Topspin

by Soliman, W.

  Ed took the punishments without showing any emotion, but all the time he was burning up with resentment inside. The verbal abuse got to him in a way that his father’s belt never could. Ed felt a fierce ambition to succeed incubating deep inside of him. One day he’d show his father what he was made of and force him to admit to being proud of him.

  He left school—another area where he’d failed to cover himself in glory—as soon as he legally could, and he set about building up a property empire. He used a legacy from his grandfather to buy his first run-down terraced house in Southend and converted it into flats. Cheap housing, at rents as high as he could get away with charging, brought him early financial success. He went to see his parents, driving up to their modest house in a brand new car, convinced they’d be impressed by all he’d achieved in such a short space of time. But his father simply looked at him as though he was a stranger and took himself off to the pub without saying a word.

  Undeterred, Ed worked harder than ever. The more he earned the more he flaunted it in front of a father who, right up to the day he died, never once told Ed he was proud of his achievements.

  Stella. His face clouded when he thought about his perfidious wife. She didn’t know his true reasons for wanting to take over Porchfield and nor did she need to. What she did know was what drove him as a man. How damaged he still felt by his father’s physical and mental cruelty. But was she supporting him? Was she at his side now, telling him that she was proud he’d had the courage to try to improve the club? Hell no! Right now she was laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world while Jack-fucking-Regent twirled her round the dance floor.

  Millie walked up to him, smiling as she delivered a litany of complaints about Jack’s performance today. Saying all the things his wife ought to be putting into words.

  “We won’t give up, Ed,” she said earnestly. “Mike and I both think this club urgently needs someone with your strength to bring it up to date. We’ll make it happen together.”

  “Come with me,” he said urgently, dragging her by the hand from the room.

  Millie obediently followed Ed into the office. He locked the door behind them and pulled her straight into his arms. Millie wasn’t a looker like his Stella. There were deep crevices running from the sides of her nose, blending with the vertical lines round her thin lips, and the corners of her eyes were patterned with ugly crows’ feet. Her body wasn’t much to write home about either. But none of that mattered to Ed. Millie had sexual appetites that her husband had no interest in satisfying and was happy to let Ed take up the slack. She was always up for it and her timing today was perfect. Ed could think of no better way to restore his damaged pride than through a healthy dose of Millie’s adoration.

  He pushed her against the filing cabinet, heedless of the fact that the corner was probably digging sharply into her buttocks. His breath was coming in short gasps as he grappled with her skirt, clumsily pushing it up around her hips. Millie helped him to maneuver it out of the way and then dealt with his trousers. They fell around his ankles and he left them there, too aroused to step out of them.

  “I need you, Millie,” he groaned. “Really, really bad.”

  “I know you’re hurting,” she said soothingly. “That’s why I came to look for you. Poor baby, you were only trying to help the club, and look how they repaid you.”

  “I don’t know why I bothered,” he said, reaching for her tiny breasts.

  “Because you’re such a caring person.” She arched her back and pushed herself more firmly into his hands. He bent his head and feasted on one of her nipples. “But I’ll always be here for you, you know that.”

  “Stella should have realized about the rule infringement,” he said, raising his head from her breast long enough to voice his complaint. Bad-mouthing his wife while preparing to fuck her supposed best friend turned them both on.

  “How will you punish her?” Millie asked breathlessly, guiding him into her.

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Forget about her, Ed, it’s me you really want.” There was a malicious glint in Millie’s eye as she lifted her hips to accommodate him. “That’s right, let me have it hard.”

  She clawed at his back, exhorting him to greater heights, making him feel invincible. He thrust into her, feeling in control again, anticipating the moment when he would hold his wife at his mercy in just the same way. Climaxing quickly he groaned, his earlier discomfort replaced with a calm assurance in his own abilities. He knew Millie hadn’t been ready but was too far gone to wait for her. She wouldn’t mind. She always put his interests before her own. Was it too much to expect that his wife, who lived in the lap of luxury thanks entirely to his efforts, might feel the same way?

  Millie fastened her lips round his flaccid penis, and he was proud when he felt it springing back to life almost immediately. That was the thing about Millie. She always knew what he needed without him having to spell it out. When had he last managed it twice with Stella? His wife would have a lot to answer for when he got her home, Ed decided, on the point of ejaculating at the back of Millie’s throat. She’d swallow it. That was another thing about Stella that got to him. She always replaced her lips with her hand at the last minute, even though she knew that wasn’t what he wanted her to do.

  Jack had moved back to the bar after dancing with Stella. If he stayed in the main room, he’d be forced onto the dance floor again and wasn’t in the mood to make a fool of himself. He was chatting with the group of men without really hearing what they were saying, preoccupied and unable to shake off a feeling of unease. Ever since seeing Claire and Rod emerging from the grounds almost at the same time, he knew something wasn’t right. Her reaction when Rod had sauntered into the clubhouse had been bizarre, to say the least. She was suffering from something, but he didn’t believe it was the heat. Jack recalled the urgency with which she’d left after the tournament lunch the other day, and how in anyone else he’d have attributed her behavior to an affair.

