Lizbeth finds
dinnertimes
a right chore

sitting there
at the oak
table with

her moody
mother there
facing her

her father
glum as hell
beside her

and Lizbeth
trying hard
to ignore

both of them
its beef stew
thick gravy

and drowned out
vegetables
you're quiet

Mother says
anything
wrong with you?

nothing's wrong
Lizbeth says
gazing at

the beef stew
you've a mood
I can tell

Mother says
if the girl
wants silence

why complain
Father says
I know her

and you don't
Mother says
to Hubby

Lizbeth stares
at Mother
I'm just on

nothing else
Lizbeth moans
on the rag

Auntie's come
sandwich week
THAT'S ENOUGH

Mother shouts
rattling
the windows

I won't have
you talking
like that here

at mealtimes
it's not nice
Lizbeth stares

at Father
as he mouths
the beef stew

in silence
did you know
Lizbeth says

that Tudor
King Henry
the 7ths

mother was
married at
12 years old

and had him
at 13
Mother sighs

your point is?
that's my age
she sprouted

her king sprog
at my age
Mother glares

at her child
with her dark
angry eyes

Lizbeth thinks
of Benny
pretending

he's upstairs
in her room
stark naked

all waiting
eat your stew
Mother says

no more talk
of those things
outside it's

countryside
fluttering
butterflies

a bird sings.

Feel right here
Lizbeth says
pointing her

sensual
finger there
and she dreams

she's lying
on a beach
and he's there

Benedict
beside her
and she takes

his finger
and lets it
feel the place

she wants felt
like spreading
special cheese

and watching
it warming
slowly melt.

We'd got half way up
the Downs she talking
of certain flowers and
butterflies that had

passed us fluttering by
and we rested by the
large hollow tree and
she said shall we go

inside it's large enough
for us and more? I said
ok and we did we climbed
inside the big hollow

tree and it was like a
largish room a hole in
the side of the tree acted
as  a door and a small hole

acted as a window nature's
little lodgings she said and  
we sat back on the inner
parts of the tree and there

was a little ledge like a seat
for  two and we sat there
and she said I think it's
lovely this yes it is I said

-and was glad Lizbeth never
knew of this or she'd have
drawn me in and wanted
somehow to have said

about having ***- Jane
was content to just be there
sharing a bit of nature and
being with me and she said

Daddy showed me this
when I was little and I was
amazed and thought fairies
came here and hollowed it

out I smiled and thought
Lizbeth would never have
thought that and I doubted
her father would have bothered

to show her anything makes
it so homely Jane said fancy
living here and coming back
here after a day's work and

having no place to wash or
bath and she laughed and I
loved that aspect of her that
innocence that being part of

what was natural and I wanted
to kiss her and hug her but I
didn't we just sat there sharing
the hollow tree just Jane and me.

Cows mooed. Birds bubbled in a nearby hedgerow. Butterflies fluttered by. A Gatekeeper, Jane said, pointing to a butterfly fluttering by. Benedict watched as the butterfly fluttered along ahead of them. Wasn't sure, he said. He caught her out of the corner of his eye. Dark hair, let loose, shoulder length; blue flowered dress short sleeved. I ought not to say whom you can see and whom you can't, she said, pausing by the hedgerow, looking up the narrow road leading to the small church, if you want to see that Lizbeth girl it's up to you, she added. Benedict looked at her. She comes looking for me; I don't go looking for her, he said. Her eyes looked at him: dark eyes, warm, searching, honest-to-God eyes. What does she want with you? Jane asked. A sound of a tractor in the distant field. Whatever it is she won't get it, he said, eyeing her lips, how they part slightly, her teeth, small but even. She seemed hooked on you, Jane said. She looked at Benedict's quiff of brown hair, his hazel eyes. Guess she is. He tries to push thoughts of Lizbeth ******* in her room a few months ago and how she wanted him to have *** with her and he didn't want to and didn't. Much to her annoyance. He pictures her body semi-undressed, her bed waiting for them. He couldn't. Jane frowned. I had a word with her in the girl's toilet at school, Jane said, she showed no shame in wanting to have *** with you; I couldn't believe any girl could just do that. Benedict sighed. Some can and do, he said, I didn't want to and so didn't. She seemed relieved to hear that and walked on and he walked on beside her.  Why didn't you? She asked, have *** with her? He thought before answering, didn't want to say the wrong thing. He heard the cows mooing louder as they walked up towards the church lane. I wouldn't, not just out of lust, he said. If you loved her would you? She asked. He didn't love Lizbeth, he liked her for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, but it wasn't love. Don't think so, he answered. She was quiet and they walked on up the narrow lane. A blackbird flew over their heads. The smell of flowers was strong. Cow dung from the farm was as strong. He studied Jane's hand near his: slim, fingers narrow, neat nails. Do you love her? Jane asked. No, he replied. He wanted to say he loved her, loved Jane, but it was a big statement to say and he didn't want just to blurt it out. They entered the churchyard. The small church was nearby. Lizbeth had been here with him twice or so. Once suggesting they have *** on one of the church pews. Narrow wooden pews. Would she have? He asked himself as he and Jane walked past old tombstones. He guessed she would, but he couldn't, not there, not anywhere. Jane paused by a grave. He was a tractor driver who died when his tractor fell on top of him, Jane said, pointing at the grave. It looked new: new stone, fresh dug earth, flowers. O my God, he said, how sad. Yes, it is, she said. His wife and children had to leave the tied cottage afterwards. Benedict caught her perfume as she leaned near him. He couldn't identify the flower smell. He couldn’t imagine her wanting him to have *** with her anywhere. Yet, oddly he felt he could with her, but he knew she wouldn't so it was safe to think it. But not like Lizbeth who was gagging for it-to use her expression-, but out of a love feeling, maybe. No, he couldn't imagine Jane doing such. What did you think when that Lizbeth girl brought you here? Jane asked. Thought she was just going to show me around the church; she said she was interested in the architecture, he said. She lies good, Jane said. He nodded. They walked on around the church, walked past other graves, older, moss covered stones. Were you tempted to have *** with her on one of the pews? Jane asked. Of course not, he replied, looking straight at her. Never dawned on me that she'd want such a thing. How could she even suppose you would? Jane said. Because she wanted to, she imagined I must want it, too, he said. But on a church pew? She said, her voice having tones of disbelief. He sighed. I know and when I said people might come in she said serves them right for coming in, he said, trying to recollect her words exactly, but couldn't. Jane opened the small wooden door of the church and they entered. It was cool. The walls were white painted. The windows were painted with religious figures. This is God's house, Jane said, she shouldn't have even thought of such a thing. Benedict looked at the altar end. A small crucifix stood on an altar table with a white cloth on it. He looked at the side pews. He tried to find the one he sat in with Lizbeth and she suggested having *** there. It made him go cold thinking of it. Jane walked to the altar end and sniffed. Incense from Sunday, she said. He smelt it too. He smelt her perfume more. She was close to him now. Her body was inches from his. His body tingled. He knew he loved her. He wanted to say so; wanted to say it loudly to her, but it was the wrong place. He looked at her body encased in the dress. Slim, narrow, her ******* were small, but tight. She was curved. He looked away. He knew he ought not to think of her in that way, least not here. Let's sit and pray, she said, and walked into one of the side pews and sat down. He sat next to her, pushing thoughts of Lizbeth from his mind. Keeping the image of her lifting her skirt and showing him a glimpse of her thigh from his mind. Jane had closed her eyes in prayer. She was a parson's daughter; prayer was natural to her as breathing. He closed his eyes. Smelt her perfume mingled with incense. How did one pray at a time like this? He thought, pushing Lizbeth's thigh from his inner eye.

