tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34136485540698854422024-03-29T03:28:11.445+00:00* What Lena Leaves *Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.comBlogger487125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-89154706776686241402024-03-15T15:07:00.000+00:002024-03-15T15:07:15.505+00:00Positivity (ch26)<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #01ffff; font-size: x-large;"><b> start of ***<u>POSITIVITY</u>***</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>👴</u></b></span>Something was on his mind again. She sensed it shortly after the day had begun as they were planting seasonal flowers into pots on the balcony. Their time spent together was on the increase now her woodwork course had finished, and he had cut his work into a three-day week. Not that she needed that extra time to get to know him better, she was pretty much an expert of his soul now. Yet, she had seen him urgently scraping dirt out from under his fingernails with a file and hurrying it back into his pocket. That obsession had lessened and disappeared over the months, and it bothered her to see its return. The indication that all wasn't well was slowly turning into concern, but she wouldn't push it - them 'ickle flowers needed her meantime. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> * * * </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Snuggling against him - wrapped in post-sexual unity - Saskia always enjoyed the repose afterwards as Neil usually delivered some drollery as to how breathless he could be after their energetic stints. But instead he lay holding her in silence; very unlike him. She moved down a bit, taking her head from his shoulder to rest on his chest, and pressed down firm. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'What are you doing, Saskia?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She attempted to start the light-hearted stuff off by mentioning the pace of his heart. 'God, that's galloping!' she said, using her ear as a stethoscope. 'We must have gave it some oomph.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> He gave no riposte, and took a bit longer to reply. 'In a guy my age, I guess it's a blessing that it's still beating afterwards,' he said, well bereft of the teasing tone she expected. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'What? Bit of an odd thing for you to say.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Is it?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Of course it is. You know I'm just teasing, don't you?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I know.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She suddenly froze. 'There isn't anything I should know about, is there?' she asked, not brave enough to look at him for his answer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'No. Why?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Because you sound as if you're writing yourself off here.' she said with a nervous laugh. 'Are you sure you're okay?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Aye... aye, I'm okay, sweetheart, a little out of sorts, perhaps.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'What like, feeling under par or something... and that's not a golfing joke, I'm serious!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Ill? No, not that. I just feel I'm, well, not much cop at times.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> The comfort-fingertip she was tracing round the very few hairs between his nipples and up and around his thorax halted its course. 'Sorry, I'm lost. I don't know what you mean.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I wasn't very...' he sighed, a bit fazed at how to express himself properly. 'You would let me know if you weren't happy with... anything, wouldn't you?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She upped herself on an elbow to look at him. 'What in God's name would I be <i>un</i>happy about?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"> He fell quiet for a bit again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Just tell me... '</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Saskia, you're thirty years younger than me, and I'm not quite as red-blooded as I once was.' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'And?' she demurred, with the slightest fear he may be trying to call it quits; some conscience or other finally getting to him. 'What do you mean, that I'm not satisfied... or think you're past it... or what?'</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> He didn't address the question but came out with; 'You're so beautiful.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Now it was her own heartbeat's turn to wallop. Dreading his next words would start with a <i>but, </i>she gave them no chance to formulate. Sitting fully upright, arms hugging knees, she made her demand: 'Right, Raptor - spill! You've been unusually quiet and distant today - what's on your mind?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Sighing, he sat upright. 'I've had quite a rough night, struggled to get to sleep. Got a late call saying a friend I often played golf with was rushed to hospital. He died early this morning.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> The words, <i>thank fuck</i> formed ashamedly in her head, putting any menacing fear she had to instant rest. 'Aw, Dad. I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Och, you never knew the man, Saskia. I've been trying not to let it spoil our day, but it was a bit of a shock.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What happened?' she asked tentatively.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Heart attack. Hit the deck like a ton of bricks. Fifty-five.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Bloody hell,' she said - rather unhelpfully.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Attending funerals was something that increased with age, but losing this friend gave him sudden grounds to question his own longevity, how his own demise would come about. Choosing the right roads into old age is important, has a bigger bearing than simply what the milometer reads. Neil knew all this, and took rather good care of himself. Dodging death long enough to get really wrinkly is fuelled on a <i>made it to another day </i>celebration for simply waking up of a morning. So while thoughts of his time coming to an end weren't quite giving him the screaming abdabs, he now had Saskia and their obfuscated tangle to consider in these latter years.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'd dread to think where it would leave you now if the same happened to me, ' he openly admitted, imagining the fear Beverly must have felt at the worst point of her illness.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> His words splintered inside her at the thought. 'Oh, Dad...' she said in a strangled whisper, 'please don't think like that, we've all the time in the world yet.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Have we?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> It was harder for someone of advanced years to really feel the same - especially with friends or family dropping like flies. To the young, a man in his late fifties was ancient anyway. While they had their whole lives ahead of them, he had retirement looming.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Look,' she sighed, 'you know mum's doing really well now, she's expecting the all clear soon. And <i>we</i> both are always using the gym and the pool here - you're as fit as a fiddle, got first-class medical care, so as long as the pair of you don't peg it on the same day, I'll still have the ruddy other!' She gave him a shoulder bump. 'Okay?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Sure', he gave her a wistful smile.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I know your friend's death must be playing on your mind, but it's the other stuff that's a puzzler. Where's all this insecure bollocks coming from?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Part embarrassed, he flung his head back onto the pillow and rubbed his hands over his face. 'I do feel my age with you sometimes, Saskia, plus I kind of pushed you into it there, came onto you.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Throwing herself back on the pillow Saskia roared to the ceiling, fingers grasping her hair frustration. Then with a laugh, she rolled on top of him, hands clasped over his chest, chin resting on them. Neil could feel his penis press against her belly. Ten, maybe even just five years ago, he'd be ready for another session this soon. While he probably had had his weekly fill, he worried she may not have.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'You really are on a roll with this age thing today, aren't you?' she looked him solidly in the eyes. 'Listen to me now, Raptor. You're gonna change as the years pass, of course you are, we all do, but that didn't stop me getting the hots for you. And so what if you get a few more crinkles, or fingers get a little more crooked, and things head south. Regardless of that, you still feel as warm and protective and alert. It doesn't matter what the packaging's like, or how old and battered the box may be as long as the gift inside pleases you. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> 'And... ' she added - poking him in the chest to make sure he was getting this before rolling off him again to lay straight, 'as for Miss Foo-Foo down there... ' She lifted the duvet and pointed towards her crotch, '... she don't know the difference between old wood and young, but she ain't got no complaints, and she's had some wood in her short time... '</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> 'Aye, an Amazon Forest's worth... ' </span> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Oi!,' she protested, and dug him playfully in the ribs, delighted that his sanguine side seemed to have made a return. 'Cheeky sod!... Actually, you may be right... <i>but,</i> you don't necessarily need skin like suede, or be ripe for the picking to make someone happy. For fuck's sake, stop giving yourself all this hairless hassle, man!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> </span>'You have a peerless way of putting things, lady, 'cause I've got a full head of hair,' he told her, but still got the loopy gist of what she meant, 'c'mere.' And just when he enfolded her back into his arms for some silent warmth, the garrulous one piped up again;</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'And don't be scared to come onto me, or tell me if you're not up for it. I mean, we're not by any means a typical couple, but you're still my lover and it works both ways.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> He gave a sigh, 'I know, but I don't want you to ever feel I'm pushing it. I always wanted to take things at <i>your</i> own pace, at <i>your</i> call. That's why I prefer to— '</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'To let me initiate, spark things up, I get it.' She realised this a while ago, and hadn't fully concluded why. Maybe it was the age thing, or just his preferred thing, or maybe it helped to assuage any guilt that she shouldn't be in his bed at all. 'Please don't feel bad just because you needed me today. Adults finds solace in sex, it's what our bits are there for.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Neil clasped her to him even tighter. Sometimes her piffle could make ridiculous sense to him. 'I love you,' he needlessly reminded her. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I love me too,' she reminded him. Snuggling even cosier onto his chest, living in this ageless moment, she listened to the contented pound from under his ribs. 'Your heart's beating away as happy as Larry - whoever that bloke is!' She gave a sharp intake of breath and suddenly sat up and looked up at him. 'Your friend wasn't called Larry, was he?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Giving a short laugh, he clarified he wasn't.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Good.' She rested her head back down again. 'I could lie like this forever - no cock's included.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Ah, that's good to know!' he said in mock agreement at her inept way of clearing up the shit in his head.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">So Neil had had a near-tears day. The death of his friend had brought the synapses of his brain into sentimental overdrive which his sweet, young, near-constant companion helped him through; essentially his tube of nonsensical solvent.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> What he never broached when with her, and always stopped himself from facing though, was all those tucked away fears and facts. And if any tried to surface, all he had to do was remind himself that they were made of skin, bone and feelings just as everyone else. Wasn't that what always she said? And under the guise of a safe and sane father and daughter, all they had to do was live their lives on the outside world's terms, so what did it matter if they shared concerns and a bloodline indoors? It was strictly their business. Wasn't it?</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #01ffff; font-size: x-large;"><b> end of ***<u>POSITIVITY</u>***</b></span></div><div> </div><div>^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^</div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-86006118891785097552024-03-12T16:13:00.001+00:002024-03-12T16:13:28.318+00:00Horizontal Twist <div><span style="color: #ff00fe;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">start of ***<u>HORIZONTAL TWIST</u>***</span></b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large; text-align: justify;"><b><u>🍜</u></b></span><span style="text-align: justify;">The last thing he needed to come home to was disarray. His mind was already cluttered by the goings-on of an awkward client backing out of a deal that he knew could make a reasonable profit. The loss, of course, not paramount to the company, but he hated being messed with. Even after a fine dining meal (often used in the business as a softening tool), he waited until during dessert to politely tell Neil to stick it. Neil told him back that he hoped he choked on the fucker as he angrily left the table; the bastard client had no intention of signing a deal half an hour into discussions.</span></div><span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;">Saskia had let herself in at half past one - two hours earlier than she said she'd planned - with a whole new deal-for-the-day that smelled of PJ's, (her mini heart-stamped ones) snacks, and whatever else alcohol brought about. No longer did she desire to go see that boring new film with him (she let him have his way sometimes!) and instead put another slant on its cancellation by staying home. She got a sudden shock when she heard his key in the door.</div><div> 'No, no, no!' she squawked at him. 'What are you doing home now?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;"> He rooted himself as he noticed her there in the kitchen-space, a metal tray on the worktop with marshmallows capped in brown aboard, with a trail of melted chocolate travelling back and forth from a bowl; over the hob, the counter, and her mouth. He was - gradually - getting used to the general clutter that came with her - something rectified fairly easily - but burnt in stains and opened drawers, jars and packets, and the shamble just tipped him over the pissed-about weariness edge. </span></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'What's all this?'</div> 'Chocolate mallows... ' she said, slowly raising the spoon and licking off a big drip that was forming. For the first time she could almost physically feel how irked he'd become. 'You're always telling me I should learn to cook.'<br /> Disparagingly he shook a slow, unhappy head. 'I'm going for a shower, please sort out this mess by the time I'm out.' </div><div> Saskia fought the urge to tell him to piss off, it was no big deal; a rub with a Brillo pad and <i>ta-da</i>... there you go!'<div style="text-align: justify;"> Hoping that the foamy promises of his stress-relief shower gel lived up to its claim, she waited until she heard the water turn off, then the zip of the shower curtain being pulled back, before her head appeared round the bathroom door (as if it were on a stick), startling him a little. Seeking a truce, she laid his folded shorts and tee-shirt nightwear on top of the towel rack.