He turned out the light because she was embarrassed, sure that in darkness she would respond as passionately as him. But as his chest covered her naked breasts he couldn’t hold back. Her skin was so silky he forgot caution, within moments he was pushing into her, squeezing her plump buttocks, whispering things he said to prostitutes.
It was only after that he realized she was icy, her face turned from him, every muscle and nerve-ending rigid with disgust. He touched her cheeks and found tears and in that moment he felt a complete failure.
‘I tried to please her,’ he said aloud as he reached out for the bottle of gin.
It very nearly ended after the war. No more opportunities to get away and find a more amenable partner for the night. So much pent up excitement in the air as the troops came home, rebuilding all around them, yet for Brian everything stayed the same. Celia wanted a baby, he wanted promotion. A world war was fought and won against all odds, yet still he had a wife who stared blankly at the ceiling while he made love to her. Never actually refusing, but somehow that dutiful subservience made him feel dirty.
Perhaps he should have let her leave back then, divorce wasn’t such a big deal anymore.
He felt that uncomfortable feeling of frustration now. Yesterday at the bank it had been so strong he almost went up to the West End after work. Eight hours of working alongside ten women, watching breasts jiggle as they typed. Miss Baldwin the new clerk with her tight skirts and long slender legs curling round her stool as she served customers. At the Christmas party she’d wanted to kiss him, but always he had to be aware of his position. Clerks, assistant managers, they could have affairs, but not the manager, especially one with a social worker for a wife.
‘It isn’t fair!’ he looked up at the ceiling. The light was still quivering, but the music was softer now. All those kids up there, kissing, cuddling, their whole lives ahead of them. Was it wrong for a man of fifty to want a woman who liked lovemaking? Celia understood every wife-beater, every petty criminal, cared for the sick, the lame and the mentally unstable, why then couldn’t she see what she was doing to her own husband?
Laughter on the stairs made him sit up sharply. The record had long since finished, yet he hadn’t noticed. He peered at his watch. It was twenty to twelve and he’d drunk half the bottle of gin.
‘She won’t be back for hours,’ he sighed, getting up unsteadily. ‘I’d better go and see what they’re doing upstairs.’
The furniture seemed to be in the wrong places. He banged against the settee, almost falling and he had trouble opening the door. It was cooler in the hall and only then did he notice he was still carrying the gin.
Christine was smooching with John on the stairs. One rounded shoulder was free of her dress, an inch of white dimpled flesh above her stocking tops showing as Brian reached the first step.
‘’Allo, ’allo,’ he grinned. ‘What ’ave we got ’ere?’
Christine jumped a few inches away from the boy, pulled down her skirt and blushed charmingly. The earlier artful hairstyle was more like a tousled bird’s nest now. Blonde tendrils surrounding her mascara-smeared face. She looked like a fallen angel, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
‘Hallo, Mr Anderson,’ she said. ‘Come to join the party?’
The boy stood up and Brian saw he had an erection.
‘I thought I might liven things up,’ Brian smirked at the pimply-faced boy. ‘But don’t let me interrupt you!’
‘Can I have some of that?’ Christine giggled, fluttering her eyelashes and pointing to the bottle.
‘I’ll give you a drop in return for a kiss!’
Christine picked up a glass just behind her and held it out to him.
Brian lunged forward at her, almost tripping. The boy caught his arm.
‘Steady on!’
‘I’m just a little squiffy,’ Brian said, plonking a wet kiss on Christine’s cheek. ‘But it’s my daughter’s birthday so why shouldn’t I be?’
He glugged some of the gin in Christine’s glass, then moved on past her, leaving the pair of them whispering behind him.
They were playing that record again, the same one Georgia had played almost non-stop since Christmas Day.
‘Till I kissed ya’. He’d found himself humming it in the car, singing it in the bath, but it had never sounded so good before.
