Clara and Her Secret Affair

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Angela Glasgow – All rights reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  Also by angela glasgow

  THE GOOD CATHOLIC GONE BAD SERIES

  Clara and her shattered heart (PART 2)

  coming soon on Amazon kindle

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  Table of Contents

  Catholics

  Palpitations

  Tryst

  Betrayal

  Catholics

  As soon as I stepped into my school, away from my overbearing parents, I felt uplifted. The change was instantaneous. Suddenly, I was filled with confidence, and I was ready to be the centre of attention.

  My parents were strict Catholics, and they expected me to always be a good girl, the perfect Catholic princess: demure, chaste, and gracious.

  As if they would get that in London—fat chance.

  Unfortunately for them, they couldn’t do anything about my behaviour while I was at school. Gone was the good Catholic girl. Until three this afternoon, she was as good as dead. What mattered now was the fact that all eyes were on me.

  I was it—the Queen Bee. The girl everyone envied, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with, the girl everyone wanted to be.

  I had spent years crafting this personality, and it had paid off. I was the most important person in the student body. My perfect reputation preceded me. It had never been tarnished. There were no rumours about me. No one dared whisper about me behind my back. I was untouchable, and everyone knew it, including myself.

  I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t get to my head sometimes, but I was lucky enough to have a decent group of girlfriends to keep me level-headed. As I walked through the halls, my hips swaying, and my long, wavy brown hair blowing gently in the wind, I kept my eyes peeled for the sight of them.

  I turned around the corner, heading out toward the courtyard in the centre of the school, and saw two of my girls sitting at one of the tables.

  Jenny, also a brunette, was sitting on the top, her legs draped down over the side, her ankles swinging back and forth gently. Amanda was on the seat beside Jenny’s legs, her chubby cheeks framed by her blonde bob. Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

  As soon as they saw me approaching, their faces lit up.

  “Hey, Clara,” Jenny cooed. “We were just talking about you!”

  I stood at the end of the bench, leaning my hip against the wood, and smiled down to my friends.

  “Where’s Lydia?” I asked. “She not here yet?”

  Both the girls shrugged.

  Lydia was the newest member of our group. She’d only been at our school for two years, but she’d managed to worm her way in. Both Amanda and Jenny loved her, but I was still unsure.

  I’d known them since we were little, and our friendships had long and intricate pasts. Letting an outsider into our group made me uncomfortable. I always felt like I had to watch my back around her, and that wasn’t a feeling I enjoyed.

  “We were talking about the dance before you got here,” Amanda urged.

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “I was wondering if you had your eye on anyone,” Jenny said with a smile.

  My eyes instinctively moved to the end of the courtyard, where the ten-foot iron fence stood. It separated the boys’ school from the girls’. Catholics were never one for the mingling of the sexes, and so we were kept divided except for very special occasions.

  Apparently, the dance that weekend was special enough for us to be allowed to spend time with the boys. The nuns had been preparing us for months as if they thought we’d never seen boys before.

  Be good, they had said. Be chaste. Don’t encourage their advances. Leave room for Jesus when you dance.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that last one. Their rules were ridiculous. If I saw a cute boy I wanted to dance with, I was going to press my body against his as much as I liked.

  We were halfway through our last year of school, right in the middle of Spring, and most of us had turned eighteen by now. Soon, we’d be off to University. Expecting us not to touch boys was idiotic, and they were setting us up for failure later on in life.

  A couple of years ago, I would’ve been ashamed of myself for even thinking this way. I bought into the whole Catholic experience—heavily.

  Luckily, it hadn’t taken me long to realise it was just a way to control women. The boys never had to adhere to the same strict rules that we did. It was unfair and sexist, and I wasn’t going to let some crusty old nun have that kind of power over me.

  Not that any of it mattered, anyway. None of the boys were good enough—all they wanted was what was between a girl’s legs. Once they had gotten their end away, they would move onto the next girl. They didn’t see us as people, just a means to an end.

  Why would I lower myself to their standards? It just wasn’t worth it for a quick fling. If I was going to debase myself and turn my back on my religion, I was only going to do it for true love.

  “How could I possibly have an eye on anyone?” I asked. “We can’t even get to the damn fence without Sister Margaret swatting us away.”

  Both of the girls tittered at that. Sister Margaret was a renowned pain in the ass. Even the slightest of infractions would cause her to froth at the mouth, threatening to write home over the most insignificant details.

  I turned my head to the left, staring at the iron fence. Behind it, I could see the boys’ school in the distance.

  Their navy-blue uniforms clashed with their black trousers, which were accessorised with bright orange and green ties around their necks. Honestly, it looked a mess.

  Our uniform wasn’t much better—a navy-blue jumper with a grey pleated skirt and knee-high white socks. Whoever made the uniforms were clearly colour-blind.