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Just thought you might need these,' she said in a small voice, and left him be - thinking it wise to perhaps make an attempt at tidying, at least, the kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Appearing from the bathroom doing that wet hair and towel thing, she hoped any irascibleness wasn't still lurking under that wet mop. He looked disgruntled yet, but was wearing his PJ's nonetheless, and came to join her in the kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Put that scrubber, down,' he told her, taking it from her and throwing it into the sink. 'Sorry for the grumpiness, I've had a shit day.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'S'alright,' she sighed, drying her hands. 'It would have been all cleaned away had you come home when you were supposed to and you'd have been none the wiser... want one?' She turned and held out a sticky glob of pink and brown with her fingers and he accepted it. 'Good?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Ah... eaten worse,' he opined as he chewed away. Saskia punched him playfully in the stomach, and it felt good to see his smile slotting back into place. 'Not had any lunch yet, suppose I could teach you to cook food properly - or in your case, cook proper food!' </div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Could do,' she agreed, holding out a bottle of beer to him. 'What were you thinking?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'That I'm in for a hard time.'</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> And he more or less was. Despite working in the food industry, the furthest the little tea shop that she worked in went to, by way of hot food, was toasties and soup of the day; provided by outside caterers or from her mum's friend's kitchen. Saskia mostly served or thrown-together sandwiches, if need be. And she'd mentioned that it was her grampa and mother who cooked at home. If left to her, she'd happily survive on cereal and sandwiches, so trying to get her into some easy recipe that included one uncomplicated wok was proving to be challenging; even the preparation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Bloody Nora!' she exclaimed (a saying of her Grampa's that still carried with her), as she struggled to get a lid off a jar of paste. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Can't you manage?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'No. You'd need a ruddy degree from Oxford to learn how to open that!' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Give it here..' Neil twisted it open first time. Heedless of instructions, it wasn't too long before she was sucking on a burnt fingertip and he decided to take the wok from her but encouraged her to observe. However, any tutoring was being rudely snubbed as she hummed and assented behind him, trying to fool him into thinking she was paying attention, when in reality she was swiping away on her phone. On discovering this, he nabbed it from her and tossed it quite a fair distance onto the settee, under a huge gasp from her. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'What are you doing!' she protested.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Jesus Christ, lady, you're supposed to be learning something here.' As endearing as taking an interest in one of his passions would have pleased him, deep down he knew the quest to ever see her beside some simmering pot was overestimating her desire to ever want to. Chocolate mallow-making was perhaps the extent her abilities wanted to go. No one can truly shake off childhood, he concluded. Gourmet was a thing strictly for adulthood. 'Look, this is almost ready. Get out two bowls and two wine glasses, we can eat at the bar... I'll not book you in for any more classes.'</div><div> 'Got out of that one, Scotsman free,' she cheekily quipped, crackling with energy like the wok she'd managed to sunder from.</div><div><div> 'And don't think for one second of picking that bloody phone back up,' he ordered as he faced the hob again, 'we're about to eat.'</div><div> 'I won't... I love it when you're all daddy-like with me... '</div><div> He turned and gave her a look.</div><div><br /></div><div> * * * * * *</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Needless to say - or for him to inquire - that their cinema outing was now was a no-goer, instead she'd planned an in-bed movie at some point. If they'd be focused enough to enjoy it was a different matter.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Bowls pushed aside, playing cards taking up the space, she shuffled the pack and dealt while giving instructions for booze-based Pontoon. </div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'So, it's the <i>loser </i>that necks the shot, then?' Neil queried. 'Seems a bit au contraire.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Speak English, Dad.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Different, off beat. Usually winners get rewarded.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She sighed. 'Are you sticking or twisting?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Three times in a row Saskia lost before his own first defeat, and near gagged the second he'd downed his shot. 'Ugh! The chuffing stuff tastes like bloody Benylin!' he said, slamming the mini-glass down with a clunk.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Like what?' she frowned.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Oh, just this chesty cough syrup my mother used to pour down my throat every winter as a boy.' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Saskia gave a tender smile at hearing this as his mother didn't feature in his narrative too often. As for the Jagerbombs - which she'd pre-bought - he wished her the win with every hand, but refused to cheat and kept swigging the chuffing stuff nonetheless. An hour and a half later he called it a day as her losing streak tripped into alcohol-induced profanities; thank God she was never this lavatorial elsewhere. So far.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div> * * * </div><div> </div><div>Despite the buzz in his ears, Neil reckoned he was sober enough for some laptop work. With this taken care of, he might even take tomorrow morning off. The bored and petulant child in Saskia, however, had other ideas. Not satisfied with eyes glued to her phone for a miraculous change, and rain keeping her from the balcony, her impatience grew to attention-intervention; starting with aimlessly bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, humming random tunes while hitting him constantly with are-you-finished-yets. Pillows and cushions went everywhere, hairbands pinged at him, and so far he seemed to be impressively unbothered by her antics. But she was, by temperament, designed for fun and upped her game to bouncing right next to him; knees bent and arse stuck out, as he tried to type. That did the trick. </div><div> Snapping his laptop shut and pushing it to the middle of the table, he made a grab for her which she dodged by flying off the settee with him in chase. Despite his insatiable love for her, she'd still ruined his castle and Neil Balfour didn't like it one bit. He nabbed her flat on the bed, holding her by the wrists above her head and looked down at her with disdain, feeling more than hacked off.</div><div> Raising her hips, she brushed her genitals across his, unchaste by his impulsive response. This wasn't her usual signal when she required him, not the gentle lead up to it he'd come to recognise. Held in such dominant form turned Saskia on, so she thought she'd try to make him play harder, struggle free, but his full weight dropped on her, keeping her there. She responded eagerly. </div><div><br /></div><div>'You do my head in, girl, d'you know that?' he said in between breaths, after the whole five-minute event was over.</div><div> 'Try my best,' she smirked, slipping the bottom half of her nightclothes back on.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> He gave her a wry smile and shook his head lightly, not sure if <i>those</i> kind of five minutes would ever happen again. Sometimes all it took was a slight stroke of his thigh for slow tension to build, not even making it to bed. Sometimes one would fall asleep before the other on the sofa, then feel the warmth of a body snuggling in at some point through the night. So he'd surprised himself to find a rampant side still left in him, although it was pretty much out of his comfort zone these days. Now he struggled with the fact that his bed felt empty on the nights she wasn't there, and the luxury of all that space he once enjoyed felt oppressive. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> With sudden hoo-hah, Saskia leapt from the bed, and boosted back with the bottle of champagne she sneakily had hidden in the back of the fridge, two flutes and unnecessary snacks. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Okay... what film should we watch?' she asked him, lolling across his bare chest, stretching fully for the controls in his bedside cabinet as he was trying his best to pour the drink into the glasses.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Have I got a say in it, then?' he said derisively as she pressed the button to raise the flat screen that built into the framework at the foot of the bed - something he rarely used but she was taken with. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Sure!' she said with soundness that only lasted a few seconds. 'Actually, I fancy a horror film.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Och!' Neil cast his eyes to the ceiling. 'Go on, then, just make sure it's more spooky than gory.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After 15 minutes they agreed upon - with as much false enthusiasm as he could muster - some shit or other; she was so indecisive. Curtains drawn (by button command) their faces patterned with the flickering actions of the TV screen. Necking sparkling after sparkling glass to help him watch along, he took delight in waiting for a tense bit before before grasping her thigh and shrieking. On reflex response, she slapped his shoulder and called him a bastard; giving him the glory of goading her for the name she'd just called him. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Unable to connect with this banal shit-flick, Neil started to throw peanuts towards an empty beer bottle (champagne now arsed) left on a nearby cabinet, and within a couple of minutes the film was forgotten; taking just over ten minutes for him to pop a nut down that glass neck, they both gave a huge drunken cheer at his success. Nut's everywhere, his place really <i>was</i> in an unrecognisable, shambolic state - about as bad as a party of people would leave. But for the moment the drunken old bum cared not a jot. Rather incredulous from this non-shifting, house-proud turgid. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Saskia didn't bother to reconnect with the film, instead her amorous side was starting to creep back. But Neil managed to put her advances on hold; intemperance having a meantime say in the matter. It was bliss just shutting out the world - no exits or entries other than them - and holding her as a welcomed sleep washed over them. But that bliss was about to be burst-in on by a forgotten regular.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div> * * * *</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Valerie gave Martin at the concierge-desk the usual hello, as she made her way in. In the lift up to the top floor, she wondered what delights would be in Saskia's bedroom this time. Initially, she had questioned the age of her by the debris from her first ever visit there. No doubt there would be washing and ironing awaiting - often having her cause to sniff the garment to discern which was which. It wasn't the sight of Saskia's bedroom that would cause the most alarm tonight though.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> After letting herself in with her set of keys, the portly charwoman gave an, 'Oi, Oi, Oi,' as her eyes scanned the flat. At first she didn't notice them as she pottered about sorting the mess, but further along the apartment, her eyes locked on a sight that totally threw her. Father and grown daughter asleep together in the same bed was shocking enough, but the lack of clothes and position they'd glued themselves together in in their drunken slumber, had hands and heads resting in unseemly places. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> In a panic, she retreated outside still not believing what she'd just witnessed. As much as she tried to convince herself this might be something she'd just mistakenly deduced, the amount of bare skin exposed suggested otherwise. More than simply watching a film had gone on there. Besides - why watch a smaller screen when there was a huge TV in a more than comfortable area for such? No, no. This was far too luculent for her to be wrong.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Stuck in such a quandary was awful. Instinct wanted her to flee, pretend it never happened, but blind duty kept her there. She needed the wages, and hovering about outside the lift was getting her nowhere. She could knock loudly, or phone in the hope of waking them and pretend she'd simply forgotten her key; let them take it from there. Or she could leave it half an hour and try again in the hope that they'd both be awake by then. Either way, she wasn't sure she could even look them in the eye. <i>Foda.</i> She needed to leave the building. Concierge could notice her hanging about in the hallway at any second and intervene if they felt there may be a problem.</div><div> Valerie marched straight past young Martin on the way out; he simply assumed that her service wasn't needed after all and she was miffed at it. Still not knowing what to do for the best, she knew she had to think fast and by the time she'd walked the length of her cigarette, she decided to leave a text message:</div><div> </div><div><i style="font-size: small;">Good evening, Mr. Balfour. I am sorry but I'm not going to manage my shift tonight as one of the grand-kids has taken ill and needs me. I can manage the same time tomorrow night instead if that's okay with you? </i></div><div><i style="font-size: small;"><br /></i></div><div>That would at least give her 24 hours before having to face anyone. She just thanked God that tonight she didn't bring company along; sometimes she had no choice but to bring a very well-behaved grandchild with her. Imaging having to explain that one.</div><div><br /></div><div> * * *</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few short hours later they rose from bed, Saskia felt, by contrast, hungover the night before the morning after. Downing tons of water, she was trying to quell this sick feeling by making herself some dry toast. Asking if he needed the same, she looked up when he didn't answer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Dad? Toast?' she asked again and watch him throw down his phone on the couch next to him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Thank fuck!' he said.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'What's up?' she queried, though not really caring as her head felt it was being knocked at by a bunch of hammers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Just got a text from Valerie. Forgot she was supposed to be cleaning the flat tonight while we were at the cinema, didn't we?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> She ceased the crunching on her butterless toast and felt her heart speed up a little. 'What's it say?'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'She's just apologising for not being able to make it tonight, sick grandkid or something.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Both of them stared at the other, stunned into silence for the moment. They thanked fate for now, but needed to return to bed. The full impact of this careless slip would most likely hit home harder come the clearer-headed morning.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> As they curled back together under the duvet, Neil hated the feeling of having been that lax, considering this a close one. He'd need to shave a little more thoroughly in future, though. Any closer and tonight's razor could have left one hell of a nasty nick.