Chapter Three
The house was quiet. All the stress and noise of Monday morning’s pantomime was over. And now I could finally afford myself the luxury of my first hot cup of coffee in the now peacefully empty kitchen.
In truth, the morning’s routine plays out like Groundhog Day, with every day pretty much the same, even down to the daily fight with my son to clean his teeth. It’s a good thing it does too because I’m pretty much a zombie. Since the audio encounter with Michael and Sofi, my mind has been elsewhere. My body is working on autopilot, while my mind is all but absent. On Friday I received a text.
Hi Claire
I’m home and bored.
If you’re free I could come up to you.
How does next Saturday sound?
Let me know.
Michael
I wanted it. Or at least I think I did. But this sudden smack of reality had stunned me. I was free, of course, I was, but my nerve had gone. As always, I turned to my best friend and sister in law Karen. We talked it over most of Sunday morning, and I was pleasantly surprised by her positivity and open-mindedness.
She convinced me that although Michael was young, maybe too young, I wasn’t quite an old maid yet, and my ability to enjoy life to the full shouldn’t stop. I confessed to her that I wasn’t looking for a new partner or a new father for my children.
I had absolutely no intention of replacing Jason, but I did miss a man’s attention, the feel a man’s touch, and yes, I admit it, I missed the sex. After a couple of soul-searching hours, and many cups of coffee, it was decided. And so, with Karen virtually holding my hand, I replied.
Hi Michael
Yes, I’m free.
Claire
I blew out my cheeks like a 100-metre runner at the Olympics. The relief was huge, and his reply was immediate.
Hi Claire
That’s great.
I’ll come up at the weekend.
Keep Saturday night free.
Michael xxx
We both sat in silence, staring at the words on the laptop. It was done, as easily as that. There was no backing out now; at the very least I would have to meet him. He messaged me a little later in the day to say that he’d booked into the swanky Lakeside country hotel.
“Wow Claire, that’s not cheap. Who is this guy?” Karen said, barely hiding her envy. I shrugged my shoulders in reply. I had absolutely no idea who he was or where this was all going to lead. But I liked it. I liked the uncertainty. Sofi had mentioned something about his family having money and him being spoilt, but that was all the information I had.
After Karen had left and the dust of the morning’s activities had settled, I looked around the front room of my cosy three-bedroomed house. It might not be the biggest or grandest house in the world, but it was mine. We’d worked hard and saved for it. If things had been different, we would have probably moved on to something bigger but right now it suited me fine.
I gazed at all the framed family photographs, the smiley faces on high days and holidays all carrying a special memory. My eyes settled on a framed picture of Jason and me taken on our wedding day. It suddenly occurred to me that although it had been ever-present in this room for twenty years, the photograph had moved from a place of pride on the mantlepiece to be almost hidden behind a group of other photographs on a corner table.
Had I subconsciously been slowly pushing him out of my life? I started to wonder how much longer it would be until it was replaced altogether, hidden in a drawer somewhere, to gather dust. We both looked so happy, without even an inkling about what lay ahead for us. It had been a wonderfully warm May afternoon, the cherry and apple trees around the churchyard in full bloom, their blossom caught in the breeze, mixing perfectly with the guests’ confetti.
For the first time in years, I felt the urge to look through my old photo albums, turning the thick paper pages containing the memories of Jason and me behind the protective transparent film. Jason had been there for as long as I could remember. I was friends with his younger sister Karen and had been since my very first day at primary school. He was the annoying big brother, always spoiling our games and generally just being silly around us. It wasn’t until much later that an attraction grew. And then the inevitable happened.
It was at a summer barbecue party, held by the local rugby club. I was acutely aware that he was paying me a lot of attention, never straying too far away from us and I could sense him watching me. I thought he’d lost interest as the evening wore on, but he’d waited until the last of the slow dances of the evening before finally making his move. And as we danced amongst the flashing neon lights, to Luther Vandross’ “Endless Love,” he kissed me.
I felt a little lightheaded and unsteady on my feet as our lips met, my mouth opening involuntarily to accept his tongue. As the party ended, we all shielded our eyes from the sudden brightness of the club’s harsh fluorescent lights. My eyes immediately searched the room for Karen. I found her sitting at a table and she was smiling at me with an expression that told me that she knew all along that this was going to happen, and that she approved.
