"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
Jemima listened to Brendan talking about Caroline with real interest. She had never had a real love affair. There had been Jacob Lutz's odd obsession with her when they were 14, but that was really just him assuaging his guilt at joining in Hector and Anæsthesia's cruel bullying of her at the lake. Long, long ago, long, long ago.
"I mean...I like her. She's here, I'm here, but we ain't ever gonna settle down like I pictured me an' Bridget doin'."
"Why not?"
It was a simple enough question.
"She don't want marriage, see," he said, warming to the subject a little. "And I reckon I never did, except I would have had to for Bridget. But that was Bridget, you know? I wouldn't have minded."
Jemima had been sitting up on the bed, but now sort of collapsed backwards and lying on her back with her head on Brendan's leg without even thinking about it, reached above her head and touched the faded wallpaper that marred rather than beautified the sides of Brendan's attic room.
"We're none of us gonna get married..." she intoned with solemn certainty.
She turned her head and looked at him sitting there all mellow and dreamy.
"I'm gonna miss you." she said.
Brendan glanced down at Jemima as she settled her head on his leg, bemused by her strange statement.
"Miss me?" he echoed. "I ain't goin' nowhere." Well, he didn't intend to. Who knew when Mrs. Wigfall would kick him out? He'd accumulated enough money that he'd be able to pay rent if she wanted it, or he could pay rent somewhere else just as easily. But he liked his little attic room and the privacy it afforded. Elsewhere he might have to share a room with someone and that wasn't ideal.
"You goin' somewhere?" he followed up a second later. If he'd been more present -- or less influenced by the whiskey -- he might have connected the dots to the subject they'd just been talking about: Jemima leaving to travel with a circus. But as it was, he wasn't following.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
"Miss me?" he echoed. "I ain't goin' nowhere."
Jemima shook her head. It felt funny, light. "Not you, me." she said simply.
"You goin' somewhere?"
"Mmm" she grunted in the affirmative. "I'm going away, Brendan..." she sounded wistful, fey. She raised herself up from his leg, sitting upright on the bed, and turned to look at him. She was no looker. She kept herself clean and neat, but her wiry black hair always escaped any attempt to contain it, her ill cast features would never be anything else but plain, and her thick eyebrows and the dark down on her upper lip would always make her look like one of Mr Darwin's 'Missing Links'
But she still had needs.
She looked boldly at Brendan and put her hand on his leg.
"I'm going away and I'm never coming back here. But Brendan, before I go, I... I want you to make me a woman!"
Brendan followed Jemima with his eyes as the girl sat up. "I'm going away and I'm never coming back here. But Brendan, before I go, I... I want you to make me a woman!"
Brendan blinked a few times and squinted at Jemima as if looking at her more closely would make her words make more sense. But it didn't, really. He kept staring at her and realized that, deep down, she was hurting. In a different way than he was, but still hurting. His instinct to comfort kicked in.
He reached down to cover Jemima's hand with his own, locking eyes with her. "Jemima, God mighta made me beautiful, but He made you with a heap more common sense than I got. Think about it. You don't wanna get mixed up with me. You might think you do, but you don't. You'd hate me 'cause I ain't Aurelian Redmond, and I'd hate you 'cause you're not Bridget, and your ma'd hate us both 'cause it wasn't her, and...it'd be a mess, Jemima," he finished, grabbed her hand and squeezing it.
Thank God for whiskey. His response might not have been the most eloquent in the world, but it sure was better than anything he'd have been able to come up with while sober. Jemima deserved someone better than him for what she wanted.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
He reached down to cover Jemima's hand with his own, locking eyes with her. "Jemima, God mighta made me beautiful, but He made you with a heap more common sense than I got..."
Jemima smelt something familiar in the air... the slight stench of rejection.
"Think about it. You don't wanna get mixed up with me."
Yep, definitely rejection!
"You might think you do, but you don't."
R.E.J.E.C.T.I.O.N.
"You'd hate me 'cause I ain't Aurelian Redmond, and I'd hate you 'cause you're not Bridget, and your ma'd hate us both 'cause it wasn't her, and...it'd be a mess, Jemima," he finished, grabbed her hand and squeezing it.
"So..... you will?" she asked hopefully.
"I don't care about Redmond, I hate him! And I hate Ma! And who was the other one? Oh... you? No... I don't hate you. I just..." she was muddled and miserable "Guess I just made a fool of myself, didn't I? ... Like you could ever look at me."
She stood a little unsteadily.
"I think I'd better go and lie down someplace" she muttered, and turning gave him a little wave bye-bye.
"Bye. Sorry about Bridget."
Brendan felt a little stab of regret at the pain in Jemima's eyes as she headed for the door. He ran his hands through his hair and jumped up without really knowing why. "Jemima, wait!" On the way to the door, he stumbled over a boot and kicked it out of the way. Grabbing onto the door, he looked down into Jemima's muddled gaze.