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div><b style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: xx-large;"> end of ***<u>HORIZONTAL TWIST</u>***</b></div></div><div><br /></div><div>***************************************************************************</div><div><br /></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-15779118959836783192024-03-07T20:36:00.000+00:002024-03-07T20:36:03.679+00:00Tear For Affairs (ch 24)<div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="color: #d5a6bd; font-size: x-large;"><b> ***<u>TEARS FOR AFFAIRS</u>***</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>💧</u> </b></span>The day of January 4th came after its predecessors had dragged their hours into what felt like months getting there. Having arranged with Neil to pick him up at Heathrow (giving Marcus an extra festive day off), Saskia had been checking the monitors nearly every minute since the flight had touched down to find out what gate he would be coming through. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Inspecting her face in her hand mirror, (yet again) she was making sure all remaining bruising was still muted under her layer of foundation; thankful that she had been quick with the trusted old bag-of-frozen-peas in reducing the swelling of her lips.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> For the past few days she had practiced in her mind to stick with the champagne-cork story in case he pressed her on it again. And although her mum had apologised for such a vile and violent act, Saskia had been part-relieved at her auntie Corrine's visit, feeling safer with someone else present. That anger had been bad enough whilst sober and she shuddered to think of an even worse outcome had she been annihilated; her mother tended to drink harder over the festive period.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He finally showed up. She had imagined him to have a darker complexion, but his face was just as pale and wan as the winter.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Forgetting for a moment that he'd travelled with a friend, the urge to run straight to him had to be restrained in light of social decorum. Jumping on him and wrapping her legs round his waist would not be fitting for welcoming any father back home, but it didn't stop her envisioning it. A simple hug came first, then a brief introduction to his friend, finishing with a well-behaved walk to her car. The friend, Vince, would be heading back with them to Neil's apartment for breakfast, and to pick up his car. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> They chattered over the breakfast bar, but Saskia sat like an agreeable nodding dog, not taking in one bloody word of it, just mentally shooing this Vince out the door. And once Vince set upon his journey home, she set upon Neil the very second the door clicked shut. As he turned, she took a lunge at him, trapping him against the door to crush her lips to his, seeking quick reciprocation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Whoa! Give me a chance to settle in...' he said, once he unplugged her lips from his by jocosely pushing her from him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I just mega-missed you like crazy.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Arms wrapped genteelly around her, and he closed his eyes to breathe in her scent, happy to be feeling her soft cheek on his. 'I mega-missed you, too.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'That was a long ten days.' she stated. She had been irrationally fearing he might have had some kind of change of heart (or come to his senses) while away.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I know. I'll not bore you with even more golf and stuff, so coffee in bed?' he suggested to her surprise and elation; it gave her blessed relief to know that tumultuous-but-glorious night they last spent together wouldn't be ending as a one-off sweet memory.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Really? God, that was easy!' she smiled up at him. 'I'll just, ah... ' Wrinkling her nose up, she thumbed towards the bed and headed its way. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I'm acting barista again, then, am I?' he called after her. 'What about my jet lag... ?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Don't forget the extra cream... ' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Aye, aye. Welcome home, Neil!' he grumbled to himself, before dutifully making and carrying the cappuccinos over.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Despite her young body having hankered for him, his fourteen hours of travelling left him exhausted. She watched, with amusement, as he started dozing off, still sitting up; coffee starting to waver about. Sneaking round to his side of the bed, she carefully withdrew the near-full cup from his hands, rousing him briefly till he found himself a comfortable position. Within an hour of reaching home, sleep - and not her - had been the winning contender. And it didn't help that he slept for eighteen hours straight, either; having a 58-year-old in one's love-life could be tested when a younger libido demands. Thank goodness she was patient.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Saskia had thirsted so long for the feel of those silky sheets. Laying on her side, having had Neil moulded closely behind her, she, at last, was staring morning straight in the post-coitus eye: damp and dreary London at that moment could not have looked more resplendent. She felt quite sorry for her little guest room, knowing in all likelihood it would become storage space for clothes and disorder.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> Under this exceptional <i>he's home now</i> high, she (just after declaring that she was going to stay in bed all the lazy-day long) swept back the duvet and leapt from bed to the sound of a tune from the radio. With crazy little dance steps, lacking any pattern or order, she made her way to join him at the breakfast bar, singing unmelodious and dreadfully out of tune. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Watching her sway towards him, he couldn't help but shake his head at the killing of this catchy, song. 'I know I say it all the time, but here's another reminder... you're mental, you are,' said while sliding her a steamy mug across the counter. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> She upped with a yup onto a stool, still writhing to the music; a dimple forming on one of Neil's left cheek as he tried <i>not</i> to permit a smile.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What?' she protested through a laugh. 'You have to move as you sing to this one... why are you not?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Because I haven't the foggiest idea who it is, maybe?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'How could you not know this one?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Saskia, I know I'm a raptor, but I haven't been on the earth long enough to listen to every song ever written!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You really don't know <i>this</i> one?' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'Jesus, woman! You can't pop fifty-pee in my mouth and expect any song to come out!'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> With an elbow up on the worktop, chin resting in hand, she stared steadily at him. 'I could sit here. Just like this. Forever and ever,' she sighed. 'Can't believe we'll be back at work tomorrow.'</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> 'I know, kiddo. Right...' He gave a loud clap of the hands, '... we're going out for breakfast!' </div><div style="text-align: justify;"> A runny-egg roll sounded delectable after ten days of congee. Besides, they hadn't had a proper chat about how their time apart had gone, and food may help calm down her ebullience - or at least help stop her mouth doing overtime for a bit. But he couldn't help but love her antics. He knew sharing his bed with her incited her adoration to a fresh new level, so a boost of outdoor normality kept up practical importance. For h<span style="text-align: justify;">e had had plenty time in Macau to consider even the simplest of risks; no incriminating texts, outdoor terms of endearments, kisses on the mouth and so on. And absolutely </span><i style="text-align: justify;">no</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> repeats of discarded knickers in his bed (as she had done at the hotel). It was imperative too, that no menstrual blood be found on </span><i style="text-align: justify;">his</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> bedsheets, and that bed of </span><i style="text-align: justify;">hers </i><span style="text-align: justify;">would need a slept-in appearance before the cleaner was due.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"> He was well aware that affairs of the heart could become cumbersome and mission-like, and that a stain in frilly knickers could leave devastating stains elsewhere. Hey-ho </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span><span style="color: #d5a6bd;">end of **<u>TEARS FOR AFFAIRS</u>**</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-59689231962638583032024-03-04T14:12:00.000+00:002024-03-04T14:12:58.429+00:00Bruises Shine (ch23)<div><span style="color: #04ff00; font-size: x-large;"><b> Start of **<u>Bruises Shine</u>**</b></span> </div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>🍵</u></b></span> Saskia could hear the two women giggling away in the steam-filled kitchen. They were already on their third bottle of Prosecco, having popped their first cork at nine in the morning, and she was glad to sneak off from their churlish banter: not being much use in the preparation of Christmas dinner, anyhow. Cutlery, candles and three crackers had been placed on the table and she considered that enough of a contribution. </div><div> Her face was still smarting from cuts and bruising, and since the combination of opened curtains and a nagging mother drove her from her bed at an unearthly early hour, her hangover-head wasn't letting up much either. Soon as that dried-out turkey and those fart-stink sprouts were forced down, she'd be straight back under that duvet; pudding could sodding-well wait.</div><div> The Skype call from Neil was due in around five minutes and Saskia hoped the connection would hold, she dearly needed to see his face, hear his voice. The notification-signal ran its tune, and from six thousand miles he was before her - sitting there with a rather fetching oriental crown on. Even so, her heart lurched, and before he spoke she could tell he was somewhat squiffed!</div><div> 'Saskia! Merry Christmas, darling, it's good to see you.'</div><div> 'Hi, Dad!' she beamed. 'What's that on your head, it's very fetching?'</div><div> He tutted. 'Something that Vince plonked on me this morning and warned me not to take off all day.' He had tufts of hair at each ear curling up comically. </div><div> She giggled. 'Has he had you playing golf in it?'</div><div> 'Every year... ah, y'know what? Bets over!' He removed the festive hat and rubbed his hair in a less- ridiculous mess. 'It's getting late now, anyway.' </div><div> 'You're joking! We've not even had dinner yet!'</div><div> 'Big time difference.'</div><div> 'So, what's the weather like in Macau?' </div><div> 'Fairly warm during the day, but drops rapidly at night.'</div><div> 'We got a layer of snow here... not much, mind.'</div><div> 'That's good, that's good.' Hats. Time. Weather. What she really wanted to say was <i>I wish I was in your arms again, under covers, my head on your chest.</i></div><div><i> </i>His hand blocked his face for a bit as he tampered with his laptop, shifting its position, the light from his end was blooming and dying. 'Ah, that's better, can see you more clearly now.' </div><div> 'Thanks for the necklace, by the way, Dad.' </div><div> 'It got there in time, then?' It had been sent from China the day he arrived.</div><div> 'Got it on.' She swept her hair back to let him see. 'What does the writing say?' she asked, looking down on it while rubbing fingertips over the pendant. He didn't answer, just let the silence grow. 'Dad?' On looking back up, she could tell by the quizzical face that he'd noticed.</div><div> 'Sweetheart... what's happened to your mouth?'</div><div> 'Oh, it's nothing.'</div><div> 'Doesn't look like nothing.' Her bottom lip was still fairly swollen and discoloured. The punt from her mother's boot had also brought up a bruise on her chin. But heavy make-up cleverly hid her black eye or he'd have been more horrified.</div><div> 'It was my own stupid fault,' she said, flicking away her account with a hand. 'I got in the way of someone popping a cork at a mate's house Saturday night. Went out for some air in the garden and on my way back indoors managed to find myself right in the line of fire.'</div><div> As she explained her 'misadventure', he watched her fingers worrying a thread in the bedraggled cuff of her sleeve; still traumatised by the truculent attack a few days ago. He picked up on her voice sounding scratchy and broken, and knew she wasn't giving a true version. He wasn't drunk enough not to notice something was amiss, but he was far enough away not to be able to do anything about it; preferring to believe that she'd maybe had a fall (and not a fight) and was too embarrassed to admit it.</div><div> 'You sure it doesn't need checking?'</div><div> 'Really, it's fine, it just looks worse than it is.' </div><div> 'Okay kiddo... ' He'd leave things at that.</div><div> They fell into festive and bland chit-chat, heedful of any possible background lurkers. And almost at the point of risking a more personal comment to him, the door to her room crashed open and a head peeked round it. </div><div> 'Saskia, honey-bunch, that's dinner about to be served.' Immediately she swung down her laptop monitor, sending Neil into complete darkness, but still able to hear the connection wasn't cut. 'Wait till you see how thick your mum's sliced the turkey, it's like a size 10 insole!'</div><div> Shouting out that she'd be there in a minute, Saskia waited until she heard the adjacent door to the toilet lock and flapped Neil back into the picture. 'Sorry, she's a ruddy nightmare.'</div><div> 'Friend of your mum's?'</div><div> 'I wish! No, it's my Auntie Corrine, she got a last minute flight and landed on our doorstep. Christ, she's a pain... thank God she lives in Spain.' </div><div> Neil had a vague memory of what Beverly's sister looked like - only having been in her company a handful of family-function times. But if memory serves him well, she was a bit of a rebellious nightmare; someone whose very parents were averse to offer shelter to once she'd left home. </div><div> Corrine flushed and called for Saskia again, so she thought it best to say her goodbye's and follow her aunt downstairs. 'I've got to go,' she stated reluctantly.</div><div> 'Of course, sweetheart, you go enjoy your dinner... I love you.'</div><div> He kissed his fingertips and touched the cold screen with them. There was a huge flip of the tummy this time as she rounded off her goodbye with a guarded, 'I love you, too.' She'd have to wait until he next got in touch to ask again what her Chinese symbols declare. But and if her research proved correct she was pretty sure it said, <i>Only Us</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>The impure developments between him and Saskia still rushed through his mind and he realised there was no point in trying to make sense of it for there wasn't any. The intrinsic link they had found, with it's underlay of discovery and curiosity had turned to physical attraction; raw nature eventually played into the rush and brought that long absence to a carnal taboo. Some right-minded people would flee the country after an illegal act - he couldn't wait to get home to commit another one. Makes no sense at all.</div><div>But he decided that this, sick, loving, twisted, exciting, brutal, desperate, censurable, describe-it-how-they-may love, would only be initiated on her volition no matter how much his insides ravaged. Her adoration for him now clarified the reason as to why this beautiful creature didn't have, or seem to want to have a boyfriend.</div><div> Neil closed his laptop with a weary sigh; missing her so much. And he now felt certain of another thing - that she was right. He must have been assiduously burying his true feelings for her in the guise of a father. She was his girl in every unforgivable sense of the word now. Blood was the forbidden partition, so it was imperative that neither got cut.