Lizbeth dressed
in her favourite
short dress

knowing her mother
would disapprove
and would lead

to her mother's
usual moans about
looking like a ****

like one of those dancers
on that TV pop music
programme

and what would
the neighbours think?
Lizbeth stared at herself

in the full length mirror
looking at red hair
her freckled skin

which she loathed
and how the dress
was getting tight

about her
how it showed her
shapely figure

which she did like
and her mother didn't
and thought of Benedict

at home in
his village cottage
with his parents

and siblings
and she hoping
to cycle out

to see him
and maybe
if she was lucky

get him
to get down to it
-she had tried

many times before
but with no success
- even in the small church

where no one
ever visited
he wouldn’t get down

to having ***
saying it wasn't
the place

and then another time
in his bedroom
where he took her

to show her
his animals bones
and bird eggs

and fossils
in broken pieces
of chalk

and it was there
behind them
his double bed

already for them
but no
she was till a ******

and even here
in her own bedroom
she brought him once

and still he wouldn't
have it
even though she'd

almost stripped off
her clothes for him
O how boring

he could be
and she gagging for it
so much so

that she was tempted
to go it alone-
as seen in

the *** book
a girl at school
had lent her-

but no
she wanted Benedict
no other boy

just him
and down stairs
she heard her mother

singing along
to the radio
some classical

music stuff
her mother's voice
croaking above

the music
like an unhappy frog
she lifted

the short dress
by the hem
to see how short

it could get
before her mother
would take it away

from her
and give it
to another

she raised it so
she could just
about see her

white underwear
and smiled
and said

to herself
there
yes there.

And there
by the water tower
Jane stood
and I was thinking

of how I'd helped
my  father saw the logs
for the fire and stove
and the sun was beginning

to open up
and bring more warmth
and she was standing there
and I felt a glow

of happiness fill me
and she waved
as I approached
and I waved back

and as we got near
I said she looked
a sight for poor eyes
and she smiled

not knowing
what I meant I think
but anyway
she said that her father

had asked her to help
do the flowers
in the church
as there was to be

a funeral that afternoon
so she had helped
and I asked
who had died

and she said
an old parishioner who
had been a regular
churchgoer

and we walked on
along Bug's Lane
between the hedgerows
and bird were singing

and flying overhead
or from hedge to hedge
or over fields
and she asked me

how I was and I said
better for seeing you
and she laughed
and said so was she

and I was tempted
to hold her hand
but didn't want
to be seen

as presumptuous
and so I didnt
but I did smell
the scent of flowers

on her
and it drew me
to her even more
and I said what's

the scent you're wearing
it smells nice
and she said it
was she mother's

that her father
had bought her
and her mother said
she could wear some

and so she did
and we walked on
towards the small church
a good walk away

that warm
flower smelling  
sun pouring down
summery day.

The small hut
on the Downs
unused now

near the hedge
is not what
Lizbeth thought

it would be
is this it?
she mutters

Benedict
nods his head
this is it

there's no light
inside there
probably

got spiders
Lizbeth says
likely to

he replies
and woodlice
and beetles

and field mice
she stands back
mouth open

wide open eyes
she had thought
before this

she could get
Benedict
to have ***

with her here
a nice hut
she had thought

the blanket
an old one
she had brought

from her home
on the ground
cosy warmth

making love
Benedict
entering

into her
with birdsong
going on

the outside
having him
at long last

after months
of planning
and now this

this old hut
damp and dark
with spiders

and field mice
and beetles
and woodlice

making love
in that place
she muses

looking in
wouldn't be
one bit nice

Benedict
unaware
of her ploy

to have ***
in the hut
says mildly

with a smile
bet this place
hasn't seen

no action
in a while.