As I grasped the package with clenched fingers, my first thought was to talk to Adam, to confess everything. Surely we could work this out. And then I was filled with rage combined with a deep sadness and an element of shame. Not just because of what Ollie had done, but because I could have been stupid, naïve and deluded enough to have continued a relationship with him. I hadn’t done anything to Ollie, other than to escape from his domination, to hurt his pride. And Adam had certainly done nothing to deserve this.

I called Cecilia, Adam’s sister. We agreed to meet for a drink. If she was surprised by my call, that wasn’t betrayed in her voice. I bunked off lectures and took the train to London. She’d suggested a pub that was uncomfortably close to where Ollie and I had worked together, where we’d first met.

There was concern in Cecilia’s eyes – eyes that evoked a sharp sensation of regret; they so resembled Adam’s that I had to look away as I handed over the package. I couldn’t summon up the words of explanation.

‘What is this, Jade? You’re making me nervous. Is there something wrong with Adam?’

I could only shake my head.

The small explosive parcel rested in Cecilia’s palm. She made no attempt to unwrap it. It was as if she was reluctant to know the contents. I still couldn’t speak and merely gestured towards it.

The blood drained from my face and I suddenly shivered as I watched the set of Cecilia’s jaw as her teeth clenched. Incomprehension clouded her eyes as they met mine.

‘Why?’

‘It’s hard to explain. I’ve been completely, totally obsessed by him. It’s like I was under a spell. I didn’t think that there was anything wrong with what I was doing, Cecilia--’

‘I don’t want the details. I’m asking why you’re showing these to me.’

She dropped the pile of photographs onto the table as if contaminated by contact with them. Though they spread like a hand of cards, in full view, my naked flesh revealed, blatant, decadent in willing exposure, I couldn’t move to cover them. This was the beginning of my penance.

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘What, apart from taking up a new career in modelling?’

‘Cecilia, please. You don’t honestly think that I knew about the photos?’

‘I don’t know what to believe.’ Somehow, I hadn’t expected the uncompromising disgust.’

‘They came in the post. They’re copies. He’s got the originals and I think he sent them as a warning.’

‘About what?’

‘Look at what they’re wrapped in.’ An article in the student newspaper, a slightly blurred picture of Adam and me on the opening night of his latest production. A brief mention of his intended career in politics.

Cecilia stood and gathered her bag and coat.

‘There is only one thing you can do, Jade. That’s if you care about my brother at all. I think you know that.’

She drained her glass. Walked out of the pub without looking back.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul

12 November 2008

I left. There was nothing else that I could do. No explanation to Adam. And to tutors and my family, the suggestion of an imminent breakdown, total exhaustion looming. In a sense, this was true. I had lain awake, churning the options but knowing, finally, that continuing a relationship with Adam would have tainted him, destroyed his future. I really did have no option.

I watch Adam now on television, read about him in the newspapers and know that, if I could only make him understand, then he would have the compassion to forgive me. I tried, only a few years ago, when he first stood as a Member of Parliament. I wrote a brief note, wishing him success. He never replied. I guess I wrote too late.

Back then, there were no words to explain. So I didn’t write, didn’t phone, didn’t text. I simply packed up my room and stacked my meagre belongings into Dad’s car when he came to collect his wounded daughter. I had promised to return to university the following year, as soon as I felt well again, as soon as I could cope. In my mind, it would be as soon as Adam had left.

Neither Mum nor Dad asked too many questions, simply offering more lingering hugs than normal. And my sister hovered nearby, looking to understand, scared of where I was heading in the long silences that engulfed me. I couldn’t bear their concerns, their unspoken fears. So when Mum suggested that I needed to get away, to find warmth in my bones, to eat good old-fashioned home cooking, to convalesce in the stern love of my grandmother, I leapt at the opportunity.

I waved goodbye to my family and flew out to Barbados, ‘God’s Island’. Grandma Baxter welcomed me to Fitt’s Village with a lengthy embrace before lifting my chin and muttering a disapproving ‘hmmm’ as she examined my tense features. She shook her head gently. ‘Children!’ was all she said.

Grandma Baxter lived in a large, airy whitewashed house, alone now since my grandfather had died more than ten years earlier. She promised to fend off curious relatives for a few days to allow me a ‘little bit of time’ to acclimatise – by that, she meant ‘prepare myself’ – for what she had in mind for me.