</div><div><br /></div><div><b style="color: #04ff00; font-size: xx-large;"> End of **<u>Bruises Shine</u> **</b></div><span><b><div style="color: #f1c232;"><span style="color: #f1c232;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span style="color: #f1c232;">%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%</span></b></span><div><div><div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-57575378491255901352024-03-03T17:20:00.003+00:002024-03-03T17:20:55.775+00:00Undone CH22<span face="Verdana, sans-serif" style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b> **Start of <u>UNDONE</u>**</b></span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>👢</u></b></span>Neil's eyes opened to deep city-sounds; instantly reminding him where he was. Curled up close behind him, he felt Saskia's warmth on his back. It took a few moments for memories of the night before to form as he stared at his reflection in the dressing table mirror and shame didn't give any introspective stare back. Turning onto his other side to look at her, a twist of hair was rising then tickling her nose with each out breath. Gently, he slipped from the bed, hooking the wayward strand over her ear before heading for a shower. Glitter had passed onto him from Saskia, giving his chest hair festive sparkle, and he felt a bit sorrowful when water washed the sweet reminder off. Ablution could take care of glitter but was ineffective against unlawful acts - despite how glorious the sin.<div><br />As she lay soundly, Neil neatened the mess around him before making her coffee. He'd already been in his room to gather his things and done as much as possible here for her too. Sitting on the edge of the bed, cup in hand, he shook her by the shoulder to rouse her. <br /> 'Hey, you... rise and shine.' </div><div> Nothing.</div><div> After another shake, she gave a peeved groan. 'What, already?'</div><div> 'Afraid so... '</div><div> Before getting the chance to pass her anything, she gave a sudden-morning wriggle-stretch causing him to stand briskly to keep what little coffee there was inside such teeny cups. Pulling herself to a sitting position, he smiled and bent over her to kiss the top of her head and safely handed over her caffeine boost - accepting it with a coy smile.</div><div> 'Thanks. Have you been up long?' she asked, noticing he was already dressed.<br /><div> 'Long enough... actually we've just got around twenty minutes to vacate our rooms.'</div> 'Really?' she replied, giving her nose a quick scrunch up. 'Awe, that's a shame... never mind.'<div> Neil felt a little flurry rippling across his chest, sure that there was cheeky intent among the sound of her sigh. But given that they were time-limited, he went back into the kitchen area for one last Dolce Gusto, and to help control the pull of taking her once more under those sheets.</div><div> 'Hungover at all?' she queried as he made his way to the machine; able yet to see him from the open bedroom door.</div><div> Sticking out his bottom lips, he shrugged. 'Nope.' And nothing else was said. No <i>how are you, </i>no <i>did you sleep well</i>, no <i>boy, you look rough</i>, back; he was functioning too quietly. She was used to his early morning classical radio, (annoying music to rile her groggy head up, before she has the chance to come to) to his rundown on how to make a perfect steadfast breakfast (while slagging off her choice of underage-cereal now adorning his cupboards), to him perusing the paper, adding loud coughs just as she begins to say anything (while pretending not to listen to her). </div><div> Sitting more upright, she noticed from bed that <i>his</i> bags were sitting right next to the exit door; his coat slung over it sparking unease. But she put doubt aside to remind herself that he always does the mega-organized thing, plus they <i>were</i> pushed for time. As long as he wasn't keen to get out of here and away from the memories of last night; didn't stop the wary churn in her stomach, though. But he was being unusually quiet, shuffling about shiftily, making no effort to converse, and this very pregnant pause (where she was deliberately keeping silent to see how long it would take <i>him</i> to initiate speech) only added concern to the detached demeanor. She knew by his slow, stilted pace alone that something big was on his mind. </div><div><i> Dear God, don't let it be regret.</i> </div><div> He'd promised that wasn't going to happen, but she still fretted.</div><div> 'Ah, listen, Saski... I don't know how you're gonnae feel about this, but... ' </div><div><i> Here it comes, here it comes, </i>she told herself.</div><div> '... I'd like to drive you straight home myself, and maybe pop in to wish your mum a Merry Christmas?'</div><div> It took a few moments before she reacted, he'd caught her off guard. 'Wow!' she said wide-eyed, shocked by his words but relieved they weren't the one's she'd feared. 'Really?'</div><div> 'Aye.' he answered, bemused by the discombobulated expression on her face and tried to jape away any doubt she may have; 'I can remember she used to be a little bit thorny at times, but I'm presuming I'll still keep my head on.'</div><div> Saskia smiled at this; it would be swift decapitation if her mother knew about them, and that gave her a sudden, undisclosed thrill. 'Are you sure about this, Dad?'</div><div> 'Been thinking about it for a while. I'd like to, Saskia, but only if you're okay with it yourself.' Neil supposed it must be rather awkward for her to picture her parents under the same roof for niceties (despite being nowhere near as unseemly as picturing a father and daughter in the same bed). As she ummed and ahhed some more, he held his hands palms up to face her. 'Promise we won't become besties or anything, just a quick hello.' </div><div> So he was that brazen; willing to face a mother whose daughter he'd just violated? That gave her another quick buzz. 'Okay then.' She grinned at his promise. 'What harm could a few minutes bring, it is Christmas and all that bollocks, I suppose.'</div><div> 'Nice way of putting it, but good... although there is one more thing I hope she'll be okay with.'<br /> Saskia froze a little. 'Okay, what have you done?' she asked nervously, holding him in an accusatory stare. She knew him well enough now to know when his voice carried conscience, and that her mum's fly-off-the-handle moods were getting tougher these days.<br /> 'I forwarded some money to the hospital dealing with your mum's breast cancer and asked them to distribute the money accordingly. Left an email saying that I was a friend of hers.'<br /> Colour drained instantly from Saskia's face and her shoulders sunk back into her pillows. This generous gesture seemed to bring about an opposite reaction to the one he was expecting.</div><div> 'Shit,' he grimaced, 'is that alright? She won't think that I'm interfering or anything?'</div><div> 'How much?'<br /> 'Fifty grand.'<br /> 'Fifty?' she whispered aghast. 'Jeez!' Her eyes flitted all over the room, as she appeared even more stunned.</div><div> 'Ah... I've gone overboard, haven't I? She doesn't have to know about it, I could mail them again and ask to be kept an anonymous donator? Och, I should have talked it over with you first.'</div><div> 'Well, at least I know why you've been acting a bit odd this past wee while.'</div><div> 'I know, but as you say... it <i>is</i> Christmas and all that bollocks... '</div><div> She clicked her tongue and shot him a look; at least the teasing had returned. ' <i>Fifty </i>grand though? I get giddy just saying it... '</div><div> 'Well, it's done now, kiddo. Look, my standpoint is that I'm a kind of distraction or break from what's happening at home for you, but I know it can't be easy at times and I just wanted to help somehow. Beverly still doesn't need to know if you think that'll be better?.'</div><div> Saskia locked her thoughts into another short-stare as she considered her home life. If only she could tell him exactly what goes on regarding her mother. But she threw on a joyous smile (before she was tempted to tell all and spoil his Christmas) that made him feel better. 'I'm sure the money will help their various charities, I'm really touched you did that. You may have a bob or two, but you don't give yourself enough personal value. You're amazing, Dad, do you know that?' She looked close to tears, silly and sudden ones for a reason he could not, at the time, fathom but assumed may be pride. </div><div> 'Steady on... ' he said, self-effacingly. He didn't want her to put him high on any pedestal, or make him sound unctuous. The amount was peanuts to him, and he threw a party once a year. So what?</div><div> But she held him in a soul-piercing stare. '<span style="background-color: white; font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">And to think</span><span style="background-color: white;"> I wasn't even sure about you after Mum told me what went on with Grampa and your dad. It could have stopped us meeting at all.'</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"> Eyes cast downward, he didn't expect to hear that, but </span>Neil noted that she didn't refer to his father in any respective grandparent mode. Having learned the history between the two, he didn't blame her. What she was saying was true; it could have put her off wanting to know him altogether and then where would he be? 'What changed your mind?' he asked, having a sudden urge to know.</div><div> She glanced away for a few moments to consider it. 'Curiosity. Well, that and needing that sense of belonging, I guess. Besides, it was all those years ago and you are still my Dad... '</div><div> Of course, he was unlike like his father. Despite how imperious he may seem at work, kindness shown in other forms helped confirm that. Neil had decided there was nothing to gain from holding on to the past; it is what it is. It was best to simply get on and enjoy his daughter, you can't fight fate. Under this certitude, however, there was that streak of guilt at his father's corrupt means of climbing the pinnacle of success. That had started to resurface with her presence, and he now understood why Saskia had been such a fierce secret all these years.</div><div> '.... plus, I'm ruddy old enough to make my own mind up, aren't I?'</div><div><div> 'You certainly are.' he said, with a hint of misdeed and gave his eyebrows a teasing lift in telling her so. After last night, he was more than sure of that.</div></div><div> 'Anyway,' she continued, before her flutter-gut started up, just to be unacted upon. 'I know Mum was scared I'd be left on my own - parentless. But I ended with the best backup any daughter could wish for. And some... '</div><div> He stared intensely at that face, unsmiling. Fuck, he loved her so much. So overly, overly much.</div><div> 'Right,' she said briskly, putting her cup on the bedside unit, and flinging the covers back, 'I had better get a move on.' </div><div> Carefree of being bare, she crawled for her night slip that Neil had folded at the foot of the bed, slung it over her shoulder as she headed to the en suite. It took a few cold water splashes to the face to settle the edginess she saw in her reflection. She really didn't know how her mum would react to his presence or his kindness; he was regarded as the big bad ogre sometimes. But nothing could mar the defining moment that unfolded for her last night, and of others still to come. It would a week into January before she saw him again and those feelings would be all she had to see her through. Sod it. This was her time now, not her mother's, and she flitted happily back into the room, kissing his cheek before plunking herself next to him - knees tucked under as usual - on the two-seated sofa.</div><div> 'Uh... maybe it's time to start getting dressed, Saskia?'<br /> 'Yeah, will do in a minute.' He really <i>was</i> keen to get going, but there was a personal matter at hand needed to broached, and Saskia was keen to get it dealt with. 'Well... aren't you going to ask, me?'</div><div> 'Ask you, what?' </div><div> 'What every man worries about the next morning. It was what I thought your strange quietness was all about this morning, well that and you fucking off and dumping me... '</div><div> 'Don't be silly... ' he was quick to allay such a thought.</div><div> 'Let's not beat about the bush, then, just get it over with, it's bound to have concerned you?' <span style="background-color: white;">A certain something needed to be faced, granted, and</span> Neil was intending to do so on the drive to her house, but <span style="background-color: white;">she wanted it over with now. 'But there's no chance we're gonna have a two-headed baby.'</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">He tutted and gave her a scornful look. 'Is that so?' God, her ways could be seriously incorrigible. 'But you know what I mean, and if you and me</span> - in future - are gonna...' His hand was flicking awkwardly back and forth in a me-to-you motion, ' you know... be together, we'll need to consider—'</div><div><div> She held her bottom lip in a light, lopsided bite, relishing his babbling. As much as the idea of toying with him during this was tempting, she had to allay any doubts.<i> </i></div></div><div> 'Right... ' she said, holding her left arm poker straight, palm facing upwards. She tapped at a point in her inner arm a few inches along from her armpit. '... see that little scar?'</div><div> He peered closer. 'Oh, aye... that wee thing there?'<br /> 'Well, there's an implant under it stopping me from getting pregnant - something I can <i>assure</i> you is not on the cards for a loooooong time, most likely never at all, I'm really not maternal. Nope. I prefer the ones you can return.'</div><div> 'But, it's foolproof?'</div><div> 'Totally. It lasts five years and I've had it about eighteen months now... you can press it if you like?' She took Neil's hand and guided a fingertip over for a feel for himself. 'I get reminded after four years that it's potency has a year to go.' </div><div> 'And then?'</div><div> 'And then I pop in for a chat with the doctor, tell him I want another one and <i>bingo</i>; one less fear to to encumber my waistline with!' She gripped his hand reassuringly within her own two and rested it on her knee. 'Really, we're fine. There are options anyhow, but I've had no accidents so far, and as hard as it may be to hear - your little angel has had umpteen one night stands.'</div><div> Tipping his gaze to the floor for a bit, he had long worked that one out for himself; it would take a hardcore priest to refuse a night with her. But he felt relieved all the same that protection was in order. Last night there was no thinking time and thankfully no immediate action was required.</div><div> To help wash away the last of his doubts she freed his hand from hers, and placed a reassuring kiss to his lips and every molecule within him, reacting as they must. </div><div> From this point onwards, they began sorting out their nocuous and incestuous journey, yet it didn't feel like it. Close to an illicit affair, perhaps, but why didn't alarm bells ring like fuck in his ear, or toil in his grey matter telling him to split, to run and never come back? No matter how this love represented itself, he knew it still wouldn't alter its upmost, inescapable fact.</div><div> 'What we're doing, Saskia, we know what it is, don't we?'</div><div> 'Yes.' she replied, jerking up her chin in bold defiance. 'Ours. That's what it is. Yours and mine. Exactly that.' </div><div> He gave a slow, gentle smile in acceptance of this as she she placed a palm on his cheek. 'Take it easy, Raptor, just remember I love you.' she said, with her thumb rubbing over his cheek..</div><div> He took her hand from his face and kissed it, hopelessly attuned. 'I love you, too.' </div><div> It felt sweetly and incurably bizarre how a normal saying had taken on an extra meaning. Everyday <i>I</i> <i>love you's</i> were also repeated under far deeper terms;<i> </i>he'd transmuted to both father and lover overnight. And he was right, it will be scaring him being her lover; she could taste fear on his lips ever so mildly. This she needed to chase that away before he took it abroad with him to fester.</div><div> 'Now... ' she chirped, looking at him with a mischievously alluring expression. A mood lightener was needed and if he was in, he was <i>all</i> in; there was no reason why she and her nonsensical motives should be any easier on him, 'if only you had woken me up ten minutes earlier... ' She leaned and whispered in his ear, '...you could be joining me.' Shooting off for the quickest shower ever, she left him with his insides stirring; yet another thing to join her growing box of attributes. She was a sexual tease.</div><div> 'Don't do this to me girl...' he said out of her earshot, cursing the clock. As much as the thought of her words sweetened the sole, they had no option but to take grasp of their plans for the day; she was expected home soon, and he had to finalise his Christmas plans with his friend. It was going to be a long two weeks.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the time Saskia had showered and dressed, she tutted and shook her head at Neil when she saw the room in even more orderly shape (curtain pleats tugged and equally spaced, plumped up cushions, glasses washed and put away etc). Needless stuff. He literally must be every maid's ideal guest.</div><div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"> 'Ready to visit your ex, then?' Saskia teased, while Neil simply harrumphed.</span></div><div style="background-color: white;"> He had just <span style="background-color: transparent;">placed their bags outside the doorframe - triggering the automatic lock out function - when he realised Saskia had raced back over to the foot of the bed, feeling frantically under the covers. </span><span style="background-color: transparent;">He gave a what-the-fuck gesture until she held up her knickers, s</span><span style="background-color: transparent;">tretching them by the waist, and made them do a little 'dance' for him before tucking them into her pocket with a jocular grin. That girl and her raillery; all he had to do was allow the door to swing shut and she'd need a member of staff to let her out!</span></div></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"> 'You do,' he said in absolute agreement with himself, 'you really do do my head in... ' </span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent;">'Well, I couldn't just leave them there, could I?' she said, justifiably. </span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"> She could have. They'd go arm's length straight in the bin. Anyone finding them would not envision the real story they'd tell. But at least, he reasoned, she hadn't exposed them to him in the corridor where cameras loomed; Christ, they would have to manage their future moves carefully. But as they were heading to the foyer she was smart enough to know that around others she had to be on her best, non-loquacious behaviour around Neil's continuing gentility. </span></div><div><div><br /></div><div> * * *</div><div>
