Love Byte

by David Atkinson

  When she kissed me I stopped comparing notes with Molly and just enjoyed the moment. I slipped my fingers around to the back of her head and ran them delicately along her neck. She shivered and pushed her body against me and we lay down on the couch, her on top. She slipped out of her top and skilfully removed my shirt, and ran her tongue across my nipples.

  ‘I didn’t expect a good Catholic girl to be so forward.’

  Amanda kissed me and said mischievously, ‘I’m not a good Catholic girl, I’m a very bad Catholic girl.’ She giggled and added, ‘Thinking about it, I’m actually a very bad Catholic.’

  She took my lip between her teeth and nibbled on it gently. ‘Do you want to talk about religion, Andy, or do you want to take me to your bed and fuck me?’

  Another question I didn’t need to answer and soon we were nakedly entwined between my bed sheets. This time I had put condoms on my shopping list and didn’t have that anxiety to add to my growing pile. During the night the rain hammered so hard on the windows it woke both of us up, which was a good excuse to make love again.

  Later I lay and listened to Amanda breathing and the rain tapping on the windows, and took stock of things. I needed some time and space over the next day or two to think things over. I had gone from being the worst date in the world to having two lovely women on the go. It was a situation I’d never experienced and it felt strange, alien even.

  If I was ever going to move on from Lindsay, I would have been lucky to have either of these pretty girls to help me, to have both of them was beyond belief. It did occur to me of course, that maybe neither of them would work out long term, but I knew I would need to give it a go with one of them. Lindsay had manipulated things to try and make it Molly, and that put me off a little. I think one of the issues was that my male ego said that I had found Amanda by myself.

  Also Molly was part of my past. Did I want a part of my past to be a part of my future? Maybe a clean break and a new start would be much healthier. Molly also bore a strong resemblance to my wife and I wasn’t sure that was healthy either. Eventually it dawned on me that the ‘clean break’ thing wasn’t right anyway as Lindsay had set up my profile on Love Bitz, so she was indirectly responsible for Amanda being in my bed as well. I knew I should follow my heart which whispered Molly’s name into my brain. Unfortunately my heart was not the part of my anatomy in charge at that point in time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  In the morning the rain clouds had cleared and sunlight slanted into the room between a small gap in the curtains. I awoke and nuzzled into the back of Amanda’s neck. She moaned softly and pushed her buttocks against my growing erection. I ran my fingers gently down her back. Her skin was soft, silky and the colour of delicate porcelain. We made love again, slowly this time compared with the previous evening’s exertions and then we both dozed for a while. Little did I know it but that was to be my last lazy morning for a while.

  We eventually got up and showered before meeting in the kitchen for breakfast. I leaned over the table and gave Amanda a lingering kiss on the lips. She stood up and pulled me towards her, thrust her tongue in my mouth and giggled. She then sat back down, finished her croissant and orange juice and said ‘I need to go soon, Andy, I’ve got stuff to do today. I’ve hardly been home and have a suitcase full of dirty clothes to wash, and as I said I’ve got my dad turning up this week and the flat is a pigsty.’

  I wondered what Pauline would think if she knew about Amanda. Would she think I was some kind of serial shagger? I didn’t think I was – I wasn’t even sure how many people you need to be sleeping with at the same time to qualify for such a title. I remembered asking Google once how many people you needed to kill in order to qualify as a serial killer. I wasn’t planning on becoming one or anything – though it would have been useful knowledge for a would-be slayer. It came about because I was watching a programme on Harold Shipman, the murderous GP (who looked a bit like Santa but didn’t have any nice surprises inside his sack) and wanted to know.

  I wondered what we used to do about life’s imponderables before the Internet. Now we just ask Google and get an answer to everything. It might not be the right answer but it’s an answer all the same.

