The Boleyn Effect (The Boorman Ending) (29 page)

George is now shaking as
he holds me by my waist and I am starting to lose all sense of
reality. I need to get out of this somehow, but I can't take them
both on. With one hand round my back, my fingers catch an empty
bottle of lager that Harry left from the night before. Making a
snap decision I take one of them out of the picture.

Glass splinters to the
floor as the bottle connects with George's head collapses onto the
floor. But I'm not quick enough to recover my poise and Katherine
lunges for me. The two of us are wrestling trying to gain control
over the other.

But this is all about
Katherine and what she hoped to do tonight. Like how she plans on
getting away with shooting her husband. With that thought there is
another realisation. I'm not going to survive this either. Anne
Boleyn went to the scaffold accused of treason and incest. Her head
cut clean off. My head may remain on my shoulders, but instead of
Harry being my executioner it will be Katherine.

Epilogue

I'm sitting on the sofa
mindlessly playing with the slightly auburn hair of my beautiful
little girl as we both watch television. Both in our PJ's we are
engrossed in the adventures of Makapaka.

'When is daddy coming
home?' she asks.

I glance at the clock and
realise he's late. He should be home by now. He left the college
over an hour ago.

'He shouldn't be much
longer sweetness,' I say.

I am starting to worry.
It's cold and icy out there and he's driving is not what it used to
be. I look down at my phone and wonder whether to ring. No, there's
no point, because he will be stupid enough to answer if he's
driving.

The door suddenly swings
open, bringing the freshness of cold air and our daughter bounds
from my lap straight into his arms. Watching Harry leaning on his
stick still pains and angers me. The memory of that night still
fresh in our lives.

The phone in my pocket had
connected to the operator when I'd placed into my pocket and she'd
heard everything. The police had been called by a passer-by also
and it was them that had found the two of us grappling with a gun
while Harry lay bleeding.

All three of us had been
taken to the police station, but the recording of what had taken
place meant that I was soon released. However, not before I'd given
them Gaskill's name too. He'd been in on it also and deserved to go
down with the other two and he too was arrested.

I had gone back to my flat
days later where Harry's blood still stained my floor and crying
I'd attempted to scrub it clean. I desperately wanted to see him
and know he was fine, but no one would give me any news. I needed
to tell him the truth about everything all in the hope we could
start again.

Finally pretending to be
his sister, I rang the hospital and to my relief was told he was
awake and fine. The bitch had aimed for his crotch, but only just
missed hitting the top of his thigh causing some damage.

Relieved and thankful, I
started to prepare myself for bed. Going into the bathroom, the
Clearblue wand sat on cistern, with its results ready for me to
read. Sitting down, I began to cry more. I hadn't been lying after
all. The sickness and dizzy spells had all be symptoms of
pregnancy. I was expecting a baby with a man whom I didn't know
wanted me still.

The next day, I summoned
the courage to go to the hospital and there I was relieved to find
him sleeping. This would make it easier. So leaving a note, I
wrapped it around the wand and left it on his bedside. The ball was
in his court now. If he wanted to, then he'd call.

No sooner had I returned
home, my phone rang and it was him. He wanted to know everything
and so I told him. We both cried with anger and frustration, but we
were still talking. He wanted to be there for the child, but as for
us, he wasn't sure and I couldn't blame him. He believed he didn't
know me and the Leigh he'd fallen for was not my true
self.

True to his word, he
supported me throughout my pregnancy, turning up for scans and
appointments. I ached for him so much, but I refrained from trying
my old seduction tricks. I knew I just needed to bide my time.
After all, George and I started this thing as a bet, but how Harry
and I met had never been due to George. It had all been
synchronicity.

Eventually, our time
together, gave us both the opportunity to get to know each other
with no game playing and six months into my pregnancy we fell in
love all over again.

Katherine and Gaskill were
both sentenced for attempted murder and sent to prison. All her
money lost to wherever her father had ordered it to go. Well, all
apart from the money she'd transferred into my account that night
in the hope of Harry's return. She'd apparently had tried to
retrieve the funds she'd prematurely moved to me, but it was too
late.

George, however was
different and no matter what he'd done it still hurt. During the
trial, George had been found hanging in his holding cell. His death
knocked me off my feet. I'd gone to his funeral, hidden away in the
back, much to Harry's frustration. The night before we had argued
fiercely.