<br />The journey home was relatively the same; her prattling away in Saskia-psychobabble, Neil smiling throughout it, resisting yet another reminder that he mostly gives <i>her</i> peace to drive. But the one-sided conversing had to drop once he needed help with directions. </div><div> The deal she had made with her mother was not to get too hungover as they were to meet up with friends for a light lunch and stocking-filler shopping. But a hangover was all that Beverly was expecting Saskia to bring back with her, and nerves kicked in a little bit as to how her mother would react at seeing him, the closer they got to home.</div><div> Driving further into this rather soggy-looking suburbia, Neil customarily clocked the house-types down Furtham Road. Ghastly ones with red roof slates and plastic piping; a vast downsize also since his days of dating Beverly. He wouldn't quite have expected her to live happily in a semi-detached either, when compared to the house she was raised in; its large back garden was this property's saving grace. Everything looked bigger in the photo's from Saskia's album. While cameras are supposed to never lie, they can visually deceive. Inside, however, the décor was fresh, modern and comfortably habitable.</div><div><br /></div><div>The near-silent engine of Neil's Mercedes-Benz parked up into the drive, and he retrieved a Christmas bouquet they'd stopped off to buy from the rear seat. Once she retrieved her suitcase from the boot, Saskia led Neil round the back and entered the house via the glass patio door. On hearing the slide from the rails, Beverly headed to the kitchen, struggling with putting in an earring and not aware at first that her daughter had company.</div><div> 'Hope you're not too hungover. Senga's having to bring that bloody brat nephew with her to lunch until his dad's home, and you know how he pesters the life out of— ' In startlement at seeing him stood there with Saskia, she let the back of the earring fall to the floor causing the hoop to hang precariously from the lobe. 'Neil... ?' </div><div> 'Hi, Beverly,' he smiled. </div><div> Her head drew back quickly, as if she didn't quite believe what she was seeing. 'My, my!'</div><div> Nodding towards her, he quite genuinely said, 'You're looking good.' </div><div> It was true. Her shortish hair had grown back sufficiently; makeup and complexion was rather flattering.<br /> 'Oh, thank you. Yeah, treatment eventually paid off, so I'm on a bit of an even keel for now.'<br /> 'Dad's just popped in to wish you a merry Christmas.' Saskia hurriedly explained, parking herself upon a nearby stool.<br /> 'Oh aye, ah... ' Neil stepped forward and pecked the side of her cheek. 'Merry Christmas, Beverly... ' he said, and took a step back before realising the flowers were still in his hand. 'Oh, these are for you too,' he said. Taking a second step forward to hand over the flowers, Saskia was finding mirth in his gaucherie.</div><div> Beverly gave Saskia a quick glance and managed to muster up a little smile herself. 'Oh that's sweet, but you really shouldn't have.'</div><div> 'Hope you like them. Mind you, I did have a little helper in choosing them,' he nodded to Saskia, </div><div> 'Dad!' she protested loudly, 'you're making me sound as if I'm under ten!'</div><div> He gave a deliberate cough into his clutched hand and mumbled a quip that Beverly didn't get. Something covert and making sense only to them as they continued to exchange a string of quips and giggles. </div><div> 'Well, thank you, anyway Neil,' Beverly said, interrupting their tete a tete. paying close attention to the palling up between them. 'I'm guessing it was a good night then?'</div><div>
<i>You better believe it, </i>Saskia inwardly said to herself, having to bite her bottom lip harder to keep her thoughts unsullied. 'Amazing night. I'll tell you all about it at lunch.' <i>Omitting a few details of course</i>. 'Plenty photos.'<br /> Then a strained silence hung in the room before Beverly broke it. 'Where are my manners! Can I offer you a coffee, Neil?' She turned and laid the bouquet down gently by the sink. </div><div> 'No, no,' he answered straight back, 'I'll let you get on with your day.' He went over to Saskia and kissed the top of her yet-glittersome hair, then pointed at her. 'I'll Skype you Christmas day, round about noon?'</div><div> 'Yeah, got it. Bye Dad'<br /> With a farewell smile headed Beverly's way, he slid open the patio door he'd entered by and left.</div><div> On his drive home, he felt rather deflated about the length of time he'd be away, despite it usually being the golfing highlight of his year. Letting his mind drift over the events of last night, he gave a fleetingly perverse thought to the fact that he must be one of the few men who had actually (as opposed to that fantasied about) tried both mother and daughter - albeit thirty years apart and not in the same bed. He suddenly berated himself for letting such a thought surface. But still, he <i>must</i> be one of the very few.</div><div><br /></div><div> * * * * * * * *</div><div><br /></div><div>Beverly stood with hands on her hips, while Saskia sat almost inanimate on her seat, feeling her mum's fiery glare upon her. She was reluctant to look her in the eye.</div><div> <i>'What the fuck!?'</i><br /> Saskia gave an exasperated sigh. 'What was I supposed to do? He just wanted to wish you well, see how you were doing.'</div><div> 'Why, for God's sake? Surely you tell him that stuff if he asks?'</div><div> 'Maybe he wanted to see for himself.'</div><div> Beverly's face was beginning to glow pink quickly under her makeup. 'But you knew not to... I stressed and better stressed <i>never</i> to bring him here, didn't I?</div><div> 'So a two minute drop by is really that hard to deal with, is it?'</div><div> 'Yeah, especially one without warning.'</div><div> 'It was flung upon me out of the blue, Mum.'</div><div> 'A quick phone call could have deterred it.'</div><div> 'This is ridiculous, he was hardly here five minutes. I don't know what all the fuss is about.'</div><div> 'Oh, don't you? Do you need another reminder then, about—'</div><div> 'Christ, Mum, there's no pleasing you, is there?' Saskia slid from the stool to stand face to face, giving her mum the one pivotal fact that she seemed to be forgetting. 'It's <i>you</i> that needs reminding. Me and him is all down to you. <i>You</i> started it. Y<i>ou</i> wanted this!'</div><div> 'You know the score, Saskia... '</div><div> This ranting was doing Saskia's brains in. Her mum's ridiculous reaction, with its ever-increasing tone was bringing her post-party headache to throb and pound past bearing point; her newfound happiness and loved-up fuzz being torn at bit by bit. Whatever had gone on in her mother's past to make such hatred spilled, Neil was no ogre; it was unfair of Beverly to disrespect him like that. Take from him his riches and systematic businesslike head, and you'll find a man with flaws and vulnerabilities, humor and decorum, aches and tender spots, too. </div><div> 'Yes, I do, mum.' And reality suddenly gripped in a harsh reminder of the separate journeys each were undertaking. 'But whatever happened between you both, I can assure you he's not like that now.' </div><div> Beverly sneered, ridicule pasted all over her face as she slowly shook her head. 'You amaze me at times, Saskia... '</div><div> 'For what? Making my own mind up for a change? He's really <i>not</i> that bad a person, Mum.' Saskia had arrived at that conclusion almost from the off, and right now she would love to sling his huge donation made that morning, straight in her face. But she couldn't. That would only complicate and exacerbate things. Regarding the Neil Balfour <i>she </i>knew, she was increasingly struggling with her mother's verbal destruction of him.</div><div> 'Jesus....can you not just listen to yourself!'</div><div> '<i>Listen to myself?' </i>Saskia incredulously shouted back at her, arms gesticulating wildly. 'Well who else do I have, because you never<i> </i>want to listen to <i>anything </i>I've got to say regarding him and you never ask. You threw me at him to just get on with it!'</div><div> A laugh, loud and bitter, erupted from Beverly, 'Aw, listen to daddy's little girl. It's probably a blessing your Grampa's not here to listen to this!'</div><div><span style="color: #222222;"> <i>Fuck it</i>, Saskia said to herself. Her grandfather was now being used as a weapon, and she knew by habit that a mention of him was often setting the scene for things to turn ugly. Not wanting to risk that possibility, Saskia made her way to the stairs. </span>'Sorry Mum, but you'll have to meet Senga yourself today, I'm going to bed.'</div><div> 'No you're not,' Beverly tagged directly behind her, 'you're not leaving me on my own with that kid in tow!'</div><div> Stopping on the bottom step, Saskia swung round. 'This'll just get worse if I go... you'll not drop this.'</div><div> 'What do you mean?'</div><div> 'You're dragging Grampa into things far too often now, it's getting too much.'</div><div> 'Too much? You <i>know</i> how he died! So... you're gonna give up on him this quick are you? Or should we just forget he even existed?'</div><div> 'Of course not...' Saskia sighed and sat down in frustration onto the stairs, '... but I'm not sure if blame's being sent in the right direction anymore....or should even be there at all.'</div><div> 'Really?' Beverly stared wide eyed and slack-jawed at her, and yet again Saskia felt that her words were diffident. She needed to put it to her assertively; as it really is.</div><div> 'Mum, I'm fed up with the foul atmosphere in here, I've put up with it for months now. I know it's been a tough time for you, but it's not anybody's fault that Grampa died.'</div><div> Saskia poked a finger at her mum,</div><div> 'Not <i>your </i>fault.'</div><div> Then on herself, firmly in the chest;</div><div> 'Not <i>my</i> fault.'</div><div> Then pointed at the door Neil left through;</div><div> 'And not <i>his</i> fault, okay?'</div><div> The look that Saskia was given in response of her brave, overdue words, robbed her of breath and she froze. </div><div>
'What did you say?' Beverly asked in a quiet snarl, then screamed vehemently, 'WHAT DID YOU FUCKING SAY..!?' Then she erupted.<br /> An anger to match such contorted, formidable features surged through her and before Saskia had the chance to flee, her mother struck a lightening-fast, fisted blow to her head, followed by a harsh tug of her hair as she tried to stand. Held facedown by the back of her head, Beverly shouted over Saskia's pleas;<br /> '<i>Don't you dare try to excuse him, it was him and his bastard father that killed your Grampa! Do you fucking hear me?'</i><br /> As a terrified and shocked Saskia was trying to beg for release from this inconceivable and apoplectic outburst, she was tasting blood in her mouth by kicks from her mother's boots, all the while ranting her fury. And the instant the kicks stopped, punches pummeled over her head, despite trying her best to shield. Screams and pleas proved useless, and only when Beverly could manage no more due to exhaustion did she ease up; taking off and leaving Saskia in a crumpled heap. </div><div> Never before had she been exposed to such brutality from her mum and it scared the living daylights out of her. Where did that violent strength come from? Blood stains and clustered rasps of hair lay thick at the foot of the stairs, but Beverly never gave them a second glance as she ventured out, wearing different earrings.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a slow and painful crawl on her elbows, she made it to her room. Pulling herself onto her bed, blood still streamed from her nose, so she shook the pillow out of its case and scrunched it to her face. Lowering it a few moments later, she braved a glance in the mirror and sobbed even heartier, each tear begging for Neil. She knew if she called him right now, he would postpone his break. But she couldn't. Just as the revering love for him must be kept secret, just as vitally this beating never happened. <br /><br /></div><div><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span><span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b> **End of <u>UNDONE</u>**</b></span></div><div><span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-90428677860359002242024-02-25T12:02:00.002+00:002024-02-25T12:02:36.057+00:00More Than Molecules (CH21 pt 2)<p><span style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: x-large;"><b> *** <u>MORE THAN MOLECULES</u>***(pt2)</b></span></p><br /><div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>🏩 </u></b></span>With the covers on the bed peeled back, Saskia then stood by the bedroom window. The neon signage from the department store across the road threw a blue aura over her outline, as she vacantly focused on street-traffic in motion; breathing easier once she heard the click of the door shutting. He dimmed the light and she heard the flapping sounds of him undressing. </div><div><div> Feeling his presence close in behind her, she shivered delightfully as his hands rested on her shoulders. Shrugging up, she crossed her arms and slid her hands up to grasp his. She couldn't speak, just closed her eyes for a few moments, caressing his long, gnarled fingers, and when she did find her tongue, she put forth a jape. Well, what kind of words are spoken before such consanguine iniquity anyhow?</div><div> 'You'd better not have socks or boxers still on... '</div></div><div> 'Oi!' He riposted by giving her a quick playful dig in the side from which she buckled, then swung round to face him. The light at its lowest power, filled the room enough to yet make out his features; the slight bump of his nose, his padded bottom lip, the glint in his eyes and the creases around them. Gently she picked at some wisps that had dropped from his hairline, but was stopped by the sudden motion of him pulling off her night slip, casting it to the floor.</div><div> 'This is madness,' he said, though fire raged in his belly. 'Sure you want this?'</div><div> She answered his question not by yes or no, but with, 'You've no idea how deeply I love you.'