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Lucky by
Katy Bollen
Inspired
by a D H Lawrence short story
Enter
our Summer Parodies competition
(deadline midnight on 6 July)
Christopher
sat at his desk, struggling with his homework. Normally he never had any
problems with it, but to his dismay the whispering had started again.
It started downstairs, subdued, secretive, but it slowly drifted up the
stairs, seeping into the walls, drifting under the doors.
The
silence in his room started to throb, bouncing particles of noise off
his ear-drums, ever louder and louder. He stirred uneasily, and put some
music on hoping to block it out. It was no good though. It never was.
For years it had been going on, right from when he was little. He understood
better now where it was coming from, but that didnÂ’t make it any
easier to cope with.
It
was because of his mother. He had seen from early photos of hers that
she had been very pretty once. Some would even have called her beautiful.
However, this meant nothing because she had no luck. She married for love,
and the love turned to dust. She had two lovely children, yet she felt
they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. When they
were with her she always felt her heart go hard. She could have flown
so high without their untimely arrival; now she was tied hand and foot.
She was troubled by this, and knew that most people considered it unnatural
for a mother to feel this way, so she took great care to hide the hard,
bitter centre of her heart. Only she herself knew that there, deep inside
her, was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody.
Or so she thought. But her children knew, oh yes, they sensed it in her,
and read it in each otherÂ’s eyes.
Emma
especially felt her motherÂ’s resentment at her arrival, which had
forced her into a marriage before she could find a better match. And so
the young girl devoted her life to escaping from her motherÂ’s apron
strings, and doing exactly what her mother most deplored. Christopher
retreated into a lonely, silent little shell, and became more and more
withdrawn as the years went by. His huge dark eyes became shuttered, as
he sought to hide his inner thoughts and feelings from pain. Gradually
he ceased to talk at all, and though a diligent pupil at school, was considered
a loner, and left in peace.
They
lived in a house which was fairly pleasant, but which was spoilt because
there was never enough money. His father had prospects enough, but one
day he returned to his roots and traded in his white collar for a farm
workerÂ’s overall. The hard core of his motherÂ’s heart grew in
disappointment over this, though she tried hard to hide it. It was wrong
not to support your husband, but always there was this grinding sense
of the shortage of money. She in turn racked her brains, and tried one
venture after another, but the more unsuccessful she was the more bitter
she became, and the more tangled in the web drawn about her by her husband
and children. She could not break free and leave – what on earth
would the neighbours say?
And
so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: "There must
be more money! There must be more money!". Christopher, more sensitive
than his sister, could hear it all the time, though nobody said it aloud
in front of him. The whisper was everywhere, breathed by the furniture,
the very walls of the house.
It
was no good, his concentration was shattered, he would have to escape.
Christopher closed his books, but left the music playing, so his parents,
circling around each other in one of their eternal arguments, would not
realise he wasnÂ’t there. He quietly slipped out of the house, and
headed for the deer park on the Estate. While striding along he pondered
the enigma of his feelings towards his mother. He realised that he didnÂ’t
hate her, or despise her as his sister did. To his surprise the overriding
emotion he felt was pity.
He
remembered a conversation with her once when he was little. "Mum",
he had asked, sensing that for once she was in an approachable mood, "why
donÂ’t we go on holidays abroad like my friends do?" She looked
at him, then sadly said: "Because we have no luck, and so we are
poor". Puzzled, he then asked her what luck was. "Luck",
she said, with a bitter twist to her mouth, "is what causes you to
have money. If youÂ’re lucky you have money. ThatÂ’s why it is
better to be born lucky than rich. If youÂ’re rich, you may lose your
money. But if youÂ’re lucky, you will always get more money."
Before she could stop herself, she sourly said that his father was unlucky,
because he chose to be. "Are you lucky, Mum?", he had asked,
feeling the ground shift under him. "I canÂ’t be, can I, if I
married an unlucky husband. I used to think I was, before I married. Now
I think I am very unlucky indeed." Seeing his anxious little face,
she suddenly gave a brittle laugh, and told him to go and play while she
cooked their tea. "Spaghetti hoops on toast again", she thought
wearily. "There must be more money! There must be more money!"
Christopher
had gone off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue
to ‘luck’. His diligent search through the years had been rewarded,
and his pace quickened as he made his way to his secret place.
