Gilliflowers (19 page)

I honestly could have battered him with the bottle, but I poured the wine. After setting down the bottle I picked up my plate to go into the kitchen and eat in solitude.

I didn’t want their company. I was too mad at them.

Shane’s legendary reserves of patience expired. He barked a choice at me, either I could sit at the dining room table and eat lunch or I could stand in a corner of the dining room until lunch was over, after which he’d take his belt to my backside. I sat down.

They talked about work, about the weather and about Shane’s impending uncle— ship via his brother and also about Leo who had gone to spend the Easter break with friends in London, teaching a few private Master classes (literally) in bondage techniques.

I sat pushing fish and salad around my plate making monosyllabic replies to any comments chancing my way.

They finished eating and went into the lounge to watch television. I cleared the dining room table and decided to damn energy saving and chemical pollutants by sticking everything in the dishwasher in preference to washing up by hand. I don’t use the dishwasher much, mainly after dinner parties when I’ve accrued a lot of washing up. I’m a bit of a Luddite at heart.

Keeping a civil tone I popped my head around the lounge door and let it be known I was going upstairs to read for a while. Dick followed me into the hall catching hold of my hands before I could go upstairs inviting me to cuddle up, break some chocolate eggs and watch the bank holiday film with them.

“I’d prefer to read, thanks.” Pulling my hands free I ran upstairs, conscious of him watching me. I bypassed the master bedroom in favour of the den. I felt crowded and hemmed in, I needed some space that felt uniquely mine.

The den is actually a bedsit. It’s small but nicely designed and fitted out, an example of the talents and contacts of men in the design and building professions. It went with the job of housekeeper and I loved it when I first moved in. It was utter luxury compared to what I’d fled from. It was one of the reasons I made an all out effort to learn the domestic skills I claimed I had when I got the job. I didn’t want to go back to a shit hole. The den was a place of safety, a refuge from the mess I was making of my life.

Settling on the small sofa I opened my book, ‘Sucking Sherbet Lemons.’ It was one of a stack I’d bought from a flea market and it sounded fun, but the headache was growing worse by the second. I developed some visual ghosting. It made reading a nauseating experience. I gave up, swapping the sofa for the bed. Taking off my jeans I got under the covers. Curling into a ball with my eyes closed I moaned a soft mantra of misery in the hope it would give me some reprieve from pain, but it didn’t. I lay there feeling every second pass as a hammer blow to the head.

Eventually Shane’s voice sounded from far below, then less far below, as he came up each set of stairs. He was clearly displeased. Thrusting open the den door he demanded to know why I was sulking like Rapunzel in a turret.

Temper gave me the energy to open my eyes. “If it’s dinner you’re bawling about then you’ll have to make your own, or get Dick to do it. I’ve got a bad headache. I don’t feel well.”

“Why didn’t you let us know you were feeling unwell?” He came over to the bed, a frown knitting his brows together.

I shrugged and closed my eyes again.

“Spleen, you silly young man. Have you taken anything for the headache?”

I managed to shake my head and he left to fetch me some painkillers. After I’d swallowed them I lay back down and he sat beside me on the bed. “You’re as white as milk, Gilli.” He gently massaged my temples with his strong blunt fingers. “I know you don’t want to acknowledge it, my darling, but your fits are getting worse. The symptoms seem to increase with each one and it takes you longer to recover.”

The touch of his fingers was soothing, but not so his words. I turned on my side.

“I’m tired, Shane.”

“Come down to our bed. Dick and I will keep you company.”

“I’d prefer to be on my own. I just want to sleep.” It was rubbish of course. I hate being alone when I have a bad head. He didn’t insist. Closing the blinds he went downstairs, leaving the den door open and an order for it to remain open.

Dick came to see how I was faring. He also wanted me to go down to the master bedroom, but again I declined. He didn’t press and wishing me better made to kiss me. I turned my head away causing him to say with snooty exasperation that I was really rather naughty and it was fortunate I had a headache, because if I didn’t he’d bloody throttle me.

I fell into a heavy sleep, vaguely aware of Shane rousing me to take my evenings meds. I went straight back to sleep and awoke early next morning feeling fully recovered, physically speaking at least.