  In the case of serial killers, it seemed to be generally accepted amongst the Internet community that you needed to have murdered at least three people at different times to be considered a serial killer. There was huge debate about the space required between the killings – killing three people at once (the members of your family for example) made you a mass murderer but not a serial killer. I did wonder about the mental stability of the large numbers of discussion groups on a variety of forums who had opinions on such stuff. (I’m sure a few of my previous dates would now be paid up members – either of their own volition or after meeting me.)

  I then considered that, as I had been online reading it too, I maybe shouldn’t take that line of thought any further. In any event I reckoned that I needed to be sleeping with three people at the same time to qualify. I was one short, but given the complexity of my life with two on the go I was in no hurry to fulfil the criteria.

  I became aware that Amanda was staring at me curiously. ‘Penny for them?’ she asked, smiling.

  I shook my head. No way would a penny be enough to betray that particular thought process. Before I was forced to concoct some kind of answer to satisfy her question, there was a loud knock on the front door. I assumed that it would be Pauline bringing Amy back early. She was apt to forget her door key but knew the entry number for the keypad downstairs. I can’t say I was happy about her showing up early, as now the serial shagger test might need to be applied.

  I wondered if there was some way of maybe gently persuading Amanda to hide in the large hall cupboard, or maybe amongst the junk piled up in the spare bedroom. The problem was finding a good reason or explanation for her to comply with such a request.

  Simply asking, ‘Amanda, can you go hide in the cupboard, please, as my mother-in-law is at the door, and the last time she was here I was with another woman and I don’t want her to think badly of me?’ probably wouldn’t cut it. Neither would, ‘Amanda, I think this is a good time to show you how much junk can be piled into a spare bedroom’ or ‘Amanda can I show you the inside of the hall cupboard? It has some very interesting old porn & Star Trek Next Generation DVDs that you might like.’ Truth be told, I was more worried about what she might think of me hoarding Star Trek DVDs than the porn collection – a sign of the times.

  As I was standing frozen to the spot thinking through the above useless options, there was another even louder rap on the door.

  From the corner of my eye I noticed Amanda looking curiously at me. ‘Aren’t you going to answer the door?’ she asked, quite reasonably.

  ‘I think so,’ I answered. Unsure of what else I could do, I sighed and walked over to the front door and opened the lock to admit Pauline and my hyper daughter. I was shocked then to find Molly and Jamie on the other side. Both of them pushed me aside and marched into the penthouse.

  My thought process took some time to catch up with events. I had been expecting my daughter and her grandmother, not my worst nightmare. I even peered out into the hallway to see if Pauline was there.

  When I came back into the apartment my first thought, probably inappropriate, was that Molly was dressed to kill in a low-cut top, tight jeans and black high-heeled boots. She spotted Amanda who jumped up from her chair in surprise and knocked over the jug of orange juice. I watched as it flowed across the table and dripped slowly onto the floor.

  Angrily, Molly shouted, ‘So this is Amanda the bimbo.’ Turning to me she asked, ‘What is she doing in your flat? In fact don’t answer that, I can see for myself.’

  Amanda’s eyes flared. ‘Who are you calling a bimbo, dressed like some cheap hooker!’

  There was me thinking she looked classy as well. Amanda glared at me accusingly. ‘Did y
ou tell her I was a bimbo?’

  I hadn’t mentioned Amanda to Molly, or Molly to Amanda. Why would I? How could I?

  If I had, then neither of them would have slept with me again, or probably even have spoken to me again. I then realized the reality of the situation, that both of these scenarios had now come to pass. I was spared answering by Jamie who admitted, ‘Actually, it might have been me.’ He smiled sheepishly and appeared to be enjoying himself. I think he was the only one. At that point I was still confused as to why they were there and what his involvement was.

  I was obviously not cut out to be a serial shagger. Completely ill-equipped to deal with the situation, I got angry and turned on Jamie, probably the only one in the room I could have at least some kind of moral anger with, given the things he’d told me over the years that I had never passed on to Molly. ‘How do you know if she’s a bimbo or not, I never said that to you. I hardly said anything about her.’

  Amanda shouted at both of us, ‘Stop calling me a bimbo.’

