Sod's Law Pt. 05

Beverley was watching my face during the silence that followed her entreaty.

"You resent what she did, don't you? You think she could have been more considerate."

"Not so much at the time," I replied. "But after a year? She's in bed with someone else, and here am I in bed with you. Don't I deserve a little compassion on her part? No matter how upset she was at the time, surely now?"

Bev thought that over. I was beginning to see how perceptive she was, how sensitive.

"You're right, of course," she said reflectively. "I just think that if you've made the effort to find her, you won't feel so bad when she eventually marries. If you succeed in finding her, she just needs to know the true situation. She just needs the facts. I'm not saying you should go whining and begging her to come back - perhaps that bridge has been burnt. Has it?"

"I don't know. I won't know unless I see her. We were so close, Beverley, so in tune with each other, the bond was so strong. Everyone said as much. So, you're right, I should try to find where she is and give her the information somehow, perhaps not in person."

"Ever thought of trying to find her brother?"

That question stung me like an electric shock! Was that possible?

Beverley kissed me softly. "Come on, David," she whispered. "I think I feel something growing down there. Another condom in my bag. Love me a little more, then I'm going home. Somehow I don't think we'll meet again, but if you tell Harry what happens, I'd love to know. It's a great story."

She stroked me up, rolled it on and pulled me over her, and we did it again more gently as she asked, and she was a warm and soft and urgent and sensuous as before. We said nothing but the groans, and moans and sighs spoke for us of a warm loving friendship and a passionate thankfulness for each other, so much more than a casual fucking.

After relaxing and getting our breath, wrapped in each other, she slid out of bed.

"Would you call me a taxi, please?" she asked. So I got out of bed and putting on a dressing gown, went to the corridor to use the phone. When I returned, she was dressed, or at least as dressed as she could be in that garb, and came to me in the doorway.

"Thank you, lover," she said, embracing me and kissing me again. "You're quite something. I think if your lady were not deep in your sub-conscious, we could have grown together very well."

"I'm so glad Harry got me to come out tonight," I said. "You are really special, and you've made me think about what ought to be done, and what I should do. I agree, I could fall in love with you so easily if..."

"Take me to the door?" she asked, saving me from saying it.

We waited in an embrace by the door until the taxi arrived, my arms round her waist, hers round my neck.

"This place is like a palace," she said as the taxi arrived. "I could live in a place like this - if I didn't have my own little hovel."

We bade each other farewell with another long kiss, and she was gone.

Here I go again, I thought, and Sod was playing his games again. I'd been calling him the great god Sod, one of a pantheon of gods, perhaps Greek or Roman, or even Viking! Someone like Pan, the trickster, playing on his pipes. On reflection Sod was more evil than that, and so I began to think of Satanic Sod, not so much of a rhyme, but more alliterative.

I had gone out with Harry, confident at last that I was moving on. I had found, or picked up, a woman just my type and it turned out very much on my wavelength, and for the first time since Helen, we went to bed, and Beverley was superb!

However, didn't she pick up on some sort of female radar the traces of my affection for Helen, and didn't we have to talk about Helen, and wasn't it obvious that I should have been searching for Helen to give Helen the truth?

Once again Helen was at the forefront of my thinking and planning, but there was more: Beverley put a new idea into my head, trying to find Helen's long lost brother David J Evans.

I didn't see Harry on Saturday or Sunday, which was not surprising: he normally was kept occupied with his Friday woman all weekend. The housemates were eager to know how my carousing with Harry had gone, and I was able to tell them that my Friday girl was very nice and we had some good talks.

That went down well, I don't think! Talks were not what Friday nights were about, but I was saying no more. I was on cleaning duty on Saturday and I went home to Mum's on Sunday, and generally helped out.

So it was on Sunday evening, safely back in my armchair with a glass of wine and a book, that I was able to ignore both and think of my next ploy regarding Helen. My thoughts went round and round, until I eventually thought I'd try to find Helen's brother, or rather activate someone else to do it who knew what he was doing.

I knew just the man to do the search: Fred Atherton.

I had often chatted with Fred Atherton who worked for our practice's tame Private Investigators. I called him on that Monday morning.

"Fred, do we have the capability to trace someone adopted in 1960, only having their original names and their original birth certificate?"

"Yes, shouldn't take very long, especially since I'm at a loose end at the moment. Business is slack. There are privacy concerns though."

"Fred, can I tell you the tale and what I'm looking for?"

"Go ahead."

I told him everything about Helen's adoption and my fostering (the latter he knew), and the problems it had caused, leading to the destruction of our relationship.

"I really want to confirm that he is alive and where he is for future reference."

"I'll get on it," he said. "Have you got the birth certificate?"

"Yeah. Here in my hot sticky hand."

"Send someone over with it, then leave it with me. I'll get back to you when I have something. Depending on how devious I have to be, and where he's ended up, could be two weeks or more."

I told him he was a star, and prepared myself for a considerable dent in my savings for his fee. I could hardly charge it to the practice!

On Wednesday 31st July Harry left us for London having got his degree in Economics and in typical Harry fashion walked into a job as a trader in the City. He paid up to the end of August, so I rather put off advertising for another tenant while I was preoccupied with finding Helen's brother.

On Tuesday 6th August I received a letter. Yes, it was from Helen. No there wasn't a return address. I knew her handwriting as soon as I saw it, and my stomach churned. Had Maurice had second thoughts and asked her to contact me? (The answer to that had to be no, because she did not add her address for a reply). I took the letter to my room and opened it.

Dear David

Dad has told me you've been asking him to give you my address, with some cock and bull story that you have things to tell me about us that will change things. I've seen the evidence and you can't get out of the fact we are brother and sister and that's final.

There is no point in you going on and on about our problem and there is really nothing you can say to change the horrid truth. I go cold with horror every time I think about what we did.

Look, after getting so close and so intimate, if we meet, no matter what you have to say, we will only suffer more pain. There is no point begging to get back together because we are brother and sister. Meeting will bring anguish and suffering, so I'm begging you to let go of this and move on with your life as I have done.

My fiancé Barry Roberts and I will be getting married in October. If you must talk with me and put yourself through more upset, you can do so after we are married. In fact, once you see me happily married with someone else perhaps you'll be able to move on yourself. When we've been married for one year, I will invite you to visit us on our first anniversary.

For now, David, I am not interested in anything you have to say about us, and I will throw away unread any letter you send via my parents.

Your sister

Helen.

The letter did not in fact upset me much. If it had been true that we were brother and sister, I would have agreed with her. Any upset came from her refusal to listen to what I had to tell her, even to refusing to read my letters. That actually annoyed me, and I wondered how I'd get round the problem.

I could set Fred on finding her, and knowing him, he would manage that eventually, but would he able to find her before October? In any case, at this stage I was damned if I was going to go running after her. She wouldn't listen to me in any case. I could imagine she would accuse me of stalking her, and I wouldn't put it past her to go to the police. There had to be another way.

to be continued