The Divide

Once upon a time there was a love match, created by the exchange of rings encrusted with real rubies. Emrys Padarn Weldon-Whitlock and Francyne Hagar Todd were in love. Her, a delicate flower of a woman, a rare flower in a wilted garden. The Todd family had a bad history when it came to disease, and many died before they reached Frannie's age. Frannie herself was the youngest of her family, with long red hair and big, wide, innocent blue eyes.

He was a strong man, from an industrial family, or as industrial as magical folk could get. He had two brothers, the extra nice Blythe and the extra sour Theron, and they were all born brunette. Blythe and Theron could change appearance at will however. The twins were younger than Emrys, and he felt he had a power over them when dad was away, but that just didn't seem so. The twins were clever and took great enjoyment in bothering and confusing their bossy elder brother.

Frannie and Emrys met at a carnival. There they were with friends, and there they met. Glimmering eyes that met across the way, blue butterflies and grey diamonds. When they met, they were a love match. Frannie's friends had often warned her about boys like Emrys. He was bad, he was only after one thing. He would play with Frannie and leave her in the dust, but she said no, this boy was perfect, he was true. There was no danger here.

And so she married him, and became Mrs Weldon-Whitlock. Things stayed delightful. Things stayed wonderful. This was a match made in heaven. They were meant to be.

Then along came Adam and shattered this illusion.

Frannie was so excited to announce her pregnancy. Emrys barely paid any heed, and when he looked at her, saw the enlarged belly months later, he hit her, yelled at her for keeping it covered. He was drunk. He often was. Adam grew up with an almost permanently drunk father, but that didn't much bother him. He never knew the difference between his father drunk and his father sober. No, the bother with Adam began when he wouldn't stop coughing. Something was clearly bothering the infant, but it bothered Emrys more, because the child would not keep quiet. He did not like holding his son, as his son was a sweaty and very, very smelly thing. In the end, with all the coughing and wheezing and crying, they had to take him to a hospital, and that was where they learnt their son had Cystic Fibrosis.

Having a sick child to care for sure takes its toll. Frannie was swept off her feet, trying to keep up with all the work, while Emrys sat there and yelled at his son to stop coughing, saying it was just him seeking attention.

Six years later, Adam was out at the park with his father, but not willing to go very far, because he really was struggling to breathe. Daddy dearest crouched beside him smoking pack after pack of cigarettes certainly wasn't helping. Mother was at the swings, with new baby Nicholas. Things seemed better for her. Emmy wasn't hitting her any more, and he was the same Emmy she had fallen in love with. Still he drank, and smoke, and lazed about the house, and threatened to throw his defenceless newborn into a swimming pool, but he was her Emmy.

Nicky wasn't ill. He didn't have Cystic Fibrosis or any other genetic horrors. He was the adorable kind of boy who people would pat on the head and claim would break hearts when older. He liked all the attention, but strangely, he liked to share the attention with his big brother. Part of him liked having this sick older brother. They played doctors and nurses, and dragon training, and all sorts of games that would be easy on Adam's lungs, and when people would start cooing over Nicky, he would bring Adam over and point out all his best points. They were very close siblings. Emrys and Frannie liked that. Few fights between their little angels.

Only three years on did they have George. George was always a little podgy, and always cute in a little kid way with his chubby cheeks, but never exactly attractive. He, like Adam, was brunette, whereas Nicky was ginger. They all had grey eyes.

Georgie wasn't allowed to play with his big brothers. Nicky didn't want him to, and Adam didn't want him to, so playing with them was dangerous. So was bugging daddy. Drunk daddy. Daddy who one day threw Georgie out of a window and onto the concrete poolside. Lucky little Georgie, only living in a single storey house.

When Georgie was five, Frannie fell pregnant once more, and Emrys quite firmly told her four children was enough and threatened to mutilate her you-know-what after the fourth baby was born, but then they went and got a scan, and Emrys decided he never wanted anything to do with this girl again.

Emrys didn't like his children. Adam was a pain, Nicholas was too girly, George was too shy. Worse still, Nicky was the one who found out about Euphemie, Odelia, Joyce and Goda, alongside countless other cheats he had done and prostitutes he had gone to. The next two coming would be twins. Emrys hated twins. They were unnatural. They were irritating and always played games with your mind. He got home and slapped Frannie, yelling at her for the existence of the twins, and Nicky came over with his arms full of papers and pencils. He had been drawing. Nine year old Nicky, who cared about two things: His looks, and drawing. And he had found these papers and started drawing, then saw the words and the photos, and realised why his father had kept them hidden. As Emrys attacked his wife, the middle son, the beautiful redhead, came over and tugged at his shirt.
"Dad? Who's Odelia?"
"Not now!"
"Who's the lady in this picture you're kissing? Is this in Paris? I know it isn't mum, mum doesn't have skin that dark."
"Go away Nick!"
He blinked but stayed where he was. "This picture has writing on the back. 'Oh my darling Joyce, how I would once again like to taste your delicious pink pudding. Allow me to drive my bulging quaffle through your goal once more-'" Emrys threw his nosy nine-year-old to the floor, roaring at him to shut up and demanding to know where he had found all these things. Adam scurried away to hide under his bed, and he was in his teens. Georgie cried. Frannie pulled at her husband's arm and begged him to leave Nicky alone. Nicky admitted to his snooping and showed his dad the pictures he had drawn, pictures of a big, happy family. He thought he would like it, but he got a boot in the stomach and a belt across his face. He was sick, and then through the tears and the vomit he saw his father come for him again, furious at the boy for throwing up over his carpet, his belongings, his letters and photos, and he threw his still begging wife violently into the corner. Nicky tried to squirm away, but he was too slow. Flesh tore and bones broke, but the only damage to his beautiful face was one deep, ragged cut to his forehead.

He probably would have killed the unborn twins if given half a chance, but Adam knew a few spells, and that he threatened to call the police took attention away from Nicky and Frannie, got the thin and sickly child one punch in the face, and then they heard Georgie talking on the phone, giving details to a police officer...and Emmy fled.

Nicky and Frannie ended up in hospital.

Amazingly, the twins were okay. Jaimes and Dorcas, they were named, and as they grew up, they saw their biological father. They preferred their step father by far. Arnold was nice and gentle, and only sharp when need be. Emrys however, laughed whenever he saw the little redheaded twins, and always joked about how unfortunate they were to look so much like their mother. He had made fun of Georgie's glasses, and now did the same for Dorcas. This carried on until the boys outright refused to see him.

That was Emrys, the man who ruined six lives with his vile actions.