I felt Jason’s hand resting on my bottom as he guided me towards the exit. My head was swimming as we walked past the line of kissing lovers outside the club. As we reached the shadow at the unlit far end of the clubhouse, we were greeted by the sound of a chorus of zips being lowered, along with the inevitable moan from one of the girls as she was rutted against the wall.
This environment scared me a little as it was all moving too fast. I was twenty and still a virgin, and apart from a few fumbling encounters I was completely inexperienced. My most significant moment so far being against a wall, outside the village church hall with Joe Miller. It was at a New Year’s Eve party, where he’d lifted my skirt, and I’d felt his fingers nervously trying to part my legs. I had stopped him as he as he came perilously close to venturing inside my knickers, my mother’s advice calling out to me.
“Never let a boy take advantage of you too early. He won’t respect you and it won’t last,” she’d said to me. Adding, “take control, Claire. You don’t want to get a reputation like some around here.” Her words echoed in my head again as Jason’s hand cupped my breast through my thin cotton top. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, I did. I was more than ready in-fact. It seems strange now, looking back, how her advice stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t want to appear cheap like some of the other girls, but I also didn’t want to lose him. It’s a fine line, but in the end, I went with my mother’s advice.
The following Saturday night we had our first proper date. I’d spent much of the afternoon anxiously going through my limited collection of clothes. A trip into town earlier had eased my agitation as to what to wear underneath. For the first time in my life, I’d bought underwear purely on how it looked rather than for its practicality, in the end plumping for what I considered to be a rather expensive but sexy black lacy bra and knickers.
I remember my dad being impressed that Jason picked me up in his van rather than meet me in town. We had arranged to go to the cinema where he was taking me to see “Titanic,” still one of my favourites. It’s weird sometimes, the things that stay in your mind, but as we walked through the town afterwards, I felt safe as he put his arm around me.
I always felt like that with him, he was my protector. As we began the journey home, the tension in the van was palpable. He’d taken the longer, scenic route home through the winding county lanes. I kept looking over at him as he drove, waiting for him to make his move. I’d already made my mind up that unless things went really badly, I was his.
The butterflies danced a jig in my stomach as eventually, he turned into a quiet lay-by. As the engine died, the stillness of that summer night was blissful. Not a sound. This was it. The moment I’d played over and over in my head. I was aware that unlike me, Jason had already had sex; Karen spilled that secret to me over a year ago. But strangely that knowledge made me nervous. It scared me that I wouldn’t know what to do, and my inexperience would spoil the moment.
His hand stroked my hair, before drawing me in. Our kiss was hard and awkward. I could his sense his eagerness as I hoped that he could sense mine. His other hand impatiently unbuttoned my blouse and found its way under my bra.
“Yes?” he half whispered, confusing me. Was it a question or was he asking me to do something? I chose to ignore it, but my moan as he pinched my erect nipple must have given him the answer he was looking for.
“It’s a lot more comfortable in the back,” he whispered before I willingly let him lead me in the dark, along the side of his van. By the time he’d opened the back doors and helped me in, I was in such a state of sexual tension that I thought I’d explode.
He threw a blanket down over the plywood floor and I laid back in a space surrounded by his work tools, with the overwhelming smell of diesel and brick dust invading my nostrils. He reached under my short, Miss Selfridge skirt, and tugged at my knickers, rolling them down my legs and over my left foot, before coming to rest around my right ankle before putting them in his pocket.
It was at that point that I started to feel a little anxious. I had a vivid and haunting memory of Terry Andrews, driving around the town in his beat-up Ford Escort with a pair of Ann Taylor’s red knickers hanging like a souvenir from his rear-view mirror, humiliatingly advertising to the world that he’d taken her virginity.
I heard a sharp crack as his belt buckle snapped open, and the rustle of his jeans being lowered as he stood outside in the dark. With my eyes wide open, I caught the occasional glimpses of his features silhouetted in the half moonlight before he joined me.
I felt his hands on my knees, pushing my legs apart, my skirt bunching around my waist as he raised them. I was desperate for a kiss, and as he leaned over me, I thought that it would happen, but instead, he balanced his weight on one arm while his other held his erect cock. He was nervous and agitated too, I could tell that. His hard flesh impatiently pressing, searching.