So I slept through balmy nights filled with the chirruping of crickets and the occasional rumblings of bullfrogs. I dozed through warm afternoons, reading matter discarded on the veranda of the old house. Early morning or late evening, I strolled along white palm-treed beaches, hot white sand squelching between my toes, lifting my face to greet healing rays of the sun.

And I knew that I was getting better when I dived into the crystal waters of the Caribbean Sea and felt their healing powers lapping against my skin, washing my soul clean while stirring sensations that I’d tried to bury. I felt the weight of guilt wash away. What had been was done and I needed to burn away the burden of shame. Swimming out as far as I was able, I lay on my back, supple, floating, emptying my head of everything but the languid pleasure that swept from toe to head. A fluttering of butterfly wings began between my legs and I concentrated hard on the feeling, not moving, resisting the impulse to touch myself. Simply drifting, clearing my head of everything except the light and heat that caressed my breasts, peaking my nipples until they hardened into diamond crystals beneath my wet bikini. A deep moan of longing escaped my lips and I almost attempted to suppress it until I realised that I was alone, so far out that no one could hear. And so I gave in to the waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed like golden honey down and over my stomach, along my thighs, tightening my pussy lips, swirling round and round, threatening to overwhelm.

‘Ah, ah, aaaaaah,’ I gasped as I felt the swelling, the building, the gathering storm, the throb and pulse of desire. I couldn’t hold back the tide any longer. I reached down and just the merest touch, the lightest, glancing brush of finger against yearning clitoris and the touch-paper was lit. Sparklers flared, Catherine Wheels swirled round and round, rockets swooped and fell at the pressure of fingers against yielding flesh. Faster and faster, I stroked, all control lost, giving myself up to my desperate need. I could hold back no longer. I rubbed hard, fast, punishing until I came, screaming loud and long until I reached a blissful peak and every sound disappeared into the velvet embrace of the enveloping ether.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul


19 November 2008

I returned to that healing place as often as I could, allowing aching mind and body to be soothed. My grandmother’s answer to whatever was ailing me was hard work in the expanse of land that hemmed the house. Turning the soil, I’d be joined by the host of relatives that swarmed around in search of the latest family gossip from England and with a contagious eagerness to pass on titillating titbits of news from the local community. I began to smile again and, finally, to laugh.

Pleasantly exhausted, muscles loosening in the sultry heat, I’d stroll towards the silver beach, escaping the constant chattering and grateful for the relative silence broken only by the restless chirruping of cicadas. I’d claim the cove as my own at a time when most people were preparing for their evening meal and I’d strip off and plunge into the billowing waves, drifting out towards the horizon, letting my mind drift too, closing my eyes, floating, relaxing, a cocoon filled only with pure sensation.

That blissful mindless state of being couldn’t last though. I couldn’t put off the return to reality forever.

In one of her frequent phone calls, during idle chatter about life on the island, mum’s recollection’s of grandma’s eccentricities, details of my sister’s latest escapades, a gentle reminder from my mother that Adam was still calling. He, it seemed, was seeking the same kind of explanation that my parents also craved. What were they to say besides the constant refrain that I was ‘not well’?

So now, every time I dived into the sea, my thoughts returned constantly to the situation I’d got myself into. Ollie – or rather, sex – had had such a powerful hold over me, had exerted such a forceful spell that I’d been almost insane. How else could I explain what I’d done, what I’d willingly allowed to be done to me? The heedless public displays, watching the frenzied couplings of strangers and letting them watch. In all honesty, more than letting them watch – wanting, craving their eyes, their gaze caressing my naked flesh, the swell of my breasts, the falling open of thighs, the oozing flow of moisture, the shuddering of flesh. Even now, and here, thousands of miles away from that world, if I told the truth, I still risked discovery, grazing my skin, fondling flesh, bringing myself to the brink of ecstasy in the open, where hidden eyes might see…

And look at what it had led to. My feral exploits captured. I’d had to hurt Adam, to give him up, consign him to the past. Ollie, though was still part of my future. Had to be. He had that hold over me. He just couldn’t let me go. No matter how long I stayed away, he’d still be able to control me. No matter how many times I went over it, again and again, in my head, there was no escape.

Ollie was still pulling the strings. I would have to go back. I’d have to confront him. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but I’d have to meet him, talk to him. It was the only way. I’d have to find out just what price I’d have to pay.

Jade Williams
Author of Body and Soul

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May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
December 2008
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