Cold Enough to Freeze Cows

by Lorraine Jenkin

  As they traipsed back to the truck, Johnny did wonder whether he was being fair by not confessing that he knew the truth about Gwennie’s conception, and Tansy questioned whether she’d been fair selling Greg’s chop saw to pay for an electricity bill…

  It was just getting dark when they returned to Cwmtwrch. Nain gave Tansy a kiss and a quick, “All right, bach? Good to have you back,” and Gwennie got carried around in a very non-Nain way. Taid squeezed Tansy’s shoulder and smiled at her as he walked past her chair. Nain and Taid feigned tiredness just after nine o’clock and the younger couple were left to make their own arrangements.

  There were no spoken debates, but Johnny and Tansy had an early night too and slept together with a lot of hugs, giggles and kisses, but nothing else. Gwennie woke them both up three times, but neither really minded: it was just another excuse to fall asleep in each other’s arms again.

  CHAPTER 29

  Fel cacynen mewn bys coch – like a wasp in a foxglove (continually grumbling)

  The door slammed and Esther breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Louisa’s car start up and reverse down the short drive. She felt like she might be able to relax for a while and recover from the whirlwind of uselessness that was her daughter and her husband leaving for work. Just why was it so complicated? She’d worked for years, even when Louisa was young and needed getting ready for school and she hadn’t crashed about demanding that someone else found her car keys or assumed that another person had hidden her shoes.

  As she reached to put the kettle on, a draught whipped round her hand: bloody Louisa, how did she manage to slam the door so hard and yet not actually shut it? Because she didn’t give a monkey’s, that’s how. She just knew that her mother was there to double-check on everything that she did and therefore, there was simply no need.

  For the same reason her curtains would still be shut, the light in her bedroom would probably be on, her bed unmade and her pyjamas scattered across the floor or slung onto the back of a chair. The shower would still be on at the switch and, in fact, thought Esther, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least to find Louisa’s hairdryer buzzing away, quietly burning out its motor.

  “Mum! I need a new hairdryer: my old one is rubbish and you forgot to turn it off and its motor burnt out. Would you be able to get me that new one, the one with the really expensive attachments?”

  As Esther walked slowly to the front door, she felt like crying. Where had she gone so wrong over the years? She had friends whose children were pleasant and respectful and actually did things around the house from time to time. They had left home at a reasonable age, and they popped back occasionally to cut the hedge or to bring the children to play.

  She used to pride herself that her daughter was having a real childhood, not one bogged down with domestic chores, but one spent playing in the woods or making models out of cardboard boxes. In hindsight, although she’d given her daughter the time and space to run wildly in the woods, her daughter had actually used it to watch more videos. Making your daughter’s bed so that she could play fox and hounds was one thing. Making it so that she could watch Snow White for the hundredth time was possibly another.

  On the way back from the front door, Esther tripped over one of David’s shoes lying on the hall carpet. She stumbled and fell against the bottom of the banister, just managing to cling onto it and stop herself falling headlong onto the carpet.

  And he was the bloody same! Yes, she was a housewife and knew that her role included keeping house, but it was the lack of respect that upset her so. It was knowing that David just kicked his shoes off and thought, Sod it, Esther will tidy them away, that hurt.

  She’d read lots of marital psychology books over the years and had agreed that, yes, men were from Mars and women were definitely from Venus. She had allowed him to retreat into his cave now and then and had made sure that she hadn’t stood at the entrance screeching at him to come and take his turn with the washing-up. However, he hadn’t reciprocated and seemed not to notice that she might be at the foot of her particular wave at that moment, but would instead call from his cave for more wood for the fire, and could she cut it a little bit smaller in future? She sometimes felt that she was struggling so hard to be the perfect wife and mother, in order to allow her lover and her offspring to reach their full potentials, but instead of celebrating their successes with her and returning the favour, they just expected more of the same.

  By the time she’d returned to the kitchen, the kettle had boiled, but she’d lost the moment. The was no point in sitting and saying, ooh, that’s nice over a relaxing cup of tea when she felt like screaming, You lazy, ungrateful, lazy bastards! at the pair of them.

  As she wearily started the washing-up, she noticed that David’s toothbrush was on the windowsill and the toothpaste lay beside it – cap off of course. Brushing his teeth after breakfast? David always brushed his teeth before breakfast: what was going on there?

  In fact, there had been quite a few ever so slightly unsettling things happening lately. David usually wore a shirt to work for two days running: for the last week or so he’d been putting them in the wash (chucking them in the corner of the room) after one wear.

  He’d gone to a hair stylist, rather than the barber’s that he’d been going to for twenty-five years, explaining it away by saying he was sick of the man’s ridiculous conversation. He’d come back with a slightly different style rather than a simple cutting off of excess centimetres. What was going on? Her marriage books would probably tell her that he was having an affair, but David wasn’t the sort to have an affair. He was a bit of a fuddy-duddy and very stuck in his ways. In fact, thought Esther with a smile, if he was having an affair, he would more than likely ask her if she could buy him some condoms or some lingerie for his new lady!

