‘But how come you behave the way you do when you come back? How are you feeling when you return here?’
Sally shrugged.
‘And is it helping you, seeing him?’
Sally shrugged again,
‘Eddie, just hold me please,’ she said with her arms outstretched toward me, her cheeks wet with tears.
We embraced and I felt her body go limp in my arms, then her shoulders shaking. We stayed like that for some time, before I gently kissed her forehead and stroked her hair away from her eyes. She looked up at me and then focused her gaze on my lips. Our mouths came together and we kissed slowly at first, probing, almost testing, then with more urgency, until we were consumed with an abandon we had not experienced together for years.
Then it happened: the cause of my trouble this morning.
In one fluid movement Sally dropped from my view. Her hands unfastened my belt buckle, followed slowly by the zip and lastly the clasp; then she pulled my trousers and boxer shorts downward. Before I could respond or speak, the warmth of her mouth drew the breath sharply from me. This was not Sally.
Don’t get me wrong, Sally has performed fellatio on me before, but without sounding cruel, she wasn’t very good at it; the act just consisted of a lot of slurping noises and my tip just inside her mouth, in front of her teeth. Nor, for that matter, has it ever been performed in the middle of the kitchen floor at 6pm. I have always been too polite, or maybe just not confident enough to suggest this wasn’t really working for me. But this was very different: she slowly ran her protruding tongue around the tip, before heading downwards and licking the entire length of the now-inflated shaft, while all the time, her eyes stared into mine. She then concentrated at the base, lapping with her tongue at a place underneath that I never knew until that point actually existed on my body. Then she took the whole length into her mouth in a way that made me shudder, until she finally concentrated on the top third with a rhythmical motion from her mouth and hands. I closed my eyes and instinctively ran my hands through her hair, which triggered her to pull even deeper with her mouth, her movement eventually encouraging my hips to begin thrusting in unison with her.
As the sensation intensified I tried to pull back. But within seconds I pushed down on her shoulders for support as I lost control, my physical excitement heightened by her continued hold. In fact her efforts intensified as the familiar burn poured from within me into her willing and wanting mouth, her momentum only relenting long after my last surge had past. It was then Sally stood up and kissed me, a salty taste of my semen still very much on her lips, but the majority of the liquid swallowed and consumed. This was not my Sally.
She turned and headed out of the room without another word to me. I stood trying to take in what had just occurred, the pure pleasure of the event overwhelming me. It was then I saw Henry sitting in his bed under the breakfast bar, staring at me. I had forgotten when I came in searching for Sally that he was in there. There was me standing with my trousers and boxer shorts around my ankles and the air circulating around my deflating loins. I realised he must have witnessed everything, and the doggy disapproval on his face left me feeling strangely embarrassed.
Here on the beach, the events kept churning over in my mind. At last I knew why she had been going out so often and why she came back in such low spirits – she was trying to make sense of everything that had happened around the death of her father. But this did not answer why she had chosen to swear at me and belittle my occupation, nor did it explain the spontaneous act in the kitchen. Then a voice in my head reminded me of the old proverb ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ – very apt, I chuckled to myself, but the nagging doubt as to where Sally’s skills had been honed remained. It was not something I could readily ask her.
After twenty minutes of damp walking and multiple chase-and-retrieves, I turned around to face the dunes, to see if the fret was showing any sign of clearing. Their bulk remained hidden, confirming summer’s influence was unable to penetrate and it was time to head home.
Then, through the mist, I saw her.
Well, I thought I saw her, fleetingly, in the distance; it was hard to say for sure.
Henry for once was not a warning device to confirm my suspicions; instead he waited expectantly by my feet for the ball to fly once more across the expanse of sand.
Suddenly, the fret swirled around itself, leaving a pocket of clean air in its wake, into which the figure strode, near to me. A fleece, wellingtons and a ponytail all became abundantly clear.
Without hesitation I called out and waved.
‘Cerys! Cerys!’
With the last syllable uttered, I realised my voice hadn’t sounded as I wanted. I was going for man-of-the-world casual, but instead created in my larynx tones reminiscent of a high-pitched, excitable teenage boy in my urgency to make contact again.
My effort, however it was perceived by her, was rewarded with a wave; two-handed over her head, no less, in return.
Henry looked over, wagged his tail for a few moments and continued his hypnotic stare at the tennis ball in the slingshot.
That’s strange, I thought; last time, he was way over the sand chasing Phoebe and embarrassing himself and me.
We continued walking toward each other. I smiled, waiting for a reaction – which came in the form of another wave.
We continued walking until that moment when I could see the whites of her eyes. I never fully appreciated what that phrase meant until that point. The expression, the inner being, the person are all revealed, naked and exposed.
Her eyes looked haunted, void of the gregarious sparkle that I remembered.
We met in front of each other – the fog swirling around us.
‘Cerys, are you okay?’ I asked with feeling.
She smiled her warm smile, revealing her perfect teeth, and with it applied a mask.
‘Hello, Eddie,’ she replied. ‘I am fine.’