I got up and got on with doing what a houseboy is expected to do, but without fancy embellishments such as smiles or conversation. I took cold delivery of Shane’s good morning kiss and managed to be in the bathroom when he left for work. I avoided Dick completely by leaving his breakfast all ready on the table and going out for an early walk, announcing my departure by banging the door as I left and making sure I stayed out until he went to work. I was crosser with him than I was with Shane, probably because he had chosen to pursue rather than drop the matter of my disobedience at Penny’s.

It was a cold fresh morning with a crunch of hard snow underfoot. It wouldn’t last long, not in March. It was a final bugle call. Spring was gaining strength even as winter weakened. Daffodils shivered in gardens and along the grass verges, standing brave against the cold, their golden trumpets and manes a little nipped, but still noble.

The walk should have revived my spirits, but didn’t. I returned home in much the same frame of mind as I’d left it. I felt emasculated in some way.

Dick was first home that evening calling his habitual quaint greeting
‘honey I’m
home’
as he came through the front door.

I didn’t respond and nor did I go to greet him. He came into the kitchen carrying a beribboned cellophane sheaf, smiling, asking how my day had been.

I shrugged.

“Oh dear.” He pulled a sad face, adopting the royal pronoun. “Are we still sulking?”

I made no comment.

He held out the sheaf. “I bought you flowers, a treat.”

I glanced at them, but made no effort to take them from him.

“They’re your favourites,” he cajoled, “sweet gillyflowers for my own sweet Gilliflower.”

Gillyflowers are another name for the carnation family of flora, in this instance long stemmed single carnations. As Dick said they’re a favourite of mine. I still didn’t take them.

He laid the beautifully wrapped package on the worktop. “At least put them in a vase, honey,” he said quietly.

So I did, upside down and without any water.

He lost his composure. “You really are the absolute fucking limit at times.”

I flashed back. “And what fucking limit would that be, Dick, the alcohol limit, zero in my case?’

“Nothing is as bad as you seem to think it is.” He jabbed a finger at me. “You’re making it so much harder than it need be. You’ll soon adjust if you accept the situation instead of opposing it.”

“And what if I don’t accept it?” I threw down the challenge. “What if I tell you to stuff it, what then?”

He gazed coolly at me. “Then you’d better be prepared to take the consequences, Gillibran. I’m telling you now you’ll end up far more pissed off than you already are.”

“Why, what other privileges will you withdraw from me, breathing perhaps?” He didn’t get chance to respond, because Shane, who had obviously sneaked in, responded for him, his voice making us both jump as he asked what was going on.

“Nothing, Shane.” Dick kissed him adding wearily, “just Gilli being Gilli. I’m going for a shower.” He walked out of the kitchen. Shane followed him and I suffered qualms as I heard a command for clarification regarding exactly what ‘just Gilli being Gilli’ meant in this particular instance. Oh boy. I was in trouble.

On returning to the kitchen Shane announced he had had “an absolute fucking gutful of just Gilli being Gilli.” My own guts churned as he verbally tore into me. He was seriously angry. In his opinion Dick’s kindness had been misguided, because not only was I undeserving of expensive flowers, but in view of the circumstances it gave out the message Dick had something to regret. He didn’t. Not in the slightest.

“Sort those out you spoilt brat,” he pointed at the inverted insulted flora, “or I’ll thrash your ungracious bare arse with them.”

I hastened to do so, not wishing to experience the painful side of ‘saying it with flowers.’ I admit I felt a flush of shame for my meanness as I unwrapped the elegant flowers and put them in water the right way up. The buds were large, the frilly petals folded within showing signs of being magenta and white. They were not garage forecourt fodder. They truly would be beautiful once they fully blossomed, sending out their elegant cool perfume.

While I busied myself with the flowers Shane busied himself about the kitchen.

Not in a domestic capacity I hasten to add, he didn’t wash up or whip up a soufflé or anything. After rummaging in a kitchen drawer he went over to the breakfast nook and laid something on the table. Removing his suit jacket he draped it over the back of a chair then took out his cufflinks, slipping them into his jacket pocket. Folding back his shirt cuffs he seated himself and ordered me to turn the cooker off so dinner wouldn’t spoil while we had a little talk.

