Through the Glass (2 page)

Jim widened his eyes in horror. “Whoa! Now just hang on there, lassie!” He held up his hands and his stomach knotted at her stabbing words as they sliced his heart.

He stepped toward her. “You can’t say that I don’t make an effort. Just because I’m in no way materialistic doesn’t mean I don’t care. I
love
you. I always have.
You
are my world! I don’t need
things
, Felicity. I need
you
!” His heart ached as it bombarded the inside of his chest. “I’ve done everything in my power to make you happy. I don’t know what else I could have done. And for the record, I’m not the one who’s given up here!” He raised his voice too, finally giving in to the pent up frustration he’d been harbouring.

“James, we want different things. Accept it. Move on…please!” She opened the door and he made a grab for her. She swung around and crashed into his arms. Without thinking he took her face in his hands and kissed her with all the passion he could muster. To his amazement she didn’t slap him; she kissed him back. Dropping her suitcase she seemed overwhelmed by desire, anger, passion, lust, whatever the hell it was. She grabbed at his dark, shaggy hair as he ran his hands through hers, desperate to express his love for her, desperate to make her change her mind.

He moved from her mouth to her neck, his kisses urgent. Her head rolled backward and she moaned, grabbing at his T-shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift aggressive move. Before either could realise what they were doing or how they got there, they staggered backward and tumbled, wrapped around each other, onto the bed. Their lips locked as their tongues danced and probed each other’s mouths.

~~~~~

Jim tugged at the hem of her skirt until it was up around her hips. She ground herself into him, needing to feel him. She gasped as he slid his hand up her inner thigh to her panties. Grabbing them, he dragged them down her legs and then returned his hand to massage her where she needed his contact the most. She whimpered and moved her hand down his toned torso, skin on skin, until it rubbed against the hardness, evident through his jeans. He reached for her breast and, releasing it from her bra, he took her erect nipple into his mouth, teasing with his tongue. She gasped again as pleasure and desire rocketed throughout her body, desperate for him.

Fumbling with one hand Felicity unfastened his jeans and slid her hand inside, releasing him. A low growl escaped from his throat. Felicity pulled at him and urged him on until he slid inside her, worshipping her breast with his mouth as he moved. Before wrapping her legs around him, she clawed at his buttocks willing him deeper. He rested his forehead on hers and looked deep into her eyes where tears had begun to escape and cascade, relentlessly, down her face, soaking through her hair.

“I love you, Flick. I love you so, so much…don’t leave…please don’t leave,” Jim breathed. His eyes sparkling as the dampness in them threatened to spill over.

It didn’t take long before their breathing became shallow and erratic; their movements faster, more and more urgent. Their eyes stayed locked. Suddenly they were climaxing together, sharing a delicious, overpowering orgasm that left them both spent and gasping for breath.

 ~~~~~

As his breathing calmed, Jim kissed her and smiled, stroking her face tenderly. He caught her tears with his thumb. “I knew you still loved me. I knew it couldn’t be the end of us. I just
knew
it, Flick.” He smiled lovingly, his lip trembling again with overwhelming emotions fighting for release.

He manoeuvred to lay by her side and held her to him. “We’ll work this out. You and me, Flick. We can get through anything. It’s always been you and me.” He whispered as he stroked her cheek and kissed her again, deeply, passionately.

She pushed him away, releasing herself from his arms, touching her swollen lips where his had just been. She stood, adjusted her skirt and blouse, and looked down where he still lay.

“I’m so sorry, Jim… Nothing has changed. I’m still leaving.” Her wavering voice broke as she whispered the stabbing words that he did not want to hear.

He pulled his brow into a frown and sat upright. “What? I…I don’t understand.” He rose to his feet adjusting his clothing. So many emotions battled and stirred inside of him. So many questions. He shook his head and asked again, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst from his chest. “What do you mean
nothing’s changed
?” He pointed to the now crumpled bed. “We…we just made love. Flick…I…I don’t understand. Why would you do that if nothing had changed? It has to have meant
something
?”

