‘I’ve got a bad belly,’ he moaned, ‘I think it must be something I ate.’
She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on his forehead. ‘Have you been sick?’
‘No, but I’ve got the runs,’ he said, mustering up his best doe-eyed look.
She put her head on one side. ‘Oh, you poor lamb. Is there anything I can get you?’
‘No thanks. I’ll stay up here near the toilet,’ he whimpered and shook his head slowly. ‘If it’s a bug, the last thing I want is to give it to you.’
Anne got up and moved towards the door. She was wearing a pair of beige crepe trousers and Tom could see the dimples of cellulite through the material stretched over her big bottom – he smiled.
Anne asked, ‘So I don’t suppose you’ll want anything to eat?’
‘Not for me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, love, I did buy the vegetables you asked for, but I left the carrier bag on the bus.’
Tom could almost hear her scowl as she plodded back down the stairs.
When Tom heard pans being clashed around in the kitchen, he crept along the landing to the spare bedroom at the back of the house and sat down in front of their computer, which was balanced on top of an old box. He took his mobile out of his pocket and sent Ellie a text.
Hi, Ellie. I had a great time today. Thanks for the help and suggestions about the writing course. When you have a minute could you send me the details across? PS. I thought the kiss was awesome too!! XX
Tom booted up the computer and placed his mobile at the side of the box. He always kept his phone on silent when he was at home, not that he’d ever caught Anne looking at it because they both respected each other’s privacy, but you never know, he thought. He’d entered her number under EM, which was a code he often used for women’s names. E for Ellie, and M for Market. His mobile vibrated and he looked down to see the envelope message.
Hello Tom. Me too. Here’s the website you need. Let me know how you get on? And, yes, I can’t stop thinking about our kiss! XXXX
The website address was written underneath.
Hmm, he mused happily, four kisses from her. Time to take the next step, he grinned and replied.
How about dinner on Friday night? There’s a nice pizza place I know in town. If you’re free of course? Tom XXXX
As he waited for her reply, he typed the name of the website into the search box and began to read. Tom was engrossed and only paused from reading to smile at Ellie’s text arranging the meeting time and place for Friday.
The writers’ website amazed Tom. He read through the main details, which told him it was a first class home-study Creative Writing course tutored by professional writers. He could expect to have personal guidance from an expert tutor with advice on style, presentation and copyright. Tom frowned, he wasn’t sure what copyright was exactly, but read further about selling what he’d written through different markets. The company seemed so confident about the course that they even offered a fifteen day free trial and a full refund guarantee if he wasn’t successful. Tom let out a deep breath and sat back in the chair. Here it was, all in front of him and ready to make a start.
He clicked on a side bar and read a recommendation from a lady who’d finished the course. She’d written: “as a freelance writer you can earn a good income writing the stories, articles, books and scripts that editors and publishers want. Within six months of enrolling on my course I was having work commissioned by editors and I still work regularly for magazines”.
There was a photo of the woman at her desk and Tom decided she looked just like an ordinary lady that anyone could see in town. For some reason, he’d expected authors and writers to look different, maybe very high-brow and intelligent, but apparently not. The last section he read through was about the cost − £400.
Tom whistled through his teeth – it wasn’t cheap, but when he thought of the possibilities, and what it could lead to, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was made for him. He began to drum one foot against the other, deciding that he hadn’t felt so excited for years. Day-dreaming about starting with short stories, which he knew he’d been good at in the past, and then perhaps progressing to writing articles for magazines, he gave a throaty laugh and grinned.
Tom heard Anne switch on the TV in the lounge and he closed down the computer. Plodding back into the bedroom he stripped down to his boxer shorts and slid under the duvet. I must think of a way to get around Anne, he thought, because she will have to lend me the money to get started.
*
The next night Tom stood in the kitchen sipping a glass of wine. The kitchen was a small square with just enough room for a two-seater table in the corner. He’d set the table with their good dinner service and cutlery, and had a bottle of Anne’s favourite Chablis de-corked in readiness for their meal.
