by Tara Ford
“These women,” Alvin indicated to Tiff with his eyes. “They do like to know what’s going on all around them.”
“I think most people do, it’s not a woman thing,” Joe replied, defensively.
“Women do like a good gossip though. Isn’t that right girl?”
“I suppose a lot of them do. No harm in that.” Tiff retorted.
“Absolutely not. Keeps you going, I’d imagine.” Casting an appraising pair of eyes over Tiff, Alvin grinned in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.
“Not me personally. I have far more interesting things to keep me going.” With a deadpan expression, Tiff stared into the man’s satirical eyes.
“Pleased to hear it, girl. I always say, keep your nose down, mouth closed and eyes all knowing.”
“Really?” Placing a tacky paint brush across the top of the tin, Tiff continued, directing her words towards Joe. “Well, I think we need to keep our noses down and get on with this fence.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Joe. “Time’s ticking on.”
“I’ll be off for an early evening trot later on, if you…” Alvin raised his eyebrows at Joe, “want to join me. Some glorious views out on the hills. Incredible what you can see with a good old pair of binoculars.”
“Err… thanks for the offer but…” Joe peered round to Tiff, knowingly, “we have a lot to get done this evening, don’t we?”
Tiff nodded her head fervently.
“Your loss. Another time, maybe. Not around for long. Important work to be done in the secret service you know. Until we meet again, I bid you farewell.” Turning on his heels, Alvin walked away with an air of opulence about him, his hands still tucked into his pockets.
“Obnoxious prick,” muttered Joe, under his breath.
“Lecherous prick, don’t you mean?”
“Tiffany Cuthbert – I don’t believe I’ve heard you speak like that before,” Joe mocked.
“He brings the worst out in me.” She giggled. “What a total wan…” Her words trailed off.
Joe stared, disbelievingly. “You’re right – and I’ll say it for you. Total wanker.”
“And what’s his name all about?”
“Total wanker’s name I guess,” said Joe, nonchalantly.
Giggling heartily, amongst themselves, Joe and Tiff watched, across the green, as Alvin Snodgrass arrived at the last house on the close, opened the gate and strutted up the pathway to his front door. A swift, shifty glance, from left to right, and then he disappeared into his house.
“So,” said Tiff, regaining her composure. “What do you think of the neighbours so far?”
“Keep your voice down, babe.”
“Sorry,” she whispered back. Picking up her brush again, she crouched down and continued to paint an unfinished post. “They’re all a bit weird, aren’t they?”
“I’d say the only weird one is that idiot at number nine. The others are OK, from what I’ve seen so far. Why do you think they’re all weird?”
“Well, unusual then, not weird. Maybe that’s the wrong word to use.”
“Why do you think Georgie is unusual, you haven’t even met her yet.”
A vision of Georgie, sprawled out in her garden, naked, entered Tiff’s mind. “Err… don’t know really.”
“And Cyril and Betty – they’re not weird,” said Joe quite defensively. “I think they are a really nice couple.”
“Oh yes, they are. Most definitely. Just weird in the sense of their house, I suppose.”
“No. Brave, committed and unconventional. I like it.”
Tiff smiled, warmly. “Yes, so do I to be honest. Anyway, come on, let’s get this finished ASAP. We need to get some dinner and try out that date and walnut cake.”
“Work it baby, work it.”
Chapter 6
The date and walnut cake was just as delicious as the lemon drizzle. Betty obviously enjoyed baking and did it very well. Having finished the painting for the day, eaten a tuna paste bake for their tea, finished off with a hearty slice of cake, Joe and Tiff retired to their minimalistic living room. Minimalistic, not by choice but more by lack of funds, time and inspiration for the time being.