  As my mind drifted from the conversation, I watched the boys through the iron bars. A couple of them were hanging around on the grounds, just like us. Instead of talking to one another, they chased each other and pummelled each other with their fists.

  I rolled my eyes as I watched them, unable to believe how immature they were. How the hell was I supposed to want these boys? They were pathetic.

  “Come on,” Jenny urged, her blue eyes sparkling. “We all know that there are ways to get to boys. You just gotta be clever about it.”

  I resigned myself to the fact that my girlfriends just weren’t as mature as I was. If one of those boys came to the bars and thrusted his hips, the girls would be putty in his hands. I didn’t want to speak badly about my friends, so I kept those thoughts to myself.

  “Why would you even want to?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” Amanda asked.

  She followed my line of sight, looking through the iron fence. For a moment, she stared at them, transfixed at the way their immature bodies ran and jumped and punched. Then a long, lustful sigh escaped out of her mouth.

  “You can’t be serious,” I scoffed. “Them? Seriously?”

  I pointed at them. They were running after each other along the concrete, laughing like five-year-old boys. Just looking at them felt wrong. Imagining myself touching them, or kissing them, sent a shudder through my spine.

  “Don’t act like you’re too good for them,” Lydia snapped.

  I looked over my shoulder, shocked at the interjection, and saw she was standing a couple of feet behind us.

  “Hey, Lydia,” Jenny raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. “You’re late today.”

  “I got caught up,” she replied, her voice icy cold.

  Lydia approached the table, watching me like a hawk watches its prey. I felt uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze.

  “What’s wrong with those boys?” she asked. “Don’t meet your impossible standards?”

  I didn’t want to stand and listen to her nonsense. That’s what it was: nonsense.

  I rolled my eyes, picked up my designer bag from the ground, and swung the strap over my shoulder.

  “There’s no shame in knowing your worth,” I said.

  I turned on my heels, ready to leave and start my day, and began to walk away. When I didn’t hear the sounds of my friends scrambling to follow after me, I looked over my shoulder.

  They all sat there, on the table, just as they had been before I moved.

  I frowned. “Come on,” I said. “We’re going to be late for registration.”

  Finally, my friends decided to get off their butts and come after me.

  It seemed like Lydia wasn’t too fond of following the crowd. She stayed back for a moment, glaring at my back.

  I knew it was jealousy. She was new to the group, and she hadn’t properly adjusted to how things worked.

  It’s okay, I thought. I’m sure she’ll come around in time.

  *

  We walked in a diamond formation through the halls, with me at the fr
ont. The crowd of girls parted before us like the Red Sea. Satisfaction rolled through me. Watching everyone struggle to get out of my way made me feel powerful, like I could take on the entire world.

  Obviously, I knew that life outside school wasn’t going to be anything like this, but I wanted to enjoy the power while I had it. I didn’t abuse my power or make others feel inferior to me. If I ever saw someone being bullied, I made sure to make my disgust known. I wanted to be a force of good, to improve the lives of the girls that looked up to me.

  I could hear Jenny and Amanda talking about the dance behind me. They were keeping their voices hushed, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Sister Margaret could be hiding anywhere, ready to pounce. Those old bats hated it when we talked about boys.

  I didn’t understand why they even allowed us to have events with the boys if they hated it so much. They always took their anger out on us, as well. They would shout at us and demean us and tell us we were dirty. If they didn’t want us getting excited about it, maybe they should just stop holding the dances.

  The crowd stopped parting in front of me. All I could see were backs turned toward me. I stood there, confused for a moment, unable to understand what was happening.

  Girls were crowded toward the end of the hall, screaming and shouting at one another. I grabbed the girl in front of me by the shoulders and forcibly moved her aside, trying to make my way through the crowd.

  “Hey!” she shouted, staring up to me with burning rage in her eyes.

  I ignored her as I continued to push through. It was a moment before I realised that my girls were nowhere to be seen. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the three of them standing behind me, watching me with curious eyes.

  “Are you not coming?” I asked.

  Jenny shook her head. “I’m not barging through a crowd to see a fight,” she laughed.

  I didn’t need to argue with them any longer, though. The crowd started to part as the loud, shrill voice of Sister Margaret echoed through the halls.

  “Get out of the way, girls,” she instructed as she raised her voice over the hubbub. “Girls, please move!”

  She barged her way through the throng of girls, coming to a stop in front of us. It took me a second to realise she was holding onto a boy’s arm, clutching onto him to make sure that he didn’t run away from her.

  At first, I couldn’t figure out how a boy had gotten into our school. There was no way he could have just walked through the front gates—the nuns would have caught him instantly. So, how did he get in?

  His piercing blue eyes looked into mine as Sister Margaret tried to drag him away. He dug in his heels as he stared at me, making it almost impossible for her to remove him.

  For a moment, I was unable to breathe. His chestnut hair was short and tailored, with a hint of sexy.

  Our eyes met. I was unable to look away from him—not that I wanted to.