Tom looked at the table and smiled, knowing how impressed Anne would be that he’d laid everything out properly. These traditions often amused him, along with the different way of life compared to where he’d been raised. He’d long since discovered that older women in north eastern families were like matriarchs and they raised their daughters in the same vein. Grown men who he’d worked with appeared fearful of their mothers and did as they were bid without question, which he realised was solely out of respect. Tom had found this scenario quite puzzling at first. However, Anne followed the same rules, and, although they had no children, they always had their meal at the table together, in stark contrast to his own upbringing, where pizza or fast food was eaten from their knees in front of the TV.
The smell of beef bourguignon filled the kitchen and Tom hummed confidently to himself as he mashed potatoes with extra butter and put garden peas into a saucepan of boiling water. He didn’t need to worry about timing the meal because Anne was never late. She arrived home at the same time every night and she left home every morning at the same time. Cooking for a creature of habit was easy, and, as he knew this was her favourite meal, well, he simply couldn’t go wrong.
*
‘That was delicious,’ Anne said as they got up from the table, carrying their glasses of wine through into the lounge. She went to sit on the settee, but Tom pulled her down on to the sheepskin rug in front of the electric fire. A chrome standard lamp in the corner of the room threw the only light on to them and she giggled with delight. He sat with his legs open facing the fire and pulled Anne in between them with her back to him.
Anne leant against his chest and sipped her wine. ‘Okay, so what’s all this for?’
‘Aah, I’m fatally wounded,’ Tom mocked. ‘Can I not show my wife how much I love her without sarcastic remarks?’
Tom swept her mane of long brown hair from the back of her neck and began to nip her ear lobe with his teeth. She squirmed under his touch as he ran his tongue around the nape of her neck and he smiled assuredly. He didn’t have to think about any of his actions now as her body was as familiar to him as his own. He moved as though on automatic pilot.
‘Oh, Tom,’ she cooed. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve made love. Especially down here in front of the fire; this reminds me of our honeymoon night.’
Tom unbuttoned her shirt with adept fingers. ‘I know, love. That was a very special night, wasn’t it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. It’s just, well, losing that job sort of knocked me for six.’
‘Now Tom, you mustn’t worry like that,’ Anne said, twisting around to face him and pulling his sweater over his head. ‘We’ve talked this through already. Being made redundant is not your fault, darling.’
They faced each other and she kissed him, filling his mouth and nose with the strong smell of wine. Devoid of all their clothing Tom slowly made love to her, feeling the heat from the fire on his bare buttocks. Her chubby body was warm, inviting, and so very receptive that neither of them had to wait long until pleasure overtook them at the same time. It was the first thing that had attracted him to her when they’d met – she was just so bloody easy to be w
ith. He’d heard other husbands complain about how they often had to make their own meals, do their own washing, or help with cleaning, but he never had a thing to worry about; Anne catered to his every need.
Stretched out on the soft rug with Anne lying in his arms, Tom nearly dozed off to sleep as he was so warm and sated. He jerked himself awake, remembering the reason for this night of seduction, and began to tell her about the website for the creative writing course. He couldn’t mention Ellie of course, and made up a fictitious woman in the library who had encouraged him to start writing.
‘It’s only £400 to get me started,’ he ventured. ‘And, I’ll pay you back as soon as I start making money with the stories and magazine work.’
Anne lay with her head on his bare chest and he could feel her heavy eyebrows drawing together as she mulled it over. Please say yes, Tom thought, oh please don’t make me beg. He held his breath, waiting for her to speak.
Eventually she said, ‘Well, I suppose it’s nice to see you enthusiastic about something and it’ll keep your mind active. But you must still look for work, Tom. The money I have left is not a bottomless pit.’
Halleluiah, he thought, hugging her body close to him. ‘I know, Anne. I’ll find another job as soon as I can. I promise whichever comes first, you’ll have the money back.’
