The Price To Pay - Vol. 5.05 - Celyn’s New Year (Part 1)

price_to_pay.jpg

“Milk Pudding Monthly? Cockroach Weekly? No idea and not sure I care.”

Taran paused for dramatic effect before announcing in a slightly triumphant voice, “It was ‘Brides’.”

Sometimes words have a great power. Taran’s terse sentence hit me harder than any amount of physical force.

I slumped down on the bed, “Oh shit.”

The Price To Pay - Vol. 5.05 - Celyn’s New Year (Part 1)

by Alys


The Price To Pay - Vol. 5.05 - Celyn’s New Year (Part 1)

“Celyn!”

The loud shout wrenched me out of my slumbers. I became aware of someone else lying next to me. I felt really contented pressed against Amarjit’s back, one arm wrapped around her tummy under her nightdress, the other pressed against her shoulder. I pulled her a little closer and and caressed her bare skin. I heard her sigh, “Mmm, that’s nice

“Celyn, what’s going on?” came the urgent question, in an even louder voice.

I opened an eye and saw my Mother standing in the doorway looking angry.

“Hi Mum, whassup?” I drawled, still not fully conscious.

“You know perfectly well, young lady!”

My befuddled brain tried to process the accusing tone of my Mother’s voice. I couldn’t think of any major sins I’d committed recently. I gazed round the room and it didn’t look any more untidy than usual. I looked back at my angry parent to see if there was any clues in her demeanour, again nothing obvious.

I tried to remember anything that had happened in the previous twenty four hours that could be a cause of the antagonism. ‘..the train journey home...cheating chancellor...paprazzo...party...what sort of party?...why was it a party?...coming home....church bells...church bells...what day do church bells..’

Suddenly I had the answer. Of course no wonder she was angry, I’d forgotten one of the major family traditions.

“Oh, sorry Mum, forgot to put the presents under the tree, they’re still in my case, Merry Christmas by the way,” I replied, apologetically and closed my eye again and snuggled closer to my girlfriend.

“Yes, Merry Christmas Celyn and did you have a good t.......don’t try and change the subject, you know exactly why I’m upset!”

I lifted my head and looked at Mum again. This was becoming a very challenging experience for my confused mind. I looked at my bedside clock.

“Mum, it’s only eight, we came back late last night. I’m sorry for whatever I’ve done, but can’t it wait till later,” I pleaded.

“No it can’t!” she responded angrily, crossing her arms in a determined pose.

I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at my Mother inquiringly, “OK, well if you could tell me what the problem is then maybe I can apologise.”

“I can’t believe you’d do this.”

“What Mum?”

“You know, do what you’re doing now.”

“I’m lying in my bed and I usually sleep here when I’m home. What’s wrong with that?” I asked, my few operating brain cells becoming even more cotton wool like.

“I know it’s your bed, but that’s not the issue...”

By this time the noise of the altercation had woken Amarjit, “Good morning Mrs Morus, Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, Merry Christmas Amarjit,” replied my Mother politely.

There was a silence for a few seconds as Mum continued to glare at me in obvious annoyance and I returned the stare with interest, angry at my morning’s lie-in being so confusingly curtailed.

“Is there something wrong Mrs Morus?” asked Amarjit, sensing the tension between us.

“It’s not your fault, Amarjit, Celyn should have told you the rules.”

“What rules, Mum?”

“What rules, Mrs Morus?”

“Amarjit, we have rules about our children sharing beds with their friends. We told Celyn she could never have a boyfriend sleeping with her in the house until she was eighteen.”

“Oh, I see, Mrs Morus, well I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” said Amarjit apologetically, pulling the cover off her shoulder and edging out of bed.

I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her, sat up and looked at my mother before responding in an angrier tone than before, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Amarjit isn’t a boy!”

My Mother’s anger level seemed to go up a notch, she took half a pace towards me before responding icily.

“I am perfectly aware of Amarjit’s gender but it was made clear to me yesterday that she is now your latest fuckbuddy or beneficial friend or whatever you young people call it these days, so it’s the same.”

I jumped up incensed by my Mother’s attitude and shouted back, “Amarjit’s my girlfriend! We love each other! ”

She stepped back.

I continued my verbal assault, “You haven’t had this problem with Taran since she came out, she’s bringing Gini today and they’re sharing a bed tonight!”

I paused for breath, continuing to stare at Mum, while she unusually seemed to be struggling to find something to say. In the sudden quiet I became aware of the sound of sobbing. I turned to see Amarjit with her head in her hands.

“..it’s my fault....I shouldn’t have persuaded you...I’m so sorry...”

I sat down on the bed and put my arm around my lover’s shoulders. This action seemed to defuse the confrontation between my Mother and myself.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she stated before turning and leaving the room, shutting the door harder than necessary as she left.

**********************************

Christmas dinner was a somewhat muted affair under the circumstances.

