by Mark Tufo
Jeremy fetched his own coat from where he’d left it on the bench behind the table where he’d been sitting. He offered it to her, then carefully draped it over her shoulders, not wanting to make too much contact for fear of her – or anyone else, for that matter – getting the wrong impression. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she laid a hand on his and smiled the briefest of smiles.
‘Do you want a drink?’ Jeremy asked, hearing himself say things he knew he shouldn’t. ‘I could get you a tea or coffee if you’d rather? Warm you up? I’ll go to the kitchen and make it myself if no one comes to serve me in the next thirty seconds. This is a joke. It this what it’s always like here?’
He was rambling. Nervous. Excited.
She chewed her bottom lip and nodded.
‘You’re funny.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I like you.’
‘Thanks again.’
‘I’m still really cold.’
She was watching him intently now. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and when she moved he caught a glimpse of the rounded cheeks of her bare backside. He felt himself getting hard. Christ, he felt his heart burning for this kid now. He knew it was wrong on every conceivable level, but he wanted her so suddenly and so desperately... A comfort fuck with no strings – that’d do him the world of good tonight. She looked to be a similar age to Tammy, a little older, perhaps, and clinging onto that thought gave him a few brief seconds of clarity. But she smiled at him again and the burning – the wanting – returned, even stronger than before.
She moved along the bar, closing the gap he’d opened between them. Eyes locked. He focused on the sounds of her breathing. He could smell her. Almost taste her...
‘I’m staying here tonight,’ he said, screaming at himself to shut up but unable to stay silent. He felt awkward and clumsy... dirty. ‘I’ve got a room upstairs if you want to...’
She didn’t give him chance to finish. She lifted herself up on tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then again. He felt her arms wrap around him. Then once more, with even more passion this time. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, slightly rough but completely perfect. And he reciprocated, no longer able to hold back. They kissed harder now. Full-on.
Jeremy broke away and glanced around. No one here. No one watching. She took his hand and led him over to the corner of the room. He tripped over a chair, only just managing to stay upright, the sudden unexpected movement almost bringing him to his senses. Almost. He was thinking he should definitely stop this, that this was just about the worst thing he could possibly do on every conceivable level, and yet he couldn’t do anything but go with everything this girl was doing. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.
‘I don’t even know your name,’ he said between kisses, the girl still chewing his bottom lip.
‘Heather,’ she said, pushing him back onto a leather-padded bench behind a table in an alcove. The bench was too narrow and he slid off, crashing onto the floor and sending the table and another couple of chairs flying. He cracked his head back but the pain faded into insignificance compared to what this perfect girl was doing to him. He’d never done anything like this before, not ever. And Christ, it felt so good and so right... inevitable. He fumbled with his fly but she was already there and their fingers fought to be first to unzip him. He could feel her feather-light touch now, and the sensations were almost too much to stand. Lips still locked, limbs still entwined, she pulled out his dripping cock and guided it between her thighs. He grabbed at her jacket and unzipped it, revealing her completely naked body beneath it. Why isn’t she wearing anything? The question rattled around his head for the briefest of moments until he realised he didn’t care. Was this a set up? Something to do with Scott? Some unfathomably crazy local tradition? Was she going to rob him? Frame him? Kill him? No, she was just going to fuck him.
His fully erect cock slipped deep inside her and they fucked harder than he’d ever fucked anyone before.
Chapter 73
Scott was still in bed, sleeping off the combined effects of the scotch Jeremy had brought around last night and the absolute fucker of an argument which had continued long after he’d gone. Michelle had almost drunk all her wine and she felt like finishing the last dregs this morning, rather than sober up. Her head was pounding, both as a result of the booze and how hard Scott had hit her this time. He’d slapped her right across the face back-handed, hard enough to loosen a tooth. She swallowed down a bilious sob: a nauseating mix of hangover and fear. Getting back into something resembling the drunken state she’d ended up in last night seemed like a good idea, an easier option. Far easier than dealing with the inevitable aftermath this morning.
Same old routine, she told herself, checking her face in the mirror for marks. Different argument, but the same old routine.
She didn’t know how much longer she could keep repeating this cycle, but equally she didn’t know how to get off. The pressure builds, his behaviour gets worse, then he hurts me. That time he punched her in the face and knocked her out cold, that time he shut her hand in the door, that time he grabbed a handful of hair and smacked her head against the wall... she was his release valve. Hurting her made him feel better. But when he told her he was sorry and begged for forgiveness, she believed him. Every bloody single time she believed him.
She decided she’d enjoy the early morning silence for a short while longer, then go and wake him up for work. He’d be full of apologies and remorse again, no doubt, blame it on the booze or on her or on Jeremy... anyone but himself. It’ll never happen again, I swear, he’d tell her like he always did.
She knew what Scott was. She’d known it for a long time. It still made her laugh that she was the one getting help! Her counsellor had been helping her identify her own faults and start working through them so she could better deal with Scott’s. The pills, the therapy... all necessary because there was a part of her which still wanted this to work. Needed it to work. She had loved Scott to begin with – honestly, genuinely – and maybe she still did. She still believed there was a chance she could get those feelings back despite everything he’d put the family through. This move, this house, this place: all just temporary setbacks. That’s what the therapist had said when she’d told him she was moving away.
