by Limey Lady
‘It's me again,’ Pat said into the phone. ‘I think that was your insensitive brother's way of saying he's going to be out of it for the next few days.’
Pat listened for a moment before going on. ‘No, he's no more alcoholic than ever. He just has these benders for a few days then he goes back to being normal. Well, his version of normal, anyway. Look, if he won't have you and you don't fancy a strange hotel, why don't you stop at my place?’
DeeDee said something that Sean couldn't hear but made Pat chuckle. And was that the faintest of blushes?
‘I know it's sudden,’ Pat said, adopting a suitably sheepish expression. ‘But seriously, Dee, the offer's there if you want. It's an apartment on one floor, nothing grand like Sean's mansion. But you've a choice of two spare bedrooms. And there's no question of you not liking the company I keep, because there isn't any.’
Another silence while Pat listened. Sean poured another whisky, splashed in some water, then eyed the Mini Cheddars before muttering, ‘Fuck it,’ and grabbing more scratchings.
‘Great,’ Pat said. ‘I'll give you my number instead of Sean's. Ring me when you know what time your train's due in. Then ring again, when you're nearly here. I'll meet you at the station. Okay? Yes, me too. See you tomorrow. Bye.’
Sean regarded his friend levelly: ‘I hope you're not thinking about fucking my sister.’
‘I've been thinking about it for years.’ Pat laughed. ‘That's as far as I ever got, you being the jealous brother and that.’
‘Insensitive and jealous, am I?’
‘Yeah, and lots more. You just get it out of your system. I'll take care of everything DeeDee needs while she's here.’
‘Including the fucking?’
‘I was thinking more on the lines of companionship, actually; and maybe helping out with arranging the funeral.’
‘Were you, actually?’ Sean could see the compassion draining out of Pat. Although he still looked upset, his best mate was scowling now. Disapproval was surfacing, and disappointment. Pat was the only person on earth who could hurt him by being disappointed, and didn’t the twat know it!
Good one, he thought, something else to feel guilty about.
The sod’s got me even if he is laying it on six feet thick.
He forced himself to grovel. ‘Sorry Pat, I'm having a selfish day. I wasn't really thinking about you or DeeDee. You're both going to do all the work while I toss it off. Who am I to complain if you want to get your end away while you're at it?’
‘Did you just say “sorry”?’
‘Yes I did, in a roundabout sort of a way.’
Pat grunted. ‘Seeing as that's as close to an apology as I’m ever going to get, I'll accept. But believe me; I'm not after shagging with Dee. If she wants company or help, she'll get it. If she wants me to keep out of her way, I will.’
What if she wants to sit on your face? Sean wondered, somehow managing to keep the idea to himself.
‘In that case I promise to keep my jealous nose out,’ he said out loud. ‘It'll be difficult, remembering how you kept me away from your own sisters, but I'm man enough to do it.’
‘My sisters were much too young for you,’ Pat said, loosening up a bit. ‘You'd have done time for underage if I hadn't kept you off them.’
‘Age always was against me,’ Sean objected automatically. ‘I was never allowed anything. DeeDee always got exactly what she wanted.’ He laughed again and began to feel okay for the first time that day. Well, almost okay.
‘Enough of the sibling rivalry,’ Pat picked up his empty glass and headed for the door. ‘I’ve heard it too often before. Want a pint?’
‘No thanks. I’ll stick with Johnnie Red.’
As Pat left Moggs stuck his multi-scarred head round the door. ‘Sean,’ he said, ‘we’re all sorry to hear about your mum; that’s me, Angel and Tinner. We're all out here, waiting to help if we can. Angel says he wants to kill someone.’
‘Keep him away from Kyle, then,’ said Sean.
‘He said he could sort you a punishment if you want.’
Sean's heart thumped at that but he fought off the temptation. ‘Don't fancy it,’ he lied. ‘Tell you what though, why don't we have a swimming party at my place? That's you three, Pat, Andy and me. I'll get a dozen girls in and make sure they stay for a through. We can warm up on the booze here this afternoon, then kick off with the fanny about half eight. How's that sound? Think I'll have any takers?’
*****
‘Believe me,’ said Vic after more synchronized giggles, ‘you’ll have Krista begging for mercy. She thinks a night in bed involves sleeping.’
‘So did Graham,’ said Heather, grinning yet again. ‘But I’ve got him trained. Nowadays he can make love like a woman. After first making love like a man, of course. There are no inconvenient pit stops with him. You won’t be in the least disappointed. He’s perfect for you. I’ve even proved it mathematically.’
‘Hang on a mo. I am the mathematician around here, not you.’
‘Okay . . . I’ve proved it scientifically. Want to hear the details?’
Vic laughed abruptly. ‘Do I have any choice?’
‘No.’
Pause for a particularly dramatic sigh.
‘All right; go on then.’
