Happily Ever After_ - Benison Anne O'Reilly [82]
I’ve made earlier reference to my evil twin and in an indirect way to Tony’s who, for a time, appeared to take up permanent residence in our house. I don’t think this phenomenon is unique to our little household. It’s a question that’s challenged more sophisticated philosophers than Eleanor Parkes throughout the ages: the capacity of humans for both good and evil.
I would say that the good me has been in charge for most of my life. I have been a dutiful daughter, an honest employee and a loving mother. I am kind to old people, pay my bills on time and my name is on a secret list that is circulated to all registered charities in Australia and entitled ‘Guaranteed Soft Touches’. Out of deference to my husband and daughter I have even kept my thoughts about my mother-in-law largely to myself.
All the same the bad me occasionally pops in for a visit, like the time I sat back complicitly and watched the mean girls at my school bully a fat girl so badly she had a nervous breakdown and never returned to class. I knew I should have spoken up for her, but was too much the coward. Instead I hung around at the back of the pack as those snarling hyenas went in for the kill. Then there was that day at uni when a shy boy with bad skin had asked me out within earshot of my friends and I’d callously brushed him off, laughing. I’d felt witty and sophisticated at the time, but had later reflected on how much courage it must have taken him to ask me and how I’d so thoughtlessly crushed his self-esteem.
Yes, the bad me has made a few cameos during my life, but for a time last year she was running the show, with sexual desire the evil mastermind pulling the strings above. I became scheming and duplicitous. To my unending shame I became a snappy and disinterested mother. And I lied. I lied to my mother, I lied to Melanie and I lied to Tony. I even lied to Alex.
But the thing about my evil twin is that she looks exactly like me, so no-one noticed.
For three frenzied months the primary driving force in my life became the need to spend time alone with Alex in that queen-size bed of his. I needed his mouth and his touch and the feel of him within me, the way he’d gently stroke my hair and let me fall asleep in his arms. More than anything I needed to experience his want for me; during the long years of my unhappy marriage I’d forgotten what a heady drug that was. I no longer felt the need to eat or sleep. I barely felt the need to breathe. Like Sleeping Beauty I’d awoken from a long, dull slumber to find my nervous system on full alert. I was in an almost permanent state of arousal; my synapses fairly crackled whenever he was around.
When I’d taken that first step and gone home with him in July I hadn’t had particular expectations. I’d detected a sensuality in him which hinted at good things but hadn’t thought much past the sexual attraction we obviously had for each other. He was so beautiful I thought he would just have to consent to turn up for the occasion and a girl would have an orgasm. But no, this was a man who was not content to rest on his laurels. He was a lover like none I’ve ever had before, or am ever likely to have again in the future and I’m not sure if I should bless him or curse him for allowing me to discover that.
During our second time together, as I lay on my tummy and he kissed - one by one - those little indentations between the bones in my spine, he said, ‘You have the most beautiful back, Eleanor. I love it almost as much as I love your breasts…well, almost.’
‘Really? It’s usually behind me so I can’t say I’ve noticed. I have, however, noticed you’ve started calling me Eleanor. You once said you would start calling me that if I misbehaved and I guess if I’m not misbehaving now I don’t know when I would be.’
‘No that wasn’t my intention. I think I feel the need to separate the two of you - Ellie my work mate and Eleanor my lover - a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.