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It
will be
ten winter
days of Natalie as Sylvia; the
pin-up Sylvia, the Ted-unsullied Sylvia.
In the months that follow, Natalie wants to believe she is loved by Ruth for the person beneath Plath's
likeness.
She
cannot accept herself as the plaster icon into which Ruth has lovingly
breathed new life. Sexy
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— No! Not that.
More
than that.
Natalie
has become the magic circle that Ruth employs to summon the long-dead poetess.
Months of spells and incantations, the gathering of
magical paraphernalia during shopping trips to
Manchester for vintage
clothes that become ceremonial robes to be donned when reciting Plath's poems as invocation, those
lines of verse chanted
over and over
into the depths of
darkly erotic nights, each syllable electrically
charged with
passion.
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Ruth is Natalie's voice coach, the girl is
channelling Plath
with Shakespearean solemnity.
But it is never enough for Ruth.
She is always demanding
more from Natalie, pushing and pushing.
Afternoons
listening to old radio interviews, Ruth saying Natalie
must get the
voice just so.
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To Natalie, Plath's voice sounds too
old,
authoritative beyond her
years.
She has a dominatrix's voice, Natalie
tells herself.
She cannot equate it with the
poet's
image, the
girl she holds in her mind.
Natalie incanting become the darkest necromancy.
Those
midnight recitals going off-script.
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Ruth
naked, lazy on her bed with
knees up and legs wide apart commanding Natalie as Sylvia to repeat, "I want to taste
your cunt's 'red
plush.
'" Then ordering her to brush her
hair back from her face, corralling the lustrous strands with ribbon-as-Alice-
band to keep
them from her
lips before going down to taste
what Plath might never have tasted.
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Afterwards.
Talking.
"
This coming May, I'll be in
London for a week.
A
big symposium.
"Symposium?" "A
chance for
all us Plath Scholars to get together.
I want you to come with me.
" "You want to show me
off, is that it? Be your pet on a
leash!" "Don't be like that, darling.
" "It's how I feel
sometimes.
" "I thought you enjoyed
our times together.
" "But it's never me, is it? Live one on
one sex cam. You don't even know me.
It's
only her you
want, isn't it?" "Come with me as you then: my
beautiful Natalie Atherton.
That springtime at the symposium, Natalie in
character on the podium, delivering her
lines of "
Daddy" as if it's nineteen-
sixty-
three.
And then the cheering, the
wildest applause and
calls for more. Rainbow
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Afterwards, Ruth introducing Natalie to Verity Tamsin, the academic's sultry Iberian darkness stirring a want in Natalie that is immediate, undeniable, undermining.
Too late did Ruth realise.
The
way Ruth
watched when Natalie and Verity
chatted about Verity's upcoming Ted
and Sylvia, a
tome that becomes notorious for its off-piste
view of the unhappy
couple.
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How Ruth
Manning's soul
seethed to see them so at ease with each
other.
In the weeks that follow,
roles will flip.
Ruth as guru no more, reduced to beggardom,
emotional servitude.
Verity and Natalie and their secrecy, their
snatched weekends.
Ruth suspicious, growing
needy.
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Demanding.
Repulsive.
Driving through the night, Ruth's fateful journey to Verity's seaside
bolt-
hole.
The early
hours.
Verity and Natalie naked in
bed together quiet as mice, entangled in each other's arms,
their minds honey hushed in the
afterglow and exhaustion of lovemaking.
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And then the commotion
outside.
Natalie thinking that it's a neighbour's domestic,
none of their business.
Then an insistent hammering on the door, and the
dawning realisation, the
shocking certainty.
Ruth is out there
screaming their names, demanding admittance. Naked
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Verity, ignoring Natalie's pleading not to
let Ruth inside, tosses on her robe and goes to
face her
rival.
The
front door is
open and the racket is suddenly
louder.
The swearing! Never once has Natalie heard Ruth swear.
"
Where the fuck is she! I want to see her.
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Tell me where the
little whore is!" The sound of
things thrown.
The opening and
banging of doors.
Ruth in the hall outside the bedroom calling for Natalie to
show herself.
Ruth's silhouette at the doorway.
Verity
behind her, pleading, "Ruth,
please, we
have to
talk.
" Ruth's twisted sadness when she sees Natalie
sitting up in bed. Free webcam
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The duvet is pulled high but
not high enough to hide from Ruth the bare
breasts she so loved to
kiss, the
rosy pink of her
nipples.
Ruth
walks to the
foot of the bed
with murder in her heart and disbelief in her eyes.
Natalie sees Ruth's
look of utter
betrayal,
how at
that moment every drop of meaning is leeching
from her life.
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She cannot
hide her shame.
Afterwards, Natalie would ask herself, but surely she knew?
Why did she drive eighty miles through the
night just to confirm it with her
own eyes? Perhaps she hoped against hope that she had misread the
signs, that Natalie
was away with other
students from her halls, or maybe at a
family get together. Lizzy wix s
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Natalie had lied,
had said she was going
home for the
long bank holiday weekend, said the
words with glee in her heart, delighted in cleverness of her deception.
"Did you ever
love me?" Ruth asks, tears filling her eyes.
"What! Like
you loved me?
Really! Zarina nizomiddinova
sexsi. I was
only ever Sylvia-
fucking-Plath to you.
Do you know how that
made me
feel!" Verity mediating, "Ruth, please
come into the lounge, and I'll fix you a drink," she says in a voice to comfort the bereaved.
But Ruth
turns and pushes Verity aside and is
quickly through the door and out into the night.
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Whenever
she remembers the night, Natalie
pictures what she never witnessed.
Ruth's scramble through the dunes under the
star-speckled inky
sky,
down to the
beach where the waxing moon would
have been
low on the ocean's horizon.
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