Heartless Beast

I sat in the front pew, clutching my two-year-old son who was perched on my lap. I sat staring numbly at the casket containing the body of the man who had been my lover, my best friend and the father of my young son.

Jack Stevenson

The simple service had ended. The small church with its well-worn wooden pews was half deserted. The voice of the pastor, the murmur of the other members of the congregation seemed to fade into the background, a droning sound I was dimly aware of. My eyes were fixed on the casket, a simple wooden one, in which the body of my beloved partner of the past three years, Jack Stevenson, lay. He lay motionless, a serene expression on his face. The way he used to look when he was sleeping beside me.

Only, now he was too far away from me in spirit. Too far away to open his blue eyes and gaze at me in his gentle manner, the love shining in his eyes as he gathered me in his arms.

I shuddered, trying not to sob.

I felt so utterly alone.

***

We had never gotten married.

We had never felt the need for it. He had almost been forty years of age when I met him and I had just turned nineteen. I know, it made my parents question my decision too, just as I am sure you must be doing.

But we had been so happy, so lost in each other; there had been no need for a certificate or a ceremony to make it legal and prove a point to the world. The difference in our ages was something I never thought of, I simply loved Jack with all my heart, he of the gentle blue eyes, the caring nature…the father of my son.

We had not been churchgoers- my upbringing was totally different and Jack was not a person who believed in such things either.

The pastor had been apologetic and a little annoyed with me, when I had gone along with Joe Seaton, my late partner’s best friend, to meet the pastor for a funeral service. Joe had wanted it for Jack Jr. and I had gone along, too numb to protest.

The old pastor, Father Clark had not been too happy to see me; after all, we were not formally man and wife in the eyes of the Church. But in some part of my mind, I had also wanted my Jack to have a respectful burial. And even the overwhelming displeasure emanating from Father Williams had not put me off.

As I sat there now, forlorn and alone on the hard wooden seat in the unfamiliar church, I was aware that the handful of people who had turned up at the church this morning had only arrived to get a look at me or to pass snide remarks.

I shivered and my son, Jack Jr. looked up at me, his big blue eyes fearful.

I could feel the malevolent gazes of the people around me as I sat huddled into myself, most of them had come for another reason.

Of course, to watch the fun when his ex-wife, Andrea Miller-Smythe turned up as she planned to do,

***

Before

Jack and I had always kept a safe distance away from the majority of the townspeople. Particularly those women who had been close friends with Andrea Miller Smythe, Jack’s ex-wife. I had only a couple of friends here in the town. It was with some difficulty that I had realized that within the small tightly knit community of Carrow Hill, I would never be accepted. They would always see me as an outsider.

In their eyes, I would always be the one who had hitched onto Jack. The Whore.

This was regardless of the fact that I had come into Jack’s life a year and a half after his wife had walked out on him. She had married his former business associate with who she had been carrying on an affair.

But I was the one who was reviled by the townspeople.

There’s the Shameless Sl*t ; that was how one of them had described me, announcing it loudly when I had walked into the local baker’s. I remember I had been beaming, on my way to get us some bread. The loud insult, meant to be heard by me and everyone in the tiny shop had left me shocked.

It had hurt me deeply, coming as I did from a commune where everyone was supportive and caring. All my childhood had been spent in the midst of caring, loving people. This sort of mindless hostility bordering on hatred frightened me. Seeing my distress, Jack had comforted me. After that horrible day, he had made it a point to accompany me if we ever visited the town and would never leave my side.

NOW

My son sat perched on my lap, the spitting image of Jack. Little Jack Jr. was sucking his thumb. He did that when he sensed that I was upset. And that had happened frequently in the past few days after my beloved partner Jack had suddenly passed away in his sleep,

I lowered my face to little Jack’s head of brown hair,

Jack Stevenson had become my lover from the time I had wandered inadvertently into the small town of Carrow Hill in my little old Mini.

***

I had been a student and I had chosen to leave the commune where my parents had been living. That had been the only world I had known; a world of love shared laughter and happiness. Where no one held grudges, where I had first discovered what it meant to love a man and share my body with him, unconditionally. So when I had turned eighteen, my parents had supported me in my decision to leave, to see the world.

The fact that I had no job in hand, had not stopped me. My father was an artist and Mom was a sculptor. They lived quite happily on the little money they made by selling their art in the local market. They had encouraged me to go ahead, giving me some cash to spend. I had managed to travel to Mid-Western America, taking up small jobs along the way, driving the old Mini my Dad had gifted me. It had been a great adventure but I soon began to tire of it. When I got lost and my car broke down one evening in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, a road with dense undergrowth bordering it on both sides,, I had been on the verge of calling Dad and asking him to help me get back home.

Fate had dictated otherwise. I had met Jack. And that had changed the course of my life.