Gigolo

by Ben Foster

  ‘Kelly.’

  ‘Half past ten Saturday.’

  She knew I was serious and was deciding whether she actually wanted to meet up with a stranger she’d never laid eyes on before.

  ‘All right,’ she said, and skipped off down the road to number 22.

  It was love at first sight and our first date has a sad as well as a happy ending. I did buy her a new pair of shoes, the best in the shop, and she was still wearing them. We married in Lowestoft where my family lived and the crew from our old trawler made an arch of fishing rods outside St Margaret’s Church. The kids popped out one after the other and we struggled from week to week to make ends meet.

  Kelly had lost a lot of schooling, she was unworldly, but strong and determined. She was five years younger than me and the way we met had seemed like destiny. We both needed someone to love, to build a life with, a family. She called me naïve and gullible. But we tend to see the faults in others we have in ourselves. She was just the same, an innocent. Our lovemaking followed a familiar pattern. She bit her bottom lip at the magic moment and I treasured the hazy look in her eyes. Oral sex had never entered the bedroom. She had been a virgin when we met and I loved her more than anything in the world.

  Sex with Maggs was multi-faceted, colourful, feverish, like sex in a porn movie.

  That movie ran in a loop through my head as I took a shower and I only realised as I was dressing that I still had the same problem with the van I’d had the night before. I made my way downstairs and outside. The courtyard was cool, shadowed by tall trees. I got in the van, said a quick prayer, and turned the ignition key.

  Nothing.

  When I looked under the bonnet, I saw in the daylight that both cables had been disconnected from the battery. Not one. Both.

  I had no idea how this could have happened and looked in vain in the back of the van to see if I had a spanner. I was wondering what to do next when a flat-bed truck pulled into the drive carrying a VW Golf Hatchback GTI – gleaming, white as a new fridge, scratch free, rust free, the very car I would have chosen if I’d had the money. A mechanic in blue overalls lowered the hydraulics, reversed the Golf from the truck and parked behind the Range Rover.

  At that point, Douglas appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Someone disconnected my battery last night, that’s why it wouldn’t start,’ I told him.

  He threw up his big shoulders. ‘Wouldn’t know anything about that, sir. Lady Margaret is waiting in the morning room.’

  ‘Have you got a spanner so I can reconnect the battery?’

  ‘While you’re having breakfast, I’ll sort everything out.’

  ‘I’ve got to get home,’ I said.

  ‘Always best to face the music on a full stomach.’

  As we were speaking, the mechanic approached with a folder and I noticed he was carrying two sets of keys.

  ‘Best not to keep a lady waiting,’ Douglas added. ‘If you take the door on the right from the hall, you’ll find your way through the house to the morning room.’

  I followed his instructions and found Maggs in a domed conservatory with about a million panes of glass. She was dressed in grey silk pyjamas and a grey dressing gown with her feet pushed into slippers with shields decorating the tops.

  She smiled. ‘There you are. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘Someone disconnected my battery last night.’

  ‘That is so naughty,’ she said. ‘Have some coffee and toast. I hate eating alone.’

  There was toast in a rack. She poured coffee from a silver pot. There were various jams and marmalades, each with their own spoon. She buttered and spread jam on a half slice of toast.

  ‘Try the plum, it’s delicious.’

  I did and it was.

  ‘And how are you this lovely morning?’

  ‘I feel a bit guilty, to be honest.’

  ‘Guilty?’ She looked surprised.

  ‘Yes, well, you know . . . ’

  ‘Actually, no, I have no idea. Guilt has always seemed a particularly odd thing to me. People,’ she said, ‘take sex far too seriously. It’s only sex.’

  ‘But you know, I have a wife . . . ’

  ‘That’s lovely. I have a husband.’

  ‘Was he the man in the white suit I saw yesterday?’

  She obviously didn’t like being asked direct questions and thought for several moments before she answered.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to ask me next what our bet was about?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. I had a bet with James that you would be sleeping under my roof before the end of the weekend. And here you are.’