  ‘Fucking tart then,’ Molly hissed.

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ Amanda hissed back.

  Molly then turned on Jamie, ‘You’ve known he was seeing this tart for ages and yet only decided to tell me this morning?’

  Jamie held up his hands in defence. ‘Whoa there. I only told you about the tart because you decided to confess to me about your affair with him. Fair’s fair. You were cheating on me with him, I was just getting even. Besides he told me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t. Anyway I’ve hardly seen you recently to tell you anything, Molls.’

  ‘That’s because we’ve split up, Jamie, that’s what you wanted, remember?’ Molly shouted.

  ‘No, Molly, that’s what you wanted because I didn’t want to have kids with you yet.’

  ‘You walked out, and started seeing other girls.’

  ‘I would never cheat on you, Molly.’

  I couldn’t stand it and joined in the shouting. ‘Molly, Jamie cheated on with you the Polish tart, remember?’ I lowered my voice. ‘He’s probably been cheating on you from the day you met, I can’t keep track of the number of women he’s had during the time you’ve been together. Dozens probably.’

  Jamie’s face turned red. I’m not sure if it was with anger or shame. ‘The Polish girl wasn’t a tart, and I haven’t been with a dozen women, Molly, that’s not true. Anyway that was all in the past, you’re the only one I want now.’

  Molly’s face was a similar hue and Amanda and I briefly became spectators. ‘You only want me now, Jamie, because someone else wants me. If I was sitting at home oblivious in front of the telly you wouldn’t be interested. I’m just someone you like having around because you’re scared of being alone. I’m just a trophy to you now and you’re angry because someone else actually respects me and treats me well.’

  Jamie angrily waved his hand around the apartment and fixed his gaze on Amanda. He laughed and spat out his words. ‘Respect! You call two-timing you with this bimbo respect? Is this treating you well, fucking her while you think he’s at home with his daughter playing happy families?’

  ‘At least he knows how to play happy families, Jamie. You don’t ever want to grow up or take responsibility for yourself.’

  Jamie shook his head. ‘I can’t believe you’re defending him. He’s standing here with the bimbo, and you’re defending him.’

  ‘Stop calling me a fucking bimbo,’ Amanda shouted. Her soft Irish accent sounded strange when she shouted and not at all threatening. Molly and Jamie ignored her but she continued anyway. ‘I’ve got a degree in applied physics from Dublin University.’

  I glanced over at her. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  Amanda shook her head at me. ‘Well, if we’d talked more and shagged less I’m sure you would’ve found out.’

  She was probably right, but I also wondered how you end up being an events coordinator with a physics degree. Maybe it had something to do with her dyslexia, though now probably wasn’t the best time to ask about that.

  On the other side of the room a realization dawned on Jamie. He turned away from me and asked Molly, ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’

  She sighed but didn’t deny it.

  I couldn’t believe she was in love with me. How could she be after today? Jamie obviously thought the same thing and stated the obvious.

  ‘How can you be in love with him? He’s shagging someone else, right in your face, you silly cow. And, anyway, he only likes you because you look like his dead wife. He’s playing out some kind of sick version of Stepford Wives. Besides, look at him. Compare him to me! He’s not as handsome, not as fit and nowhere near as dynamic. Andy’s a plodder, Molly. Why would you want to be with a plodder?’

  I had suddenly discovered what my friend really thought of me and it wasn’t a pleasant way or time to find out. It occurred to me that I might be a plodder, but one who earned twice what he did. (Or had until recently anyway.) Again, I decided this was probably not the time to bring that up. I gazed at Molly and wondered what she was thinking. She returned my stare and shook her head sadly.

  ‘You know the main thing I liked about you, Andy, was that you were nothing like him. Well at least I thought you weren’t. But maybe over the years you’ve learned a thing or two. If so, he’s taught you well. You’re certainly following his example. “Aw poor Molly, she’s a soft touch. She’s a doll you can twist and bend and make into any shape you want. She’ll fit right into your life, you can screw her, dump her, treat her like shit and she’ll still be there waiting for you when you come home.” Except I won’t – at least, not any more I won’t.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Her words had cut through me. Molly deserved to be treated so much better than this. I felt ashamed. I’d let Molly down. I’d let myself down and I’d let Lindsay down, I think . . . though I was confused about the last part.