My sister and her girlfriend had arrived mid-morning, by which time Amarjit and I had showered and dressed and were sitting in the lounge watching a DVD of ‘Elf’. We then all exchanged presents in a superficially friendly way although I could see my sister was immediately aware of the tension between my Mother and myself. Luckily Dad was Mr ‘Bonhomie’ himself and the morning passed without further antagonism.

Just before we sat down to the meal Taran caught me coming out of my room.

She took my arm and motioned me back in and we sat down on my bed, “What’s going on Celyn?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Mum, you could cut the tension between you with a knife.”

I explained about the confrontation in the morning.

She was sympathetic before giving me another perspective on my Mother’s attitude.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I was home for the weekend before you broke up with Sion?”

“No I don’t think so, why?”

“You were out with him, I think it was some match or other and I came down late for breakfast. Dad was working in the study.”

“What happened?”

“I came into the kitchen and Mum wasn’t there and I guess she didn’t hear me coming in, probably ‘cos I wasn’t talking to you or something.”

“And?”

“She looked up and saw me then she quickly put away a magazine she had open on the kitchen table.”

“So?”

“I asked her what she’d been reading, you know, just casually, but she changed the subject.”

“Why is this important?” I asked feeling a little annoyed at my sister for telling me about some inconsequential little incident.

I got up to leave, “I need to check on Amarjit, she was upset with Mum this morning.”

Taran put her hand on my arm, “Wait, don’t you want to know what the magazine was that Mum was reading.”

“OK, what was it?”

“After she’d left the kitchen, while I was having my breakfast, I looked in the cupboard. Guess what it was?”

“Milk Pudding Monthly? Cockroach Weekly? No idea and not sure I care.”

Taran paused for dramatic effect before announcing in a slightly triumphant voice, “It was ‘Brides’.”

Sometimes words have a great power. Taran’s terse sentence hit me harder than any amount of physical force.

I slumped down on the bed, “Oh shit.”

I stared up at the ceiling, “It’s not fair, Taran. I didn’t ever want to be a girl, but I’ve done my best to live with it.”

“You’ve turned out very well, sis,” she responded, gently taking hold of my hand.

I squeezed her hand, “Thanks.”

I lay there for a while holding my sister’s hand and thinking how the news of my Mother’s strong, but secretive, interest in seeing me walking down the aisle with some suitable man could explain her attitude towards me and Amarjit.

Our reverie was interrupted by the call for attendance in the dining room. I extracted a promise of a young people’s trip for the afternoon from Taran before making my way to the festive table.

*********************

The M4 motorway was very quiet, such a contrast to a normal travel day, even compared to a Sunday there was much less traffic. We reached Chepstow, on the border with England, in less than half an hour and found somewhere to park in the housing estate near the ‘Severn Bridge’ that spanned ‘Mor Hafren’, the border between Wales and England.

Ten minutes later we had made our way through three residential streets and reached the beginning of the bridge’s footpath .

The weather by now had improved and it was a pleasure to see the sun beginning to banish the grey clouds. As we started to cross the bridge a middle aged jogger with a fluorescent jacket and a water bottle in his hand passed us.

“Merry Christmas,” he said as he jogged past.

“Merry Christmas,” we replied as a chorus.

My mood had lifted, I took Amarjit’s hand and noticed my sister doing the same with Gini.

By the time we had reached the main span of the bridge, over the estuary, the sun was completely out. The wind was fresh in our faces as we walked in a leisurely way towards the English shore.

We spent the next hour walking most of the way across the bridge, looking at the waters swirling below, hand in hand, two happy couples exchanging season’s greetings with other groups braving the elements after their celebration meals.

After turning back and making our way back to Wales the weather turned again and black clouds began to fill the sky. I was grateful for the extra layers I’d worn.

Soon enough we were back on Welsh soil. I felt a pressing biological need, “I need a wee.”

“I think the loos near the shops are open.” responded Taran.

I disengaged from Amarjit and made my way towards the shops, “I’ll catch you up by the car, girls.”

Five minutes later I’d done my business in the fairly clean, by usual standards, public convenience. I walked quickly towards where Taran had parked her car in the estate.

I noticed the group of teenage boys by the smell of their drinks before I saw them.

The three underaged boys were drinking cans of strong lager in doorway of closed, isolated shop.

“Hi darlin....” slurred the least inebriated of the three as he stepped forward to block my path.

“Hello, excuse me I need to find my friends.”

He grabbed my arm, “That’s orlright sugar we can be friends..”

I shook my arm clear and moved sideways to pass him. He stepped in the same direction to prevent me escaping. I had a good look at his face for the first time. I froze.

I recognised him. It was Carwyn, the Oaf from my summer on Cyprus. The boy who’d tried to rape me.

I could see from the look in his eyes that he realised who I was.

“Well, hello Trannyboy, I think we have unfinished business..”


To Be Continued

End of Vol. 5.05



If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
up
179 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks. 
This story is 2001 words long.