  ‘It had all been planned?’

  ‘Are you unhappy, Ben? Think before you answer.’

  I did think. I thought carefully. I’d been trapped, manipulated, used. But I wasn’t unhappy.

  ‘No,’ I said, and she smiled.

  ‘I believe in marriage, Ben, I really do. But it’s not a prison, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘What’s your wife’s name?’

  This seemed like a strange question. ‘Kelly,’ I answered.

  ‘That’s pretty.’ She buttered and spread a different jam on another piece of toast. ‘Apricot,’ she said, placing it on my plate and leaning forward. ‘Don’t feel guilty. It is too silly. May I be so bold as to offer you some advice?’

  I nodded. ‘I guess so.’

  She ran her tongue over her lips before continuing. ‘Whatever you do, don’t confess to Kelly. When husbands tell their wives they are having an affair, they are just bragging. They want to show their wife they are still desirable. You don’t need to do that.’

  As I ate another half slice of toast, it occurred to me that Lady Margaret wasn’t that dissimilar to Chris at The Lodge. She had no sense of right and wrong. It also occurred to me that she had instructed someone, probably Douglas, to disable my van. He looked like the kind of man who could disable anything.

  I ate the toast and buttered some more. My stomach was empty and my head was full of conflicts. While Kelly was at home with the children making their modest breakfast, I was with a beautiful woman with whom I’d had the best sex ever sitting at a table with a snow-white linen cloth in the most incredible room I’d ever been in. The conservatory with its exotic palms and reflected light looked out over rolling fields bordered by mature trees. The chinaware tinkled. The cutlery was silver. I had an initialled linen napkin on my knees and the coffee was the best I had ever tasted.

  ‘It’s a nice house,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, we are so lucky. It’s been in Jasper’s family for generations. My husband,’ she added, and leaned forward. ‘May I ask you a personal question, Ben? Don’t be offended.’ She paused. ‘You don’t play around, you don’t cheat on Kelly?’

  ‘No.’

  She smiled. ‘None of those nasty STDs.’

  ‘Sexually transmitted diseases? Absolutely not, no way.’

  She sipped her coffee then dried her lips. ‘For one so young, Vivienne is a very good judge of character. You really are a glass of clear water.’

  I should have asked her if she had any STDs. She was the one who believed people took sex too seriously. But I didn’t have the confidence to say anything like that. I ate all the toast in the rack and was drinking a second cup of coffee when my phone buzzed with a text.

  It was from Kelly: was I all right? Is the van going?

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said.

  I messaged back that I’d be home soon and everything was fine. I never lied to Kelly, but these were special circumstances.

  ‘I really ought to get going,’ I said.

  Lady Margaret glanced at her watch and stood. ‘You were hungry. I’m so pleased,’ she replied. ‘Let’s go and see what’s happening.’

  We made our way back through the house. When we reached the door, I saw the tail end of the flat-bed truck vanish through the avenue of trees with my van
on the back. I ran out into the courtyard.

  ‘Oi, hang on a minute,’ I shouted.

  I was too slow, it had gone. I looked back. Lady Margaret was standing in the wide porch, Douglas at her side. He threw me a set of keys.

  ‘Catch,’ he said. ‘Press the button.’

  I did so and the lights on the VW flashed as the doors locks clicked open.

  ‘We thought white was the most suitable, given your profession,’ Lady Margaret said and my mouth fell open. ‘It’s for you,’ she added.

  ‘Me? What? Are you joking?’

  ‘It’s too early for jokes.’

  ‘It’s for me?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. You can’t just give someone a car.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You just don’t. The expense for one thing.’

  ‘It’s a tax write off. The Chancellor of the Exchequer paid for it.’

  ‘What?’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t accept it, Lady Margaret . . . ’

  ‘Maggs,’ she said impatiently. ‘Now, speak to Douglas, will you? I really must fly.’

  She turned and disappeared back into the house.

  ‘Best not to fight it, sir. Things are the way they are.’