Heather glanced at the closed office door, pleased her own manoeuvring had worked. ‘Did I ever tell you that Graham has the most gorgeous willy I’ve ever seen,’ she began. ‘It’s not particularly enormous, but it looks wonderful.’
‘I’m regretting this already,’ said Vic.
‘I’d class it as medium to large,’ Heather went on, sailing over the feigned indifference. ‘I’ll leave you to guess about its overall appearance, because I want you to have a nice surprise. But scientifically, I am obliged to tell you it’s got a real curve on it. I’ve done some pretty close research . . . all in your interests, naturally . . . and I’d say it bends back towards his belly by as much as fifteen degrees. That gives it some amazing advantages when having sex with a woman.’
‘I don’t believe I’m listening to this.’
‘Most women have similar construction,’ Heather continued. ‘The so-called Grafenberg Spot is usually on the anterior wall of the vagina. A typically straight willy stimulates this with a brushing sort of motion. It doesn’t do that too efficiently in most cases, because Graffy prefers more direct contact. My studies have confirmed a fifteen degree bend guarantees optimum contact for fifty per cent of the duration. But that is brilliant compared to hardly any direct contact with straight willies. For womankind in general, it’s almost impossible not to cum when Graham sticks his magic wand in you.’
‘Heather . . .’
‘Now for your side of the deal: scientific research aside, I reckon that I know your vagina better than anyone else on the planet. Arguably better than you do yourself, because you’re not a contortionist. So I am very well aware that your G-spot is elongated. In fact it’s more like a strip than a spot. Using intricate calculations which are far too complicated to explain right now, I’ve been able to conclude that Graham’s curve will guarantee optimum contact for ninety-two per cent of the time he’s inside you. Ninety-two per cent! The rest of womankind is more than lucky to get fifty. And most are deliriously happy with half that!’
‘You really never do cease to amaze me, Heather Hunter.’
‘It’s an amazing conclusion, I agree. But trust me: your physical conclusion will be . . .’
‘Heather! Stop it! You’re so rude.’
‘I haven’t used any rude words at all. I hardly ever do.’
‘You don’t need to. You can be utterly filthy with very polite words.’
‘Thank you. Now turn over.’
‘What?’
‘You’re hiding it, but in your imagination you are having missionary style sex with Graham. Throw him off and roll over.’
‘Oh Heather . . .’
‘Never mind “Oh Heather”, roll over.’
‘Oh all right then.’
/>
‘Good. That’s better. Let him get back on top.’
‘What’s he going to do?’
‘Nothing terrible; he’s just going to put it back in your lovely, beautiful vagina from the other direction. There . . . doesn’t that feel good? Don’t you just love the way the business end of him bends against your posterior wall?’
‘I’m straining my imagination here.’
‘It seems to go in even deeper this way,’ Heather said helpfully. ‘And his stomach is pressed up tight against your bum; very, very cosily. Your bum is acting like a fulcrum as you both rock it in and out.’
‘Heather . . .’
‘Notice anything?’
‘No.’
‘Well you will when you try it. The other way around was all optimum pressure on the G Spot. This way round you’ll notice pressure both ways. Because of course, there are two sides to his curve. While he’s in you like this. . .’
‘Enough!’ Vic cried. ‘I’ll sleep with him!’
‘You’ve already agreed that. When’s it going to happen?’
‘I’ll do it sometime soon.’
‘How soon will that be?’
‘Ye gods, I’ll do it whenever you say . . . anything to shut you up.’
‘Will you do it before the end of the month?’
‘Yes . . . whatever you say.’
‘That was easy,’ Heather said. ‘I’d hardly got started.’
‘I know. That’s why I surrendered. I’d rather be easy than driven insane.’
‘Right then, let’s get something in our diaries before you change your mind.’
‘Wife swapping, you mean?’
‘Yes Victoria, I mean wife swapping.’
Vic reached out and took her hand. ‘Are you sure about Krista?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘Okay then,’ the respectable senior banker said, eyes shining behind her designer lenses, suddenly purposeful and noticeably enthusiastic. ‘Let’s aim for the next weekend when we’re all free. Make it on a Friday or Saturday night. You liaise with Graham and get some dates; I’ll do likewise with Krista. Not that she’ll need any persuading.’
‘Deal,’ said Heather, ‘except I want Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday morning.’
‘I thought Krista scared you.’
‘She does. But I relax as time goes by. And I specialise in Sunday mornings, even if you don’t.’
Vic squeezed her fingers. ‘I really do care for you, Hev. You know that, don’t you?’
Heather was surprised to feel a lump in her throat. For Vic this was a gigantic show of affection. Twenty-first century relationship or not, she was moved. ‘I know you do,’ she murmured. ‘That’s the real reason why I’ll do anything for you.’
A knock at the door stopped them staring soppily at each other. Today Nina only stuck her head into the room, keeping her bum out of Vic’s line of sight.
‘I have Mr Carmichael on the line, Victoria. He says it's urgent.’
