Best Served Cold

by Limey Lady

  ‘I wouldn't know about that,’ Penny lied. ‘All I know is that Sally wants to try cannabis coffee cake. And it’s legal in Amsterdam. You don't mind if I go for three or four days after the funeral, do you? Jamie says he'll visit while I'm away.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. You deserve the time off. I can't believe you’ve kept coming twice a day for all these months. Nobody else would have.’

  *****

  ’Okay,’ said DeeDee. ‘So life goes on for both of us. Have you shown her round?’

  ‘Constantine Bay?’ said Gavin. ‘Yes. We went down last weekend.’

  ‘And slept in the master bedroom?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t we? We’ve had two families stay there. The bed will have been more than christened already.’

  ‘To think I called me mercenary.’ DeeDee chuckled again. ‘You’re more scheming than a woman.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Okay, Gavin. I’ll agree to play along . . . in principle. Let me speak with my solicitor. Unless she comes up with a snag, I’ll get you something to sign by this time next week.’

  He put his hand on her knee and gently squeezed. ‘Thank you Debra. This is win-win for both of us. I’m glad you’re being so grown-up about it.’

  ‘Shall we go to my room and seal the deal?’ she said, surprising herself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose I did.’ Gavin hesitated and the moment was lost.

  ‘Okay,’ she resumed, still smiling broadly, ‘bad idea. Maybe we should stay as unfinished business until that interest rate expires. Say our goodbyes then.’

  ‘I think that would be wise. Besides, I need to be making tracks.’

  ‘You haven’t booked in?’

  ‘No. I have a meeting at eight tomorrow, back in Bristol. That’s why I’ve been drinking halves.’

  He gave her a sheepish peck on the cheek and stood up. Dee-Dee couldn’t help noticing he had a bulge down below . . . which was quite a relief. She couldn’t remember an offer of sex being refused before. At least the important part of him had wanted to play if the rest didn’t.

  ‘Right then, I’m off. You’ll be in touch?’

  ‘You can count on it by this time next week.’

  The waiter returned as Gavin left.

  ‘Would you like the same again?’

  ‘Yes, but minus the lager. I’ve just been jilted.’

  He raised both eyebrows like a cartoon chef: ‘Surely not!’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said.

  The waiter seemed incredulous before giving her a charming smile, which she returned tenfold. He looked no older than twenty and extremely athletic. His nametag identified him as “Laurence”.

  ‘Shall I make it a double?’

  ‘No, scrap the gin; make it a bottle of Chateau Margaux.’

  ‘Madame does know that’s quite expensive?’

  ‘I’m mademoiselle. And damn the expense.’

  She watched the youngster’s ass as he went to fill her order, shivering deliciously. She’d always had a thing about younger men, and it was only getting stronger as she aged.

  I wonder what time Laurence finishes his shift. And would he get sacked if . . .

  Stop it!

  Okay, but . . .

  STOP IT!!

  It was barely half past seven. Pat thought she was visiting head office in Bristol and didn’t answer her when she rang to further that myth. He was probably in the Kings, swilling Stella . . . or perhaps snorting it up elsewhere. She sighed. Her love was sincere, but not unconditional. Not while Pat was still so closely entwined with Sean.

  Laurence came back yet again as she was checking her texts.

  ‘Is it room three-five-five?’

  ‘Yes. And remember that number. You might be carrying me up there later.’

  The waiter seemed taken aback (or maybe he was just a good actor). ‘Really,’ he gasped.

  ‘No. It’s more likely I’ll be calling you for room service. Are you on all night?’

  ‘I’m only on until eleven.’

  ‘In that case I’ll make sure I order before then.’

  His smile was less confident now, but the bulge in his pants put Gavin to shame. Grinning very widely, DeeDee watched his ass even closer this time before flicking her eyes back to her display. There was an hours-old text in from Pat. She opened it almost disinterestedly to find:

  FYI . . . NO 8 IS UP FOR

  SALE! ALREADY! SAME

  SORT OF PRICE AS YR

  MUMS. SAME AGENTS

  2. GET IN THERE! LUV

  PAT

  DeeDee frowned. This was Pat’s latest way of winding her up. “NO 8” meant Number Eight, next door to her mum’s. If building her own place had been a flight of fancy, knocking the two neighbouring cottages into one was her impossible dream.

  Except . . .

  Except Mum’s finances hadn’t quite been the disaster she’d expected. And she was suddenly on the verge of freeing herself from the shackles of Constantine Bay. Okay, Number Eight wouldn’t come cheap. But suddenly nothing was impossible.

  Not even Laurence.

  She stole another glance. The waiter’s body looked better than ever. And he was passing her isolated table far more often than necessary.

  Was nothing really impossible?

  Staying reasonably sober for another three hours?