  ‘You mean it’s really mine?’

  He gave me the second set of keys and folder he was holding. He pointed. ‘There’s a phone number. Give it a ring and they’ll sort it all out for you. Goodbye, sir.’

  ‘What about the insurance? I can’t drive without insurance.’

  ‘You call that number. I’m sure it’s all taken care of.’

  He closed the door behind him and I climbed warily into the white VW Golf as if it might be a car bomb or, more likely, a Time Machine that was going to take me back to reality. I turned the key. The engine hummed as I eased the gear shift into first. I touched the accelerator, circled the courtyard and slipped into second as I drove through the tunnel of trees.

  I was driving home, wondering how the hell I was going to explain this to Kelly, when my phone vibrated with a text. I didn’t read it until I arrived and parked outside the house.

  I just heard from Maggs that she feels completely invigorated after your massage. Please may I make an appointment for 2.00 this afternoon? Vivienne Raynott

  6

  THE £50 NOTE

  After texting Vivienne for her address, I strolled up the path and gave the knocker a good hard tap. I walked back to the car and leaned on the side with my arms folded. I felt like I’d won the lottery and almost certainly had that ‘cat that got the canary’ look, as Gran would have said.

  Kelly opened the door. She had Claire in her arms and the boys were peeking out from behind her legs. She wasn’t smiling.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ I called. ‘Look up, not a cloud in sight. Fancy going for a drive?’

  ‘Why didn’t you let yourself in? Forgot your key?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, come on in then, I’m busy.’

  ‘Got something to show you, Kells.’

  ‘You can show me inside.’ She looked cross. ‘What you doing leaning against that car? You know what people are like.’

  ‘Yeah, you can run over their kids as long as you don’t touch their car.’ My jaw ached. I was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Come on. Come and take a look.’

  Kelly shook her head. ‘Three kids are enough, Ben, I don’t need another one.’

  They trooped up the path. Ollie opened the gate and I bent low with a flourish like Sir Walter Raleigh.

  ‘Your carriage awaits.’

  Kelly wasn’t amused. Her job made a break from looking after the children, but moving wet laundry from washers to dryers was heavy work and by Sunday she had usually run out of patience. She readjusted Claire on her hip and stared back at me.

  ‘What’s going on, Ben? You on something?’

  ‘Yeah, a winning streak for a change.’

  ‘Is that your car, dad?’

  I brushed my hand over Ollie’s crew cut. ‘It’s our car, Big Guy. Why don’t you take her for a spin?’

  Ollie climbed in the driver’s seat and started pulling at the steering wheel. I opened the passenger door for George.

  ‘Me. Me,’ Claire cried.

  ‘She’s learned a new word,’ I said and Kelly frowned.

  ‘Don’t know who she takes after. That’s all she says now.’

  I put Claire in the back. She was wearing a red pom-pom hat and a red dress from the Oxfam shop. She looked like a puppet on a string as she jumped up and down on the seat. Kelly had taken on her customary pose, hands on hips, head cocked to one side, a sceptical cast to her blue eyes.

  ‘Where were you last night?’

  ‘You know where I was. The van gave up the ghost and Lady Margaret had a room made up for me at her place.’

  ‘Lady Margaret,’ she repeated. ‘You said it was some rich lady.’

  ‘Lady Margaret is a rich lady.’

  ‘Her husband was there, I suppose?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t, as a matter of fact. But her butler was.’

  ‘Her butler! You’d think this was two hundred years ago.’

  ‘I’ll tell you this, Kells, we think it’s all changed. Nothing’s changed.’

  ‘So the van’s given up and you’ve come home in a new car. I suppose it belongs to her?’

  ‘No, it’s mine. It’s ours.’

  ‘They’re having a laugh, Ben. You don’t give someone a massage and then they give you a car. Life doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘It does if you’re rich.’

  ‘They must have more money than sense. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘It’s not like that. It’s a tax adjustment, that’s what she said. She didn’t pay for it, the Chancellor of the Exchequer did.’