The house was in a real bloody state. An absolute bloody pigsty. It pissed her off how it was all left to her again. The division of labour in this family was so bloody unfair. She gave, they all took. No, wait... that was unfair. The girls helped when they could, regularly looking after George so she could get on with everything else. This morning, though, this kitchen seemed to perfectly sum up hers and Scott’s relationship. She worked hard to keep it clean and comfortable, he’d just come along with a sledgehammer and knocked a fucking huge hole in the wall.
Jeremy might have had his faults, but at least he’d tried. He’d been pretty good around the house, actually, and had enjoyed cooking. But even that had caused issues because when she wanted something quick and easy out of a packet to feed two hungry kids, he’d wanted to cook a wholesome three-course meal from scratch. They’d learnt to adapt to each other and everything had become a joint effort. Shame, then, that the spark had been snuffed out somewhere along the way. They’d ended up more like brother and sister than lovers. Looking at him last night, she struggled to remember what she’d ever found attractive about him.
It’s got to be me. It must be something I do. I must be the one who always messes it up. I never give them what they want. Jeremy wasn’t happy, Scott’s never happy, the kids are always complaining... it must be me.
She’d started around the house too fast and too early this morning, and Michelle had already peaked. She’d been up for less than an hour, but she was ready for bed again. I’d love to spend the whole bloody day in bed, she thought. Let them fend for themselves.
There was a pounding noise outside, and it wasn’t helping her head. It sounded like a helicopter, hovering over Thussock in the s
ame way the motorway police used to buzz around the M42 and M5 back home near Redditch. This morning it was a constant, irritating, migraine-inducing noise which bored into her brain and refused to go away. She hoped it wouldn’t wake the others. She walked around the ground floor of the house, looking out of all the windows, seeing if she could spot it.
She was staring out of the kitchen window, looking up into the blue sky overhead, when Jeremy appeared at the glass. She jumped back with surprise and cursed him as she tried to catch her breath and calm her nerves. What the hell was he thinking, creeping up on her like that? And what was he doing here anyway? Christ, Scott would go mental if he caught him. He’d arranged to see the girls today, but not until later. She marched outside to deal with him.
‘You scared the crap out of me, Jeremy. What the hell are you doing?’ He just looked at her. ‘We agreed you’d pick the girls up after school, didn’t we?’
He moved closer. Mumbled ‘sorry.’
Something wasn’t right. Michelle realised he was wearing the same clothes as last night. She remembered his cardigan, and she hated cardigans on men. Kids and old folks could just about get away with them, but middle-aged men like Jeremy definitely couldn’t. She remembered thinking he looked like he was trying too hard when she’d first seen him yesterday, but that definitely wasn’t the case today. His trousers were grubby and creased and his hair was a mess. It wasn’t like him. ‘Are you okay? Has something happened?’
‘Didn’t know where else to go,’ he said, his voice almost too low to make out. That damn helicopter was still buzzing overhead. ‘Wanted to see you.’
She looked around but couldn’t see his car. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Walked.’
Alarm bells were ringing. Was he planning something? Was he going to try and snatch the girls and take them back with him to the Midlands? But hold on... this was Jeremy, remember? Safe, sensible, reliable Jeremy. He wouldn’t do anything like that, would he? When they’d first split up, he’d immediately acknowledged the kids would be far better off with their mother and in all the years since he’d never said anything to make her think his opinion had changed. He didn’t take risks, he did things by the book. And she realised that whatever his reason for being here this morning, she was actually glad to see him.
He moved a little closer, stopping just a couple of paces away, almost close enough to touch. He just stared at her. Needed her. Wanted her.
‘Jeremy, love, what’s wrong?’
Michelle remembered everything that had happened last night and how physically inferior Jeremy had appeared next to Scott, how quickly he’d capitulated. She’d felt so sorry for him but hadn’t dared say anything. It had been like watching the nice, quiet kid at school getting the shit kicked out of him by some lump-head bully. If Jeremy was hurting or upset this morning, she didn’t want him to be. She looked deep into her ex-husband’s eyes and all she could see were the things that had first attracted her to him. She loved his face. She’d always loved his face but it was like she’d forgotten why and was only now beginning to remember. She could see it again now... the bump at the top of his nose, his light blue eyes, his neat ears. There was nothing pretty or particularly handsome about Jeremy, but this morning he just looked... right. And then she felt her legs weaken because it was as if that innocent, unspoken admission had unwittingly opened the floodgates. A torrent of long forgotten and completely unexpected emotions washed over her. Had these feelings merely been suppressed, not lost? She felt desperately sad because she’d let him go. More than that, she suddenly felt an undeniable urge to be with him stronger than anything she’d felt for him before, even during their first weeks and months together. This felt pure and basic, unstoppable and inevitable. All she wanted was to hold him close again, to feel his body against hers, inside hers...
Not a word needed to be spoken between them. It was as if a forgotten connection had been re-established between the estranged couple, transcending the need for verbal communication. There remained just inches of clear space between them.
