Illicit.

Edith gathered herself and her clothes the next morning dwelling a little too long on the red bloody stain within the bed sheets. It was a great shock to think that she was no longer the young girl she was this time the previous day but a married woman. Last night was her wedding night, and today was the day of the long goodbye. Andrew was lying peacefully wrapped within the cotton sheets, his porcelain chiselled chest framed beautiful by the rays of sunlight which streamed in between the heavy lace drapes. Edith couldn’t deny he was an extremely handsome man, both in looks and personality, but even despite sharing and dining upon each other’s bodies the previous night, to her he felt no more Edith’s than she felt his. It was merely a marriage of convenience, a marriage of friendly affection.

As Andrew snoozed and mumbled to himself in a half drowsy consciousness, Edith busied herself sponging her legs of the dried blood that clung to her inner thighs before dressing herself quickly and efficiently. She no longer desired Andrew to look upon her body, to admire her form, to touch her. She was disgusted by herself and her choice to marry a man she simply didn’t love but indeed would have to try and grow to love.

The new wife dressed herself in an eye catching pink floral peplum dress and nude heels and settled herself by the writing desk positioned in the window of their wedding suite in the Grand Hotel, the only paying accommodation within Astor Bay. Waiting for Andrew, her husband, to stir she began to write as was expected of war wives, a loving piece of correspondence to the only man now within her life. Edith knew it was better to embellish her feelings for the inexperienced solider than to remove the mask of the loving and devoted wife and by doing so reveal a vast sense of disillusionment. There were appearances to uphold.

‘Dear Andrew, my love,’ she began, dipping the fountain pen within the ink pot that was secured at the end of the well polished mahogany desk.

‘I wish you all the best of luck at the front, you shall take my heart with you. It creates a great feeling of unease within me knowing that my neighbour, friend and now husband shall be looking into the pit of human evil in order to try and deliver our country to salvation.’

Edith began to rehearse the words upon the paper within her head, trying to emulate those that such screen greats such as Sidney Fox, Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo uttered within the film noir romances which were in great demand during the period. Edith imagined herself in ‘Midnight’ faced within the arms of Humphrey Bogart and began to write of the passion and grief she should be capable of feeling.

‘Andrew, when you are faced with self doubt and question why you are suffering in some foreign field with those you find some affinity with please think back to the summer days we spent on the common. Remember the strength of the sun’s rays that warmed our skin on those lazy afternoons with daisies blooming around our bodies and cucumber sandwiches. Please remember our days spent down in the trickling brook bathing in the water, scrumping for apples and teasing Elliot’s animals. Finally, if even those memories do not hold enough love and joy parcelled from your home to whichever foreign field you find yourself in, please think back to the day we were married: I in my pink suit and wild flower bouquet, you in your full army regalia, our vows and our first and only night together.’

Edith heard the creek of a floorboard from behind her and soon felt the embrace of Andrew’s hands around her waist and quickly followed by his face nuzzled into her neck. ‘Good morning Mrs Longstaff’ he mumbled kissing down her neck and exposing her collarbone. ‘What is this you’re writing?’

‘Good morning Mr. Longstaff’ she returned trying to ignore Andrew’s mention of the correspondence lat lay within clear view on the writing desk.

‘The letter?’ he tried again.

‘None of your business’ she swatted him away playfully, trying to make the best of the ink smudge he had caused down the parchment before quickly scribbling:

‘I love you Andrew and I shall be waiting on your return so that we may continue our lives together.

Keep safe, speedy returns and you’ll always been in my heart.

Your devoted wife and friend,

Edith’

Edith quickly sprayed the love letter with her signature perfume, a blend of vanilla and lavender before stowing it into the marked envelope. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Mmm’ Andrew mused his lips barely removing themselves from his new wife’s neck. ‘Why are you dressed? Surely we have time enough to go back to bed.’

Edith knew Andrew was right, his train was not due into the station for another hour and a half, with everything else packed and papers arranged left time and a half for another romantic and seductive embrace. The very thought made bile begin to rise in Edith’s throat; it was soon quelled when she spoke, ‘no’ she spoke a little to hardly. ‘I’m- I’m a little sore.’