I stood, unable to find words. Not a single syllable would form in my vocal cords. The many times I had rehearsed my witty dialogue over and over on these very sands deserted me at this, the critical moment. Instead I smiled with a gormless expression, unsure of what to do.
‘It’s supposed to be summer!’ I finally blurted, and regretted saying it instantly and returned to my mute state.
‘It is back there,’ replied Cerys, pointing her head over her shoulder toward the dunes.
She bent forward and tickled Henry’s ears playfully as he continued to stare patiently at the ball in the slingshot in my hand.
I then realised Phoebe was nowhere to be seen. I concluded she wasn’t with Cerys at all.
‘Where is Phoebe? Is she not with you?’ I asked with surprise.
Cerys drew her lips into her mouth and bullied them into a white, bloodless submission.
I stared at her, not fully understanding what my observation had conjured within her.
Her anxiety appeared to reach a climax and she blew out her cheeks, and with the action released her lips, with a small popping sound.
‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she uttered, before spinning around and running up toward the dunes.
‘Cerys! Cerys! Wait!’ I shouted.
I ran after her, caught up and pleaded with her to stop – and her run changed to a fast walk, as I jogged backwards next to her.
‘What has happened, Cerys? Stop!’ I pleaded, as I managed to stand in front of her, halting her progress.
Even though we stood close together, she made no eye contact, her focus held on the dunes somewhere beyond the mist.
‘He took Phoebe away,’ she whispered over my shoulder.
‘I am sorry, Cerys, who took Phoebe away?’
‘He did, he said he would.’
I tried to make sense of her words, her behaviour, but couldn’t determine a
reason why she was there at all without her chocolate Labrador. And I concluded that after all these months of wanting to see her, of fantasising about meeting again, now the moment had arrived I was in reality standing on a cold, desolate beach with a complete stranger, whose erratic behaviour was causing a growing level of concern to rise within me, as the minutes ticked by.
‘Cerys, I do not understand. Who has taken Phoebe from you? Did it happen in the car park? We can look for her, Henry and I, or I can call the police,’ I offered in rapid succession.
I do not know if it was my questioning or something else that jolted Cerys, but her expression changed. The manic stare into the distance evaporated, as if she had been transported back into the here and now, and an air of normality swept over her face. She looked into my eyes and a smile spread across her lips.
‘I am sorry, Eddie –it’s just that seeing you with Henry made it all come back,’ she blurted, and with these words, the smile retreated from her mouth.
I decided not to respond, to see if she would divulge any further details, or if I could make sense of the situation. But she fell quiet, keeping her remaining thoughts to herself.
We stood facing each other in silence – me in the direction of the shore, she toward the dunes. Henry now lay by my side, resigned to the fact that the chase session was without a doubt over.
Cerys’ teeth chattered and she trembled visibly beneath the layer of her turquoise fleece. I simply stood not knowing what to say or do. Should I offer my fleece, I thought, which, though a chivalrous act of epic proportions, could doom my T-shirt-clad body to a state of hypothermia? Well, maybe that is a slight exaggeration, but it would certainly leave me feeling very cold indeed. Should I take her arm and suggest we walk up to the car park, get warm in the van? But I concluded I had to find the correct words to ensure the sentence didn’t sound creepy – after all, my efforts at communication thus far had made me sound like a lovesick teenager, and then my observation had caused her to run away from me. No, the words had to be right, I thought as I continued to dither.
‘It’s so cold!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve got a hot flask in the car, shall we go?’ she added, laughing, and started to walk.
And that was that. I had dithered; Cerys had taken control with her hot drink for sharing scenario.
Yet I stood my ground as she passed me.
‘You coming, Eddie?’ she called after her.
I turned to face her, but still made no attempt to follow. Don’t get me wrong, I was tempted; I wanted to spend time with her. But equally, I was wary as to how someone could switch in a moment from an anxious, wounded state to inviting me to share the inside of their car.
She turned, bent down and clasped her hands to her knees.
‘Henry! C’mon, boy!’ she shouted cheerfully.
In a moment, with his name recognised, he was off, padding gleefully across the sand toward her, his tail wagging happily.
‘You fickle, fickle little shit!’ I hissed at him.
‘C’mon, Eddie, it’s cold,’ she pleaded as Henry sniffed around her legs.
I followed.
With my movement, Henry remembered who his master was and waited for me, letting Cerys lead the way up toward the duckboards and through the dunes.
I caught her up and we walked side by side in silence, our footsteps in unison, just as they had been during that first meeting on the beach.
‘Is that your van?’ she enquired as we reached the car park.
‘Is that your Range Rover?’ I replied sarcastically, looking at the only other vehicle parked up.
She giggled slightly.
‘Dumb question, wasn’t it?’ she asked.
I didn’t answer; I did not think I was supposed to.
‘The Party King, bringing magic to every special occasion,’ she read aloud. ‘Who’s the glamorous assistant, then, you or Henry?’ she teased.
‘Oh, me, naturally,’ I replied.
From the fraught and tense atmosphere we had experienced out on the sands, here we seemed to connect once more. The mood felt relaxed, jovial, as it had during that first encounter.