  My knees felt weak beneath me, almost unable to hold up my body, but the feeling was so distant that I was barely conscious of it. The only thing I could think about was the smile appearing on his plump lips: crooked, daring, with a hint of disobedience.

  I felt my stomach drop through my body as I continued to look deeply into his eyes. I felt as if I was looking into his soul, getting to know his personality without having to say a word.

  No other boy had ever captivated me like this; it was as if a magnet was inside me, drawing me to him. I was powerless to stop it—the only thing I could do was continue to stare while longing to know his name as the musty Sister Margaret dragged him down the hall.

  “Move, Clara,” Sister Margaret boomed.

  The sound of her voice shocked me out of my trance. Behind me, I felt Jenny’s arms clamp around the insides of my elbows. She dragged me out of the way, causing me to stumble over my own feet.

  I still couldn’t remove my eyes from the boy’s face. His jaw was strong and sharp, and there was a deep shadow of stubble along it. His thick eyebrows pulled down over his eyes, frowning deeply as he was dragged away.

  I could feel the magnet losing its power, slowly releasing its grip on me. I felt my face flush with embarrassment. Everyone around us was staring—dozens of girls all around me, staring, whispering, laughing.

  I tugged at the hem of my blazer, smoothing it down against my body, and rolled my shoulders to straighten my back, desperately trying to ground myself.

  No matter how much I tried to focus, I couldn’t distract my mind from that boy’s face.

  Something inside me had changed—no boy had ever made me feel so insecure, so vulnerable, so weak. They had never interested me, never stirred anything inside. But him? He was different. I could feel his very soul calling out to me, yearning for me.

  “Clara,” Jenny’s voice called.

  I was instantly drawn out of my head again. I could feel her fingers pressing into my arms, shaking me as she tried to get my attention.

  “What?” I asked, shrugging my arms out of her grip. “What?”

  “Were you listening to me?” Jenny asked, clearly annoyed.

  “I—” my voice trailed off instantly.

  My head turned to look down the hallway, where he was vanishing into the distance. My heart pulsed in my chest, throbbing as I watched him turn around the corner and disappear out of my sight.

  “Clara!” Jenny shouted.

  I snapped my eyes back to hers. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice shaky and unsure.

  I turned my head down the hall, looking at the stone floor where he’d walked only moments before.

  “Did you see that boy?” Even I could hear the lust in my voice, the wistful way I spoke about him.

  All I wanted was for him to come back, to tell me his name, to put his hands on the back of my neck and pull me in for a—

  “Jesus Christ,” Jenny swore abruptly. “You’re actually ridiculous. Come on.”

  She looked over her shoulder before moving away from me. Amanda and Lydia followed her loyally, leaving me standing in the hallway, surrounded by whispering girls.

  Palpitations

  The dance came around quicker than I expected. The week flew by and, before I knew it, I was slipping into my dress. My mother refused to allow me to wear anything sleeveless, and the hem had to be three to five inches below the knee.

  Despite her ridiculous demands, I still managed to look fashion-forward. My parents may be strict Catholics, but they provided me with a generous budget for my shopping needs. As long as my outfits adhered to my mother’s standards, I was free to purchase what my heart desired.

  My long-sleeved, wrap-around dress was frilly at the bottom. It was black with white polka dots. I paired it with silver, strappy sandals and an elegant silver clutch. My style did not come from my parents, but from my love of classic Hollywood films.

  My parents were stricter than average, even at my school. They didn’t like the idea of me dancing with boys, but there was nothing they could do about it. They couldn’t deny me the dance.

  I did everything they expected me to—I got straight A’s, kept on top of all my extra co-curricular activities, and even did volunteer work in my spare time. As far as they were concerned, I was the perfect daughter, and they couldn’t deny me the one thing that I’d been asking for.

  Of course, they didn’t know the real reason that I was so desperate to go. If they knew I was searching for a boy, they would have lost their minds. They would have probably chained and padlocked me in my bedroom and thrown away the key.

  Luckily for me, I was good at keeping them in the dark. That’s what their strict rules got them: a child who couldn’t confide in them and who got a little too good at lying.

  Before I was allowed to leave the house to be chauffeured to the dance, my mom repeated the words that the nuns had already drilled into us: don’t get too close to the boys, leave some room for Jesus while you dance, don’t do anything unbecoming of a young lady like yourself.

  As I listened to her, I wondered what year we were in. Had I been thrown back to the 1800s? It sure felt like it.

  I kept quiet and just nodded, not wanting to set Mum off, and bided my time. I never really paid attention to what she was saying. I caught a glimpse of her gold wedding ring and her 10-carat, cushion-cut ruby engagement ring in a halo setting. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been as chaste as she expected me to be—my parents never talked about the time before they got married. I had always figured there was something hidden there that they were ashamed of, but I didn’t want to bring it up, lest I got grounded for my curiosity.