  The evidence was mounting and Jack froze as the nature of his thoughts struck home. It couldn’t be that. He shook his head to dispel the ridiculous notion, refusing to entertain the idea. There must be some other explanation. Claire was the exception that proved the rule. If she turned out to be no better than the rest, no better than his cheating bitch of a wife, then he really would lose all faith. No, it was all just one big coincidence, and he was sure that if he broached the subject with Claire she’d provide a rational explanation and put his mind at ease.

  But he wouldn’t do that. Not yet, at any rate. If he’d got the wrong idea, then all he’d do was mess up his friendship with his two closest friends for no good reason. But still he felt uncomfortable. Jack accepted a large scotch on the rocks from Karl with an absent nod of thanks, still preoccupied with thoughts of Claire. He’d survived his years in the East End by trusting his instincts, and right now they were telling him something wasn’t right with her. Still, it was none of his business and he could only hope that he’d got the wrong end of the stick. God alone knew what it would do to Joe if he hadn’t.

  “What’s with Angela’s husband, then?” Karl asked.

  “Who knows,” Jack said, shrugging. “Best to keep well out of that one.”

  “Yes, probably, but Jodie is worried for her. Angie’s been kind to her since she joined the club and Jodie wants to help her, if she can.”

  Jack raised a brow. “I didn’t realize that you and Jodie took so much interest in Angie’s affairs.”

  “Pillow talk,” Karl said with a broad grin.

  “I might have known.” Jack laughed. “I’ll give it a month.”

  “This one’s different.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  “Hey, have you heard about Palmer’s latest wheeze?” Gordon asked, joining the group.

  Jack frowned. “What’s he cooked up this time?”

  “He’s suggesting that we all go off to Bisham Abbey for some intense coaching and a b
onding session. He’s asked Trina to help him set it up.”

  “We wouldn’t need to bond if he hadn’t put the cat among the pigeons in the first place,” Joe said. “Besides, Bisham Abbey costs an arm and a leg.”

  “He reckons he can get us a deal.”

  “When does he plan for us to go?” Jack asked.

  “In a couple of weeks, if he can swing it.”

  “Hmm.” Jack pondered for a moment. “It’s not such a bad idea.”

  Gordon raised a brow. “I thought you’d be dead against it.”

  “For once he’s come up with something plausible. We could all do with a break, and Bisham Abbey is supposed to be the last word in tennis innovation. Anyway, I reckon Palmer is counting on me saying no, and I have no intention of playing into his hands.”

  “What do you mean?” Joe asked.

  “Well, he’s already implying that those of us in the men’s team don’t accept challenges for our places. If we turn down the opportunity of professional coaching he’ll put it about that we’re not only elitist but antisocial, too.”

  Joe frowned. “Surely he wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Trust me, mate, I know the guy, and that’s precisely what he’d do.”

  “All right then, if the plan comes to fruition we’ll go,” Joe said. “It’ll do Claire good to have a break, and if I have enough notice I can probably arrange the time off.”

  “Good.” Jack felt uneasy at the prospect of Claire away from home without Joe.

  Jack’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He moved away from the bar and flipped it open, surprised to see Cyril’s number on the display.

  “Hello, mate,” he said, “what gives?”

  “A word to the wise, Jack. The Turks have turned Wilf and Kevin off.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s a bit extreme.”

  “That’s what I thought, but you know what that mob is like for discipline. Once they found out they’d been doing their own business in London, they weren’t having it. They ought to have known how it’d be but they’re too fucking thick. Problem is, no one else’ll take them on now, and so they’ve been turned into loose cannon with a huge grudge to bear. And the word on the street is that they’re blaming you for everything that’s happened to them.”

  “What else is new?” Jack rolled his eyes in weary resignation.

  “But there’s more, Jack. Some bastard’s told them where you are. I haven’t found out who it was yet, but when I do I’ll wring his fucking neck.”

  “Don’t worry, Cyril, I’ll stay alert.”

  “See that you do, son, ’cause they don’t fight fair.”

  Jack chuckled. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Jack, do you want me to send you some muscle?”

  “What, walk around with a couple of goons shadowing my every step? Thanks, Cyril, but no thanks. That would create more problems for me over here than it would solve.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but don’t underestimate them, Jack. They’re out for your blood and have said too much to be able to back down now and save face.”

  “I hear you, Cyril.”

  “Call me if you need help.”

  “You know I will.”

  Jack ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket, his features set in a hard, uncompromising line. Part of him deplored the notion of having to deal with the two thugs. He thought he’d put that aspect of his life behind him forever.

  But the rest of him couldn’t wait to finish it.

  Chapter Eight

  AS PEOPLE BEGAN WANDERING OFF, Rod came up behind Angela and placed a hand on her waist.

  “I’ll take you all home,” he said.

  “Don’t bother. I came with Jodie and she’ll drop me off. And I expect the kids’ll want to hang around for a bit longer.”

  “No, we don’t.” Sheba appeared out of nowhere, smiling angelically at them both. “Anyway, Mum, Jodie’s already left with Karl.”

  “Wonderful.” Angela rolled her eyes.

  “That’s settled then.”

