the knowledge that he would always be remembered and blessed for his social conscience. Was that why he had left it? Had it been genuine love for the less well off or an act of vanity - a way to achieve everlasting remembrance.

"Bah! what good has he done for me?" Anne considered the question she had set herself. He had provided a roof while she grew up; a shelter against the elements of nature; but what else? What had this great man in mind when he made his will? The house that had once glittered with the finest of society was reduced to a shell; a building that housed the unwanted children of the twentieth century. She conjured up an image of him. Dressed always correctly; associating with the cream of society around him; looked up to by those outside his social circle and down on by few. What had made him want to be a public benefactor? How had he achieved his great wealth in the first place? In the slave trade? Or was his fortune made off the backs of the poor that he employed in some dirty factory where men, women and children were forced to work under terrible conditions, and for long hours? Had he felt some terrible pangs of conscience in his last years?

The house was dead. Where laughter had once rung in its rooms tears were now shed in silence. All the children in the home knew that silent pain, the solitary shedding of tears. What once had been the home of a rich family was now a reception centre for those who had never known the privilege.

Anne shook her head to clear the negative thoughts and returned to her present predicament. She knew she was up against it: if this had happened just a few years hence she would have felt more in control. Just four years away lay security with the trust that had been set up for her. But this safety net was a long way off and nothing could make the law bring it nearer. It was all sealed up in ink on yellowing paper. She found herself wondering if she would be able to get a mortgage on the strength of the trust. No. She was only seventeen and she could not sign anything of a legal nature until she reached the age of twenty-one, so that was a problem that only time itself could solve. She lay her hand on her stomach, the flat muscular stomach that Steve had admired so much when they lay together. Beneath her hand she sensed the growth of her offspring. She began to warm to the thought of being pregnant; it put her, by a sharp leap, into the world of adults. She was a woman. No longer a child; the child was within her. And so she became excited at the growth of her family inside her; it gave her confidence for the future so that the anguish she had felt receded to the back of her mind. She began to feel that, whatever lay ahead, she was capable of rising to the challenge.

With this sudden surge of confidence she rose from her throne beneath the willow and pushed her way through its shroud. The bell was sounding for the evening meal and she walked back to the house a new person. The young Anne was left beneath the tree; this Anne was strong, grown up and filled with resolve, striding forward in life, prepared to take on all the obstacles she knew were there before her.

"One thing at a time," she said to herself as she entered the noisy dining hall.

The meal was, as usual, wholesome and nutritious but Anne ate only what she considered would be good for the minuscule being inside her. Throughout the entire meal she thought only of her baby. For her the recriminations were over. Steve and her had made the child but it was her duty as its mother to provide for its well-being. She felt strong, stronger than she had ever done in her life. She was no longer alone in the world; she felt an overpowering sense of belonging and it showed in her face, highlighting her pale skin with a colour that made her look healthy where she had looked wan. If Steve didn't want anything to do with her then so be it! Her strength surprised her; she had graduated into another world, a world where she felt she alone was in control.

---------------

She waited patiently in the park, sitting on the bench by the lake where they always met. She looked at her watch anxiously. He was late! Usually it was the other way round. Then she saw him, strutting down the path between the tall poplars that flanked each side. She smiled as he approached. Did he know? Had he some idea that he had every right to prance and be proud of his masculinity?

"Watcha, been waiting long?" He plonked himself down beside her on the bench slipping his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer to his lips. His kiss had none of the fire or passion of their first kisses. When she thought about it she realised that not only their kisses but also their lovemaking had become less exciting. Was that because they now knew each other too well? Surely it should get better not worse. Were they bored with each other? Their kissing when meeting had become customary, almost obligatory. A habit?

"I was early."

"I got held up at home," he excused feebly.

"Steve, can we go some place that's more private? I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong with here?"

Anne looked around her. There were a few people in the park but no one within earshot.

"Do you love me Steve?"

He laughed. "You know I do. Hey, what is this?"

"Do you think we'll ever get together? Y'know. Really together?" She was a long way from the confident young woman she had promised herself to be.

"Married y'mean?" He gasped with a smile on his lips that could easily turn into a sneer. She felt embarrassment colour her cheeks.

"Yes. Have you ever thought about it?"

"Hey what is all this? A leap year or something?" he joked.

Anne bowed her head. It was proving more difficult than she had thought and the young Anne she had left beneath the willow began to creep back into her. She fell into a silence that could be felt.