She clicked open the vehicle with her key and went around the back and pulled the tailgate up.
Responding to two pats of her hand on the bumper, Henry jumped in and began sniffing the blanket laid out in the cavernous boot. Cerys reached for a stainless steel bowl stowed behind the wheel arch and laid it out in front of Henry, before searching under the blanket and retrieving a plastic two-litre milk bottle. She opened the bottle and poured the cooling water held within into the bowl with a satisfying rhythmical glug, ready for Henry to lap up, which he did greedily once Cerys moved away.
‘Don’t worry, yours won’t be served in a bowl!’ she told me as we moved to the front of the car, she to the right and me to the left.
I smiled, enjoying her company once more, yet I was still concerned as to the whereabouts of her dog and the reason she was here at all this early on a Saturday morning.
I climbed into the passenger seat, conscious of the immaculate cream leather upholstery and trim that contrasted with my van’s cab, which was covered in dirt, dog hairs, dog saliva and car parking tickets.
Cerys clambered into the driver’s seat and closed the door, but still the cold encircled us.
‘Will Henry be okay if I close the tailgate? I forgot to do it,’ she asked, looking over her shoulder toward the back of the car.
‘Sure, he will be fine. I’ll do it,’ I replied, opening the passenger door.
Henry had made himself right at home and was curled happily on the blanket. I stroked his head before pulling down the tailgate and returning to the front.
‘I wasn’t sure what you drank, so I made two,’ said Cerys, smiling, holding up two flasks.
I looked at her, then at the flasks, then back at Cerys, slightly unnerved by the situation, but at the same time felt an urge to laugh welling up inside of me. I could be sat here in a car with a serial killer, my dog held captive in the boot, but all I could think was that at least I was out of the cold!
‘Tea? Coffee?’ she enquired brightly.
I looked at the flasks presented before me and then up to her face. Our locked gaze released a smile and a little shake of encouragement of both flasks in her outstretched hands, to aid my decision.
Her smile was the same that first time I saw her all those months ago; a sense of playfulness, life and fun radiated from it and my uneasiness evaporated in this confined space.
‘Do you always bring two flasks out with you? Do you get that thirsty?’ I enquired teasingly.
She laughed loudly. ‘It is a bit stalker-like, isn’t it? I don’t usually make a habit of it, but thought I might see you and didn’t know if you liked tea or coffee,’ she added with what I took to be honesty.
‘Wow, really?’
She nodded. We looked at each other in silence.
‘It is a bit stalker-like, though!’ I stated suddenly.
‘Right, for that you are getting tea, whether you like it or not!’ she replied, putting down one flask and unscrewing the lid from the other.
‘I was going to choose tea anyway.’
‘Oh, really?’ she asked, pouring the liquid into the cup.
‘Yes, really.’
We both laughed and she handed the drink to me. Milky tea; I knew I had to be polite and drink it.
With her own drink poured and cooling in the cup in her hands, we stared out of the windscreen toward the dunes, their shape elusive through the churning mist.
In the ensuing silence, I debated whether to confess that she had been on my mind since that first meeting, but concluded such a statement would surely put me back into ‘creepy man’ territory again, much as it had as I struggled to find the words out on the beach.
‘It’s funny,’ I started. ‘Every week we’ve been down here, I have looked out for you and have been disappointed not to see you.’
She didn’t answer.
‘Because I really enjoyed our chat,’ I added, trying to justify my opening words.
She still didn’t reply.
Damn, I must in fact be in ‘creepy man’ territory, I concluded to myself. Best not to say anything else.
‘Same here,’ she finally said, looking over to me.
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ve been down here a few times,’ she replied with a faint smile. ‘First time I have found this car park though,’ she added.
She returned her gaze to the windscreen and blew over the top of her tea, coaxing the steam from the liquid, inviting it to cool down.
Did she enjoy that first meeting; did she feel disappointment at not seeing me too? I had no way of knowing from her answer and was not going to ask outright – such action, I felt, would put me on the path to narcissism; not a place I have ever fancied going to. In my life, I have seen many travel there quite happily and shout, on arrival, how wonderful the view is. I am guessing the top is surrounded by mirrors. Greg, Sally’s brother, and his golf-club chums spring to mind as examples.
‘Cerys,’ I said softly.
She turned and looked at me, sipping her tea.
‘What has happened to Phoebe? It might help to talk about it.’
‘Where do I start?’
‘Anywhere you think is appropriate,’ I replied.
‘Well, when I was four…’ she started with sincerity, but then paused.
‘Go on,’ I encouraged, not knowing where this was leading.
‘My sister pulled off the head of my favourite doll!’ she continued sarcastically, before laughing.
‘I sound like a dodgy therapist, don’t I?’ I admitted, with mock realisation drawn over my face.
She nodded and wrinkled up her nose.
‘Sorry,’ I said simply, smiling.
‘That’s okay,’ she replied.
She took on a passive look and stared down at her tea.
Chasing the Sun with Henry Page 12