by M K Turner
Reaching the training ground in record time, and not slowing his speed on arrival, he cycled the perimeter of the ground.
What the hell had just happened? Why had it happened? Keep it a secret? Who the hell would he tell? What if Lorna found out? His chin hit his chest as her face appeared in his thoughts. Shit, shit, shit! What was Mrs Rogers thinking about? Why him? Were there others?
The last thought gave him a little solace. If there were others then he could put it down to a bad . . . good experience and just forget it. He had to forget it if he was to stand a chance with Lorna.
Lorna. Lovely Lorna, he’d never felt like this about a girl before. She was unlike any of the other girls he’d ever known. Beautiful in every way, and she liked him! At least he thought she did. If not why volunteer to partner him on the geography trip? Why ask if he wanted to share her packed lunch when she found out that he’d forgotten his? Why suggest he might want to go into town with a gang of them for a pizza the next week?
Chelly forgotten, he grinned and turned into the car park of the club. Locking his bike into the stand, he swung his bag off his back and headed for the door.
“What are you grinning at?” Simmons appeared in the doorway. “Did you get laid or something?”
Bubble burst, Henry punched Simmons on the arm, his smile gone. “You are such a prick.”
“Ah, so she said no. So why were you grinning?” Rubbing his arm, Simmons let Henry open the door. “Oh no, don’t tell me, you’re in love and she’s too good for you.”
“Yep, that’s it,” Henry agreed, amazed at how accurate Simmons was on all counts.
“So, not in love. On a promise?”
“Bloody hell, have you been sniffing glue?” Looking Simmons up and down, Henry shook his head. “You’ve got a manic look about you, and you’re asking ridiculous questions. I thought you were better that that.”
“Oi. I resent that. This body is a temple.” Entering the changing room, Simmons dropped his bag on a bench, and unzipped his coat.
“What even the podgy bit in the middle.” Digging Simmons in the ribs, Henry pulled his hand away quickly. “Nearly lost the bugger.”
A couple of the other lads laughed, and joined in the teasing. Glad the subject had been forgotten, Henry changed into his kit, and was first out onto the freezing pitch. His confusion and frustration gave him an edge, and at the end of the session the coach called him over.
“Well done, Henry. You worked twice as hard as anyone on the pitch. Don’t be late on Sunday, you’re in the first team.”
“Thanks, Jamie. I thought I’d lost it, you haven’t picked me for the firsts for weeks.”
“That’s because too many of our games clash with your school commitments, and we’ve had a strong squad this season. But you’ve done well.”
“Don’t worry about school, that’s not important compared to the club.”
“Yes, it is. Go on, get a shower before you freeze.”
Putting all thoughts of Chelly and Lorna out of his mind, Henry smiled all the way home.
Chapter Twelve
“My goodness! Chelly Rogers is Mrs Robinson,” said Bridget in her best dramatic voice, eyes wide. “Well not totally unexpected of course, and now I know who he was with that does go a long way to explain her aversion to Henry’s blossoming romance with Lorna. I’ll tell you what I have in a moment.” She placed the growing manuscript on the table. “Your mother will blush when she reads that, you mark my words. Who contacted who the next time?”
Raising her eyebrows, Angie simply looked at her grandmother.
“I know, I know, a stupid question, if you knew, it would be here.” She tapped the pile. “So frustrating. Before she gets here, I must ask, what did you think about your mother’s revelation?”
“What revelation?” Confused, Angie put her mug down. “She’s not ill, is she?”
“No, whatever gave you that idea? I meant about being rejected.”
“What? Gran, more information, please. Who rejected her?”
“The woman,” Clicking her fingers, Bridget closed her eyes searching for a name. “Nope. Can’t remember, but the missing person, your mother took her file.”
“Oh right,” Rolling her eyes, Angie relaxed. “I don’t think anything, we don’t know what it was. Talking about taking files, how did you get on?”
“Without the dramatics, the same as your mother. Absolutely nowhere. Carol Watkins doesn’t want to speak to me. Probably for the best now we have to sort out poor old Henry. I’ll bring the file back. You never know, you might get something.”
