Terms of Affection

by M K Turner

  “Please don’t apologise. I’m glad we could give you some good news. If you like I can pass your number on to Lorna, it might be nice if the two of you could get together and reminisce,” suggested Angie.

  “Um.” Smile fading, Simmons didn’t look keen. “Not sure. Makes me sad to think about him, although knowing he has a family, even if he didn’t know them helps, but . . . no. Lorna will have her own life, we all need to keep moving forward.” Now on his feet, he saluted. “Sorry, I couldn’t be more help. Good luck, though.”

  Jumping up quickly, Angie held her hand out. She wanted contact again before she let him disappear. “Thank you.” Taking hold of his hand she squeezed it. “I know you’re off on holiday, but we might be in touch when you get back if anything comes up you might be able to help with. Is that okay?”

  “Of course.” There was no commitment in his voice, and he looked at their hands, wondering if she would ever let go. “Bye, Angie.”

  Angie released him, only for him to be enveloped in a hug from Bridget, who patted his back as she spoke.

  “Thank you, Dan. You were a truly good friend. I hope you’ve had a fulfilling life.”

  A little embarrassed, Simmons looked at Angie over the top of Bridget’s head. “Yes, thank you. I really must go.” He stepped away as soon as her hold loosened. “Bye.” Turning away, he headed for the exit.

  “What was that hug all about? He was so embarrassed.” Angie sat and lifted her drink.

  “I was trying to find out what it was you were on to. Tell me.”

  “Nothing to tell, except he knows something. I don’t know whether he knows that, but I know he knows.” Angie laughed. “That sounded like a tongue teaser.”

  “I got nothing. Shall we go and see your mother?”

  Replacing her drink, Angie got to her feet. Taking her grandmother’s elbow, they left the pub. “She’s fine, Gran, you’ll see.”

  When they reached Margaret’s house, Bridget was on the doorstep before Angie had locked the car. She gave a cursory knock on the door before opening it with her key. Hurrying along the path, Angie resisted the urge to chide her. She did, however, call out to her mother to let her know they’d arrived for fear Bridget appearing silently would give her mother heart failure.

  “Hi, Mum. We’re here.”

  Having reached the glazed sitting room door, Bridget had paused, and she turned quickly, waving her hands and forcing Angie back down the hall. “Hush. Hush.”

  “What?”

  Back in the front garden, Bridget wagged her finger. “I told you something was going on. She’s not ill, she’s bearing witness. I know my daughter. Migraine indeed, she’s going to get a piece of my mind when she’s done.”

  “Gran, she’s a grown woman, you can’t tell her off for doing what she wants.”

  “Maybe not, but I can stop her telling lies to her mother.”

  “She didn’t lie to you. You haven’t spoken to her.”

  “I should have known you’d take her side. The point, Angie, is that she knew I would ask, and you being a dutiful daughter would lie for her.”

  “I didn’t lie, I simply told you what she said.”

  “Which she knew you would, so indirectly she lied to me. Not acceptable. Now stop the noise, let’s get the kettle on and see what she has to say for herself.”

  Closing her open mouth, Angie knew better than to argue with her grandmother when she was on a mission, and followed her back into the house.

  As they passed the sitting room she looked in at her mother. Margaret had reclined her armchair, and with her eyes closed, would look to anyone else as though she were sleeping. The giveaway to Angie and Bridget were the tightly clasped hands and the rapidly moving lips. On the table next to her, Margaret had a glass of water, a notebook and pen, and a large book sized object Angie couldn’t make out.

  “She’s definitely on to something. Did you see the recorder?” Bridget asked as she dropped teabags into the pot.

  “The what? You do know you are one of the few people in the world that still uses a teapot, don’t you?”

  “The tape recorder. It must be forty years old if it’s a day. I can’t believe she still has it. Thirteenth birthday present if I remember correctly.” Pouring the water into the pot, Bridget gave it a good stir and pointed the spoon at Angie. “Lazy people use teapots. Less effort more cups. Better taste, properly brewed.”