</div><div> Standing there with his petite, naked emblem, he answered, irrevocably, 'Yes I do.' </div><div> And hadn't it just shown?</div><div><br /></div><div>With his hands on her hipbones, he backed her up until her calves touched the edge of the bed where they both sat down facing one another. Saskia leaned in to kiss him once, then shuffled herself over near the middle, laying her head on a pillow. Outstretching a hand, bidding him to join her, he - with no thought now to fear or consequence - sleekly crept along until he was directly above, looking down at her; a blue glow outlining them down their right side. </div><div> Her hand reached and curved round the nape of his neck to draw him down to her lips, releasing a heavy groan when she felt on her inner thighs that he was hard already; surreal confirmation that this was really happening. </div><div> Salacious kisses skyrocketed her passion as fingers swept over his back - resisting the want to glide a hand down her belly and grasp him. Instead, she held him by the rump to keep him there. But just as her murmuring and sighs were mounting, he slid off her body and onto his side.</div><div> The fear that he was about to abandon the bed was quelled as light fingertips started skimming between her breasts and downwards. She made beautiful viewing - as structurally perfect as a female could be. But his stroking swept lightly away before fingers made any deep intimate contact. Her groans in protestation to this, and his instinctual prudence, had him finding her lips again, his hand drifting down her thigh in slow curved strokes. This time it slid back up, finding and twisting his fingers in the elastic of her briefs, but she had no patience for any explorative pissing-about and readily raised her knees to help slip them off. It was more than blissful to feel his weight upon her again, and it took hardly any caressing before moans increased, turning to intangible whispers in desperation to be penetrated. Though but a few minutes had passed, the overall need had felt long enough . 'Please... ' she urged. </div><div><br /></div><div> Looking down on his little creation, begging to be violated, it didn't feel like the sin of the century was about to be committed as he scooped an arm under her to pull her groin towards his and pushed himself inside. The contact caused her fingers to scrunch up the sheet at her sides, arching her back as she inhaled deeply, then gasped out loud in sheer relief when he started to take slow and precise movements, propping himself up with a flat hand either side of her head to deepen the sensation.</div><div> Increasing rhythm soon brought about heavy gasps to her own rocking, gyrating hips that doubled the euphoria and he dropped his body on to hers, his breathing now coming in fast and furious bursts. Then, with a swift forward movement, he grabbed her behind each knee and bore down hard, groaning as his orgasm hurled.</div><div> There. Now she had <span style="background-color: white;">won her inner battle and, at last, gained</span> herself that hard-earnt and momentous end result.</div><div><br /></div><div>Neil withdrew from her, flopping onto his back, reaching out to cosy her to him. With that pretty little head resting on the rise and fall of his chest, he stroked her hair but had become fairly quiet. </div><div> 'Are you okay?' she asked him in a concerned whisper.</div><div> 'Aye... ' he says in his native accent; usually used to confirm anything she may doubt. 'You?'</div><div> 'Me, what?'</div><div> 'I'm asking if you're okay back?'</div><div> 'Did the last few minutes not happen to you, then?' she says in an <i>are you kidding me </i>tone. 'I'm more than okay, I'm in Wonderland.'</div><div> He took a few seconds to digest her unexpected reply. 'Where, what..?' he mused, 'I've heard it called a few things before, but never that... it's not even a real place!'</div><div> 'Neither's <i>Cloud number 9</i>, or <i>over the moon, </i>but I'm making my way there next... you could come too if you like, there's plenty room.'</div><div> 'Oh, is there, now?' That was it. She was off... off to La-La Saskia-analogy Land.</div><div> 'And you can travel for free.'</div><div> 'Is that because I'm a raptor and exempt, perhaps?' He knew the teasing operation of her mind quite well now.</div><div> 'What! The thought never crossed my mind... bloody wish it had though.'</div><div> As they buzzed and radiated in after-sex happy and gibberish talk, it didn't seem as if anyone had just entered into something that was morally and lawfully repugnant. Neil lay there, dry and content in this outré afterglow with its dark cloud of taboo raining down. But anywhere - real or fictional - he knew he'd never go to the ends of the earth without her now.</div><div> 'My God, girl, can't you at least wait till morning to do my head in?' </div><div> Once the jesting settled down, tiredness was taking over in lengthier silences. She pulled from him and sat up. 'You really<i> are</i> okay, aren't you?' she asked, seeking this particular affirmation once more.</div><div> He smiled up at her, tired but content. 'C'mere,' he said, snuggling her back down and placing his chin on the top of her head. With a couple of reassuring, light-hearted quick-squashes, he told her without contrition,</div><div> 'Of course, I'm okay. I<span> always am with you.' </span></div><div><span> Saskia prayed that he really meant that. </span>'Promise me there won't be any regrets in the morning?'</div><div> He sighed. 'In case you weren't aware, it's more or less morning now.'</div><div> 'Yeah, but I mean in the real morning.' </div><div> 'I know what you mean. Stop fretting. We're okay.'</div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman";">This night had been the result she'd hankered after for so long, and the wet from his sperm felt under her bum was her little patch of victory. She'd do anything to keep it this way. Anything.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="background-color: white;"> Both now struggling to keep their eyes open. </span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="background-color: white;">'<i>Will</i> it scare you?'' she asked sleepily, hanging on yet to this earlier comment in the kitchenette; </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman";">her gambit to continued happiness. </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="background-color: white;"> 'Will what scare me?' </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="background-color: white;"> 'Becoming my lover.' </span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="background-color: white;"> He was too tired to vision what lay ahead, but not for one moment did Neil think that this wouldn't happen again. But she would have to continue taking the leading role, and any corporeal moves would solely be in deference to her wishes. It had been fairly easy casting out the wrongs, or any what-ifs, but right now he was simply revelling in just having her in his arms.</span></span> He had been snared, embroiled and irredeemably not caring about the outside world, only this room and its indecorous succulence.</div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> 'You'</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">re practically my life now, Saskia, every aspect of it.</span>'</div><div> That was as good an answer as she needed. 'I can't believe I was really going to leave and never see you again... ' she whispered, afraid to listen to the words said aloud.<br /> His grip around her tightened, crushing every last thought of losing her to the bone. If in his bed was the way to keep her in his life, then the world and its damnatory assessments could go take a fuck to itself. She was right... <i>this</i> was <i>theirs</i> and no-one else's.</div><div><br /></div><div>The stupid, stupid man. </div><div><br /></div><div> <br /><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #ff00fe;">end of **<u>MORE THAN MOLECULES</u>** (pt2)</span></b></span><br /><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "times new roman";">ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ</span><br /><br /><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-28353349598111317862024-02-19T16:03:00.001+00:002024-02-19T16:09:15.076+00:00More Than Molecules (CH20 pt1)<p><b style="color: lime; font-size: xx-large;"> ***<u>MORE THAN MOLECULES</u>***(pt1)</b></p><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>💥</u></b> </span> Neil was left staring at the door and quickly raised a hand to cover his mouth, dragging it down till it rested on his throat. He turned and leaned back, needing the door for support. Her words spent a heavy few moments resonating in his head. <i>Now</i> he understood the reason for her capricious manner, and he worried even more that she would pull an all-nighter and leave early; slipping away without his knowledge. Right now, though, his silence had raised the hope that he was gone, so despondency spiked by the tap on the door.<div> 'Saskia.'<div><div> No reply.</div><div> 'C'mon. Open the door. I'm not leaving till you do.'<br /> Still nothing.<br /> 'I mean it.'</div></div></div><div><div> Slowly the door slid open and she met him with a flush in her cheeks. Looking solidly at him, she asked, 'Are you sure you even want to hear this?'</div><div> 'I want to know what's going on. Tell me. As best you can.' Whatever emerges from this conversation, he wasn't going to belittle her emotions, and cleared space for him to enter.</div><div> Stepping in, he shut the door quietly as she walked ahead. Christmas sparkles on her shoulders still winked away under the kitchenette spotlights as she poured them drinks. What a turnabout to such a successful night. Less than an hour ago they had been dancing affectionately - now he was stunned, uneasy, tense.</div><div> Taking his drink from her, he slowly sat down on the small sofa while she huddled up on the chair across from him; knees drawn up, chin sitting on her kneecaps. Those perky little green-painted toenails peeked brightly from the hem of her night slip, and Neil focused on them, awaiting her words. But each brave breath she drew in was being sighed to the ceiling. It was not so much as finding the right words to say, but the guts to say them at all.</div><div><div>Neil bowed his head, clasping his fingers ever tighter. The disclosure of such a revelation - as he grasped what it meant - was probably yet not fully registering. Complications were things he never tolerated for long, but he didn't know how to title this one since it wasn't just everyday stuff. She <i>would</i> have to be the one to speak first.</div><div><b style="background-color: #f3fff3;"><div style="font-weight: 400;"><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="color: lime;"> </span>'Well... say something,' he implored.</span></span></div></b></div><div> Keeping <i>her </i>focus downward too, Saskia took a huge swig of alcohol despite knowing it wouldn't help; it hadn't all night. Now she would have to find boot intrepidity, boot into gear, and give it to him straight and wholeheartedly; even if the words she was about to drop made the ceiling cave in.</div><div> 'It's hard, but I'll try...fuck, this will sound crazy.' A few measured breaths, then she began, 'I've adored you from the outset. After our very first meeting in the park, I went home the happiest girl in the world. We clicked and I knew we'd get on and you probably gathered that fairly quickly, too. Gradually though, things changed for me the more of you I saw. I tried to reason with myself that it was just the excitement of discovering you and nothing else. But I knew exactly what had built, despite struggling like mad to not let it happen but ' she shook her head, with hopelessness, 'it has... beyond a shadow of a doubt. My feelings just went haywire. ' </div><div> 'What sort of feelings have gone haywire? I need a bit of help, here...' </div><div> 'Bit of help?' she said, with a wavering smile. 'That's what I tell myself I must need every day, too.' </div><div> 'Why?'</div><div> 'Because it's hard to think of you in a sensual light as well as in a father capacity.'</div><div> As she lifted her head to look at him, his gaze wandered from her for a few moments then settled back again, but he didn't know quite how to ask her, but let her talk on. 'I know I never did or said anything directly about it before now, and I hate myself for allowing it to happen.'</div><div> 'Let what happen?'</div><div> She averted his eyes by laying her head sideways her knees and huddled herself even tighter. 'You must know, Dad... '</div><div> Neil's breathing shallowed as he thought she was about to bite the God-forsaken bullet and say it. So far he hadn't had the <i>exact </i>conformation to<i> </i>what feelings she was referring to, and as hard and unnerving it will be to hear out loud, he needed that precise clarity. Clearing his throat, he then asked in a slow measured pace, 'So, you're saying you're in love with me, then, Saskia?'</div><div> She lifted her chin and looked him dead in the eye. 'Yes.' That one simple word made his stomach lurch. 'Yes, I am - and with bigger fecking bells on than a church on a Sunday at that!' </div><div> Even now, under the enormity of such a confession, her choice of words made him smile; his wee girl with the comical nature. Her comment, made out of nervousness, was also given to accentuate how deeply she meant it. 'This is far more intense.' She closed her eyes, 'Like nothing else I've come up </div></div></div><div><div>against before...'</div><div> Of course <i>something</i> must be more intense. How many daughters declare this kind of wanton stuff to their father?</div><div> 'But, how do you know it's the kind of love you say it is?' he probed, with a strained smile; he didn't want to unintentionally vilify her, despite his growing discomfort. 'Maybe the mix of the evening and the celebrations have been a bit overwhelming for you?' At first he considered this might all be down to Julia having been aversive to her earlier on, but all Julia had done was helping to bring something more damning to the fore.</div><div> Saskia gave a frustrated sigh. She knew this wouldn't be easy, so he would have to listen up.</div><div> 'Okay, then. So where d'you want you me to start? With the simple stuff, the how's' and why's; like how happy I get when I know I'm seeing you later and how excited and safe I feel when I do. And for daft things like having in my favourite ice cream but always joking that you forgot to buy it in. Remembering bands I like but you hate, and always taking that interest in me. Making sacrifices and continuously arranging some new place to see, to visit, to get drunk in. And the pride I feel when we link arms outside makes me wish I was only ever in your company. We always have a laugh, even though I dread the one you have when I mess up and embarrass myself. Even the smile that fans out laughter lines around your eyes never fail to set off that weird wriggly worm under my ribcage.'</div><div> She took a little pause. This did sound like a form of worship that she perhaps was taking out of context.</div><div> 'I imagine most daughters idolise their fathers, Saskia, there's that—' </div><div> 'Or do you want to hear the deeper stuff that gets me?' she interrupted loudly, clamming him right up. 'Like adoring the way your eyes never leave mine as you listen to me intently? How giddy I get when you instigate cuddles that make my heart pound, wishing you'd crush me just that bit tighter. Or that tingle I feel when you brush past me, kiss my cheek, stroke my face? Or the weird and wonderful sensation I get all down my back when you tease out hair stuck down my collar and you brush it neater with your fingers. When you stand behind me I imagine the hands that rest on my shoulders creeping lower and lower, making their way to my thighs. How I'd love to run a hand down the hairs on your calves when you're fresh from the shower and sit next to me. I picture my hand slipping under the fold in your dressing gown with every good morning hug to see how your heartbeat would react to it being there... Mostly I yearn to get into that fucker of a giant bed. You're the security blanket I long to get under, and it tears me to pieces when we say goodnight and head for separate rooms. I'm left with my insides contracting, Dad. I feel safe and warm with you, as though nothing bad can happen yet I'm sitting here telling you this. I feel you were brought into my life, made just for me. I know every daughter should be close to their father. Difference is, I need mine in his entirety.'