He paused on the landing by the open playroom door. A small table lamp over in one corner was the only light. Four couples were shuffling round the floor, girls’ heads buried in their partners’ shoulders. The decorations were drooping down low over their heads, cigarette smoke swirled lazily up to the ceiling and the other twenty or so kids sat around the edges of the room locked in one another’s arms.
But Brian barely noticed anyone. All he could see was Georgia in the middle of the room, Peter’s mouth coming down to hers.
Her upturned caramel face glowing in the soft light, full red lips open slightly, her breasts straining against the tight red bodice.
No woman had ever looked like that for him. He felt a quiver run down his spine, a stirring inside him.
‘Come on in then!’ Christine was at his elbow, drawing him into the room.
Georgia barely moved. She turned, smiled at him, then looked back at Peter.
Brian felt a rush of jealousy. Next to Peter he felt dwarfed, fat and old. The golden hair, the firm resolute chin, those bright blue candid eyes all irritated him.
This boy had it all, looks, brains and now Georgia. He would never get to fifty and wonder what had happened to his life.
‘Hallo Daddy,’ she took Peter’s hand and walked towards Brian. ‘It’s not twelve yet is it?’ She kissed him just as she always did, one small hand touching his cheek lightly.
‘Thought I’d see what you are up to,’ he lurched to one side, holding the wall for support. ‘Are there any spare girls for me?’
‘Daddy!’ Georgia frowned reprovingly. ‘You’ve been drinking!’
‘Only one or two,’ he said. ‘I brought some up for you too.’
She half smiled, but Peter frowned.
‘Gin, Mr Anderson! Are you sure?’
Peter’s sanctimonious expression irritated Brian still further.
‘A man can drink in his own house,’ he said sharply.
‘I’d like some,’ Christine was already holding her now empty glass out to him, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously. Brian poured her a little, then himself one, and went round putting a splash in anyone’s glass that was held out.
‘Let’s have a dance Dad,’ Georgia was worried now, he had been odd and moody all over Christmas and if her mother came home and found him like this, it might turn into a row.
‘That’s nice, a dance with Daddy,’ Brian held out his arms.
Georgia glanced around the room. She could sense everyone thought it was funny to see her straitlaced father drunk, but she was embarrassed.
He was a good dancer normally, with a fine sense of rhythm. Another time she would have been glad he wanted to join in, but she didn’t like the way he clutched her to him, the fumes of alcohol on his breath, or being prevented from dancing with Peter.
‘Why don’t you go back downstairs,’ she wheedled with him. ‘The party’s nearly over now and I want to be with my friends for a little longer.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ he pouted, holding her still tighter. ‘I don’t get any fun.’
Christine came up beside them.
‘Can I have some more gin please?’ she asked. Her dress had split on her hip and creased across the stomach. She looked like a girl he picked up once in Church Street, Kensington.
‘Certainly,’ Brian spun round, releasing Georgia, picking up his bottle and pouring a big measure into Christine’s glass. ‘You dance with me Chris? Georgia doesn’t like her Daddy up here.’
Georgia took the opportunity to slip away, leading Peter out to the landing.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said hanging her head. ‘He isn’t usually like this. I don’t know
what’s got into him.’
‘Just booze,’ Peter smiled and took her in his arms. ‘My dad’s like that half the time, you don’t have to apologize.’
‘But he’s spoilt the party,’ Georgia sighed.
‘Not for me he hasn’t,’ Peter bent his head a little and rubbed her nose with his.
Georgia lifted her lips to his and wound her arms round his neck.
She longed to be entirely alone with him, somewhere warm and comfortable where they could relax knowing no one would come in.
His kisses drove her wild. She wanted more, each touch of his hand made her tremble.
At night she lay thinking about him, imagining his hands creeping under her clothes. She would wake suddenly, hot and sticky from dreaming he was in bed with her, his naked body pressed into hers.
Again and again they kissed, each kiss more passionate than the one before. Peter leant against the wall on the landing and she pressed herself into him, savouring the male hardness taunting her through her party dress.