  Perhaps – perhaps the tide was beginning to turn – perhaps he was actually making more of an effort for her? Maybe he’d read something that told him to be sure to make the biggest effort for his own wife, to treat her like he did on their first date? Maybe he just hadn’t got to the page about picking up your own shoes yet…

  David sat in the car and ran his tongue around his minty-fresh teeth. His heart was beating fast and his perspiring was making his aftershave smell stronger. Diane’s door opened and a smile leapt to his face as he saw her come out. She hadn’t looked at him yet, but her smile was beaming as she called goodbye to her husband.

  She looked different. She had a glow to her face – was it extra make-up or was it good loving? Her hair was more coiffured than normal and she had on slightly higher heels than she usually wore. David scrambled from the car and raced around to her side to open the door. “Thank you, good sir,” she said saucily, with a little wink. He almost groaned in return. He dived back into his seat and re-started the engine. As was their way, they both looked blandly ahead in case her husband, Harry, was looking out of the window.

  “How are you, my lover?” purred Diane as she checked in her bag for something.

  “All the better for seeing you,” oozed David as he turned the car around and headed out of the estate towards the main road.

  As soon as they were past the door of the nosy neighbours in number thirty-seven, they looked at each other with lust and bright-eyed love. David reached for her knee and hitched up her skirt slightly until he felt nylon. She placed her hand on the back of his neck and caressed his newly shaved smoothness. David rolled his head back, enjoying the closeness.

  “Oh, Diane,” he groaned as he took his hand off her knee and put the car into first gear to pull out of the estate. When his hand snapped back, he found that her legs had parted slightly and he could caress a bit deeper and eventually he found stocking tops. “Oh my God!” he gasped and dived off left into a flagship industrial estate that was now a collection of empty buildings with ash trees sprouting from their gutters. As soon as they rounded the corner away from the gaze of other road users, he stopped the car and they fell on each other, his hand roving around the
hot and slightly sweaty flesh that was her upper thighs, and hers kneading away at his legs and very soon his crotch.

  Their kisses were hungry and all consuming. He tugged her blouse free from her waistband and raced his hand round her soft back. He had one eye on the clock as he felt for her breast and she also as she tugged down his flies. They satisfied each other quickly and joyously within five wonderful minutes and David was back driving along the main road within six.

  “Traffic’s slow today, isn’t it, Diane?”

  “Certainly is, David, perhaps there are roadworks ahead.”

  “Seems to be just every day recently; perhaps I’d better start picking you up earlier – we don’t want to get a reputation at work for being late…”

  “No, not for being late…”

  It had become their little game, the pretence of normal conversation with just a hint of flirtation. As they were in a car by themselves, they could have talked about piercing each other’s genitals over the lunch table for all the difference it would have made, but they preferred their own little rituals.

  David felt as if he were coming alive after years of being cocooned in a shell, muffled from the sounds and scents of the world around him. Diane excited him in a way that was reminiscent of the back rows of cinemas and late buses home. The smell of her scent was enough to make his heart flutter and that grope of soft flesh was heavenly to him – and the hotter and stickier, the better.

  What made it all even more delightful, was the fact that she apparently felt the same. He saw the light of love in her eyes – it was obvious as soon as she walked out of her front door. The way she reached for him, hungry to open his flies and dive in, made him feel invincible.

  He knew they had to be careful: factory gossip was always on its toes, always guessing – usually wrongly, but occasionally bang on the nail, and he knew that it wouldn’t take much lipstick on his collar for it to be interpreted as being something worthy of notice.

  He recognised that it was not right so far as Esther and Harry were concerned, but how could such excitement, passion and sheer joie de vivre possibly be wrong? Surely it would be more wrong to put a lid on the feelings coursing through him? Affairs could be discreet and go on for years, that would be the best solution and perfectly possible. They could meet just once a week for proper full-baked sex and chips – maybe at the flat on the nights that Louisa went to college? He could pretend to have lots of DIY to do for Louisa and then he and Diane would have two, maybe two and a half hours to do as they wished and clean up after themselves before returning to their dull and dutiful homes.

  He could just imagine it: Diane turning up in just a fur coat and heels, clutching a white carrier bag full of Chinese takeaway. They would eat it, picnic style whilst sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the middle of the floor before Diane pretended it was too hot and removed her coat… Or, he would be painting a ceiling in just his (new) boxer shorts, as he’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes, and Diane would be holding the ladder… Such idle thoughts made his team lose their place at the top of production and Diane’s equivalent distractions earned her a ticking off as she sent a scathing email to a colleague, rather than Personnel.

  They pulled into their usual space in the works’ car park and gave each other their pre-work check: any make-up smudged on Diane, or any make-up at all on David? Check. Clothes tucked in and buttons and zips in the fastened position? Check. Any bodily fluids mopped up to the best of their ability? Yes, check.

  “Well, Diane, have a good day at the office, my sweet,” smiled David, looking straight ahead as he caressed her knee.

  “And you, David,” cooed Diane as she cheekily put her hand on his crotch.

