by Iain North
Jim crawled into bed just after 2am. Drunk. Jenny was awake. She was restless. She said it was the heat. He cuddled up behind her, put an arm over her and massaged her breasts.
‘Not now,’ she groaned. ‘I’m trying to sleep.’
‘Aw, come on,’ Jim whispered. He felt his erection grow. It was pushing against her bottom. ‘I need you.’
She pushed his hand away, but he persevered. ‘Babe, it’s been so long.’ He slid his hand down over her smooth flesh, stroking her thigh and then her bum.
Kissing her ear. Round his hand went, on to her flat stomach, and down to the patch of fuzzy hair below. But she pulled away before he could go any further.
Jim rolled on to his back and closed his eyes.
*****
A hooded figure leaned against the trees. It was July, the height of summer and warm. But he kept his Parka on. His hands were in his pocket. He fumbled nervously with a paper bag in one of the pockets. There were voices in the distance. Children shouting. They were playing and laughing, as children so often do.
He checked his watch. It was 7pm. He knew they would have had their tea by now. Right on time. They were there, the ones he wanted.
He moved away from the tree, spotted an old woman in the distance, walking her dog, heading this way. He muttered a curse and slunk back into the undergrowth, hiding behind a tall oak. He crouched down and held his breath.
The woman and her dog passed. The animal approached, sniffed around the base of the tree, but it bounded away in a second. It didn’t bark. He opened his lungs again, crept back up on to the old railway line and quickly scanned the path in both directions. It was clear. The woman and her dog were gone. He turned, walked swiftly, hands dug deep into pockets, head dipped forward. He was nearly there. There was no time to lose.
Two bicycles lay across the path, apparently abandoned by their riders. The laughter was close by now. He wandered cautiously over, curious, pulling his hood down, unzipping the front of his coat. They were girls’ bikes, pink with plump white saddles, colourful stickers plastered over the small metal frames. He looked at them for a moment. Bright cards from cereal packets were wedged between the skinny wire spokes.
The laughter was coming from the foot of the embankment. Splashing. Good. That was what he wanted to hear. There was a stream, a rope swing thrown over one of the thicker bows of an overhanging tree. He had watched the children playing there before, many times; swimming and paddling, swinging on the rope. He breathed in, heart pounding, sweat pouring from his brow. The moment was here. He’d waited long enough. Planned long enough. Watched long enough. He needed to touch, to feel, to savour.
He stood at the top of the embankment, looking down upon them. There were two girls, one in a bright red swimming costume, the other wearing figure-hugging shorts and a cotton top. Her tummy was bare. They were paddling in the stream, building a stone causeway across the shallow water. They were having fun. He wanted to have fun too.
He coughed.
One of the girls looked up at him. She frowning at first, then she smiled.
‘Hi, Mr Bennet. ‘
‘Katrina. You look like you’re having fun.’
She giggled. ‘We are.’
He stared, eyeing her innocent young face – blue eyes, deep curving lines separating captivating smile from puffed red cheeks. Her shoulder-length blond hair was damp and tousled around the ends.
‘Are you having a walk?’ she asked, her eyes squinting in the sunlight streaming over his shoulder.
He nodded, ‘It’s such a nice evening.’
His eyes were fixed on her belly button, a deep indent in her smooth, flat stomach. Her light blue top finished just above it. There was a little floral motif in the middle below the neckline. It sat perfectly between her budding young breasts, shadowy stretch lines in the cotton where it tightened over the little mounds of her chest. Thin shoulder straps disappeared under her hair, reappearing down her back. All around them bare flesh, the girl’s skinny arms red from the sun.
‘Can I join you?’ he asked.
‘If you want.’
He scuffled down the embankment, took off his coat and draped it over a bush.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘We’re building a dam.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Okay.
He shuffled behind her, stumbled in the water, his pelvis brushing briefly against her bottom. It protruded a little, gently rounded, hips curving out from her narrow waist.
His groin pushed against her soft skin. That felt good. He put his hands on her shoulders, held them for a moment so he could feel the warmth.
She wriggled a bit. ‘Your hands are cold.’ He let go.
‘Who’s your friend?’
‘This is Amanda.’
The other girl was squatting down, lifting a stone into place. She looked up and smiled at him.
‘Hi, Amanda. That looks heavy. Can I help?’
‘It’s okay. I can manage.’
‘I saw something back there that you both might be interested in,’ he said.
The two girls looked up at him, childish curiosity in their gleaming eyes.
‘What was it?’ Katrina asked.