No one would ever call her pretty. But in this moment, in the sadness they both felt at the news of Bridget's marriage, they were closer than they'd ever be again. And maybe...maybe that closeness was enough.
He cleared his throat. "Look, Jemima, if you really want it, I'll do it. I'll make you a woman. But it'd be...fake. A lie. If you wanna live a lie for tonight, I'll live it with you. But you gotta know it's just tonight."
He nudged the door open a little wider and held a hand out to Jemima. If it would help her, and help him forget about Bridget for just a little while, maybe it'd be worth it. Caroline might not understand, but she didn't have to. This was between him and Jemima.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
He cleared his throat. "Look, Jemima, if you really want it, I'll do it. I'll make you a woman. But it'd be...fake. A lie. If you wanna live a lie for tonight, I'll live it with you. But you gotta know it's just tonight."
Jemima gasped. He’d said yes! And she was drunk enough not to give a damn about any consequences, she felt it her water that it was ‘now or never’. She resisted an urge to throw herself at his feet in thanks, and tried to sound practical and matter-of-fact about it as she came back into the room, closed the door and bolted it behind her.
“Thanks, you don’t know how grateful I am, Brendan. I… I’ll try and make it as painless as possible for you, I mean, I don’t expect you to kiss me or say nice things or nothing, and maybe you can close your eyes and make believe that you’re with a really beautiful girl like Bridget or…” the name stuck in her craw a little, but she forced it out “… Caroline Mundee or someone.”
She looked about.
“You’ll have to tell me what to do though, I never been with a man before, ‘cept Jacob Lutz, when we weren’t much more than kids, really, and he was sorta too courteous to do anything worth talking about.” She frowned her homely little face up at him, her thick black eyebrows beetling.
“So…. should I take my clothes off or just lift my skirts?” she asked, a little nervous about the former due to her hairiness, caused by the hormone problem she lived with “... and, er, should I lie down or bend over or something?” she wasn't too sure how this thing should be tackled exactly.
"Jacob Lutz!" Brendan snorted indignantly. Why was that man always held up in contrast to him? He could be courteous when he wanted to be. Jacob sure hadn't been courteous when he'd gotten Clara with child. But somehow Jacob was considered an upstanding citizen and poor Brendan Connolly wasn't.
As his thoughts came back to reality, Brendan lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. Now that he'd said yes, he wasn't that sure what to do any more than Jemima was. How could you explain something like this? It was something you felt; maybe you muddled your way through the first few times, but eventually became instinctual.
And his instinct at the moment was to rush through things just to say he'd done it. But he couldn't do that to Jemima.
He held out his hands to her and walked backwards to the bed, searching for how to begin. First he'd start by answering some of Jemima's questions. "See, that's the beauty of it. There's not a right way. Some people undress, some don't. Some people like one thing, some people like another."
He seated himself on the bed, keeping hold of her hands. "Some people like the lights on, some like them off. You want 'em off?" Maybe it would be easier for them both that way. Then if there was any fumbling or awkwardness they could put it down to the dark.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR!!!"
"See, that's the beauty of it. There's not a right way. Some people undress, some don't. Some people like one thing, some people like another."
Jemima frowned, her brow furrowed in deep thought.
“Maybe we’d better keep ‘em on… well, except the necessary” she decided, not that she wouldn’t like to see him with more than just his shirt off, but she didn’t want him to see her. She was ashamed of her body: had been ever since she’d been tricked into undressing at the swimming hole and the other kids had made fun of her hirsute form and thrown stones at her and called her ‘monkey girl’ from then on in.
He seated himself on the bed, keeping hold of her hands. "Some people like the lights on, some like them off. You want 'em off?" Maybe it would be easier for them both that way. Then if there was any fumbling or awkwardness, they could put it down to the dark.
“Well… er… no, that’s all right… we’d best keep ‘em on” she was curious to see how it all happened. Arabella had explained it all to her once, in a way that left her more confused than enlightened. And now they were keeping their clothes on, she didn’t need to worry about Brendan seeing anything he oughtn’t.
Scared he might change his mind, she quickly scrabbled around on the bed and lay there on her back, legs tight together, hands neatly on her stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
“All right, I’m ready!” she announced, looking more like something from a morgue scene than an amorous assignation.
It must be admitted that Brendan's mouth twitched as he tried to stifle a grin at the sight of Jemima laying stiffly on the bed. Had Hector actually done anything? Didn't Jemima know anything about this? No, he decided the next instant, she was normally such a prude that she wouldn't know anything. He kicked off his shoes and scooted nearer to Jemima. "All right, but you gotta relax more."
For the next little while, he took his time with Jemima, familiarizing himself with her body and letting her hands wander over his if she was brave enough to. He guided her with encouraging words and finally, when he judged the time was right, made her a woman as gently as he could, using all his knowledge of the female body to make it pleasurable for her.
Afterward, he laid back beside Jemima and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "That's what it should be like. It ain't always so drawn-out, but it oughta be...nice, you know?"