  Rod ushered them through the door before Angela could think of a reason not to go with him. She reluctantly slid into the passenger seat of his car, muttering expletives beneath her breath. Rod and Sheba kept up an artificially bright conversation as they sped along the quiet roads. Malik contributed the odd remark when his sister paused long enough for him to get a word in edgeways, but Angela felt no compunction to be polite. She ignored everything that was said to her, pointedly staring straight ahead as they waited forever for the floating bridge to arrive.

  “Don’t forget you said you’d look at my English assignment, Dad,” Sheba said sweetly as they pulled up outside Angela’s house.

  Angela made a derisive sound at the back of her throat but refrained from comment.

  “It’s late, Sheba, and I don’t think your mother wants me coming in.”

  “It’s my house, too,” she protested peevishly.

  “Perhaps another time, love.”

  “Yes, it is quite late, I suppose.” Angela immediately smelt a rat. “How about tomorrow, Dad? It’s Saturday. You could come to lunch. Mum doesn’t work on a Saturday, so we could all be together like a proper family again.”

  “You’ve got tennis coaching in the morning,” Angela said, experiencing a brief pang of guilt at Sheba’s very obvious desire to be part of a two-parent family, until she remembered why she’d left.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t last until lunchtime.”

  “Doesn’t it? You don’t usually get home until late afternoon.”

  “Not always. Why are you always so negative, Mum?”

  “Take your homework to the tennis club, Sheba, and I’ll call in and have a look at it there,” Rod said.

  Angela was highly suspicious about his sudden willingness to keep a low profile but didn’t intend to get into a lengthy discussion on the subject.

  “Night, Dad.” Sheba leaned over from the back seat and kissed his cheek. “See you tomorrow then.”

  “Night, love. Night, Malik.”

  “Come on, Malik,” Sheba said impatiently when he made no move to get out of the car. “You’ve got the key. I’ve recorded X Factor and want to watch it before we go to bed. I really hope that jerky Scotsman doesn’t win.”

  Before Angela had time to say she was coming too, the rear doors slammed and she was alone with Rod. His arm slipped along the back of her seat and came to rest across her shoulders, effectively trapping her unless she made a big deal out of pushing him away, and if anyone pushed Rod he had a tendency to push back. Harder.

  “I enjoyed tonight,” he said. “Your friends are a great bunch.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  Angela refused to look at him but was conscious of his eyes leveled upon her profile. The atmosphere was charged and she sat frozen with indecision, nervously entwining the fingers of one hand with those of the other. It was completely quiet inside the car. No radio, no street sounds, and no chattering daughter to break the tension. Angela’s determination to exclude Rod from her life wasn’t going anywhere, but she couldn’t delude herself into believing she wasn’t still fiercely attracted to him. She’d never met anyone since their breakup that came close to turning her on in the way he did, with the possible exception of Jack. And Jack wasn’t interested in her so he didn’t count.

  Being here alone with Rod was not only testing her resolve but very likely encouraging him to harbor false expectations. Rod was Rod. He wouldn’t change, and there was more at stake than just her peace of mind. She couldn’t afford to weaken. She twisted her shoulders away from him and managed to get the door half open before the blistering touch of his fingers on the bare skin of her arm halted her.

  “Angie, listen to me, love. I know how you feel about me, but you need to give me the chance to prove I’ve changed.” He removed his fingers but she remained frozen in her seat, her gaze fixed on the dashboard, trapped by the invisible bonds that still tied her to this infuriatingly persuasive
man. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

  She sighed, this time succeeding in pushing the door open. “We’ve been through this before, and it’s too late for second chances. Find someone else.”

  “I don’t want anyone else. I just want to be with you and the kids. Tell me what it’ll take.”

  “All right.” She turned to face him, her expression veiled, her tone grudging. “If you really mean it, then get that pervert Paul out of your life once and for all and then maybe, just maybe you might be able to convince me to give it a try. No promises.” She held up a hand to prevent him from interrupting her. “And until then I’d prefer it if you didn’t encourage Sheba to think there’s a chance for us to be a family again. It’s not kind to give her false hope.”

  “Okay.” Her suspicions were aroused by his easy capitulation. “I can see that might be unfair, but what about—”

  “No! I know what you’re going to say and the answer’s still no. I won’t see Paul. I want nothing whatsoever to do with him.” She paused, aware that in her agitation her voice had risen. “And if I hear that he’s been near either of the twins, for any reason whatsoever, I’ll expose him to the world for what he really is.”

  “That wouldn’t be sensible, Angie.” Rod’s tone was mildly reproving.

  “Perhaps not, but that won’t prevent me from doing whatever I have to in order to protect our kids.”

  She turned a chillingly determined gaze upon her husband, swung her feet out of the car, and fled to her front door.

  Claire couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, images of the cruel twist to Rod’s lips as he told her their affair would end only when he was ready for it to caused her to break out in a cold sweat. His insouciant tone reverberated in her head and she could feel the heat of his eyes as he leveled them upon her, demolishing the pack of lies she’d constructed around their relationship in order to live with her conscience. He’d stripped her bare in every sense of the word, and she knew she was now teetering on the brink, in very real danger of losing everything.