It was Peter who finally broke away.
‘It’s after twelve,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I don’t want to go but I promised your mother. I’ll have to keep in her good books if I’m ever to be allowed to be alone with you.’
‘Is that what you want then?’ she smiled shyly.
His face was flushed, hair falling into half-closed eyes, even his lips were swollen with kissing.
‘You know I do,’ he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips and nibbling at the tips of her fingers. ‘I’ve dreamed of nothing else since that night on the heath.’
‘What do you imagine?’ She covered his face with tiny kisses.
‘Making love to you,’ he said dreamily. ‘Peeling your clothes off. Exploring you.’
‘We can’t do that,’ she looked into his deep blue eyes, tracing one finger round his lips. ‘I might have a baby!’
‘I’d marry you,’ he said softly, burying his lips in her neck and stroking her breasts.
She loved it when he did that, she could feel her nipples growing hard and a delicious dizzy feeling creeping all over her.
‘Just because I was pregnant?’ she was fishing for more.
‘No, because I love you,’ he put one finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his. ‘And so I could sleep with you and hold you for always.’
‘I love you too,’ she whispered, burying her face in his neck.
As they rejoined the party, her father was trying to jive with Christine.
Georgia laughed. It wasn’t often she saw her father like this. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, he was biting his lips trying to concentrate and each time Christine tried to twirl round, Brian moved the wrong way. His legs were rubbery, his arms were flaying about, his jacket hanging off one shoulder.
There was a good atmosphere in the room, laughter, chatter, relaxed, almost loving, it seemed a shame they had to break it up.
‘Time to go,’ Peter moved first to the boys from his school.
‘Not yet,’ Brian said, face flushed more with drink than the dance. ‘It’s only just warming up.’
Peter smiled politely, but still went round getting everyone to leave. Georgia started to stack glasses on a tray.
John, Christine’s boyfriend was looking anxiously at his watch, then back to Christine as she twirled round with Brian.
‘I’m supposed to get her home by half twelve,’ he shrugged his shoulders at Georgia. ‘Her dad will blame me for getting her like that.’
‘Leave her to me,’ Georgia said.
Crossing the room she caught hold of Christine’s arm, her father danced on alone, oblivious.
‘Please go now,’ she said. ‘Dad’s being very silly and Mum will be furious if she comes in and finds him like that. Don’t encourage him any more. John’s waiting for you.’
‘Okay,’ Christine smiled stupidly. Her eyes were like slits now, her mouth drooping and trails of mascara running down her cheeks. The split in her dress was bigger now, a bubble of white flesh peeping out and her stockings were laddered. ‘Do I look drunk?’
‘The walk home will sober you up,’ Georgia said, wiping away the mascara with a serviette. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow.’
‘Lovely party,’ someone shouted from the landing as Georgia bundled Christine into her coat. ‘See you back at school!’
Couple after couple left till finally there was only Peter, standing just a few inches from her in the hall, his navy blue duffel coat in his hand.
‘Happy birthday,’ he said. His eyes were heavy with longing. His arms reached out for her, crushing her into his arms, lips hot with desire.
From upstairs music suddenly blared out, breaking the moment.
They both started, looking up at the stairs.
‘I’d better stay with you,’ Peter took a step towards the stairs.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she replied, tugging on his arm. ‘Go on home. Mum will be back soon. She might think we’re taking advantage.’
‘But what if he turns nasty?’ Peter argued. ‘My dad does sometimes.’
His concerned expression made her feel special. The hall light shining down on his blond hair turned him into a Greek god and in that second love overwhelmed her.
‘My Dad, the boring old bank manager!’ she giggled. ‘Don’t be daft. He’ll be like a little lamb.’
‘Well pack him off to bed before your mum sees him.’
‘I love you,’ she said softly, reaching out for him one last time.
He pulled her to him fiercely. ‘How can I go away to University now?’ he said softly, burying his head in her neck, nibbling and kissing. ‘I want to get a job and stay here with you.’