  ‘And who do you think the Chancellor of the Exchequer is? That’s you and me. It’s all the ordinary people who pay their taxes. Pete. Your mates at The Lodge.’

  ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t.’

  ‘Here,’ I said.

  I took out the £50 note and when I gave it to her, she studied it as if it were a photograph.

  ‘You know something, it’s the first time I’ve ever held one of these in my own hands.’ She looked up. ‘Did you ask for the money in advance?’

  ‘I didn’t to be honest.’

  ‘Be careful, Ben. People don’t give you a car, even if the taxpayers paid for it, not unless they want something.’

  ‘They just want a massage. I happen to be good at it.’

  ‘Nobody said you weren’t.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got another booking at two o’clock.’

  I showed her my phone and she read the text.

  I just heard from Maggs that she feels completely invigorated after your massage. Please may I make an appointment for 2.00 this afternoon? Vivienne Raynott

  ‘Who’s this one?’

  ‘Another friend of Rufus’s mum. She was with Maggs and some other women last time I gave Rufus his weekly rub down.’

  ‘You call her Maggs?’

  ‘She told me to. You know what it’s like when I treat someone. It’s like you’re their new best friend.’

  Kelly stared into my eyes. She was nodding her head slowly up and down. The world around us was silent and I could almost hear the cogs clicking over in her head. She had a red £50 note in her hand, a new car outside the house, a look of concern in her blue eyes.

  ‘We’re all right, Ben. We get by. We’ve got what we need. Don’t do anything bad, anything dishonest.’

  ‘I haven’t, Kelly, and I won’t. Nothing like this has ever happened before and it’s not going to happen again. Let’s just enjoy it.’

  She bent down and looked inside the car.

  ‘No. No,’ Claire shouted.

  ‘Come on, jump in,’ I said. ‘Let’s go for a ride.’

  I opened the driver’s door and spoke to Ollie.

  ‘Whe
re do you want to go, sunshine?’

  ‘I know, dad, let’s go and buy a Crunchie.’

  ‘Yeah, why not. We’ll go down to the park.’

  It’s shallow, it’s sad even, but when you drive in a stream of new cars and you’re in a broken down old van, you feel like a loser, like everyone is going somewhere and you’re still at the starting line. We judge ourselves, and each other, on things which I knew from learning yoga massage are insignificant, even irrelevant. But it appears to be the human condition to see the gloss, the outside of things, and not look any deeper.

  Yoga massage originated in India 2,500 years ago and is little changed to this day. The master takes the patient through a sequence of yoga postures while massaging along the body’s energy lines and pressure points. The goal is to put the body’s energy back in balance. That morning in the park watching the children play under the trees, I thought that’s just what I need: rebalancing.

  Kelly had asked me if I was on something and I was. I was high on adrenaline, the hormone that directs a surge of blood to specific areas of the body – my mind that was buzzing and my cock in its permanent state of semi-arousal. I couldn’t stop picturing myself in that four-poster bed with the moonlight turning the room silver. I had done things with Maggs I had never done before and every little detail went round and round in my head. Just saying to myself the words ‘Lady Margaret’ was a thrill.

  She had been right, of course. It would have made no sense blurting out a confession to Kelly. What had happened wasn’t my fault. Maggs had made sure my van didn’t start. She stripped naked for the massage and plied me with champagne. I can’t imagine any man under those circumstances getting all huffy and kicking her out of bed. I shook my head to still the movie. That night with Lady Margaret was a one off. It was a sweet memory, but I had too much to lose and resolved not to let anything like that happen again.

  I watched the red pom-poms on Claire’s hat bobbing up and down as she ran through the dappled sunlight behind a barking brown Staffie. She fell over and I could see by her expression that she wasn’t sure whether to cry or not. I picked her up.

  ‘No. No,’ she said.

  I rubbed her nose with my nose. ‘Yes, yes,’ I replied and she laughed. ‘Let’s go and have a pizza, shall we?’

  Claire struggled to get down. ‘Me. Me,’ she said.