With regret visible on her face and a look of deep, deep sadness in her eyes, she touched his face, tears leaving trails down her own cheeks. “Oh James…it was just…such a beautiful way for us to end things…it was goodbye.” Gently, she stroked his cheek and left.

Jim stood for a moment, stunned, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. An uncomfortable silence fell over the house and he was momentarily paralysed as if time had stood still. Hurt and angry, he wondered how the hell she could be so damn cruel.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, he recovered the use of his legs and walked over to the window. He looked down to the street and observed her throwing her case into the back of the silly little convertible she was so very proud of. She was all designer suits, first class flights, champagne dinner meetings, and sports cars. Well, at least she fit in well with her new crowd, if not with him.

She looked up to the bedroom window and their eyes met. He saw her begin to raise her hand to wave but she stopped as if deciding the gesture was somewhat inappropriate, given the circumstances. She gave a sad half smile, climbed into the driver’s seat and drove away.

Jasper silently came into the room, walked over and nuzzled Jim’s hand. It was as if he knew his master’s heart was breaking. Jim scratched the Labrador’s head and crouched down so that his face was level with the affectionate animal. He sunk his head into Jasper’s fur. It was then that he was overcome with emotion. It was then that he began to sob.

~~~~~

On Saturday and Sunday there were a few comings and goings from the house. Jim made the effort to be absent when Flick’s friends came to collect more and more of her personal belongings. They didn’t speak much to Jim when he
was
there. They hardly made eye contact. The actuality of Flick’s belongings gradually dwindling saddened him. The more items she removed the less chance there was of reconciliation. Jim had gradually lost contact with his friends from university as they had gone off around the world to begin various careers and they had made new friends as a couple—Art world friends. These people didn’t even have to choose sides. They were already on one.

Felicity’s.

If Jim was honest, however, the fact didn’t concern him too much. He had always found her friends a little too
arty
farty
for his liking. He preferred straightforward and down to earth people.

Flick and her friends were always discussing topics he couldn’t really care less about. They’d sit for hours making comparisons between the work of modern artists such as Tracy Emin and Damien Hirst and the more traditional but prolific artists such as Claude Monet, Gustave Courbet, and Salvador Dali. James often sat staring into space thinking that one day he would write a book about how pretentious some people could be. In his opinion, it was all an expression of the inner workings of someone’s mind and was all subjective anyway, so what did it matter? If you liked it, you liked it, enough said. He was an intelligent man but he never volunteered any content to the lengthy and rather tiresome debates.

One particularly nice friend of Flick’s from university did show concern for Jim. Polly Goodfellow. She had the name of a story character and was actually rather sweet. She was the only one who had ever made the effort to include Jim, even though he’d rather she hadn’t. She was a short, flame haired woman with a very smiley face and a lovely demeanour. She had been upset when she’d heard of the couple’s separation and had sent Jim a lovely card telling him that she still considered him a friend and that he could call on her any time. Of course he wouldn’t and she probably knew that but the gesture was kind.

Monday morning, after the terrible, heart-breaking weekend, hadn’t come around soon enough. Jim loved his job. He had worked at The Book Depository for what felt like an eternity. Before working there, it had been his favourite place to visit. He would sit in the tired old wing backed armchair with a dust covered, tattered old book and a cup of coffee from the machine. He had spent hours in there and had gotten to know the owner, Charles, quite well. When he had discovered Charles’ surname was Oswald he had laughed out loud and complimented Charles on his choice of names for the shop. Charles had appreciated that Jim really
got
him.

Jim had looked after the shop on many occasions when Charles had nipped for lunch or to the bank, and so one day Charles simply decided to make it an official arrangement. The pay wasn’t immense but it wasn’t minimum wage either, so Jim couldn’t complain and wouldn’t have wanted to.