</div><div> Her tenacious words came out like bullets; straight-aimed and firing right into his soul. Words <i>he</i> should never have heard but <i>she </i>had suppressed for far too long. </div><div><div> Neil drew his look from her face to his shoes. Dumbstruck, conflicted, and incapable of formulating a response right now. If only this <i>had</i> been something that would wear off with the alcohol.</div><div> 'Jesus, Saskia...'</div><div> <span style="background-color: white;"> </span>'I've been in love before, and it's back with a vengeance and other heady stuff that won't sod off. Oh, <span>I've blamed other things for sending all that adrenaline or doped-up hormones <i>or</i> <i>whatever</i> to whoosh</span><i> </i><span>around me, but it's you. </span>I love you in a most agonising way.'</div><div><span> He felt his own sudden <i>or whatever</i> rush flow through his veins and had to use laboured breathing to help calm it. </span><span style="background-color: white;">A tear ran down her cheek and she swiped it away before he noticed, 'Finding you was the best and worst thing to happen to me and there's no point in trying to reason with it, reminding myself you're my dad makes no difference. I've grown up feelings that headed in the wrong direction and I can't divert them.' </span></div></div></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">He said something intangible in a muffled whisper, through shock, y</span><span style="background-color: white;">et as beyond comprehension as it seemed, and as hard as this was to hear, he felt compelled to know more. </span><span style="background-color: white;">'So what brought it all out, what was so different about tonight?'</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white;"><div> 'Tonight?' Shaking her head lightly, a faint smile playing across her lips. <span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'As I said, I was jealous. I've spent most of my evening wondering if every pretty - and not so pretty - woman had bedded you and I couldn't handle it. I still can't.' The old green-eyed monster got the better of her, turning bitter after all those weeks of pining. 'I'm sorry. I just wish that bloody taxi had come earlier. I'd be home right now and you'd be spared this. I'm surprised you haven't taken off already. Cut off all ties. I wouldn't blame you if you did.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> </span>She was right. The best thing to do would be for him to go. Leave. The hotel, the city, the country, the universe. But he wasn't prepared for such abandonment. 'I'm not gonna do that, Saskia.'</div><div><div> 'Why not? It was what I was gonna do.'<br /> 'Whatever's going on, you still need me right now.'</div><div> 'Really? How can you even think like that? I'm amazed you're still sitting here in front of me.' She blinked her eyes wide for a second, wriggling her toes and hugging herself tighter. 'Pity I didn't just come with a demand for back pocket-money after all these years, eh?' </div><div> As hurt as he felt at not having had the chance to have known her since birth, she was unequivocally the most important person to him. He only had to look at her face to know that she had opened a part of his heart that he never knew existed. Someone real to smile worry over, to love and lay down his life for; his much needed kick up the arse, and it hurt knowing he was the cause of her pain right now. Uneasiness radiated off him as he shuffled tensely in his seat; at a lost for what to say or do.</div><div> 'I was never trying to complicate things, sweetheart...' As much as he wanted to hug her, he was emotionally diffident about doing so right then. In layman's terms she was saying she wanted to fuck her father.</div><div><span><div><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman";"> 'I know. I wasn't either.' Saskia sprung quickly from her chair, startling Neil by grabbing his glass for refills. 'Now look where it's got me...' </span></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span>Silence took over as she topped up their drinks; three miniatures per glass. Saskia was starting to feel the alcohol kick in now; as if it had waited all night to apply its courage when it really mattered. But she prayed he was giving precedence to each and every word she had strived to get out, for there was a matter of resolve to face, and she'd need to keep that courage undiluted while he was still there.</div><div> Handing him his glass from over his shoulder, she told him that she wished it had gotten him somewhere too. She slowly sat back down in her chair, keeping eye contact solid as she did so, awaiting his reply. The statement had thrown him; in essence this was a test on what could be done about it.</div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">'What do you mean you wish it had got <i>me</i> somewhere too?' He asked with pulsating building up in his ear.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> Another huge glug from the glass, and she said, 'Help <i>me</i> here, Dad. Tell me I've not been imagining it.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> 'Imagining what?' He gave a slacked-jaw gesture, as if he was totally in the dark.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> Taking a moment to consider all those heady, irresistible flirtations that had a habit - mostly on her part - of growing out of hand, she smiled. </span>'You <i>must</i> have picked up on <i>something,</i> somewhere along the line?' </div><div> 'Saskia,' he said, leaning forward to put his drink on the table, 'I think we should stop drinking,' </div><div> 'Is that it? A last ditch attempt at blaming the booze. <i>Down the sink now and things will be fine by morning... </i>.<i> </i>she sung the last line ridiculously snobbish.</div><div> He hung his head; he knew normality would never return again.</div><div> 'C'mon Dad...you know we've had moments. Awkward, silly ones sometimes, but we've been there.' Although these 'moments' felt like they had sparked little on his return, she couldn't accept that he wasn't cognizant or intuitive to anything. While she felt desire so strong, he didn't feel a single tug back? Really?</div><div><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span>His silence for a few extended seconds may not have been a confession, all she sought was a sign, however small, it was there, but <i>I would say we were pretty close</i><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> was all he reasoned with.</span></div><div> Saskia licked her lips, rolled her eyes and started to twirl the ends of her hair. 'Pretty close?' she mimicked, feeling narkier the more he repudiated. 'That the full shebang is it?' </div><div> 'I don't know what else, I can say...or <i>should </i>say?'</div><div> 'Oh, for fuck's sake!' she near shouted, get narkier with each repudiation. 'I'll try it this way, shall I, you might get it now...You can't keep denial in a golf ball, smack it down a hole and leave it there. You always need it back, and it's down to you where it next goes... ' </div><div> Not another of her weird analogies, but he kind of knew what she was trying to say. </div><div> With brows knitted tightly, voice near pleading she continued. 'Just think of all that touchy-feely stuff; snuggling close, my legs over your thighs on the sofa when watching telly; me walking round half-naked wearing next to nothing but a smile? I've tried passing the boundary levels with you and you've been so bloody accepting, so refined. All I wanted was you to just react to it!'</div><div> 'React, how?' His voice started to raise, too; glad she hadn't poured the drinks down the sink after all. 'I couldn't tell as a dad if I should have a relaxed attitude about those kind of things - you seem to have! Christ, Saskia,<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> I thought I was</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> doing the father thing okay, I hardly had time to adjust. I've really only just found you, give me some leeway here, will you!' </span></div><div> 'I know, I'm sorry... ' she said softly, starting to mollify; this would have been the last thing he would have expected tonight, '... but I was never your <i>little</i> girl. You never had a baby girl, you got a grown one with restless feelings and prurience - one who never got the chance to know you until now. We met as adults, Dad, and that wasn't my fault.' With glistening eyes forming and a tingle in her chest, she was striving hard not to cry.</div><div> He knew, of course, they weren't a unique case. All over the world, people were meeting up with relatives they never knew about or thought were lost; all emerging from obscurity. That first time he saw her coming down those few stairs at the coffee bar was quite a feeling - an overwhelming jumble of strange emotions all fighting for first place. Who'd have thought a mere eight months later she'd be knocking him into a psychological whirlwind by her falling in love with him. She broke her short pause by stating an undeniable fait accompli;</div><div> 'We've got to remember our circumstances were thrown upon us, weren't they?' <br /> 'Ay<span>e</span>,' this he <i>had</i> to agree with, 'they were.'</div><div> <span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Neil felt </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">he was teetering on the edge of insanity, knowing where this proscribed 'reasoning' was heading, and he couldn't quite shift this God-awful</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">awareness of nervous excitement stirring and she was about to hit him further to his fundamental core. </span><br /><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> 'I know there's a part of you that feels how I feel, Dad, because you tried to run away too.'</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> 'When?'</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";"> 'That very first time when I chased after you with the photo album, and you've shaped yourself into normal-dad-mode since. </span>Just be honest with yourself.' </div></span></div><div> His moist brow furrowed and for a few moments he held her gaze, and it was hard to tell exactly what was going on in his mind. He shifted his look from her and back. 'Saskia, that's a bit unfair, I didn't— ' His proposed denial irked her immensely; she wasn't going to allow any belying from him on this one, and showed it by upping her tone;</div><div> 'Awe, you know you did! You ran from Blazes the second you clapped eyes on me, you couldn't handle it. I reminded you of those young girls you slept with. That's why you shot out of that place, you didn't want to take me on!'<br /></div><div><div> Neil stood briefly to remove his jacket, throwing it over the sofa behind him. 'I was three hours into finding out that I was a father. It threw me, okay?' <span style="font-family: "times new roman";">His Scottish accent always thickened at times of stress.</span> <br /> 'Yup, that was what I thought too, till I worked out the real reason tonight.'</div><div> Neil put his elbows on his knees, and cupped his head in his hands. A pang of compassion for him fluttered through her as he<span> processed events; she could almost feel her words thrashing around in </span>his</div><div><div><span> His world had tilted on its axis; how in the hell would he able to level it again? What an end to the night. </span></div><div> 'Trust that bad-mouthed bitch, I wish she had kept her trap shut!'</div><div> 'I don't.' she admitted. 'If nothing else, it's been said now. I'm just sorry I chose tonight to do it.'</div></div><div>From his hunched shoulders and worn-down expression, Saskia went over to him. As soon as her hand reached out for his face, barely brushing the skin, he rose with velocity and headed for the kitchenette - not sure if contact would be a comforting touch or an agonising weapon. Blood rushed to his head and heart; molecules criss-crossing over his solar pleaxis. With his back to her he gripped the edge of the sink for balance. Saskia forlornly followed him, deflated and hurt.</div><div><span style="font-size: 15px;"> 'Oh, that's it... demand to be let in, make me spill my heart out, then shoot off and turn your back on me! Why bother coming in at all if you can't hack it, you </span><i style="font-size: 15px;">knew</i><span style="font-size: 15px;"> full well what was coming!'</span></div><div><div><div style="color: lime;"><span style="color: black;"><span><span style="background-color: #f3fff3;"><div><div style="background-color: white;"><div><span style="background-color: #f3fff3;"><div><span style="background-color: white;"><span face=""work sans" , sans-serif" style="color: #292b2c; letter-spacing: -0.21px;"><span style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span face=""work sans" , sans-serif" style="color: #292b2c; letter-spacing: -0.21px;"><div style="color: black; letter-spacing: normal;"><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: 15px;"> 'Please, Saskia... just let me get my head around this...'</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: 15px;"> All he had heard still permeated through his mind, dissolving through his psyche. Never before had he faced such mental upheaval.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: 15px;"> Those unshed tears she'd been trying so hard to keep at bay </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">started to spill. With his head still bowed above the mug-ridden basin, she was left feeling lost, emotionally battered and humiliated. Out of breath and energy, and with huge sobs, she backed up and slumped down the wooden balustrade to the floor.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></div></span></div></span></span></span></span></div></span></div></div></div></span></span></span></div></div></div><div>Neil glanced over his shoulder at the pain-fueled sight and instantly felt bad. Seeing her crumpled there reminded him of the imbroglios his father beset on his mother time and time and again, picturing his begging mother in that same pathetic state; something he carried with him to this day. Going over to her </div></div><div><div><div>he grasped her wrists, freeing her hands from her face, but she resisted as he pulled to make her stand. </div><div> 'Up!' he demanded. 'Up... d'you hear me?' His hands still grasped firmly on her. 'Please, Saskia. C'mon... it's okay, it's okay.'</div><div> 'No, it's not. It'll never be okay again, you don't understand... I've got <i>her</i> at home to deal with and I've just sickened <i>you</i> to the core... how will it ever be okay?'</div><div> With a rough yank to get her on her feet, he gave a huge pitying sigh and crushed her to him, his hand clasping her head against his chest, soothing her in a rocking motion. Coming out in whispers, she kept apologising for such disgusting ruminations.</div><div> He pushed her by the shoulders at arms length and encouraged her to look at him. There was no lip gloss now, no blushed cheeks, just mascara shorelines from crying down her pale face, and he couldn't help but love it; she was still so beautifully wrapped in this dishevelled torment. </div><div> 'Hey, hey... listen,' he said softly, pulling strands of hair free from wet patches on her nose and mouth, 'whatever you think of yourself or are struggling with right now, you don't disgust me.'</div><div> 'You're <i>scaring </i>me...' he interposed loudly, with a brief nervous grin, 'but you don't disgust me.' Then said in serious sotto voce, and to leave her in no doubt, 'You could never do that.'</div><div> Looking up into his eyes, a shade confused, she asked, 'What? Even now?'</div><div> 'Even now.' he answered back, and felt an impulse to finger-straighten the tangles from the hair that he'd brushed so many times before. </div><div> He felt sober, lost. For her, for himself. It was awful seeing those sculpturesque-features etched with such hurt, so he laid a comforting kiss on her forehead then lifted her chin up to secure she looked at him, wholeheartedly saying, 'I mean that.'</div><div> But sudden intuition - the thing she swore was in him somewhere - swept him from his quest to ease her turmoil, and forced his eyes to rest on her lips; pink padded and always soft to the touch. The thought of what they might feel like if they lingered seconds longer than the usual quick pecks they exchanged, took hold. The image in his head readily took over and picked on him, pressurised him, then paralysed him until his heart and hormones ambushed all reasoning; any fear was eaten up and morphed into a compelling force of needing to know.