‘A red squirrel. Have you ever seen one before?’
‘Yes. In the park,’ Amanda replied, unimpressed.
‘Would you like to see this one?’
Katrina nodded enthusiastically.
‘One at a time, then,’ he said, ‘We don’t want to scare it off.’
Katrina beamed up at him. ‘Okay.’
‘Do you want to come first?’
‘Yes please, Mister Bennet.’
‘Come on then.’
He held out his open hand. Katrina took it and he led her back up to the railway track.
They walked a few yards along the path.
‘In there,’ he said, pointing down the other side of the embankment.
He led the way through some bushes to a clearing beneath a beech tree. It was grassy with a scattering of bluebells and yellow primroses.
‘Stay nice and quiet,’ Bennet warned. ‘Or you won’t see the squirrel.’
He looked down at the young face. Amber smiled back up at him.
Jim sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat was pouring from his brow, salty beads stinging his eyes. He was panting hard. He looked around, breathed a deep sigh of relief and slumped back down on to the damp mattress.
*****
Chapter 10
‘She’s got cold feet.’ Jenny was standing over Jim, shaking the sheets loose below his stubbly chin.
‘What?’ he mumbled. His head was beating out the drum section of a heavy metal track.
‘You look awful,’ she said, finally tugging the bedspread free.
‘I didn’t sleep very well.’
‘Debbie. She’s not going through with the wedding.’
‘What?’ Jim eased his eyes open. ‘What do you mean she’s not going through with the wedding?’
‘She’s not marrying Ron.’
Jim sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes, licking a dry tongue over his sun cracked lips.
‘Where is Ron?’
‘He’s out. Picking up the cake.’
‘He doesn’t know?’
‘Of course he doesn’t know. Do you think he’d be picking up a wedding cake if he did?’
Good point.
‘Will you have a word with her?’ Jenny threw a pair of trousers and a T-shirt down on the bed. ‘It might just be last minute nerves.’
‘What do I say?’ Jim asked.
‘She’s your friend. Think of something, before Ron gets back.’
Jim coughed and reluctantly pulled on his shirt. He tugged on his trousers and wandered through to the ensuite bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He tried to avoid catching his reflection in the mirror. He knew it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. And he was right.
‘Brush your teeth,’ Jenny shouted. ‘I don’t want you breathi
ng alcohol fumes over her. That could put her off men for good.’
Jim opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out. It was white and fluffy. ‘Yuck!’ he spluttered.
‘See what I mean.’ Jenny was standing at the bathroom door. She chucked him a towel and he dried his face. ‘Hurry up. I’ll make you some breakfast while you talk to Debbie.’
That was incentive enough. He slapped some Colgate over his stained teeth and flicked a comb through his hair.
Jim chapped Debbie’s bedroom door and let himself in before she had a chance to answer. The blinds were down and the room was dark.
‘Debbie,’ he whispered. ‘It’s Jim.’ The mounded duvet mumbled: ‘Go away.’
‘Jenny tells me you’re suffering from last minute nerves.’
‘Leave me alone.’
He tried to reassure her. ‘It’s perfectly natural.’
Jim stepped up to the side of the bed. ‘Can we talk?’
Reluctantly Debbie poked her head out from beneath the sheets. ‘What is it?’
There were heavy grey bags beneath her red eyes. He sat down on the edge of the mattress.
‘Jenny’s making breakfast.’
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘It might make you feel better.’
‘I just want to be left alone.’
‘What about the wedding?’
She shook her head. ‘There isn’t going to be a wedding.’
‘But what about Ron?’
Her face slumped down into the mangled pillow.
‘Talk to him,’ Jim urged.
She turned away and pulled up the sheets.
‘You need to talk to him.’
‘Not now. ‘
Jim sat for a moment. What was he going to tell Jenny? For that matter, what was he going to tell Ron?
‘I’ll bring you up a cup of tea.’ Jim tiptoed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.
Downstairs in the kitchen Jenny was squeezing fresh orange juice.
‘Well?’
Jim sat down with Kirsty and David and took a slice of toast from the rack in the centre of the table. The kids were still in their pyjamas.
‘Are Auntie Debbie and Uncle Ron getting married or not?’ David asked.
Jim spooned some marmalade on to the edge of the plate. ‘I don’t know.’
Jenny plonked a jug down onto the table and sat opposite Jim.
‘How do we tell Ron?’
‘Hopefully he can talk her round.’
Jenny checked her watch. ‘He’s not got long.’