"Come on love, what's this all about?"

She looked away to where a man was playing with his young daughter. She watched him swinging her round and round until the child was dizzy, falling with shrieks of laughter when she tried to stand up. She imagined it was Steve with their child. The man took the little girl in his arms and hugged her. A lump formed in Anne's throat; what she had witnessed she, herself, had never known. Before she realised it young Anne had found her way out from beneath the willow and reoccupied her body, tears were falling onto her cheeks.

"Hey, what's the matter Anne?"

She turned her tear-filled eyes to him, hating herself for the weakness she was showing, a weakness she felt he would take all wrong.

"I'm pregnant Steve."

"Pregnant!" he yelled.

Anne dabbed at her eyes, with a crumpled handkerchief, at the tears she was shedding at great cost to her pride. Steve's exclamatory answer echoed around her mind, shattering any preconceived ideas she had formed. Steve was chewing his lip; he could only guess how Anne was feeling and was wishing he had remained more calm.

"Are you sure about it?" he ventured hesitantly.

Anne simply nodded. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Her hoped for dreams were shattered. How she had imagined the situation was nothing like the reality. Instead of being a loving and warm revelation it now seemed sordid and dirty. She felt like a tart who was trying to trap her man. She felt a strong impulse to stand up and run from the park - to escape from a situation that was too real for her.

Steve fumbled in his pockets for a crumpled packet of cigarettes. Taking one out he straightened it thoughtfully between his thumbs and forefingers before fumbling with a match which broke when he struck it. Finally having lit the cigarette he smiled and put his arm back around her shoulders.

"I thought you'd be pleased about it," he said through a cloud of smoke. She looked at him in disbelief.

"Then you're not upset about it?"

Steve beamed; his chest appeared to swell.

"'Course not. I'm chuffed. I admit I would rather it had happened a bit different. It would have been nice to get wed first."

Anne's face brightened a little. Perhaps the fragments of her dreams could be pieced together again. She sat silent, content to let him talk.

"We would have got married eventually, Anne. But now this has happened we'd better get on with it, and quick."

"Are you sure though? It doesn't matter if you're not. I mean if you'd rather not I'll understand. I mean...I'm not forcing you into anything that you don't really want to do."

Steve took this as a hint of doubt on her part that it might not be the best thing to do; he felt that in some way she was rebuffing him - offering him an easy way out. Without realising it he was strengthened in his resolve to do the right thing.

"I not only want to, Anne, but I bloody well will. How soon can we fix it up?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to get permission from the Director of Welfare Services. I don't know how long that will take."

Steve lolled back on the seat, took a long draw on his cigarette, then tried to blow a smoke ring. His efforts were dissipated by the strengthening wind. He tutted.

"What's wrong?" Anne looked at him but his face gave nothing away.

"I was just thinking of all the red tape. This is the sixties yet no matter what you want to do in life you always have to have some paper or other to sign. Look at you. You're old enough to be a mother but not old enough to get married on your signature on a pile of forms they will stuff in your face. I'm old enough to go to war and die for this country but I'm not old enough to vote or get married without my mam and dad's permission. Not 'til next year anyroad. Daft ain't it?"

Anne shrugged, looking away to conceal the question that formed in her mind. Why can't he keep his thoughts centred on one problem at a time without nudging and poking at some other subject?

"I don't see that matters much really," she said. "There isn't a war and the next election is years off."

"That's not the point though. Is it?"

"Look, Steve, don't you think we ought to concentrate on one thing at a time?"

Now it was Steve's turn to shrug. Until now the news of the baby had been pleasant if devastating; now that Anne had categorised it as a problem it lost some of its sparkle. When he considered it in its new light he did not care for it so much. The savings in his bank account he had earmarked for a deposit on a new motorbike; it would soon be swallowed up on a wedding. They would need a place to live and God knows what else for the baby. On top of that was a bigger drawback. How would he break it to his mother? She'd go through the roof. Now everything looked bleak. Not only would he be at loggerheads with his family but the new bike was out of the question, and he'd had his heart set on the Honda for a long time.

Anne knew by the way he chewed the inside of his bottom lip that something was bothering him.

"What are you thinking?"

Broken from his thoughts he stared at her with the accusation barely masked behind his eyes.

"Eh? Nothing."