“I doubt it. I won’t even look, I can only just cope with one of these cases at a time, two would be a step too far.”
“You’re right, but I’ll still bring it back. Now, we need to concentrate on Henry. What next, go and see the . . . what’s the female equivalent of a gigolo?”
“Gran, I can’t believe you don’t know that. That’s the sort of question I’d ask you. I think you stick -ette on the end, but Chelly wasn’t taking money or payment in kind. The word you’re looking for is cougar.”
“Really? How odd. Whatever she is . . . was, is that our next port of call?”
“No. Not yet, I want to speak to Lorna first. Something changed and I don’t know what. At the rugby awards, Chris Rogers told Chelly to be gone the next day, but I don’t think she did, I don’t know why, but I need to find out. It’s irritating me. Back to you, what did you find out? We noticed you took the photograph.”
“Well, it was so quick, but it all fits now I’ve read the rest.” Pointing at the phone, Bridget asked, “Hadn’t you’d better record this? You recorded your mother.”
Smiling, Angie set the phone to record. “Off you go.”
“Henry was at the rugby club. Clearly a while after his seduction by Chelly. He was having an argument with his friend, Simmons. I say argument, it wasn’t really but Henry was very uncomfortable . . . Oh, is that Lily?”
“Don’t worry, Ryan is up there, he’ll get her.”
“Splendid, I’ll get on with it, but I’m not sure it means that much. Not anything that will help anyway.”
“Gran, get on with it.”
“Will do, and I’ll keep it brief.”
Angie doubted that was possible.
Chapter Thirteen
Dropping his wet towel on the floor next to his boots, Henry searched his bag for his underpants. Simmons sniggered and he turned to look at him.
“Is this what you’re after?” He waved the purple polyester y-fronts in the air.
Huffing, Henry sat on the bench and pulled on his socks. “Don’t muck about, throw them over.”
“Don’t you want to know why I have them?”
“Because you’re touched.” Tapping his temple, Henry made a face and started to button his shirt. “Chuck ’em over.”
Holding them about six inches in front of him, Simmons lifted his nose and sniffed. “Nope, other than stale pee, no evidence.” Stretching the elastic, he flicked the pants towards Henry, who caught them and shoved his first foot in. “Aren’t you going to ask?” Simmons located his own pants and pulled them on.
“What?”
“What evidence I was after?”
“Nope. Conversations with a mad man are a waste of breath.”
“Shall I guess?”
“Not Lorna because she was with Jayne.”
Unable to resist, Henry shoved his dirty kit into the bag and looked at Simmons. “Go on then, what wasn’t Lorna?”
“Whoever you had an upmarket shag with.”
Feeling the heat hit his cheeks at record speed, Henry got to his feet and turned to lift his jumper from the peg. “You see. Waste of breath. I wish.” Pulling his jumper over his head, he added, “Your brain is shot.”
“Well, that’s what you say, but I have a witness. He has - what do you call it? Corroborating evidence.”
“Bloody hell, have you swallowed a dictionary? That was more than three syllable
s. I’m impressed even though you’re talking shit.” Coat now on, Henry greeted the two players who had entered the changing room, steam still coming from their pink skin. “See you next week.” He lifted a hand and hurried out, ignoring Simmons’ shouts to wait.
Once outside he leaned against the wall and drew the cold air into his lungs. Who had seen him? What had they seen? No one could have seen anything. But they had, hadn’t they? His heart thundered, and he pulled his scarf loose to let more air in. Hearing Simmons shout his goodbyes to someone, Henry went around the corner to get his bike.
“Why did you run away? Guilty conscience?” Dropping his kit bag, Simmons stood hands on hips. “I thought we were mates.”
“Oh, here we go. What does that mean? Are you turning into a girl? Hang on a minute, are you queer? Is that what this is all about? In which case, good luck and all that, but my pants are private thank you very much.” Pulling his bike out of the stand, Henry slung his leg over the cross bar.