  “Surely loose tea would be properly brewed?” Teased Angie, choosing a mug. “I take it, I’m not going to be forced to use a teacup?”

  “Yes, darling, you’re right of course. But the mess and the irritation of rogue leaves simply isn’t worth it.” Bridget winked. “Bone china mugs are perfectly acceptable.”

  They took a seat at the kitchen table, and Bridget had just discovered a fruit cake in the pantry when Margaret appeared. She looked a little confused.

  “How long have you been here?” Placing her hand on the side of the pot and nodding approval, she collected a mug. “I wasn’t expecting visitors. I hadn’t invited anyone, so what’s left of that cake might be a little stale.” Shaking her head at her mother she joined Angie at the table, a smile threatened to appear, until her mother spoke.

  “No invitation because you are up to something. Making your daughter lie to your mother is simply not cricket, Margaret, and you know it.”

  “No one lied to you, Mother. You have to get over this: ‘everything must be about me’ thing you have.” Margaret filled her cup. “I had a headache. I now know why. There was no lying to anyone, you in particular. How are you getting on with Henry? Any progress today?”

  Answering quickly to avoid Bridget arguing with her mother, Angie nodded. “Yes, but nowhere closer to finding Henry, or confirming it was anything to do with Chelly Rogers, who left Lorna and her father a little while after Henry disappeared. Gran says you were bearing witness just now.” She winked at her mother. “We now have a name for it. Was it Henry?”

  Smiling, Margaret shook her head. “No. Pass the cake please, Mother.”

  Cutting a slice of cake, Bridget shook her head as she passed the plate.

  “Thank you. Why are you looking at me like that?” Tilting her head, Margaret looked at her mother.

  “First an indirect mistruth, now evasion. I’d ask but it’s clear we’re not going to be taken into your confidence. I don’t know why I bother sometimes.” She pointed at Margaret. “You are up to something. You have that look, the one that says, I’m feeling smug, but trying to contain it.”

  “Bother doing what? Making things up, or . . . actually, just being dramatic. And by the way, I do not do smug.” Margaret rolled her eyes.

  “Ladies, ladies. Time out.” Rapping the table, Angie got to her feet. “I have better things to do than listen to you two bicker, so I’m going home. For the record, you do look like you have something to say, Mum, but I know you might need time.”

  “Darling, don’t be silly, sit down. I need to know what you found out and then I’ll tell you what I’ve been working on.”

  “No more sparring between you two. I haven’t got the patience for it.”

  Bridget looked shocked. “Sparring? Angie, I think you’re the dramatic one.”

  Bridget and Margaret exchanged a smile and Angie rolled her eyes. “It’s like being with two children.”

  “But are you sitting down?” Pushing the chair towards Angie with her foot, Margaret bit into her cake. “Not bad for stale cake.” She held her hand in front of her mouth.

  Taking her seat, Angie looked at her watch. “Half an hour and I have to leave, I’d like to see Lily before bedtime. I’ll type the notes on what happened today later, we haven’t got time for the detail. What happened to you?”

  “I’m not sure I can tell you all of it in half an hour, but I recorded my contact from last night, so . . . Ooh, there’s an idea. Hold on.”

  Margaret went back to the sitting room and returned with the tape recorder. She ejected the tape from the ma
chine and inserted another.

  “You can listen to that when you have a moment. I’ll record this as I tell you. Might be a bit disjointed as I’ve not made notes yet.”

  “Are you going to tell us what, or should I say who it’s about? I didn’t know you still had this.” Bridget tapped the recorder.

  “Found it the other day while I was looking for something else.”

  “Please. Stick to the subject. Mum, who is this about?”

  “My missing person. Michelle Jenks, or as you know her Chelly Rogers.”

  “No!” Gasping, Angie turned to face her mother. “I . . . that is . . .”

  “Well I never! Stop dithering, Angie. Margaret, tell us. Quickly.”

  “I didn’t realise last night. Michelle finally came through, and I wrote down what happened, but something was nagging at me. I thought I’d forgotten something, or part of it was missing. It’s why I cried off today, I knew I wouldn’t concentrate, so I got the notepad and wrote it down. I saw it back to front you see, or out of order anyway.”