Grabbing one side of the shabby, old curtains, Tiff went to draw it across the large window. She halted and gaped across the green. Under the streetlight at the end of Sycamore Close, right outside number nine, was a tall figure. Wearing a brilliant white vest, bright red, skin-tight Speedos with a broad white stripe down the sides, white socks and trainers, Alvin Snodgrass was doing a lunge workout and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Tiff cringed in disgust as the pronounced bulge at the front of his pants appeared to tip slightly from one side to the other, as he dipped into each lunge. Strapped across one shoulder and around his back was a small black binocular case. “Joe – quick – come here – right now.”
“Not that old woman again,” said Joe, heaving himself out of the armchair. “What’s she doing now?”
“No – not her – quick.”
Joe arrived at the window with disinterest and glanced out. Then he took a second look. “What on earth…”
“Going for a ‘trot', I’d imagine.” Tiff continued to stare, incredulously. “What does he think he looks like?”
Switching from the lunges, Alvin moved on to calf stretches and heel digs. He then began to march on the spot, lifting his spindly legs almost as high as his chest. The case hanging around his back bounced up and down as he pulled each leg up high.
“He’s wearing bloody Speedos!” remarked Joe, peering harder through the window. “They’re swimming trunks – they’re not for jogging. Bloody hell – the man’s a freak.”
“It’s getting dark. Why is he taking binoculars with him? He won’t be able to see anything.” Tiff shook her head in revulsion. “I think he’s a dirty old pervert.”
“I think you’re probably right. You know who he looks like?”
“Who?”
Joe let out a short burst of laughter. “He looks like one of those characters from the 118 118 commercial.”
Sniggering as she continued to gape out of the window, Tiff replied, “He look worse than that. Those men don’t wear speedos. It looks like those trunks would cut his legs off at the groin if he bent down too far.”
“And he doesn’t have a black moustache, I suppose.” Joe reached across to the other curtain and began to pull it. “Come on – I’ve seen enough to put me off food for a week.”
“His lunchbox, you mean?”
“What?”
“You’ve seen enough of his lycra-lunchbox to put you off eating for a week.”
“Yeah. Can’t be doing with a spandex scrotum bouncing around Sycamore Close. Shut those curtains.”
Tiff giggled. “Perhaps he’s going out on a top-secret spy mission.”
“Hmm…” Joe mumbled, thoughtfully. “Doubtful.”
Together, the couple swished a curtain each across the window and met in the middle. Raising a hand up, Joe offered a high-five.
“I’m going for a bath,” said Tiff, pecking him on the cheek.
“Want me to come and scrub your back?”
“If you want to,” she answered, with a suggestive expression on her face. “I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready.”
It ended in a duo-bath. Then a passionate love-making session on top of the bed sheets. Joe was an affectionate man. A seductive lover. Young, strong, healthy and libidinous, his appetite for sex was unwavering.
As Joe climbed wearily into bed and tossed the dishevelled sheets over him, Tiff went back to the bathroom to freshen up.
Alerted by a sudden noise from outside, which filtered through the small gap in the partially open bathroom window, Tiff drew in a breath and held it. Straining her ears for another noise, she could feel her heart beating inside her chest. Exhaling, she remained motionless. Listening. Waiting. She was sure she’d just heard the high pitched gasp of a woman. She was absolutely sure of it. She waited and listened again.
A muffled groan. A hollow clatter. Like something banging against a metal barrel.
Switching off the bathroom light, she tiptoed back to the bedroom to see that Joe had turned over on his side. She crept around to his side of the bed and saw that he was asleep. Creeping back out of the room, Tiff quietly closed the door. Standing on the landing, wearing an oversized, old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, her heart beat rapidly. She had definitely heard a woman’s voice. The noise was coming from Georgie’s garden; she was sure of it. Like a top-secret agent, she crept into her empty craft room and approached the window.
It was so dark out the back that it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. All she could see, across the fields, were a couple of twinkling lights in the far distance. Possibly coming from the farm behind the river. Turning her gaze to the left, she stared hard, into Georgie’s garden. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see the woman lying on her sunbed at this time of the night. As Tiff’s vision adjusted further, she could just see the empty sunbed, still situated where it had been before.