‘Put him through, please.’ Vic got up and strode to her desk, back in Miss Efficiency mode. ‘Try to make it sooner rather than later,’ she said to Heather briskly. ‘Now I’ve committed I won’t be able to stop thinking about it until it’s done.’
‘Do you fancy getting in some practice in beforehand?’
‘Would that be practice with you pretending to be Graham?’ Vic wondered as the transferred call was put through.
‘Yes. I’ve got his moves off to a T.’
‘Meaning tonight?’
‘Tonight sounds good.’
‘Okay, you win.’ Vic flashed a brief smile. ‘Unless I’m about to be sent off to London Bridge, it's a date.’
Chapter Five
(Thursday 3rd April 2008)
Thursday’s first white wine had been poured when a storm trooper burst through the gate, into the large back yard of 10/12 Ferrands Terrace. Most suburban housewives would have screamed at the sight of the battle-clad man, bent under the weight of his enormous Bergen. Penny wasn't bothered by it. She just carried on sipping her drink, her concern reserved for the potatoes simmering on top of the Rangemaster.
Out in the yard the storm trooper was wriggling free of his backpack, dumping it with a heavy thud against the wall of the house. Relieved of his load, he stretched to his full height before dropping onto the flagstones and knocking out fifty press-ups. Then, knowing she was watching, he showboated another twenty one-handed: ten right followed by ten left. Penny had to smile. It was like watching Rocky training to fight Clubber Lang; she could almost hear Eye of the Tiger playing away in the background.
There was one more ritual to be observed. As Rocky drew himself upright with absurd ease and made for the kitchen door, she caught his attention with a sharp rap on the window. He looked at her with wide, innocent eyes while she pointed downwards and mouthed, “Boots off”, before breaking into a broad grin and sitting on the bench to unfasten his laces.
Jamie arrived back from his run like this every evening.
Penny pushed the potatoes onto an unheated ring and had a check on the other veg before pulling the casserole dish out of the oven and removing the lid.
‘That smells good,’ her stepson said, coming into the kitchen in his soggy socks.
‘Well you don't,’ she replied. ‘You smell like a wet dog. For Goodness' sake, go get your shower.’
‘I'd better taste that goulash first. You never know, it might be poisoned.’
Jamie had already armed himself with a spoon and was advancing on the casserole. Penny picked up a chopping knife and pretended to fend him off. He laughed. ‘Mum . . . I've done courses. I know how to fight a man with a knife.’
‘In case you haven't noticed, I'm a woman with a knife. That's a far more dangerous proposition.’
‘Yeah, the instructor warned us about women.’ Jamie stopped trying to edge past and reverted to the innocent eyes approach. ‘Go on, Mum; just one spoonful, then I'll have my shower.’
Penny suspected the innocent eyes would work wonders when Jamie started in the sixth form. They had worked on her for years and were getting more appealing as he matured.
‘Go on then,’ she said, dropping the knife into the sink, watching him fill and empty the spoon three times.
‘It tastes even better than it smells. No trace of poison at all.’
‘Shower,’ she commanded. ‘Now, before I drag you there by the ear.’
He gave her one of his boy/man grins (another trick that would make sixth form females go all mushy) then headed off upstairs.
As she added butter and milk and started to mash her spuds Penny thought about Jamie and girls which, after Sandy and Becky and boys, was going to be a new one.
Do modern parents only fret about girls, she wondered, do they still leave the boys to do their own thing? Or has it all changed? Was I out of touch to fret about Sandy and Becky in the first place?
Perhaps it’s the boys we should worry about in these fast-changing times. How many poor innocents are lured into a couple of minutes' fun by some cunning little vixen, intent on setting the CSA on them for evermore?
The best way she knew to answer questions like this wasn't to Ask Jeeves but to ask Becky, although the trouble with Becky was she knew too much. Asking her about Jamie's sixth form prospects might get her to give unwelcome news about what he’d been up to already.
No, Penny decided, she'd find some other way to plan ahead. She liked to think she'd muddled along okay this far. There hadn't been even a hint of a gymslip pregnancy in this house, thank you very much. No way was she about to fall at the last.
Not with everyone still depending on her down the final furlong.
Her husband, the kids . . . even Samantha.
It was odd, but nowadays Penny saw Geoff’s long-dead first wife more as an ally than a rival. Geoff didn’t mention her anymore but the kids still did, calling them both “Mum”, never even dreaming of split loyalties in that direction. Guiding Jamie through the ult
imate childhood minefield would be done for the two of them.
And she was determined to do it . . . somehow.
Penny laughed to herself. Sandy and Becky had been no trouble. They had kept her so well up to date that she’d known exactly when they’d first “done it” . . . and, of course, who they had “done it” with. Jamie was the polar opposite. He’d regularly been in hot water at school but, despite being her baby from those very early days with Geoff, he had never mentioned sex to her once.