  “To the point, Margaret.” Folding her arms, Bridget leaned on the table. “You have us in the palm of your hand. Don’t drop us.”

  “I decided to take a leaf out of Angie’s book. I numbered the notes in order, got the recorder and told the story. When I’d finished, I realised the relevance, who she was, and intended to get my phone to call you, but she was back. I’m not sure this will be any use, or even make sense. I haven’t had time to sort through it yet. You two arrived.”

  Looking at the machine, Angie frowned. “How do you work this? Get it going and just talk, Mum, we can sort out what it means afterwards.”

  “I’ll do it.” Slapping Angie’s hand away, Bridget turned the machine towards her. Placing her fingers on the record and play buttons, she raised her eyebrows. “Aaaand action!”

  Chapter Nineteen.

  Michelle Jenks stood in the middle of the room and looked around. Nothing gave her comfort, nothing said this is home, be content. Pouring herself another drink, she lifted her glass as though making a toast.

  “I’d like to say it’s been wonderful, House. But it hasn’t, not any of it. Not for me.” Taking a huge swig, she walked to the picture of a child and chinked the glass against the frame. “Don’t look at me like that. I know it’s mainly my fault, but what difference does that make? It still hasn’t been a pleasure, or anywhere near.” Emptying the glass, she topped it up again. “Oh bugger, this is such a mess.”

  Plonking herself on the sofa, she dabbed at the patch of gin on her shirt. Her chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears that wouldn’t be allowed to fall. Perhaps if she had a little sleep that would help. The others wouldn’t be back for a while. Sinking into the cushions, she closed her eyes and willed oblivion to arrive quickly. After a few minutes, she cursed and knocked back the gin she’d hoped not to drink. Placing the glass on the arm of the sofa, she closed her eyes again. This time sleep came quickly.

  When she awoke it was almost dark. Staying still she listened for sounds that would signal someone else was home. Relieved the house was silent, she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the dull ache at her temple. A quick shower should spruce her up, and then . . . Then, she didn’t know, but she’d be sober when they got home. That would show them.

  Taking her glass to the kitchen she put it in the sink next to a mug and frowned. That hadn’t been there before. Lifting the mug to her nose she sniffed. Coffee. He’d been home and not bothered to speak to her. Bastard! Retrieving her glass, she went back to the sitting room for a refill, on the way she spotted a note next to the phone in the hall.

  Didn’t want to wake you as you looked so peaceful. Have to sort something out with Jeff, and will be late for H again. Probably 30 mins so I’ll try and phone him. If he arrives please apologise and keep him company if he stays as L not home until nine.

  A smile crept to her lips. How wonderful, this was unexpected. Leaving her glass on the table, she hurried upstairs. Brushing her teeth, she looked at her reflection in the shaving mirror. A few more lines had arrived. Still, nothing a bit of makeup wouldn’t cover. Rinsing her mouth, she was startled when there was a knock at the door, and her smile returned. Leaving her hair in the towel, she slipped her robe on, and went to answer it.

  “Come in, come in. I’ll catch my death with this door open.”

  Grabbing his arm, she pulled him into the hall and shut the door, flipping the catch. Michelle liked to live dangerously, but there was a limit.

  Snatching her glass from the telephone table, she waved it. “Would you like to join me.”

  “No thank you.” He looked her up and down. “I’ve obviously called at a bad time, if . . .”

  Interrupted by the phone, he fell silent as she lifted the receiver.

  “Hello. Oh, it’s you.” Looking at him as she spoke, she smiled as she saw the direction of his gaze. “Oh dear, already left, you say. No, he’s not here yet.” As she spoke, her free hand took hold of the belt of her gown and yanked it free. She adjusted her gown to expose her naked body. “Don’t worry, I’ll entertain him. How long will you be?” Seeing the colour rise to his cheeks, she pouted as she ran her fingers over her body. She ended the call. “No, I don’t mind. Why would I mind? See you later.”