“Ha bloody ha. You’re almost funny, Cooksey. Answer me this. You bought a box of condoms from the chemist in Westbury. How do I know this? Go on ask me, and then I’ll tell you the rest.” Walking to the end of the rank, Simmons collected his own bike.
“Go on then, I’ll humour the idiot. How do you know that?” Knowing the chemist had been empty apart from an old lady waiting for her prescription, Henry was at a loss.
Simmons cycled away. “I’m starving, see you in school tomorrow.”
“Very funny!” Pedalling fast, Henry caught up with him at the gate, where Simmons had to slow to check for traffic before riding onto the main road. “Why are you being such a prick?”
“Because you’re keeping secrets. That’s fine. You keep ’em. I’ll ask around and find out another way.”
“There’s nothing to find out.”
“Then who were you at the Hawthorns Hotel with?”
“You still hungry?” Barely able to think straight, Henry’s brain felt like it was about to explode.
“Always. Why?”
“If we rush, the café on the corner should still be open. I’ll buy you a pasty.”
“Fucking hell. Have you won the pools? A hotel and a pasty for your mate. Done. I’ll race you.”
Allowing Simmons to speed ahead. Henry tried to collect himself as he pedalled at a steady pace. Simmons clearly didn’t know enough to cause too much damage, but enough to give him grief. Unless he dug too deeply or spoke out of turn in front of Lorna and her friends. Then it might be catastrophic. Deciding honesty was the best policy, Henry increased his speed.
When he reached the café, Simmons was still on his bike having a conversation with the owner, Percy, who stood on the doorstep with a crate of milk bottles in his hand. He beckoned Henry over.
“We’re too late, they’ve closed. But we can get something to take away. That’ll do, won’t it?”
“Yep.”
“I haven’t got two Cornish. One of you will have to have a meat and potato pie. Hang on, let me get rid of this.” Percy disappeared around the corner with the crate, returning empty-handed. “Who’s paying. One of you will do, I’ve already mopped the floor.”
Leaning his bike against the wall, Henry followed him inside. When he came back, he held up two paper bags. “Pie or pasty?”
“Pasty.” Taking the bag, Simmons slid it into his pocket. “Come on, mine’s empty. Mum’s on nights and Dad will be in the pub. Darts night.”
“What about your brother? I don’t want him poking his nose in.”
“Moved out at the weekend.” Simmons was riding away before Henry had squashed the pie into his pocket.
“Shit.” His trailing scarf caught in the chain of the bike, and yanking it, Henry managed to catch the yarn, unravelling several inches before it finally snapped. By the time he reached Simmons house, the door was open, lights were on, and the kettle was boiling. Putting his bike in the alleyway, he called to Simmons, “I’ve knackered my bloody scarf thanks to you.”
“Shoes off. New carpet. I’m in the kitchen.”
Kicking his shoes off, Henry slammed the door, and went to find him. He waved his scarf at him. “Knackered.” Rolling it into a ball, he threw it at Simmons.
“How was it my fault? Have a seat.” Sliding a plate across the table, Simmons held up a mug. “Tea or coffee?”
“Water.” Draping his coat over the back of the chair, Henry removed the bag from his pocket, and slid the flattened pie onto the plate.
Making the drinks, Simmons joined Henry at the table, and neither spoke until their purchases and half a packet of custard creams had been demolished.
“Right that’s the important stuff out of the way. Now let’s get to the sex.” Simmons waggled his eyebrows, but seeing the look on Henry’s face his smile disappeared. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to cry.”
“I feel like I’m going to cry.” Clearing his throat, Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, mate, this is all a bit embarrassing.”
“Tell me. No mucking about, I promise. I’m your best mate. I can do serious and supportive when necessary.”
“Everything is such a mess. I don’t know where to begin.”
“Have you got Lorna pregnant? Is that it?”
“No. Worse.”
“What could be worse than . . . Oh shit. Have you got someone else pregnant?”
“No! At least . . . No!” Holding his head in his hands, Henry closed his eyes, willing the tears to dissolve.
“You’re shagging someone else?” Eyes wide in amazement, Simmons grinned at him.
Henry merely nodded.