'Why would you grieve over
a man who manipulated everything you did?' he demanded.

'Because he was my best
friend. I can't just switch those feelings off,' I
answered.

'Even after he raped
you.'

'He never...I never said
no,' I defended.

'But you never said yes.
He raped you.'

Part of the honesty was to
tell Harry about what George and I had done. He'd insisted that it
had been rape, but I was unconvinced. I never fought against him
and tried to stop him.

Of course, this led to the
obvious question about the child I carried. But George was obsessed
with his sexual health and one of the few men that would double bag
if he could. Knowing that I was sleeping with Harry was enough for
George not to take any chances. The child was Harry's without any
doubt.

A week after the funeral
another life was born. My precious Elizabeth, named after Harry's
mother. Although after what I'd done, the name choice seemed an odd
one. Yet, it fitted her perfectly. She was a ball of pink
feistiness, something she'd apparently inherited from her mother
according to my father.

It had taken Elizabeth to
be born for at least one of my parents to start speaking to me
again. The newspapers had been filled with the case and trial, and
of course they wanted to know my story. With the best lawyers I
could find I made sure that my story was kept private. I didn't
want the whole world to know my sordid story. The only other person
to stand by me was Clair. Through thick and thin, she helped me
through and became Elizabeth's godmother.

My parents were another
story altogether. I can still remember their shocked faces at
hearing that not only had their daughter engaged in an affair with
a married man, but also pregnant. My dad especially blamed Harry
for everything, but my mum went as far as disowning me
altogether.

But I was the apple of my
dad's eye and when his granddaughter was born he couldn't resist
anymore. My mum soon followed. I think my father's badgering wore
her down and soon they were doting grandparents. As for Harry, even
today, relations are still tense, but I'm sure in time that will
soon change.

Of course, Harry resigned
from his post at the university and with Katherine's money she'd
given me we moved away and started again, where he got a job as a
lecturer. I fretted for months when he first got the job about all
the pretty new students he would meet. Being heavily pregnant
didn't help matters, but to his credit, not one turned his
head.

The divorce had brought
Harry nothing, but still he'd made that the conditions of the
divorce. He wanted nothing from her. He had his own savings. She
wrote and begged to see him, but he refused and from what I hear
ranted herself into a state of madness.

As for my business, the
move allowed me to start again. The house we bought together had a
converted cellar and that became my studio. It didn't take long for
my reputation to grow again and soon I was doing schools and
portraits. However, I had noticed how differently the female
clients treated me if they were with husbands. But starting out as
a frumpy pregnant woman gave me the edge. I was not a threat and
plus anyone could see that I was deeply infatuated with my own
man.

Now I watch as Harry
struggles with his daughter hanging off him and his briefcase.
Having to walk with a stick, because the wound won't heal fully, he
seems older and with it, his confident swagger has long gone, but I
love him anyway. He's finally grown into a settled family man that
wants to be kept.

Eventually Elizabeth
leaves him alone and goes back to the TV. Getting, to my feet, I
follow him to the kitchen and kiss him on the lips.

'I'm sorry I was late. I
just went to pick it up. I've hidden it in the garage.'

I smile; the surprise
Christmas gift that we've been desperately trying to get hold of
for Elizabeth was our final item on the list.

'I can't wait to see her
face,' I whisper against his lips.

'And what about the other
thing?' he asks, worry furrowing his brow.

'Well put it this way, Mr.
Cobain, you will not be just buying for one next Christmas,' I
giggle.

He pulls me so I'm leant
fully against him. My body draped over his, with my arms around his
neck. We had been trying for so long and we both believed the wound
had done more damage than anticipated. Every month bringing
disappointment, until we decided to give up trying.

I feel him harden and I
smile. I still affect him four years on. He kisses me harder this
time as his hands wander to my bum and lifts me closer. Limp or no
limp, he still functions perfectly well and though our
entanglements are passionate there is no need for the frenzy that
we had in the early days.

'And I can't wait, Mrs
Cobain.'

I watch as he walks back
into the living room and sits beside Elizabeth. I can see so much
of him in her face and looking at them both I've never felt more
content. The man I love may be older and I may have caught him
using the tricks of Anne Boleyn, but I think I am the far better
woman. After all I've managed to keep hold of my husband without
losing my head.

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