  Calling room service at a minute to eleven?

  Bring it on!

  *****

  Penny chastely kissed her husband goodbye then followed an astonishingly good-looking girl out of the ward. The girl (or, rather, the young woman) had been visiting John, a relatively new arrival on 5. John had been moved into the bed next to Geoff earlier today. His wife, Susan, had been there for Afternoon Visiting; they had ended up chatting while the two men dozed. John was a farm labourer from Kettlewell. He’d had a mild stroke while wrestling with some “beast” and wasn't expected to be in long. This young woman must be their daughter, who could only visit on evenings.

  She doesn't look like she’s from farming stock, Penny thought as they went through the swing doors. She was tall, healthy and strong, built like a model . . . meaning one far superior to the topless sort. In fact she looked like that world-famous Australian girl, except with more presence. And she carried herself very well too. Susan said she was “something” at West Yorkshire Bank. Judging by the way she dressed, that “something” was something important.

  If only I could remember the girl's name.

  While she was wracking her brains the girl abruptly stopped, stepped to the side of the corridor and put a hand to her mouth. She was clearly in distress and it wasn't in Penny's nature to walk on by.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’ The name suddenly came to her. ‘You're Heather, aren't you? Are you okay, Heather?’

  Heather's brilliant green eyes were brimming with tears. ‘I'm fine,’ she said. Then, recognizing Penny as a friendly face, if not a familiar face, ‘No, no I'm not . . .’

  Penny had never seen anyone more in need of a hug. Impulsively, she held out her arms and Heather came to her.

  ‘I met your mum earlier,’ she murmured while Heather had a good sob. ‘She said you might be a bit upset. I visit here a lot myself. I know how it can get to you.’

  ‘It's just seeing him like that,’ Heather sniffled. ‘I know he's going to get better but . . .’ another sniffle, ‘he's always seemed like the strongest man in the world to me.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Penny stroked Heather's lovely black hair. ‘I used think that about my husband. He's your dad’s next-bed neighbour. It comes as a shock when something so horrible happens out of the blue.’

  Heather's body was good to hold. Outwardly she seemed very much the cool, efficient executive but to touch she was all softness and warmth. Penny didn't get many cuddles nowadays. This one reminded her how much she missed the kids being younger. She clutched the girl a little bit tighter
, pleased when she didn’t in the slightest object.

  ‘When did your husband have his stroke?’

  ‘He hasn't had one,’ said Penny. ‘Geoff doesn't do things straightforward. He had to get this obscure autoimmune condition. He's been in here five months already.’

  ‘He will recover though?’ Heather had stopped sobbing. She shifted without breaking the hug, looking into Penny's eyes. Her boobs were pressing firmly against Penny's; it felt nice.

  ‘We can't be sure,’ Penny said. ‘He seems to have stabilized now. We’re waiting for something else to happen. I pray every night that it happens in the right direction.’

  ‘I prayed last night,’ Heather said. ‘It was the first time in years, but I'll be doing it again tonight. Would you mind if I say a prayer for your husband too?’

  ‘Of course I wouldn't mind.’ Penny smiled before hugging her tighter still. ‘I will be saying an extra one for John myself.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  (Thursday 18th September 2008)

  Three weeks into sixth form life and Jamie had enjoyed every second. This must be how a regular soldier felt after passing through Selection and joining the SAS. Suddenly he was free. Suddenly his relationship with all teachers was as relaxed as it had always been with the sports teachers. He didn't have to worry about what he wore and simply everything was good. There was a natural, unforced sense of teamwork and purpose now the timewasters had left.

  Hell, he didn't even have to worry too much about money, because his account was still stuffed from working on that building site . . . and thank God it was, because the endless succession of seventeenth and eighteenth birthday parties had already started.

  Unlike the rest of his peers, Jamie had been required to go through Selection in order to stay on at school. That was because some teacher with a long memory had mentioned all those fights he used to have. In a ten minute interview with the head of sixth form, hiding knuckles bruised by Chain's thick head, Jamie had earnestly claimed scrapping was deep in his past. They had believed him . . .

  And here he was in the common room, doing homework during a free double-lesson with one of the Year's most attractive young ladies. What more could a guy ask for?

  Well . . . what with reason, anyway?

  Simone had gone and the jury was out on how much he was missing her. On the one hand she had been starting to get in the way of his training; on the other, he’d got very used to being with her all of the time. While she made trouble just for the heck of it and would have wreaked havoc with his schoolwork, her very presence would have more than compensated. Or so it seemed right then, after a month without her.

  It hadn’t been love/hate it had been . . .

  Been . . .

  Well, incredibly grown up, in an often frustrating sort of a way.

  Almost like being married.

  But Simone was history. This was here and now.