A final moment of hesitation, one last failed sanity check, then an embrace in the middle of the yard in front of the house.
Their lips locked and hands began to move, exploring bodies which hadn’t touched one another in years, hadn’t wanted to. Jeremy gently pushed her up against the side of Scott’s Vauxhall Zafira, his tongue exploring her mouth in the same way the girl’s tongue had explored his last night, and—
—and Scott flew through the front door and pulled Jeremy away from his wife. He threw him to the ground and kicked him in the gut, hard enough to roll him over. ‘Bastard,’ he spat. Michelle grabbed at him and tried to pull him away, but he swung around and slapped her across the face, just as he had done last night. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he demanded, standing over her as she sank to her knees, sobbing. ‘Answer me! What the fuck is going on?’
Michelle looked up at her husband, then at her ex-husband behind him on all fours, struggling to get back to his feet. Her mouth opened and closed, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘I don’t...’ she said, ‘I didn’t...’ She couldn’t form full sentences, could barely even form full thoughts. Blood poured from her nose.
‘You bitch,’ Scott said. ‘How long have you and him been planning this?’
Already distracted, he was taken completely by surprise when Jeremy barged past him to get to Michelle again, his unbuckled trousers now around his ankles, his penis erect. Too stunned to react at first, as Jeremy reached for Michelle, Scott grabbed his shoulders and pulled him over backwards. He kicked him again, focusing his full fury on the man on the ground. Michelle staggered away, heading for the relative safety of the house.
Jeremy was still trying to get back up. Scott ran at him and punched him so hard he thought he’d broken his hand, catching him full on the side of his jaw and knocking him out cold. He stood over the unconscious, half-dressed man and shook his stinging hand. There was a noise behind him. He spun around quickly, expecting to have been locked out of the house, but the noise had come from upstairs. Phoebe was hanging out of her bedroom window, and she started screaming when she saw her dad. Seconds later, Tammy came flying out of the front door. Scott caught her and carried her back inside, throwing her down the hallway before slamming the door shut then locking and bolting it behind him and pocketing the key. She scrambled back to her feet and threw herself at him, pounding him with her fists. He tried to catch her vicious, flailing arms but couldn’t. He refused to hit back and instead just soaked up punch after punch until she was too tired to keep fighting.
The house was full of noise now: Michelle sobbing at the bottom of the stairs, Phoebe a few steps above her, howling too, and elsewhere George, forgotten, was screaming for attention. Tammy saw that Scott was distracted and shoved him away before bolting, looking for another way out of the house. He blocked her at every turn. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he tried to say, cornering her in the kitchen. ‘He attacked your mum... tried to force himself on her.’
‘He wouldn’t do that. You’re lying again... he wouldn’t.’
‘It’s true,’ Michelle said, wiping her bloody nose, desperately trying to cling onto Scott’s half-truth and avoid making any admissions of her own. She’d been as much to blame. She’d wanted Jeremy as much as he had wanted her, though now she couldn’t understand what had possessed her. She felt as if she’d been violated though they’d barely touched. Conscious they were staring at her, she wrapped her dressing-gown around her half-naked body. Her voice was hoarse with crying and tears flooded down her cheeks, mixing with the blood. ‘He was outside and I went to ask him what was wrong. He looked scared. I went to talk to him and he... I don’t know if he’d been drinking or what... he was wearing the same clothes as last night and—’
‘And you weren’t putting up much of a fight,’ Scott sneered.
‘You’re both lying,’ Phoebe said from the corner of the kitchen, away from the rest of them.
‘Di
d you not see him from up there?’ Scott said, no consideration for her feelings. ‘Trousers round his ankles, everything hanging out... dirty fucker.’
‘Scott!’ Michelle said.
‘What? Don’t you dare criticise me, you bitch.’
‘Don’t talk to Mum like that,’ Tammy screamed at him.
‘And don’t any of you talk to me at all.’
Michelle looked at him and he held her gaze for several seconds. But there was no concern in his eyes anymore, no love, just hurt and hate. She moved towards him, he backed away. ‘You have to believe me, Scott... I know how it looked but it wasn’t like that. I really thought there was something wrong. I went out to check on him and he... I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Well your ex-husband very nearly did,’ he said, emotionless.
‘We need to talk about this. For the sake of the girls and George, we need to talk...’
‘What’s there to talk about? I caught you in the front yard, about to fuck your ex-husband. That’s pretty much it from where I’m standing.’
‘I know, and I can’t explain it... it’s just...’
‘Just what? Come on, I want to hear this. Are you going to explain to me how it’s okay that you nearly fucked Jeremy just now?’
‘I swear, I didn’t plan anything... But there was just something about the way he was, the way he looked at me...’
‘Oh, fuck, was it love at first sight all over again?’
‘Don’t take the piss out of me, Scott.’
‘Then don’t treat me like a fucking idiot. You’re telling me you just felt like having sex out in the open with your ex because of the way he looked at you? So you’ve not had any feelings for him for years, you just changed your mind this morning? Or was it last night? Did something happen before I came back in and caught him slagging me off? Was he touching you up while I was out of the room?’