  Both hands free, she cupped her breasts and walked forward, her eyes on his crotch.

  “You like that, I see. Good. We have some time, he’s late. Let’s have some fun.” As she dropped one hand to massage his erection, she realised she wasn’t drunk. Yet here she was about to have sex with someone else again. It wasn’t the drink that made her promiscuous. Giving a laugh, she squeezed him. “I like sex, don’t you? The more the better. Come through, let’s get comfortable.”

  “No.”

  Shocked, she looked at his face. “Don’t be silly, we have enough time, but none to waste. And I need you. Feel.”

  Taking hold of his hand she tried to move it, but he yanked it away.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. I love someone else, and it would be wrong.”

  “Love? What’s that? No such thing. There’s lust and there’s neediness. Love is something they make up in slushy books for women that don’t get sex.”

  “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Turning away, he reached for the door.

  Stepping to the side quickly, Michelle placed herself between him and the door. “Well, if you want to try and do it standing up, so be it.” Placing one hand at the back of his neck, grabbing the sleeve of his coat with the other, she wrapped a leg around him and pulled him against her. Thrusting her crotch forward, she whispered against his neck, “That doesn’t feel like a no to me.”

  Licking his neck, she looked up at his face. The blush had gone, and his eyes avoided hers, but his jaw was set and he turned his face to one side.

  “I’m not doing this. Yes, I want to. But it’s wrong. I’m going home. Please let me go.”

  “No. Valuable time is being wasted here.” She pulled him closer. “Fuck me for God’s sake. Am I that repulsive?”

  Lifting his arms, he knocked hers away, and stepped back. “No. You’re gorgeous, I’m sure there are lots of people who would want to . . . have sex with you. I’m in love with someone else, so I can’t. I’m sorry. Please step away from the door, I’m going and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes and she pointed at him. “You have already hurt me. Insulted me. Sod you, I don’t know who you think you love,” she sneered, “but you’ll never get what I could give you.”

  “I don’t know about that. But that’s not the point. It’s about being faithful and keeping promises. I intend to keep mine.” Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, he moved her to one side. “I’m sorry. We should forget this ever happened. It won’t happen again.” His hand turned the knob and he pulled the door but it didn’t open. Flustered he shook it.

  “It’s locked, so we’ll just stay here until someone comes home.”

  “N
o, I can’t. She can’t see . . .” He pointed at Michelle, her gown still open, and flinched as she flew at him.

  Slapping his hand away from the door, she flicked the catch and turned the knob, opening the door several inches. He could hear the breaths catching in her throat.

  “Get out. Next time you come back, if I say sex is on the menu, then it is.” Delivered through gritted teeth, her eyes glistened. “I will not be bettered by a virgin schoolgirl.”

  Henry slipped through the door without speaking, and she slammed it shut. Taking her glass, she went into the sitting room and filled it, having to still her lips before she could take a swig. She’d have him next time, all she needed was a plan. Slopping the gin as she made her way upstairs, she wondered why it was so important to her, and couldn’t find a reason. He was just a boy, there were plenty of men around who could fulfil her needs.

  Stopping at the landing window she looked out into night and finished her drink. He was long gone, but he’d be back. A sob racked her body, she would have him, she had to win. The first tears fell silently, but as she and her empty glass entered the sitting room for the bottle, they had progressed to noisy, high pitched squeaks she was unable to control. Hurling the glass into the fireplace, she snatched up the half full bottle.

  No one made a fool of her. Especially some bit of a kid. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, the tears subsided. She took the bottle to bed and drank herself into oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty

  The recording came to an end and Bridget hit the stop button.

  “Well, that explains why she had a thing about Henry. Not love or infatuation, she’s clearly jealous of Lorna for some reason, and has a great need to be needed. Odd. Chris Rogers hasn’t come across as neglectful to me, does he seem that way to you?”

  “No, not at all. I got the feeling when he told her to leave that he’d given up trying to please her.” Getting to her feet, Angie picked up the recorder. “I take it I’m allowed to take this with me. I’ll ring if I get stuck on how it works.”