It was an ominous statement made more so when I saw what he’d extracted from the drawer during his rummaging. It was a pasta measure, a sturdy wooden utensil with a number of different sized holes punched along its length. It was designed for calculating servings of straight dried spaghetti. I had a horrible suspicion my rump was about to feature as the raw meat ingredient in a recipe known only to Daddy.

He made me stand in front of him with my hands behind my back in an attitude of humility. We talked, or at least he did. My brief was to shut it and listen.

“I don’t understand what your problem is.” He fixed his eyes on my face. “There’s nothing complicated for you to get your head around. You’ve been told you’re not allowed alcohol. That’s it, nothing more to be said by anyone. At least that’s how it should be, except you always have to fuss and fume and try to have the last word.”

Reaching out he grasped the waistband of my jeans, pulling me closer to him, saying grimly, “and I for one am sick and tired of the sound of your voice.”

Swiftly undoing my jeans he pulled them right down to my ankles along with my underpants before jerking me forward and over his knees. He positioned me so my jean-tangled feet were raised well off the ground. Tucking my left arm securely between our bodies, he then drew my right arm behind me holding the wrist firmly against the small of my back. Not being able to brace hands or feet against the floor made me feel completely powerless, as it was meant to, and made the first smack seem somehow more startling, making me yelp aloud.

He spanked without speaking at first concentrating on putting some colour into my buttocks before adding word accompaniment.

“You’ve done nothing but shit stir from the moment I made it known we’d be spending Easter with Penny. You blighted the holiday even before it started with your constant efforts to influence house policy by means of emotional manipulation.

You’re still doing it now. If you think bellyaching is going to get you your own way you can think again.”

His hand picked up pace smacking harder and faster making me yip and yelp.

“What you did with those flowers was yet another attempt to subvert authority and top from the bottom. You owe Dick an apology for your bad manners. I won’t tolerate the disgraceful level of disrespect you’ve shown him lately.”

The spanking ceased. I thought he’d finished and I’d escaped a paddling when he freed my ankles from their denim bindings and returned me to my feet. It was wishful thinking. The spanking had been just the warm up. He was a very ticked off Daddy and his boy was going to know it.

“Bend over,” he barked, “put your hands on your shins just below your knees.”

I tearfully complied, stiffening my legs in an effort to stop them trembling.

Picking up the pasta paddle he swung it hard against my heated buttocks pressing a hand to my back to keep me in position. I almost pitched forward as the paddle struck.

It hurt like a bastard with boots on. The holes reduced air resistance making impact much sharper. I roared dismay as it made contact, instinctively trying to stand up.

Shane is way taller, broader and stronger than I am and it was a matter of ease for him to keep me firmly in position.

“It isn’t your place to question my decisions, or Dick’s.” He rested the pasta measure against my smarting bottom. “Nor do you question the nature of a punishment.” He lifted the paddle and I hollered at the top of my lungs as he walloped the centre of my backside with it for a second time and then a third before resting it again. “I’m not interested in whether you think you’ve been unfairly dealt with. In this house, boy, you’re not
in
authority you’re
subject to
authority. The sooner you remember that the better. I want no more obstinacy and no more sour faced complaining from you. If you continue to moan, bitch and gripe I’ll show you the real meaning of being hard done by.”

He’d said his piece. Thereafter the only sounds were the smack of wood on skin and my yells, grunts and cries. By the time he set the paddle back on the table my bottom was so sore I couldn’t bring myself to touch it let alone rub it. Tears gushed down my face.

He gave me a few moments to bring myself to some kind of composure before speaking. Pulling loose his tie and beginning to unbutton his shirt he said, “I’m going to shower and change. When I come back downstairs I expect to find you getting on with making dinner, if not with a smile on your face, then at least in an appropriate and pleasant manner. Is that clear?” He tilted up my chin and looked at me and I knew he knew I adored him even when I hated him, as I fleetingly did at that moment.