  David groaned. “Don’t do that, Mrs Dawson, else you may find that I’ll have to take you over the bonnet and hang whoever might be watching!”

  Diane stepped out of the car and then leaned back in to fetch her bag. “I look forward to it, Mr Harrison!” with which she sashayed away across the car park, leaving David with flushed skin and the dilated pupils of a man in lust.

  David was distracted all morning. He went for a walk at lunchtime to try and clear his head. He had to get a grip on himself; things were beginning to slip. Just make it through the day, he thought, and then tomorrow can be a clean slate.

  As the afternoon shift got underway, he stood at the door of the storeroom: now, what on earth had he come here for? He shook his head in frustration: he was acting like a teenager smitten for the first time in his life. Come on, David, sort it out!

  Right, retrace his steps in his mind – he’d been…. Yeah, about to fix that mixing machine and, ah, yes, therefore he needed a pair of mole-grips. David clicked on the light and headed for the shelf with mole-grips on.

  Just as he was standing on the small step to reach for a pair, he heard footsteps and then the light went off and the door clicked shut.

  “Hello again, big boy,” whispered a husky voice, “lost something?”

  “Diane? Is that you?”

  “I don’t know – is it?”

  Hands stroked his leg and he sighed, “Diane, oh, that’s wonderful, but, well, I really must get this fixed…”

  “Fix what, big boy? Ooh and you are a big boy, aren’t you…”

  “Oh, Jesus, the thingy, you know, the machine, oh my God…”

  And, of course, that is how their humble affair exploded into the public domain.

  Little Gemma Tibsley went to fetch a tube of mastic and got more than she bargained for. Her scream of shock sent three people running from the workshop and two more from admin. Therefore, six people stood at the door and watched the spectacle of Mr Harrison relaxing his grip on Mrs Dawson’s pendulous breasts and then pulling her skirt back down to cover her naked backside. He tried to hide behind her as he pulled up his trousers and then rummaged within them for ages trying to get his pants straight.

  Mrs Dawson, who was naked from the waist up, was still in shock. She got slowly up from her hands and knees and put her blouse on inside out. She finally realised that her knickers were round her ankles when she wasn’t able to shuffle away very fast, and then she pulled them up too – not an easy job with such a tight pencil skirt. She walked from the room in a daze with her pull-up stockings flapping around over her shoes and left the building, still with her bra, coat and handbag hanging on various hooks inside.

  The crowd was left watching David Harrison. The men by now were beginning to laugh and catcall him and the women were sniggering, exchanging shocked, but still delighted, glances.

  “OK, show’s over,” mumbled David and he fetched the mole-grips from the shelf and walked slowly out of the door, returning to the workshop, knowing that there were six people watching his every move, fascinated, rejoicing in what they’d just seen and only too ready to recount it to their colleagues.

  David felt sick as he set about the machine, his whole body burning with shock and humiliation. He could hear the others going silent and work stopping as one by one they passed round the fantastic news. Damn, he’d brought the wrong mole-grips, but there was no way he was going back into that cupboard. So, he carried on pretending to tinker for the whole afternoon.

  Ten minutes before the end of the shift, David had decided what he must do. His reputation was already ruined; he might as well just get it over and done with. For nearly two hours he’d mulled over what he might say and now he had to say it.

  “OK, boys, stop a minute can you? Can you come here, I’ve something to say.” He watched as all the boys left their machines, winking and raising their eyebrows at each other and walked over to him.

  “Gentlemen,” he said as they all stood in an arc around him, some not being able to look at him without sniggering, others openly laughing. “You all know by now what happened earlier this afternoon and I just want you to know that it was a – a moment of madness…”

  “Why? Were you looking for your dog in there?”

  “No, no, a moment of stupidity
– it hasn’t happened before and it won’t be happening again. I’m sorry that it did happen…”

  “What exactly did happen? I didn’t see anything. Can you explain?”

  “… and that people had to see it.”

  “I didn’t see it – can you do it again somewhere that I can see it?”

  “Yeah, and me.”

  “An’ me!”

  “Yes, very good,” David continued, trying to retain some element of dignity about the situation. “Right, I need to speak to the ladies now, but I am assuming that we can put this behind us…”

  “What, like you put something behind Di?”

  “… behind us and start again tomorrow…”

  “Start what again? Not more shagging in the store cupboard, surely!”

  David walked from the room, the sweat pouring from his brow. He wiped it with his handkerchief then realised that it was the one he’d wiped himself on earlier and he groaned: God, it was getting worse.

  He took a deep breath and entered the administration office. The four women sitting talking earnestly round a desk stopped immediately. Two went red, one giggled and the other “humphed” at him and walked to the window to stand with her back to him.

  “Ladies,” he said, “I’ve come to apologise.”

  “What for?”

  “Yeah, why on earth would that be, David?”

  “For, well, you know what for.”

  “He gave Di what for!”

  “Look, I’m trying to say I’m really sorry…”

  “What – for doing it, or getting caught?”

  “Well, doing it of course, but, well, I suppose getting caught too. Look, the thing is…”

  “I thought there was something going on,” said Patricia.