“And . . .” Simmons eyes were wide, and his brain was working overtime trying to work out who it could be. Whoever it was, what a lucky bastard. Two of them, and one of them was Lorna!
“And I love Lorna.” Henry looked him in the eye. “You can laugh, take the piss, feel free. But I do. I never thought this could happen to me, but it has. But I am shagging someone else, and that’s all it is. Sex. I’ve told her it’s over. But I don’t think she wants it to be. She’s making threats. Keeps turning up, and phoning. All nicey nicey, but I don’t trust her, and I have no idea how to stop it.” Lifting his hand, he brushed the tear to one side before it could travel down his face.
“Who came first?” As he asked the question, Simmons wondered if he would find this scenario an issue, and doubted that he would. Still, he had to be there for Henry, even if he didn’t have the same morals. “I’m guessing it wasn’t Lorna.”
“No. I fancied her, and I wanted her, but this woman was there and we . . . had sex. And it was good sex, but I knew it was wrong. Then Lorna said she’d go out with me, and I was so fucking happy. Then she turns up again. What was I to do? What can I do?” Folding his arms on the table, he buried his face.
Simmons listened to the sniffing, and knew his friend was crying. Lifting the dirty crockery, he made himself busy at the sink, trying not to cause him any more embarrassment than necessary.
“I’d better wash this up, or Mum will be moaning as soon as she walks in the door.” Glancing sideways at Henry as he squirted washing up liquid into the bowl, he added, “You said woman, not girl. How old?”
“I don’t know. Old. Married.” Henry looked up. “Not ancient like our mums, but married. Experienced. Manipulative.”
Spinning to face his friend, Simmons tried not to grin. “Married and experienced? Is she hot?”
“Yes, if you like witches. She tried to kiss me!”
Looking confused, Simmons left the dishes and returned to his chair. “You said you’d had sex.”
“Yes, but first time she wouldn’t let me kiss her. She said it was just a bit of fun, no kissing. Then at the hotel, we . . . did it, and she tried to kiss me. Got really pissy when I pulled away. Before we did it, I told her it was wrong, that I loved someone else and it was the last time, and she agreed. But when I wouldn’t kiss her, she threatened to tell.”
“Tell who?”
“That’s what I said, and she said Lorna for starters.” Banging the table with both fists, Henry was unable to stop the tears. “I can’t have that. I can’t lose her, so what do I do? I’ve tried being nice about it, I tried getting angry, and I’ve tried to reason with her.” He waved a hand in front of his face. “Nothing. It’s like I’m speaking a different language.”
“Seems to me like you’ve got two choices. Carry on shagging her, or tell Lorna so she hears it from you not from . . . are you going to tell me?”
“I can’t.”
“But why? If it were me, I’d carry on getting the sex, and if I really wanted it to end, I’d hope she’d get bored with me. You being you, decent bloke and all that, it looks like you’ll have to tell Lorna.”
“She would never forgive me.” Allowing his head to drop forward and bang on the table, Henry sobbed. “I can’t tell her. I’m totally fucked.” Sniffing back his tears, Henry left his head on the table.
Getting to his feet, Simmons patted Henry on the back. “I hope I never fall in love. This is brutal. Why can’t you tell her? Lorna’s decent. A little bit of wiggling with the truth, she won’t be able to hold what happened before you two got together against you.”
“She knows her.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“Do I know her?”
Henry shrugged. “Doubt it, only by sight.”
Simmons left his hand on Henry’s back and tried to work out who he would know by sight, that both Lorna and Henry knew. His mouth fell open. “A teacher? Tell me I’m wrong.” He squeezed Henry’s shoulder.
Henry shook his head, meaning it wasn’t, but Simmons assumed it was because he couldn’t tell him he was wrong.
“Shit.” He went back to his chair. “You need a plan. If you don’t have a plan you’ll go mad.”
Lifting his head, Henry asked, “What sort of plan?”
“You won’t tell Lorna, and you don’t want to carry on the naughty stuff. You’ll have to avoid this woman. See what happens. If it goes away, fair enough, if it doesn’t you either have to tell Lorna or see if she finds out.”