It was 10 am and the wedding was in two hours.
‘People will be arriving soon. What do we tell them?’
‘Nothing. Just leave it to Ron.’
Jenny poured them all some juice. ‘I had a feeling something like this would happen.’
‘Auntie Debbie’s been in bed ever since we arrived. That was a pretty good clue,’ Kirsty pointed out.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Jim muttered. ‘She’s always been a bit highly strung but if she didn’t want to marry him you would have thought she would have told him before now. Before the big day.’
He bit on his toast. ‘Did you see Ron before he went out?’
Jenny nodded. ‘He didn’t look happy.’
‘Do you think they had a row?’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘I better go and find him.’ Jim grabbed the keys to Debbie’ s car from the dresser by the front door and stepped out into the morning sun.
Jenny gave him a light peck on the cheek. ‘Don’t be too long.’
Debbie’s Honda Civic was in the garage. Jim started it up and drove down to the marina where Ron’s boat was moored. Sure enough the Ford Galaxy was parked on the quayside. The boot was open. There were a couple of suitcases pushed up against the backseat.
Ron was approaching, a bag slung over his arm. ‘I had to get a couple of things from the boat.’
He brushed by Jim and slung it into the car, swishing the tailgate down.
‘What’s happening, Ron?’ Jim asked, jogging round behind him to the driver’s door.
‘I’m going home.’
‘What?’
‘I’m going back to Scotland.’
‘What about the wedding?’
‘There isn’t going to be a fucking wedding.’ Ron climbed into his seat. Jim jumped
back to avoid being caught by the door as he slammed it shut.
‘Hang on a minute, mate.’
Ron started the engine and revved it hard. Jim ran round the bonnet before he had a chance to let the handbrake off and whipped open the passenger door.
‘Are you not going to tell me what’s happening?’
‘The wedding’s off and I’m going home. Is that not clear enough for you?’ Ron shoved the gear lever forward and started to let the clutch up.
Jim leapt up into the passenger seat as the wheels ground up the gravel beneath him.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he spat.
‘I’m going to the airport.’
‘What about Debbie?’
‘What about Debbie?’ Ron roared as the car skidded out on to the main road.
Jim noticed tears welling in the corner of his eyes. He sat silently for a moment, watching whitewashed houses and shops whiz by on either side. Then he spoke again. ‘I thought things were all right.’
‘So did I,’ Ron grunted.
‘So what happened?’
Ron accelerated hard. The car left the town behind and coursed out into open country, crossing a landscape of arid fields dotted with old olive trees.
‘She made a fucking fool of me, that’s what,’ he cursed.
‘How?’
Ron didn’t answer immediately. Then he spoke slowly, on the verge of tears. ‘She’s been having an affair. Again. I should have fucking learned my lesson last time.’
‘But you can’t just up and leave. Have you talked to her?’ Ron pulled out a hanky and wiped his face. ‘It’s hot,’ he muttered.
But it wasn’t just sweat he was removing.
‘The bitch fucking admitted it. Just like that. Can you believe the front of that woman?’
‘Is it anyone you know?’
‘He’s another fucking ex-pat. He’s got a boat on the marina. I’ve talked to him a couple of times. Rich bastard. I guess that’s what attracted her.’
Jim lowered his window. It was awfully hot in the car.
‘Don’t do that,’ Ron shouted. ‘It fucks the air conditioning up.’
Jim wound the window up.
‘And you’re just going to get on a plane and run away?’
Ron nodded. ‘Pretty much.’
‘But what about everything you’ve got here.’
‘The villa? It’s fucking rented. The bitch is welcome to it.’
‘And your boat.’
‘It can fucking sink for all I care.’
The airport was mobbed when they arrived. It always was, day or night, holidaymakers flying in and flying out. Ron screeched to a standstill in one of the rental car parking bays, leapt out and tugging his suitcases free of the boot.
He turned to Jim and shook his hand. ‘This is where I get off. Sorry for all the hassle, mate. But that’s life, eh?’
He humped his bag over his shoulder and clutched a case in each hand. Then he marched off towards the departure lounge.
Jim jogged after him. ‘You’re not going to get a flight just like that.’
‘Watch me.’
And he did. Ron bought an empty seat on one of the charter planes with his credit card and shoved his bags through on the conveyor belt.
‘Are you coming with me?’ he asked.
‘We have another seat available, sir,’ the check-in girl chirped, English with a Spanish twang.
‘What about Jenny and the kids?’ Jim asked.
‘Phone them.’