Horny Little Women

Matthew Ryder watched in silence as the hands of the clock inched round to eleven, narrowing like the blades on a set of garden shears. Uncomfortable in an unaccustomed charcoal suit and sombre tie, the young man’s head was bowed to stare at a pair of black patent leather shoes in which it was almost possible to make out his handsome yet grave features.

At the tender age of seventeen, the loss of a father was a heartbreaking wrench, particularly when he was the only family the inexperienced boy had ever known. Yet that was about to change dramatically with the introduction into his life of the four nubile sisters and mother he’d never had the pleasure of meeting.

Close by, his grandma rustled the curtains nosily, as old folks do, eyes trained on the road outside. Until two days ago, when his whole world imploded, Matthew hadn’t even known she and his grandpa were still alive. Clad in black too, the old lady’s stout shape and frizzled white hair resembled a pint of Guinness. “The car’s here,” she announced, then more brusquely to her husband: “Come on Arthur, get your jacket…Are you ready, Matthew dear?”

He nodded silently and stood, smoothing himself down, spiky brown hair ruffled compassionately by his grandfather, also colour co-ordinated in black. It was tough on them too. Losing a son was not quite right in the great scheme of things that dictated parents should not outlive their offspring – even if it was his selfish and pompous father. Fortunately their hurt was dissipated by Matthew’s father having voluntarily distanced himself, fleeing to Manila some two decades ago with their grandson in tow, and no word since – until now.

Silence prevailed throughout the journey as the hearse sauntered its way to the greywashed cemetery. The subsequent service went on around Matthew without his really noticing, the words hollow and worthless, his grief unquenchable. Distant relatives, made more distant by his father’s stubborn refusal to leave Manila, offered heartfelt condolences prompting Matthew to force a series of smiles. Then finally the coffin was lowered into the ground, taking with it his father’s lifeless corpse.

Still in a daze, the young man was led away by his grandparents to be driven somewhere remote and leafy for the wake. Referred to as ‘Hannah’s house’, in his state of mind Matthew didn’t realise the significance at first. Head pounding, it was only after a couple of stiff brandies, foisted upon him by some anonymous uncle, that the surroundings began to take shape. Tangible features on those around him slowly formed, as if a thick fog had suddenly evaporated. And there before him stood an attractive blonde older woman. “We didn’t get to talk at the cemetery….I’m so sorry, Matthew.”

He thanked her politely as he had all the others, not knowing who she was or how she knew his father. “Matthew, I’m Hannah March…I’m, um, I’m your mother.”

The young man’s eyes bulged like a goldfish’s and he broke out in a cold sweat. How on earth did he respond to a woman his father’s stubbornness had forbade him from ever having contact with by phone or email, let alone meeting? All he really knew was that she was an evil Jezebel who’d broken his late father’s heart.

Standing face to face, she seemed anything but evil and nothing like he’d imagined. Looks-wise she was on a par with Sharon Stone or Kim Basinger in their prime. And oh those delightful heaving breasts… Matthew wasn’t sure of the protocol, whether they should hug, kiss, shake hands, or what? Evidently Hannah felt likewise, an embarrassed-looking standoff arising.

Thankfully, the situation was salvaged by the arrival at her side of a petite and pretty young girl roughly the same age as Matthew. With smooth brunette hair, deep hazel eyes and a personable manner, she was as equally breathtaking as his mother. Hannah spoke, addressing her long-lost son. “Matthew, this is Meg…she’s, um, she’s your sister…your half sister.”

Meg smiled demurely.

Matthew knew he had a sister, or several to be exact. Even his secretive father hadn’t been able to suppress that information. Yet Matthew had been given an ultimatum: warned to give up hope of ever meeting them. If he did, he could forget about his father forever. “Come on bro,” offered Meg with a radiant smile, slotting her fingers warmly into his, “I’ll introduce you to the others.”

Matthew took a deep breath, looking at his mother for approval. It didn’t seem right to leave her so quickly. But she smiled warmly and indicated to go with Meg. There’d be time enough to catch up later, she affirmed: three more days before the flight back to Manila, her parting touch on his shoulder tender and loving.

In the short space of time it took to wander from the lounge to the living room, Matthew had learned that at nineteen Meg was the eldest of his four sistters, or half sisters to be exact. Each with a different father, his mother, it seemed, had indeed been something of a Jezebel in her younger years. His eyes fell upon three looking lovely girls, all self-conscious and seemingly anxious to make the right first impression.

Firstly Meg introduced Jo who, at eighteen was the second eldest. With short spiky boyish hair and no make-up, she was simple yet attractive. In the present company of beauties, however, she did not grab his attention immediately.

“This is Beth,” announced Meg, moving along the line.

A dusky skinned girl of mixed race girl and aged sixteen, stepped forward. Beth smiled in greeting, her ancestry attesting to his mother’s penchant for black guys that Matthew’s bigoted father had taken to the grave. It was the catalyst that forced his father to flee England for the Philippines with Matthew in tow twenty years ago. Yet if his father had seen the fruits of the relationship, surely he’d have proffered a different opinion, for Beth was by far the most stunning of the four, her mocha tinted skin as smooth as rayon.

The last of the quartet was another little beauty with golden hair in ringlets and a pair of piercing ocean-blue eyes behind an oval pair of spectacles. “You must be Amy,” pre-empted Matthew, displaying a limited yet serviceable knowledge of American literature.

Amy smiled in greeting.

“Amy’s the baby of the family,” enlightened Meg.

“Am not,” Amy retorted, screwing up her pretty features. “I’m fourteen in two days time,” she said proudly.

“You’re still the baby of the family,” Beth retorted, an impish twinkle in her deep brown eyes as she tried to impress the handsome new family member.

Amy pouted and folded her arms.

Given that none of the girls had known Matthew’s father, the grief that was overbearing elsewhere in the house was in short supply here. And that suited Matthew just fine. Having had to endure two days of his grandparents’ hurt on top of his own, he craved an escape. The funeral done and dusted and the dead laid to rest, it was time to look forward in a more positive vein.

Matthew would have loved to get to know them better but, at that moment, he was whisked away to the garden by grandpa to be introduced to other distant relatives. He smiled dutifully, soaking up the sympathy like a sponge until finally he was set free. Torn between spending time with his newfound sisters or heading away from the house for some peace and quiet, he elected for solitude.

Standing at the perimeter of the garden, the young adventurer could hear water trickling the other side. Hopping up and over the wall, immediately he began to descend alarmingly down a dusty slope, feet unable to gain a grip and pulling up only at the last moment before his new shoes dipped in the meandering stream.

On the other side of the watery expanse a thicket of trees rustled. The city dweller could barely believe his eyes or his luck. This was tranquil and fresh, in stark comparison to the humdrum and stifling urban existence he’d become acclimatised to in Manila. Only now did it register on Matthew that nearly two decades of his life had been wasted and could never brought back. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel resentful of his father.

Locating a log that had been laid across the stream as a makeshift bridge, Matthew tiptoed across.