"Didn't look like nothing to me," she pressed.

Steve looked away. It was her biggest fault, the way she always wanted to be inside his head, snooping and rummaging through all his private thoughts. It made him feel like a winkle being picked with a needle.

"I was wondering how my mother will take it," he submitted partially to her probe. Anne looked down at her hands in her lap. His mother, Edna. Thinking about her made Anne uncomfortable. Edna would prove to be the main obstacle and they had only met the once when Steve took Anne home to tea. Nothing was done and no decision made in their house without the full consent, and in most cases, instigation of Edna. She ruled the house and all who lived in it. This matriarchal influence even extended to the homes of her married son and daughter. Anne knew that Edna represented the greatest stumbling block to anything that either she or Steve wanted for themselves. If Edna vetoed the marriage then that event would never take place. If she failed to put an end to it by her dominance then she would achieve the same end by venomous insinuation. Anne saw her dreams once more collapsing around her ears. She doubted if Steve was assertive enough to oppose his mother; she was streets ahead of him in will-power and experienced in getting her way. Anne dreaded having to meet her under the present circumstances. The first and only time had been bad enough when Edna had shown quite plainly that Anne was far from being the girl she wanted for her baby son. Her reception had been cool without the flicker of a smile, not even a false one. The atmosphere had been thick but Steve had no notion of it; he had been proud showing off his girl and all else had been hidden from his sight by the feelings he had for Anne. But Anne had felt it because it was all directed at her. His father, Charlie, had tried to be friendly but just one glare from the queen bee had been enough to send him into the back yard with his pipe. Anne had been reminded of an old whipped dog slinking away. Edna had prattled on, making it painfully obvious, about her plans for her Steven; how he would complete his apprenticeship and his studies at the technical college before he could ever think of marrying and settling down.

They had been seated to table and given a ham salad with fruit and ice-cream. Anne had got the impression that this was how he was looked after; that he had grown accustomed to the best and would only get the best in this world. Edna would see to that. The meal, she felt, had been prepared grudgingly, that Edna would have done something cheaper but she had to make a show of it. She would never have it said that her table was not up to much.

Anne was almost physically sick with depression when she thought of it all. She wondered at what she was taking on and if it was worth it. Would she have been better off not telling Steve? Maybe she should have kept it all to herself and just stopped seeing him. Could she still do that now and how much would it hurt if she did? Of one thing she was certain - under no circumstances would she entrap Steve to have it thrown in her face at a later date. If they did get married then it would be because Steve wanted to and not in order to salve his conscience and male pride.

As if he had divined her thoughts Steve stood up. He squared his shoulders in an effort to look confident; a master of his own destiny.

"You've no need to worry about Mam. I'll break it to her. It'll be all squared, you'll see."

Anne rose to walk with him. Break it to Mam. Yes, that just about summed it up. Drop the bombshell. She smiled up into his face but was far from impressed with his sudden show of strength; Edna was not there in the park with them. Steve's sudden strength would soon be turned negative by Edna's malice; when she had finished with him he would turn against Anne. The stony glare of her grey eyes would make him shrink in her presence. No one stood up to Edna and won if she had other designs.

The wind whipped up the litter in the park, swirling it around their legs as they walked along the long boulevard beside the lake. Dark clouds raced threateningly across the weak sun. Steve felt a drop of rain splash his cheek and cursed; Anne held out her hand and thought of tears from Heaven and a poem began to take shape in her mind. A soothing balm against her problems, her mental agility took her on a painless flight as she composed the first stanzas on the theme of those same problems that oppressed her.

Tears from Heaven falling fast

On problems driven by the rain;

Thundered anger curses loud

Solutions hid behind dark clouds.

By the time they had walked around the lake with its perimeter of willows trailing in the water, rain had begun to pock-mark its surface. These things slowly penetrated her consciousness. Steve turned up his collar and guided her by the elbow into a shelter that faced the lake. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled again like artillery fire. Steve looked at his watch and wondered if the storm would make him late getting home for his tea.

"Wonder if it will head this way," he muttered trying to gauge whether the sound came from directly upwind.

"What?" Anne was momentarily disorientated by the sudden external disturbance of her thoughts. "Oh! I don't know. Will you tell your Mam when you get home then?"

He read the challenge in her eyes and knew what it meant; he grinned bravely and shrugged. "I reckon I'll have to pick my moment. You know what she's like. And its hardly the kind of thing to drop on her in the middle of Coronation Street is it."