Adam
strolled along towards the deer park, deep in thought. The sun shone through
the leaves of the trees overhead, and he watched the dust particles being
tossed about in the rays beaming through fitfully. If dust particles had
feelings, he knew exactly how they felt. "My luck has definitely
run out", he thought gloomily. "What on earth am I going to
do now? How could I have been so utterly stupid?" He hadnÂ’t
a clue where he could run to now if everything turned sour once more –
which seemed highly likely.
Everything
had gone so well since his return from Africa. He had fled, leaving all
his troubles behind him, wishing to start with a clean slate. He finally
felt at home, as if he really belonged, and now he might have thrown it
all away in a moment of returning weakness. Of course heÂ’d been sad
when Debbie left, but really, it had been a blessing in disguise in a
way. Before coming to Ambridge he had allowed himself to get into a bit
of a fix. To get out of the mess he was in, he had desperately needed
a job, and her leaving in such a hurry has been an ideal opportunity for
him. He hastily pushed away the thought that he might have aided her departure
a little. Anyway, it was done now, the past couldnÂ’t be changed,
the future was there to look forward to. He was being absorbed into village
life, and to be honest, found it strangely comforting after all the stressful
years abroad. He knew his popularity in the village was precarious, but
he would cross that particular bridge when he came to it. There was no
point in running on ahead courting disaster. Except he had, fool that
he was.
At
first he had hoped to avert the peril he was in by making himself indispensible
to Brian. He had carved a cosy little niche for himself, and was receiving
a steady income which he hoped would increase as time went by. Maybe,
he might even Â… stranger things had happened Â… you never could
tellÂ… oh, what was the use, heÂ’d been such a fool two weeks
ago! Where was he going to find all that money he needed now, in such
a short time? It would be nothing short of a miracle if he did. Despite
the sunny weather, a cold chill clamped his heart, making him shiver.
The people he owed money were not exactly known for their patience, or
their mercy.
And
so his thoughts went on, round and round, always back to the same miserable
point. What if Brian didnÂ’t react the way his mother had done when
sheÂ’d found out he was gay? What if he was like Peggy, or (he shuddered
involuntarily), even worse. Suppose he was told to leave Home Farm? What
could he do, where could he go? He knew only too well what to expect,
had done for years, and was used to it now. It didnÂ’t bother him
that much anymore, but Brian was different. He dreaded Brian finding out,
because he didnÂ’t know how he would react. People were funny like
that: the worst reactions came from people he least expected it of, and
vice versa. He was grateful his mother was giving him time and space,
and leaving him to do the telling. But Brian? What would be the best in
BrianÂ’s case? He needed Brian, because he needed a home, and more
importantly, he needed money. So much money.
He
stopped a moment to catch his breath, wishing he could switch off his
whirling thoughts. In the silence a twig snapped up ahead, and in the
still brooding air some branches rustled. Puzzled, Adam drew closer, wondering
who could be there with him. They were deep into the woods now, where
hardly anyone ever came from one year to the next.
A
flustered bird broke cover and flew off. Looking in its direction, Adam
caught sight of a young man striding along purposefully. He decided to
follow him, because he seemed familiar somehow, and wasnÂ’t behaving
like a poacher would. After quite a while they came to a small clearing
with an old hut at one end, unused for years apparently. The young man
looked around, and seeing no one or nothing, carefully pulled open the
door and slipped inside. In the split second he saw the otherÂ’s face,
Adam had realised who he was, and his heart seemed to stand still, while
his stomach twisted in a knot. Christopher Carter. Of course, he recognised
him now from brief sightings of him in the village. His serene good looks
and air of silent mystery fascinated Adam. He waited for a good while,
then, hearing a strange sound he couldnÂ’t begin to place, Adam crept
up to the window and peered in. His mouth opened in amazement at the sight
that met his eyes.
Adam
stared and stared through the window. He checked a first impulse to laugh
when he caught sight of ChristopherÂ’s face. The boy (for he was but
a boy really, Adam thought ruefully) was glaring unseeingly towards the
window, his nostrils flared, breathing hard, meanwhile chanting a name
over and over again. Adam, realising he hadnÂ’t been seen, moved round
to the door and stepped inside. His first impulse to leave quietly had
vanished before his concern over the state the boy was in. Not only that,
he thought he knew now where he had heard that chanted name before. Intrigued,
he silently moved into the corner of the room and settled down to wait.
Enter
our Summer Parodies competition
More parodies - from Agatha Christie
to Damon Runyon
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