Anne draped her short chubby leg over his and snuggled into him, dropping small kisses on his chest.
Happiness flooded through him and he kissed the top of her head. ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ he crooned. ‘I’m sorry I forgot the vegetables for your diet. But you don’t need to slim, darling. I love you just the way you are.’ Flexing his biceps, he pulled her over on top of him again.
Chapter Four
Ellie was so excited by Friday evening that she found it difficult to catch her breath, and every time she thought about meeting Tom her stomach did a triple somersault. She’d run around her ground floor flat in the afternoon, tidying up in the lounge and cleaned the bathroom until it shone. Ellie’s flatmate had left three weeks ago on a gap year and Ellie was in the process of looking for someone to share the flat on Grosvenor Avenue. When Ellie had told Tom her address she noticed he looked awe-struck, but what he didn’t know was that her father paid the rent for the flat. She sighed, knowing that if she admitted this to Tom it might sound juvenile to be still taking hand-outs from her parents, but at the moment, she reasoned, it was the only way she could afford to stay in Newcastle, where her chances of finding a job were far greater than if she returned home.
Ellie’s bedroom was the largest in the flat and now, as she sat at her dressing table, she looked around the room. She thought of Tom and the way he’d kissed her. She traced her lips with her fingertips, remembering how passion and desire had raged through her body. If there is more kissing tonight, she decided, I’ll definitely ask him to come back here. She imagined Tom in the bedroom and tried to see it through his eyes. Ellie could tell by his smart appearance he wasn’t the type of guy to like mess and clutter and decided that her bedroom still looked like a student’s pad. The open wardrobe doors were strewn with clothes, tights and scarves, and the dressing table was adorned with small stuffed animals, make up, a long bead necklace and piles of cheap jewellery. In a whirlwind she began to clear up, and pushed things into drawers and the inside of the wardrobe. She opened the windows to let fresh air circulate the room and ran around the carpet with the hoover. I’ll try and make it look like a professional woman’s boudoir, she thought, and giggled.
Looking through her wardrobe, Ellie cast baggy tops and flowing, flowery skirts aside. Most of them held memories of the student union bar and she didn’t want to look girly anymore; she needed a new image. Hanging in the back of the wardrobe she found a black shift dress with a top layer of silvery lace and held it up against her body while she sashayed backwards and forwards in front of the mirror. Hmm, she pondered, I wonder if this says “young woman out on an exciting date with a gorgeous older guy?” Her mum had bought her the dress last year to go to a family wedding, but Ellie hadn’t worn it since as it was too formal for the usual scruffy bars she frequented, where slashed jeans and cut-off shorts were the norm.
But this was a dinner date and she knew Tom would be smartly dressed. She slipped the dress over her head and wriggled it down to an inch above her knees. She’d put on a little weight since last year and her boobs seemed bigger than ever in the half-cup lace bra, but what the hell, she thought, as her flatmate used to say, “if you’ve got it - flaunt it”. She slipped her feet into black strappy sandals and grinned at the overall effect. The height of the sandals’ heels made her look tall and leggy in the short dress and she felt good. And that, Ellie determined, was the most important thing.
*
Tom told Anne he was going out for a friend’s birthday and that they would be having a few drinks and an Indian curry. Anne hadn’t questioned his plans and Tom could tell she was still starry-eyed from Wednesday night. She’s like putty in my hands, he thought happily as he strode out the Road towards the bus stop.
After jumping off the bus at the bottom of Westgate Road, he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window and smiled. The red skinny-fit shirt and charcoal grey trousers looked stylish and Tom was glad he’d decided not to wear the jacket from his suit, it would definitely have been over the top. The city centre was buzzing with activity as groups of men and women headed towards the bars and restaurants. Taxis and cars jostled for position, picking up and dropping off people looking forward to a good night out in the city. Tom fairly bounced with excitement along the pavement as he hurried towards the theatre where he’d arranged to meet Ellie. He usually met up with a few friends on a Friday night, and as he passed one of their favourite bars, he remembered the week before when his life had been ordinary and run of the mill - how quickly life can change. Last Friday he’d never heard of writing courses, or character profiles, and reading pitches on the covers of books, and here he was doing just that. Which he knew, of course, was because he’d met the lovely Ellie.