‘You may be fed up with me by then,’ she said, holding his face between her two hands.
‘I’ll never get fed up with you,’ he said.
‘We’ll see,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe a year from now you’ll have forgotten my name.’
‘Not in twenty years,’ he shook his head, kissing the tip of her nose, his fingers in her hair. ‘I love you Georgia Anderson. For ever.’
She watched as he walked across the heath. Hands in pockets, shoulders hunched in the frosty darkness. Every now and then he turned and waved again, blowing one last kiss. As he blended into the darkness Georgia closed the door.
The taste of his lips still lingered, she could smell that soapy smell, hear him saying he’d love her for ever.
Georgia went up the stairs singing.
‘Never knew what I missed, until I kissed you. How did I exist until I kissed you. Oh you’ve got a way about you, now I can’t live without you.’
Her father was still dancing on his own in the playroom. He looked ridiculous, several buttons undone on his shirt, his tie hanging off and his trousers needed hitching up.
The playroom was a mess. Many of the Christmas garlands were hanging down. Full ashtrays lay everywhere, records and sleeves strewn across the floor, along with balloons and dirty plates.
Most of the food was gone, a few sandwiches remained, covered with cigarette ash, one speared with cocktail sticks.
‘That’s right, sing to me,’ he said, staggering towards her, arms outstretched.
‘Go to bed, Daddy,’ she laughed, too happy to be really cross. ‘Mum will go ape when she sees you, especially if she brings kids home with her.’
‘I don’t give a damn about your mother,’ he said, his mouth hanging open wetly.
‘You don’t mean that, and anyway I’m tired.’ She picked up the gin bottle and held it to the light. ‘Daddy! This is nearly empty!’
‘Christine had quite a lot,’ he said. ‘She’s good fun. You’re getting like your mother.’
Georgia looked back at him over her shoulder. He had a peeved, sour expression on his face, like a spoilt child.
‘Oh, Dad,’ Georgia sighed, ‘Go to bed, you’re pathetic when you’re drunk.’
‘Pathetic am I?’ Suddenly his face turned from benign and very drunk,
to angry and dangerous. ‘You, of course, are perfect? I saw you necking with that Peter. How far did you go when you went out of the room?’
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ she said quietly, bending over to pick up the plates from the floor. It was tempting to go to bed and leave everything, including her father, but if her mother did bring children home they just might have to sleep in the room.
‘Did he put his hand up your frock?’ he lunged towards her unexpectedly and his hand went under her skirt and clamped on to her bottom.
‘Stop it!’ she shrieked, wheeling round and slapping his hand away. He had never said such things before and suddenly she was frightened of him.
‘Kiss me like you kissed him,’ he said, putting both hands on her shoulders.
Alarm bells were ringing in her head. Fathers didn’t say or do such things. She must get away, lock herself in her bedroom, wait for her mother to come home.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she tried to get his arms off, but he pushed her up against the wall.
‘The last thing I am is stupid.’
This wasn’t her father but a stranger. His face was lungeing at her, bloated and flushed. His lips wet and sloppy, pinning her against the wall with all his fourteen stone. His mouth came down on hers and he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
It felt like a huge serpent, she gagged and pulled herself back from him, moving her head to one side.
‘Daddy no!’ she shouted as she struggled to get away, but he was too strong, his arms went round her, pinning hers to her side. She tried to bite his cheek but one hand came up and slapped her full across the face.
His breath came in rasps, stinking of drink as he slobbered at her neck.
‘I’m going to have you,’ he said thrusting his hand up under her skirt, pulling at her panties. ‘You little black bitch.’
‘NO, Daddy. NO!’ she fought with him, nails clawing his face, legs kicking out, pummelling at him with her fists. But the more she struggled the stronger he became.
‘Daddy it’s me. Your daughter!’ she shouted, willing her mother to walk in the door.
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