The tube ride to work was short and he was surrounded by the delightfully fusty smell of old books and coffee all day long. Two of his favourite things—coffee and old books.

When he arrived at work Charles was already there. He was a very well-spoken and dapper man in his early fifties. He always wore a colourful bow tie and a tweed jacket with elbow patches, much like an old English professor. It suited him and the shop down to the ground.

On seeing Jim today, Charles’s face scrunched as if he had encountered something rather unpleasant. “Bloody hell, Jim, are you alright? You look bloody terrible, old chap.” Charles used the word
bloody
in almost every sentence. At first it amused Jim, then it irritated him, and now, years on, he was completely immune to it.

“Not great, if I’m honest, Charles, no. Err… Flick left me on Friday.” His lip began to quiver again as it had on so many occasions over the weekend, and so he bit down on it, slumping into the wingback chair and fighting for composure.

Charles gasped. “Oh, bloody hell, my dear chap, are you sure you should be here? I can manage today if you’d rather be at home.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m better off being busy I think. No point wallowing in self-pity all alone, eh?” Jim tried to snap himself out of the drop in mood.

Charles fidgeted as if wanting to make some kind of physical gesture but struggling to know quite what to do. “No…quite…quite. Well if you need anything…” He paused as he seemed to be calculating his next words. “And in my opinion, old chap, it’s her bloody loss.”

“Thanks, Charles, I appreciate it.” Jim forced a smile. “I’d love a coffee if you’re making one, eh? I’ll go splash my face with some cold water and dump my bag in the back.” He stood and headed for the rear of the shop.

“Certainly. Bloody good idea. I’ll get onto it.”

The day passed without real incidence and James was happy to be thumbing through the latest batch of antique finds that Charles had procured during his recent trip to a Parisian book fair. Amongst the finds had been a rare first edition of
Wuthering
Heights
by Emily Bronte. He had enquired as to how much the book had cost, but Charles had winced and shook his head.
Obviously quite a lot then!
  The book was one of a select few which were locked in a cabinet not to be touched by just
anyone
. One had to prove the funds were available to purchase such a rare and delicate piece prior to being granted permission to handle it, and even then white cotton gloves were insisted upon.

Jim arrived home to a message on his answering machine. He pressed play and immediately regretted it when he heard Felicity’s voice.

“James, it’s Felicity…listen… I’ve been talking to my friend Rory and…well…he’s a lawyer, as you know… He says we can get a relatively smooth divorce… We can claim irreconcilable differences… That way we can both move on…you know, permanently… I know this is hard, James…it’s hard for me too.”
She paused and Jim thought he heard her crying.
“Anyway, I’ll leave that thought with you. Take care, James…. I hope you’re okay.”
Her voice broke and the line went dead
.

It felt too sudden and was not the news he wanted. It cut him to his core and he felt physical pain at her words.
Divorce.
That was that then. It really was over. Jim leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.
Divorce
.

~~~~~

Felicity, on the surface of it all was handling things remarkably well,
only
on the surface. She still couldn’t help wondering how much of this was her own doing and how much was the influence of her mother. Penelope had never really liked James. She didn’t
dislike
him per se. She just didn’t like him for
her Felicity
. Felicity had potential. She had goals. She had ambition. Since university Felicity had shone in her field of Art History and everyone said that she would go far.

Jim knew that after graduation Penelope had hoped that this
silly fling
with him and Felicity would just fizzle out. Much to Penelope’s chagrin, it grew and grew. Jim was a very intelligent man, an erudite scholar in fact, just like Felicity, but whereas he had been admitted to Oxford via a Scholarship, Felicity came from a long line of Oxford fellows, her father included. It was the expectation that she would simply follow in their footsteps.

On hearing the news of the break up, Penelope had insisted that Felicity come home to stay with her and her father. She wouldn’t hear of her newly single daughter staying with friends. She needed to be around family. Penelope was
very
persistent.

“Good morning, darling.” It was Monday morning after
the
weekend and Penelope was in rather high spirits. Felicity, on the other hand, was not.