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Mymble lay in her bed, warm and comfortable, somewhere between waking and sleeping.
Her mind was wandering. She had an idea she was meant to be doing something, but it wasn’t pressing she was sure and so she let herself drift. Across the fields she heard the tolling of the town bell ringing in the new day, it’s sonorous knell unearthing a memory, dredging it from the murk of memory.
He had a deep voice, she thought. Then she frowned. No, that wasn’t right was it?
If she concentrated she could just remember it. The way it resonated through her, a low burr that rattled her bones like a dice box, leaving her breathless and weak.
But it wasn’t deep really. Just rough. Coarse like sandpaper or the bristles on his cheek or the way he laughed when he grabbed her by the waist.
She shivered at the phantom claws that trailed her skin, oh so sharp but always careful as they traced strange patterns along her stomach, down her spine.
He’d been fascinated with her skin, mapping every inch of it, noting every freckle like an astronomer charting stars. He said it was the sailor in him. Instinctively taking a bearing wherever he went. Always looking for north.
She wondered if he’d found it yet.
“You’ll have to introduce me to the neighbours.”
Oh yes , Mymble thought. She knew she was forgetting something. She usually was. “What was that dear?” she asked sweetly, tipping her head sideways to look at her bed companion. Blond hair, straight and flaxen and a pair of brown eyes were gazing at her lovingly, although with a hint of exasperation in them. What was his name again?
“The neighbours. I ought to meet them.”
“Whatever for?”
The man looked a little put out. “One should know one's neighbours. It’s polite.”
“But I already know them,” Mymble said. “Why should you need to as well? They aren’t you’re neighbours, after all.” Mottle? Mittle?
The man frowned. “But they will be ,” he said, in the tone of someone who was trying to make it clear they were being exceptionally patient. “When we marry.”
Mymble laughed. It bubbled up from her lungs like the fizz from summer lemonade, sweet but just a little sharp. “Marry? What should I want to get married for?”
“Do you not want to marry me?” the man asked. “I thought you loved me. I thought we were building a home.”
He sounded hurt and Mymble felt a little sorry for him. She reached over and patted his cheek. “Of course I love you Mittle.” The man shot up, sheets pooling around his waist as he looked down at her in shock and, she noted with surprise, anger.
“Dittle! My name is Dittle!”
Oh yes, that was it . Mymble sat up as Dittle scrambled from the bed, taking the bed sheet with him and leaving her bare in the chill of the room. She shivered, pulling her arms around her as she watched him pulling his clothes back on, ranting all the while.
“I’ve only been coming here for months. Helping with the kids. Taking you all out for trips. Sleeping in your bed more nights than my own. I thought we were on the same page. I thought this was it, that we loved each other and we’d get married. What a fool I am. ”
She watched him glassily, mind wandering as she tuned out the words. She wouldn’t miss much. After all, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before.
They all seemed to want so much more than was reasonable. It wasn’t enough to have her body. They wanted her mind and soul too it seemed. Men were all the same in the end.
Well, most men.
He hadn’t been like this.
From the first heated look to the last bittersweet embrace he had given her his love freely and without condition. And she’d taken it. Oh how she had taken it.
She was a greedy creature at heart, wanting all the love in the world, never seeming to be satisfied, wrapping herself in hearts to keep the cold at bay. She’d taken him into her arms and her bed and wished the world outside would simply vanish.
But the seasons had rolled on and one day she’d woken to him leaning over her already dressed in his coat and hat and she’d known their time was up. She’d followed him into the garden, shivering in her nightdress and shawl as the frost crunched under her bare feet.
“I hope he has my face,” he’d said as he traced one last shape over her belly, already growing round and full. “For you to remember me by.”
“I hope he doesn’t,” she’d said.
He’d laughed at that, pulling her close and kissing her, stealing the air out of her lungs. It wasn’t until she brushed out her hair and found the jagged end that she realised that wasn’t all he’d stolen.
Those claws, so careful, but oh so sharp.
She pulled the sheets up against the chill, chasing away the ghosts of memory. A warm body was the best remedy but that didn’t look like an option right now. With effort she dragged her attention back to Dittles' tirade.
“I suppose I should have seen the writing on the wall. I suppose there’s a good reason you’ve got so many children, but Boobles tears Mymble you might have told me a bit sooner.”
“Told you what, dear?”
He stared at her, mouth opening and closing unattractively for a moment before throwing his hands up in inarticulate frustration. “You are impossible!” he shouted. “It’s not easy, you know, loving a woman with sixteen children, but I was willing to try it. Well, I can see it was a wasted effort. Good luck finding anyone else who’ll put up with this madhouse.” And with that he stormed out of the door.
She could hear him clattering down the stairs. He tripped near the last step, probably on some abandoned toy, and the sound of him cursing echoed through the house for a moment before the front door opened and closed with a slam.
Mymble lay back in her bed and waited. A minute later the door creaked open and a series of small faces peeked around the frame.
“Is he gone?”
“Are you ok Mama?”
Mymble smiled. “Yes, my loves, he is gone, but no matter. Come, come, there’s room for us all.”
With squeals of delight the children poured into the room, clambering up onto the bed. Mymble opened her arms wide, gathering them to her and holding them close. They wriggled and squawked before they got settled, arrayed around her like so many chicks in a nest, and Mymble smiled happily at the warmth, so many little hearts to hold to her and another on the way. One day she'd have enough to never feel cold again.
Settling back into the blankets she let her eyes drift shut as the bell tolled its final note.