His face widened in surprise and understanding, ‘oh... of course, how silly of me. I’m sorry Edith, I didn’t quite realise that... well it isn’t the same for the female body.’ She waved him and his forgiveness away, a little sickened by having deceived Andrew so early on within their marriage. Edith knew her body very well and was well aware that physically she could have taken his veracious sexual advances, psychologically however not so much.

‘I shall go and bathe’ he stated leaving the matter of intercourse closed and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before entering the en suite bathroom in which an already soothingly warm bath had been ran.

Edith took a massive sigh of relief and addressed the envelope to her husband and stowed it into the inside pocket of his army blazer, closest to his heart. She felt as if she had finally done her duty, made a soldier happy and willing to serve their country but a massive disservice to her heart. The rest of the hour she sat still gazing longingly out of the window that gave a breathtaking view of fields and livestock grazing and bathing in the sunshine merrily, feeling very much like a captured finch struggling for room and air being slowly suffocated by society’s notion of the perfect woman.

The ring that now signed her fate as a domesticated object sat snugly, a little too snugly, on her left ring finger began to weigh on her very being. The realisation was finally beginning to dawn on the new Mrs Longstaff that she had made a commitment in front of the closest members of her family and indeed the eyes of God to love, cherish, honour and obey a man she barely loved, if at all, in the wrong way. Checking that Andrew was still very much occupied in the bathroom, in an act of defiance Edith removed her wedding ring with a deft twist of the metal which fell in a swift movement onto the floor with a metallic tinkle of condescending laughter.

The relief washed over the new wife’s face as she heaved a great sigh feeling that not only her finger, or heart but her whole being was now free from the stifling clutches of marriage. After enjoying the freedom from her wedding band a little too long, Edith recovered it from the floor and placed it onto the writing desk which earlier held the fabricated love letter full of false hope and niceties that Edith felt should be exchanged by lovers.

Moments later, Andrew emerged from the bathroom, hair slicked back into the perfect style, his ashen blonde hair appearing to glisten like spun gold, wearing his full army regalia with a gentle look upon his face as he gazed upon Edith. This marriage for Andrew was the perfect match having been wildly in love with his childhood sweetheart who was four years his junior since one afternoon within the apple meadow aged ten and six respectively. She had bound his knee with dock leaves after a severe nettle sting; that was it his heart felt love’s keen sting.

‘You’re ring? You’ve taken it off already?’ Andrew murmured moving towards the table. ‘Don’t you like it? Thomas helped me choose it, he did say it was hideous.’

‘No, no, no. It’s beautiful – honest.’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘It just needs to be reshaped that’s all. My fingers are too chubby’.

That placated Andrew taking Edith fingers within his and kissing each of her fingertips respectively, not neglecting a single digit. ‘Your fingers are perfect. Your body is perfect. Your face is perfect. You are perfect’ he cooed kissing his wife gently. ‘Your lips aren’t too bad either’.

She couldn’t help but smile, maybe being married to Andrew was not going to be so bad after all.

The sun began to shine later that afternoon as Edith wandered arm in arm with Andrew down to the town’s local train station at Astor Bay services, dressed in his army regalia it wasn’t hard for her to find her new and temporarily secret husband attractive; the ring remaining off her finger. She gently squeezed his forearm in an act of reassurance as the newly positioned wedding band glistened gently within the crevices of her collarbone attached to a delicate gold chain bought from Chapman’s Jewellers on the way to the station. None of the two lovers spoke as they walked down to the train tracks, in a sombre and appreciative silence of the distance they were putting between themselves, one mourning and the other celebrating the loss of one another.

‘I’ll write to you. Tell you all the news. Try and keep your spirits up.’ Edith said between a tight embrace with the soldier upon platform six which was full to the brim of grieving mothers, daughters, sisters, wives and lovers. Andrew nodded unable to speak feeling a little overwhelmed by all the pomp and circumstance.

‘I love you Edith’ he spoke proudly, ‘get that ring resized and quick. I want everyone to know you’re mine.’ She gestured that she would without vocally committing herself, that sapphire ring was already the symbol of her oppression, she needed no further reminding.

‘You too’ she shouted over the oppressive mechanical whirring of the engine and the crying women. ‘Be safe!’

The last whistle of the train was called and so with one brief yet undeniably passionate kiss the new soldier, Edith’s Andrew, boarded the train with her letter in his pocket and love in his heart full of the boyish optimism of life and the excitement of conflict.

How wrong he was.