Â鶹ԼÅÄ

Lucky
by Katy Bollen

Inspired by a D H Lawrence short story

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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 Christopher retreated into a lonely, silent little shell, and became more and more withdrawn as the years went by.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 worker’s overall. The hard core of his mother’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 hadn’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 Â鶹ԼÅÄ 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.

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