Anne almost laughed at that. No subject under the sun could be broached while that was on the box.

The answer flashed in lightning brief

Like from the torch of prowling thief.

Too fleet to grasp or comprehend

When raindrops splotch the message end.

The time that elapsed between the thunder and the flashes of lightning drew closer together as the storm raced towards them. Anne became tense. Storms effected her that way. She wasn't afraid of them but it was something akin to fear that she felt. The rain poured out of the black clouds like long continuous lengths of silver wire occasionally tinted blue by the flashes of lightning. The thunder shook the ground like an earthquake. A tree, a tall ancient oak on the far side of the lake, exploded with a loud crack when a tongue of lightning struck. One half fell into the lake leaving the rest blackened and trembling in the wind. Anne gasped, moving unconsciously closer to Steve, who slipped an arm round her shoulders. He squeezed her gently.

"Soon pass over, love."

"We must be mad sitting through this lot," she shivered.

"It came up too quickly. We hadn't a chance of dodging it." He sounded like he was rehearsing for his confrontation with Edna.

"Life's a bit like that. Storms coming up on you when you least expect it."

Steve thought about that but no matter how hard he tried he could not recall a single storm that had disturbed his life.

Until now.

His mother had always been there, standing like a superior King Canute, to repel the storm. Anne knew all about life's storms. They usually followed a calm - a time when you were most contented and happy, and lulled by a false sense of security. Then the tempest struck turning your life on its head for a while. But she had always weathered these trials knowing that the sunshine that invariably followed more than compensated for the trouble. Amid the battle of nature Anne contemplated her present difficulties. If she was fortunate the child would bring the sunshine; if life kicked her then the storm could well last her the rest of her life. There was little she could do about it; nothing that she wanted to do about it. She felt Steve move beside her then his jacket being placed around her shoulders.

"Thanks" she shivered as the jacket transferred Steve's warmth to her.

"I thought you was cold."

"I don't think I was. I was just thinking of the storm."

"Nothing to be afraid of. They soon pass. See? Its moving away already." Anne held back from explaining what she really meant. What was the use? It wasn't that Steve was stupid; he just never seemed to follow her train of thought, as though he wasn't on the same plane as her.

The sun broke victoriously through the black clouds sending funnels of golden light to caress the wet ground, lingering like gemstones in the droplets that clung to the greenery. Anne took comfort in this, feeling a sudden confidence come over her. She knew that she was right in thinking that no storm ever lasts forever; good times always followed bad.

After the gloom of the storm it was painful to open their eyes in the sudden glare and they had to shield them with their hands. The charred remains of the old oak gave off wisps of steam that drifted close to the surface of the lake. She watched it snake this way and that until it was lost among the reeds and willows like a lost soul seeking a resting place.

"We'd better be off. My tea will be in the oven by now."

She passed him his jacket. It smelled of damp and him. He slipped it on then took her in his arms where she lingered for a moment enjoying the warmth and security that his embrace offered. Her lips brushed his, inviting passion which, when it came, made her gasp for breath. He laughed quietly at her flushed face, feeling proud of the effect he had on her.

"Will I see you tonight?"" she asked.

"I can't. I'm at Tech tonight and I've a pile of homework to catch up on."

"So when will I see you then?"

"Tomorrow night. We'll go to the flicks or something."

"That'll be nice. What shall we go to see?"

"You choose. I don't know what's showing."

Anne nodded. Well at least it won't be a western or a war film if she chose. Something nice. The Sound of Music was on at the Cecil.

"I'll ring you to let you know where to meet me," she added when she caught his frown.

"No. I'll ring you. About five-thirty all right?"

She agreed. It was obvious when she thought about it. He wouldn't want her ringing him at home if he told Edna about the baby tonight. And if that was to be the case then she was pleased because it meant that he was sincere about telling her.

They spoke very little as he walked her back to the orphanage. Both were totally engrossed in their own thoughts on the circumstance that would forever change their lives. When they parted outside the gates, after a brief kiss that lacked any passion on his part, she had the impression that Steve was afraid of crushing her in his arms. It was a parting so cool that Anne found herself wondering if he would call her. It suddenly occurred to her that he might be forbidden to see her again once Edna knew the score. With a shrug she turned and entered the grounds of the great house after watching him strut off down the road.

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