  It was time for brave new frontiers and all that.

  Jamie had already spent a lot of time in the common room with Natalie. Nat had only moved into the area over summer and was new to the school. Like himself, she hadn't committed a hundred per cent to arts or science and a lot of their free lessons coincided. Also like himself, she claimed to prefer working here rather than in the library with everyone else. Secretly, he hoped it was because she preferred to be working with him. He was sure there was attraction there but, apart from being warm and friendly, so far neither of them had done anything about it.

  “Warm and friendly” summed up Natalie nicely, though. While Simone could go from heat to ice and back in two shakes everything about Natalie was cuddly and cosy. She had the loveliest brown hair with eyes to match, and was absolutely covered in freckles. Jamie had overheard one of the other girls telling a friend that Natalie had freckles everywhere. That had thrilled him. He could quite easily imagine himself kissing every single freckle, one at a time from top to bottom. And those eyes . . .

  He couldn't understand how they could be soft and sad one moment, bright and sparkly the next. They were eyes that had already captivated him, and he hadn't even properly flirted with her yet.

  There was only one thing holding him back; one very big thing.

  It was that ominous parallel with his dad and natural mum. They had met in this very same common room (perhaps even on these very same seats), been attracted to each other and . . .

  WHOOOOOSSHHHHH, there went the Army.

  Natalie had spotted his perhaps less-than covert interest. Making her eyes sparkle and dance, she said: ‘Are you as bored as I am?’

  ‘Yes. Probably even boreder. Or should that be more bored? How would Jane Austen have put it?’

  ‘Shitless,’ Natalie said, surprising him. She’d been sprawled on a double seat. Yawning, she sat up and threw her books onto the low table. ‘Let's not work anymore. Come and sit next to me, let's chat a bit instead.’

  It would have been rude not to. He dropped his books next to hers, edged round the table and plonked himself beside her.

  ‘That's cosy. You must have a very warm bum.’

  ‘That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’ She leant against his arm and looked up into his face, her eyes back in sad mode. ‘It's the nicest thing you have ever said to me, anyway. I was beginning to think you hadn't even noticed I've got a bum.’

  ‘Oh, I've noticed all sorts of bits of you.’

  ‘Have you really? Have you seen any bits that take your fancy?’

  Jamie could feel colour rising in his cheeks . . . which was very strange, considering the things he had been used to Simone asking him. ‘Yes,’ he made himself say. ‘I’ve noticed all sorts of your bits; especially the ones with freckles on.’

  ‘That's all right then, because I fancy all sorts of bits of you. It's a shame you're not on the market, otherwise we could give it a go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’

  His pause was infinitesimal: ‘Who says I'm not on the market?’

  ‘Everyone,’ Natalie replied, snuggling even closer to him. ‘I've been asking people ever since you let me down so badly on Friday.’

  ‘Did I?’ Jamie was half-bemused by her words, totally amazed by her cosiness. Her body language was . . .

  Well, it was nice. Simone aside, he hadn’t ever known such cosiness. And Simone’s cosiness had been of a different variety altogether.

  ‘What didn’t I do?’ he wondered.

  ‘You only went all night standing with your mates, never asking me to dance even once.’

  ‘You'll thank me for that if you ever see me dancing.’

  ‘I wasn't for thanking you on Friday. If you’d danced with someone else I was going to claw her eyes out. I didn't know you were loved-up then, you see.’

  ‘I am not loved-up. Who told you that?’

  ‘Lots of people told me. They’re all saying you're pining for your ex. Can't even bring yourself to look at another woman; all that sort of stuff.’

  ‘Well they’re wrong. Simone's two hundred miles away. She hasn't been my girlfriend for weeks.’

  ‘It must be your other love then, Queen and Country.’

  ‘Don't tell me: everyone who doesn't have me heartbroken thinks I'm already married to the Army?’

  ‘Yes, they’re saying something like that.’

  Jamie was very conscious of Natalie's boobs pressing against him. He was also conscious of the two buttons unfastened at the top of her blouse; the ones which made it impossible to fail to notice that those lovely round boobs were plastered with the most kissable freckles.

  ‘Don't listen to anybody else,’ he said firmly. ‘I'm very much back on the market.’

  ‘It didn't look like that on Friday; unless there's something wrong with me.’

  ‘There's nothing wrong with you.’ Jamie hesitated, not quite knowing how to put it in words. ‘I like you a lot,’ he managed. ‘I haven't wanted to rush things, though. Spoil our friendship. You know . . .’

&
nbsp; The change in her eyes was startling this time. She had made them sadder than Bambi's had been watching his mother die. Now they were suddenly sparkling and dancing and warmer than ever.

  ‘Did you have a close relationship with Simone?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, staring back as meaningfully as he could.