Another noise. Again, a woman’s voice. Another gasp. A moan. The window above her head was still open and the noises outside could be clearly heard.
Stepping to the far right of the window, Tiff could see movement in the furthest corner of Georgie’s garden. A flicker of white. A figure. A man. Long, bare legs. Thrusting his pelvis backwards and forwards, the man was leaning over another figure.
Tiff blinked. The images were getting clearer through the darkness.
Alvin Snodgrass. The white strip, on the side of his trunks, lunged forwards and backwards. Underneath him, and leaning back against what looked like a concrete mixer, dressed in dark clothing, which seemed to be hitched up around her waist, was Georgie. Her long legs were spread apart and she stood on tiptoes, as her dangerously-high heels wobbled on the hard ground.
Alvin’s hands were firmly placed on her clothed chest. He rammed his pelvis into her, repeatedly. Forcefully. Now and again a faint gasp or a moan could be heard.
Tiff stood motionless in the darkness. Breathing shallow breaths, she watched disbelievingly. They were having sex. In the garden.
It appeared to be a loveless exchange. Fervent yet crude. Georgie gripped on to the sides of the mixer, her head turned away to one side.
On and on. The tempo quickened. Tossing her head back, Georgie stared up at the night sky. A look of sadistic pleasure, etched on her face. Or was it a look of pain?
A louder gasp. Loud enough to be obviously apparent to anyone who may still be awake and in close proximity to Georgie’s house. How could she be doing such a thing? And in her garden?
It was over. Alvin adjusted himself in his trunks and casually walked towards the house and out of sight. He had left Georgie abruptly, without uttering a word to her. There was no gentle aftercare like Tiff would have expected any normal couple to do.
Pulling her dress down to her knees, Georgie appeared to sigh and then she followed Alvin back to the house.
They were gone. The night was still and silent again.
Tiff leant back on the window frame and stared out thoughtfully. Had she really just seen that? Would she think it was a dream by the morning? Should she tell Joe? Would he believe her? She shook her head and slowly crept towards the door. No, she wouldn’t tell him. It was bad enough that Georgie was baring all during the day, let alone providing a raw pornographic show in the evenings. As for Alvin, Tiff’s thoughts of earlier were justified. He was a lecherous, dirty man.
“Oh,” screeched Tiff, smacking a hand upon her chest. “You made me jump. I thought you were asleep.”
“What are you doing in there?” Joe’s sleepy eyes looked puzzled. “Thought you were coming back to bed. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Just had a…” Tiff faltered. “I was… checking the paint. Had a quick look out at the view. Was going to shut the window…” She turned her head around. “Oh look, silly me, I forgot to shut it.” She rushed across the room and shut the top window quickly. Darting back across the room, she closed the door firmly behind her and grabbed hold of Joe’s arm. “Come on, I’ve done it now. I thought I’d left it open. Wouldn’t want to leave the window open all night would we?” she added, as she ushered him back through to the bedroom. “And you had fallen asleep.”
“Only for a minute. Why were you looking at the view? It’s pitch black out there.”
“Yes, I know. You can just see the farm lights though, way off in the distance, but I was admiring my paint work really.”
“In the dark?”
“Yes – it looks good in the dark.”
Joe nodded, sleepily. “You make me laugh babe – you’re mad. Come on. Bed. I need a cuddle.” Staring wide-eyed, he blinked his eyes dolefully and then winked and smiled.
A surge of excitement rushed through Tiff. Who could say no to those thick lashed eyes? It had happened several times before. Joe would wake up after just a few minutes of sleep and be feeling amorous again. She felt it too. Even though she had just witnessed a crude, coarse act of fornication in the neighbour’s garden, she was ready for another ‘cuddle’ with Joe. It would be longer, more sustained and emotionally deeper than the last but she hadn’t been put off by what she’d seen. If anything, she felt more up for it. More up for a romantic session in bed, with her loved one. By no stretch of the imagination would she ever consider being an exhibitionist, like Georgie, and she hoped that Joe had those same values too. Not that she was going to mention it to him. Ever.