  If my dead wife was looking down on this scene she’d be enjoying herself immensely. I had just got carried away. I’d never had two women who wanted to be with me at the same time and it had been intoxicating and exciting. Deep down I probably knew it would turn out badly, but hadn’t thought it through. I was now getting my just deserts.

  As Molly’s exercise in self-analysis came to an end, the apartment was silent for a moment.

  Predictably Jamie was first to break it and asked, ‘So Amanda, besides spoiling your breakfast, this must be an enlightening morning for you? You’re having a nice morning with your boyfriend, a leisurely breakfast following some slow comfortable sleepy sex, then, whilst you are lying in the glow of your passion, Andy here is figuring how to get you out of his bed before Molly comes around later. I bet he doesn’t even bother to change the sheets, enjoying the thought of all his women’s juices and perfume mingling together.’

  Amanda smiled calmly at Jamie and her Irish accent filled the air. ‘Sounds like your fantasy, Jamie, as you are the one getting off on all this. You’re the only one enjoying it. You were supposed to be his friend, and yet you have brought this all out in the open. Not that I’m sorry, you understand. I would rather Andy had done it himself but we are where we are. The one thing I don’t get, why the betrayal?’

  Indignation filled Jamie’s voice as he whined, ‘Betrayal? I’m the one who’s been betrayed.’

  ‘How’s that work?’

  ‘He was sleeping with my girlfriend, that’s how that works.’

  Molly shouted at Jamie, ‘We’d split up! You wanted out.’

  Jamie turned to her but lowered his head. He had tears in his eyes. I was unsure whether he was capable of faking it but I wouldn’t have put it past him – I wouldn’t have put anything past him at this stage. His voice was soft and low.

  ‘I didn’t want out, I wanted to stay with you but you wanted kids, I didn’t. Not yet anyway.’

  ‘Why, Jamie? Tell me why.’ Now Molly was crying. I noticed
tears in Amanda’s eyes too. It seemed that only I had not succumbed. It occurred to me that maybe I had no tears left. Perhaps I’d used them all up when Lindsay died.

  Jamie whined again. ‘Oh, Molly, I don’t want what we had to be over. If we had kids where would that leave us? We would have no time for each other, or rather you would have no time for me, I’d always take second place to any baby, I just couldn’t stand that.’

  ‘Jamie, that’s crazy, of course a baby would come first, but if you truly loved me and wanted me to be happy then you would accept that, and any baby would be our baby and should be just as important to you. That’s your problem, you can’t imagine anything being more important than you, you can’t take second place to anything. You are so incredibly selfish, you don’t even realize it.’

  The room grew quiet again as the three of them gradually realized that they were still in my apartment, and that I was responsible for all their current angst. They all turned their gaze toward me just as my iPhone started to blast out ‘Firework’ (saved by the Perry.) The tune seemed very appropriate given the current explosive atmosphere inside the room. It was Pauline and I answered it nervously in case she was downstairs. If she had been, I think I would have locked myself in the spare room with all the junk until everybody left. In any event, that option was starting to look more and more attractive. In reality I expected that she was phoning to arrange to drop off Amy, but her voice was urgent and breathless.

  ‘Amy is sick, Andy.’

  I experienced a sinking feeling in my stomach. ‘What’s wrong, what’s happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, she woke up late up this morning and was very drowsy. At first I thought she was just coming down with a cold or something, but since then she’s got steadily worse. She’s burning up now. I think we should call the doctor.’

  Pauline had been an advocate of not even giving Amy Calpol unless she felt it was absolutely necessary, and even endured a few nights of Amy’s restless moaning when she was teething. So, if Pauline thought we needed a doctor, I wasn’t going to argue.