Just as Tom stopped outside the theatre’s doorway he heard a man’s wolf-whistle and saw a group of young lads ogling a girl walking down Grainger Street. Automatically he looked up the street to see who the subject of their attention was and gasped – it was Ellie. Tom beamed with pride as she neared him and then gulped as he stared at her outfit. The short dress showed off her long, slim legs as she sashayed towards him, and the V-neck dress was low cut, which seemed to push her big breasts together in the most amazing cleavage he’d ever seen. No wonder the lads were staring, he grinned, and pulled his shoulders back, knowing this delightful young creature was his date for the night.
Ellie stood in front of him beaming and placed a tentative kiss on his cheek. He put his arms around her thin shoulders and pulled her close.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he whispered into her ear. He inhaled a different perfume from the flowery scent she usually wore and sighed with pleasure at the musky deep notes that clung around her ears and throat. Her hair was piled up on top of her head and two neat diamond studs shone on her ears. Other than the earrings she wore no jewellery, and Tom decided the overall effect was simple, yet picture-perfect.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d dress up a little, rather than the usual scruffy jeans. Then as I walked down from the metro I worried that you might be in jeans and I’d look out of place.’
Tom took her hand in his and began to walk to the pizzeria. ‘You wouldn’t look out of place anywhere, Ellie.’
Settled at a corner table inside, they sat opposite each other smiling. The waiter had taken their orders and poured Chardonnay into large wine glasses that sat on a pristine white tablecloth. Tom looked around and inhaled deeply.
‘Ah, garlic,’ he exclaimed, ‘I love it. I could cheerfully eat Italian pasta every night of the week if I had to.’
Ellie felt as though she was in seventh heaven. The pizzeria was every bit as good as it looked from the outs
ide and a lively, happy atmosphere filled the room as couples and groups of people ate and drank together. A large party in the opposite corner began to sing happy birthday as the waiter carried a birthday cake with lighted candles to their table. Ellie smiled with pleasure, sat back in her chair, and sipped the cool, dry wine, letting her shoulders relax. Tom had said such lovely things about her outfit that she now knew her previous worries over the dress were unnecessary. When she looked at him she felt mesmerised by his handsome good-looks. She squeezed her knees together under the table feeling fit to burst.
As they ate the meal Tom told her all about the writing website. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Now that I’ve paid my money I’m just waiting for the introduction pack to arrive.’
‘But that’s fantastic!’ Ellie cried.
‘I know. It’s really exciting. The woman on the website, who gave her recommendation, was photographed sitting in her own office at home,’ he gabbled. ‘So, I’m thinking of turning my spare bedroom into a proper office where I can write in comfort.’
Hmm, Ellie thought, spare bedroom, which obviously meant he had more than one bedroom that he didn’t use. Desperate to know more about his situation, she reckoned it was now or never and took a large mouthful of wine for Dutch courage. ‘Oh, right…’ she murmured. ‘Is yours a two bed roomed house?’
Careful, Tom thought, the last thing you want to do is drop yourself in it and ruin the night. He knew he would have to tell Ellie a few white lies about his situation, but had hoped to postpone that particular conversation for a while yet. He nodded thoughtfully, ‘Yeah, at the moment I’m actually rattling around in a three bed house all on my own.’
Ellie drained her glass of wine and grinned at him, delighted with the news that he was definitely alone and didn’t have a partner. Now I know this, she decided, I can really let my hair down and have a blast. Tonight is turning into a proper date as opposed to what she’d originally thought of as a writing friendship and get-together.
All I Want For Christmas Page 3