“You never did tell me what you were talking to Georgie about this morning,” said Tiff, lying contentedly next to Joe’s hot, moist body.
“Nothing really. It was just small talk.” Joe’s voice was beginning to slur as be started to drift in and out of sleep again.
“What kind of small talk?”
“Hmm?”
“What sort of small talk were you having?”
“Uh…”
“Joe, don’t go to sleep yet…”
“Uh-huh.”
Peering into the darkness, Tiff realised it was no use. He was falling asleep and once he’d drifted away, a train could come rumbling through the bedroom and he wouldn’t hear it.
Monday morning had come round far too quickly for Tiff. Preparing boiled eggs and toast for breakfast, she mused over the previous night’s goings-on in the garden of number 3 Sycamore Close. She now felt a little doubtful about the move to their dream home. It was still a dream home and a beautiful place to be – but some of the people who lived there tainted and distorted the overall image and feel. Maybe she was being oversensitive. No. It was totally unacceptable to be shagging in the back garden when some of the neighbours could potentially see them. Surely number two would be able to see them too and possibly even number one. Tiff wondered if Cyril and Betty would be able to see her garden from their top windows as well. She guessed that they would have to poke their heads out of the windows, quite a way, to see that far around.
“Joe – breakfast is ready,” Tiff called up the stairs.
Being in the fitness industry, Joe insisted that they always had a good breakfast in the mornings, except at the weekends, when he did like to indulge in thick marmalade on toast. A good breakfast would always see them through the day and, according to Joe, ensure that their weight would remain constant. Tiff struggled with that concept. The more she ate for breakfast, the hungrier she was by lunchtime. It had to catch up with her sooner or later and she had noticed a slight bulge around her waist. But luckily for Tiff, she was still considered, ‘petite’, by most of her friends and family.
“Coming,” Joe replied, and then bounded down the stairs.
On the dining table were two glasses of pure orange juice, a rack filled with four slices of toast, unsalted butter and a glass pepper pot. Tiff carried two plates over to the table, containing two boiled eggs in egg cups.
“I’m taking Wednesday off,” she said, placing the plates at opposite sides of the small table. �
�I’ll get the painting done then.” She smiled sweetly, pulled out a chair and sat down.
“OK. Good. We’ll fix up your table at the weekend then.”
“I might even do that as well. I know how to join it all together.”
Joe looked across the table. “Are you sure?”
“Yes – once it’s in place you could help me get everything else in there.”
“OK – sounds like a plan to me.”
Wolfing his breakfast down, Joe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grabbed the glass of orange juice. He drank the whole glass in one go and set it back down on the table. “Right – got to go. Got a new receptionist starting today. See you tonight.” Pecking Tiff on the top of her head, he left the room. He grabbed his coat from the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, checked his pockets and then left the house.
Tiff had another hour before she had to leave. She always got up earlier than she needed to, so that she could get some housework done before she went to work. She much preferred to do her chores in the mornings, rather than come home to them in the evenings. She liked to spend her evenings with Joe, even if it was just sitting in the living room, mindlessly watching the television. It beat washing or ironing any day of the week.
Checking the door was locked securely, Tiff walked down the garden path, admiring the white picket fencing. It would look beautiful once it was finished and once they had tidied up the front garden. As she reached the gate, she noticed Alvin across the green. Wearing a pinstripe grey suit, lilac shirt and deep purple tie, his black brogue shoes finished off his overall appearance of a professional man. His dark hair was neatly swept back across one side and he carried a black laptop case. His look, this morning, was in sheer contrast to the kinky pervert he appeared to be last night.
Tiff cringed as a vision of his antics with Georgie crept into her head. Georgie was an attractive girl and had to be at least ten years younger than him. So why would she be interested in him? Why would she entertain a swift hardcore romp over a rusty old cement mixer?