</div></div><div><span> In one bold gesture of a slight lean forward, he made gentle contact with his daughter's lips, letting them</span> remain on hers that bit longer.</div><div> The motion caught her unawares, and she tenderly and slowly laid a palm on his chest. The corners of her mouth lifted up just a touch and upon tip toes she stretched up to kiss him back. He accepted. The feel, the taste, the knowing they shouldn't be there, all incitement never felt before. Nerve endings of his lips radiated to every last molecule in his body, stirring, inciting until Neil grasped her tighter to him with the intensity that she'd craved, and the reality that this was actually happening stirred her all the more, creating short, wanton groans; their very own precursor to immoral incongruity.</div><div> As grinding lips deepened, Saskia raised a knee and slid it between his thighs, jerking them apart to rub hers with his. But in reaction to this he suddenly broke off the embrace - making her gasp - and he reached back to grip the edge of the worktop behind him. Fearing what his manoeuvre might mean, he closed his eyes for a few seconds then looked back at her intently, biting firmly on the inside skin of his bottom lip to, perhaps, palliate the nod he gave towards the bedroom door. </div><div> She smiled meekly in response as she raised her hand gently to his face, and with a fingertip rolled his lip free from its bite. In a segue, sang-froid manner she turned and walked from him, blithely taking on the invite that laws prohibit, and society repudiates; boundaries remitted.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #04ff00; font-size: x-large;"><b> end of *** <u>More Than Molecules</u>***</b></span></div><div><br /></div></div><div> </div></div></span></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-63339559955435140752024-01-29T20:13:00.004+00:002024-01-29T20:13:49.450+00:00Into The Ocean (ch19)<p> <b style="color: #e06666; font-size: xx-large;">start of **<u>INTO THE OCEAN</u>**</b></p><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u style="font-weight: bold;">🌊</u> </span>A goner. Off the face of the hotel. Phone switched off. </div><div> As often as not, he found her in the last place he thought she'd be; on one of the couches by the hotel entrance. Shoes were off and resting on top of the bag by her side: hair extension tugged off and poked out from it like some bedraggled albino rat; knees bent up and tucked under the skirt of her dress and toes curled on the edge of her seat to help keep her balance. She looked a sorrowful sight.</div><div> 'There you are, ' Neil sighed loudly, feeling part allayed, part annoyed, 'I started to think you must be away to a club or something. What are you doing here?' Stopping in front of her, he noticed she had her coat on. The fact he had sussed-out her whereabouts rankled her. </div><div> 'I just decided I should go home tonight.' </div><div> The obvious flew to mind. 'Is your mum okay?' he asked, not quite expecting her reaction.</div><div> Headbutting the arms that crossed over her knees three times, she gave a huge, dramatic sigh of her own, then looked up at him. 'Y'know what? I don't know, and I don't bloody care. Can't I just have a day when something's <i>not </i>about her?'</div><div> Neil stepped to the side, spun round on his heel, pulled up the knees of his trousers and parked himself beside her; must be pent up frustration and the free bar talking. Although he constantly reminded her that he was there to talk to about her mum, and despite him being what she considered respite from her, she didn't really make mention of what home life entailed, or what she encountered. Carers are allowed off days too, he reasoned; say things they don't mean.</div><div> 'Okay, kiddo - spill. What's up?'</div><div> 'Does there have to be anything up, can I not just want to go home?'</div><div> 'Well, yes. But to try to sneak off and not tell your father first?' he gave a slight, sarky snicker.</div><div> 'I'd have called when I got home...' she stated rather limply. Saying goodbye to him had started to make her feel hollow and distant, and tonight she refused to engage with it, and instead whisked it off to her file of avoidance.</div><div> 'Uh-huh... and what about the rest of the things in your room, like your new dresses? I mean you've just got your handbag and shoes there.' he said, pointing to them.</div><div> 'I dunno, probably just... ' she struggled for an explanation, 'come back for them in the morning.'</div><div> 'An hour's drive here and back? Or was I to take them with me?' He wasn't buying this; had a hunch that facts still needed unpicking. 'Saskia, what's bothering you... has someone said something?'</div><div> 'No! 'I'm okay! I just need... should... go home.'</div><div> 'Your <i>not </i>okay, and there's a perfectly decent bed here. Use it, it was expensive enough.' Neil couldn't comprehend this sudden change in her. Getting more frustrated at his stubborn little madam, he rose and grabbed her hand, forcing her to stand, but she jerked it roughly away. </div><div> 'What are you doing? Dad, I've ordered a taxi, it'll be here soon!' </div><div> Just as determined not to be outdone, Neil approached the bellhop on door duty. Taking out his wallet, he drew out £40 and handed it to him. 'When the taxi for Reymarr arrives, give him this and apologise for any inconvenience.' </div><div> 'Of course, sir,' the boy dutifully replied, keeping hold of the money in his gloved hand. Half of that would make its way into his own pocket once Neil and Saskia left.</div><div> 'I don't know what's got into you tonight, but you really don't want to be disturbing your mum at this hour. Grab your shoes and bag.' This time she didn't object to being tugged along by him.</div><div> Should have waited for the taxi<i> outside,</i> she told herself. <i>What the fuck am I gonna do now?</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Neil kept hold of her hand until she was in the lift, and on release she rather immaturely folded her arms in an act of defiance, hitting his elbow with the shoes she was grasping. Staring stonily at her from the vastly mirrored lift sides, her reflection was so wound up he hardly recognised it. Neil made no effort to converse, instead remaining quiet until they stepped out.</div><div> 'Come on, I'll see you to your room.'</div><div> 'No, I'll manage. Really. You just go to bed,' she told him, with what he hoped was quiet resignation.</div><div> 'Are you sure you're okay?'</div><div> 'Yes. Honestly.' She started to frantically fish around the contents of her bag, mumbling and cursing quietly, stopping and starting with shakes of the head. </div><div> 'Why don't I come in for a coffee first, till you get settled.' </div><div> Was he bloody kidding? She needed to be alone.</div><div> 'Christ, I don't need babysitting, I'll go straight to bed like a good little girl!' </div><div> She was starting to sound acrimonious again. It was like her<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px;"> moodiness was controlled by a switch you wouldn't know whether to flick up or down. </span>Something was very much off and he couldn't quite identify what was causing this character slip. <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 16px;">Could the melancholy simply be fuelled by booze? She didn't appear to be that drunk so that</span> was hard to distinguish or conclude, but what else could it be? It still worried him, however, that she may try to take off again; he had no choice but to run that risk. </div><div> 'Okay, then. I'll go. You should feel better once you sleep it off.' Uh-oh, wrong thing to say.</div><div> 'Sleep it off?' she retorted. 'Well, that should be a dawdle since I drank like fuck to get a<i>nnihilated</i> tonight without success, so I've got fuck all to sleep off!' </div><div> 'Why would you want to get <i>that</i> bad?'</div><div> With head turned and eyes cast down the long corridor, she said in quiet mumble, 'I didn't want to, I needed to.'</div><div> 'What was that?'</div><div> 'Nothing... forget it.'</div><div> 'I'm not going to forget it, you've been fine all night and some reason or other—'</div><div> 'This is something I've got to face on my own... Dad!'</div><div> 'Someone <i>has </i>said something to you, haven't they?' he said in a serious tone. It was personal; had to be the likeliest reason for all this mind-boggling nonsense.</div><div> 'Just leave it...please.' </div><div> She turned and walked towards her door, ready to activate the swipe card, but Neil drew her hand back before contact. If someone had upset his daughter he needed to know.</div><div> 'Saskia!?'</div><div> That was it. He'd gone and pushed her to her utmost limit, and any words she was about to drop would be his own fault. </div><div> 'Okay Dad! D'you really want to know?'</div><div> 'Yes!' he said sharply. 'Just tell me!'</div><div> 'Fine. I will. Earlier on tonight, I walked in on that red... Rottweiler woman snorting a line of coke in the toilets, and before she gave me a chance to just shrug it off, <i>she</i> went off like a tempest in a teapot, taking <i>great </i>delight in telling me that you're partial to a line yourself. And not only <i>that </i>but you've slept with half the women in London, especially your new employees - including her!' Well, he wanted to know and was taken so far aback he could hardly focus.</div><div> Curling in his bottom lip and licking it, he then let out a sigh of huge disbelief and ran a mortified hand through his mortified hair, cursing Julia under his breath. 'For fuck's sake!' She'd been rubbing salt in the wound by every dance he gave her, and it was Saskia who'd felt its sting. The brazen bitch.</div><div> 'Why didn't you tell me before now?'</div><div> She shrugged. 'Didn't want to spoil your night - everyone's night.' </div><div> He floundered in the spot where he stood, flummoxed and instantly dry-mouthed. That was the last thing he expected to hear. </div><div> 'Jesus, kiddo, that was ten years ago. I was totally out of it, I'd just split up with Magrette and went off the rails. The cocaine was a... a barrier, blotted out the stupidity of losing her.'</div><div> 'It doesn't matter...' she whispered, but he didn't catch it.</div><div> 'I can't believe that bloody woman casting up something like that after all these years. I'm sorry, I really am - you didn't need to hear all that muck... '</div><div> 'Dad?' Saskia tried to interrupt his explanatory needs, but he continued to ramble on, ashamed and making a complete hash of reasoning until she was forced to shout:</div><div> 'No, Dad, no, you don't understand, I'm not disappointed in you, I don't give a shit about you taking cocaine!' The yell did the trick and he'd instantly clammed up. 'I'm jealous, okay?'</div><div> There. It was out. She said it.</div><div> 'Jealous?' His brow furrowed, struggling to fathom this one out. 'Of what...?'</div><div> She turned and swiped-opened her door. 'Jealous of every single one of those women who'd gotten that close with you, wishing it had been me instead.' </div><div> Neil just stared at her, frozen to the spot. How could she tell him she couldn't help it, that any undertows of logic and reasoning had long been trampled over and she was now only reacting to what was stirring in her stomach, spinning in her head, circling round her heart. </div><div> Taking a step into her room, she swung round to see the confoundment on Neil's face. </div><div> 'Bet you wished you'd bunged me in that taxi after all, huh?' </div><div> Gently the door was closed on him. That was that. Her to-do in the toilets with Julia - that she fought to keep in check all night - ultimately got the better of her.</div><div><span style="color: #e06666; font-size: x-large;"><b> end of **<u>Into The Ocean</u>**</b></span></div><div><span style="color: #ff00fe;"><b>"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""</b></span></div><div><span><div><div style="color: black;"> </div></div></span></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-30187445872634207182024-01-24T19:11:00.000+00:002024-01-24T19:11:03.369+00:00Wonderland (part 2 CH18)<p><span style="color: #04ff00; font-size: x-large;"><b> start of **<u>WONDERLAND</u>** (part two)</b></span> </p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">🎉</span>Standing at the bar, Neil saw Saskia return to the hall. She'd been away quite a while, but what did he know about the timings of female toilet-talk? Nonetheless, he was relieved to see her and caught her flick a glance towards him with an added smile. She'd brought about a certain excitability by simply being here, and from the corner of her eye made out him pointing in her direction. </p><div>The vast room was now buzzing. Almost everyone that entered the room had no sooner settled at their table, before eyes were searching, anxious for a look at the Queen Bee. It was so venerating to watch them all mesmerized by her. Some even felt that she had tempered him to the point of being less intense in the office. By and large, she would be under surveillance most of the night. </div><div> With the bubbles and whisky having well kicked in, Neil stood and scanned his workforce, knowing he would be buggered without them. Loyal, hard workers that rarely caused problems. To whom, at times, he had been disparaging. At Christmas, his generosity folded outwards and diminished his own significance. For one night he was an equal despite, perhaps, him being rigged out in the most expensive suit. Christmas spirit had on him, albeit briefly, the embodiment of altruism. He'd best soak up this one, undiversified night. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hardly a person that invited Saskia to dance was turned down Neil noticed, as he held her under his almost constant watch. It amused him to see the smirk on the faces of some of the great unwashed. Dancing with the boss's daughter, or rather, the boss's exceptionally-beautiful daughter, was a tick on every scale. It was those whose plus-one Neil didn't know that concerned him. Over the loud music, they would lean in to make small talk in her ear, and for the most part she handled it well, politely thanking them for the dance and heading back to her table. At times he would rip her away from her newly-found friends, for more formal introductions to his own influential ones. </div><div> She didn't mind - expected it really. Her only bothersome concern was nose-candy Julia, who dominated the dance floor, and always seemed to have something to say to Neil every time she passed his table on route to widdle and take a fresh line. They exchanged the odd glance in passing, but Saskia never saw Neil leaving the room with her. She wasn't sure how she would feel if he had. Doing her best not to show it, the mouthy cow's ripping toilet outburst still bothered her despite her effort to focus solely on the celebrations.</div><div> </div><div>Alas, the party came to its time-flying, incredulous end with the DJ announcing the last dance - the one where you had to pick your partner carefully; i<span>t wouldn't do to festively-offend. </span>On hearing the call, two lads, from different directions, rose to the challenge and meandered through the sea of tables, chairs and fellow last-chancers, trying to get to Saskia, hoping to be that accepted final offer. But a voice behind them cut in.</div><div><span> 'Sorry, guys, but I secured this one earlier on.' </span><span>Neil proffered a hand to his daughter and</span> led her to the dance floor. His skin felt cool and soft, and his grip reassuringly strong. </div><div> Every year, on his request, the Christmas night's music ended with a song of his choice; not a festive one, but one that sailed along with him through his life. Him and his sunken sentiment bursting through but once a year. Strangely, its words he could almost dedicate to his lost daughter; as if perhaps it was expecting her presence somewhere down the line. </div><div> Putting her hands on his shoulders, his on her waist, they gently swayed<span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 18px;"> </span></span>in old-style moon dance, exchanging silly smiles and glances over shoulders as the floor crowded with couples squeezing closer together. Leaning to his ear, she asked in a compelled shouty tone:</div><div><span> 'So... what's with you and the lady in red? She's had you up dancing a lot.'</span></div><div><span> Giving a searching peek around him, making sure she and the poor guy she was glued to were swaying out of earshot, he told her, 'That's Julia... she used to work for us. <i>No man</i> refuses her a dance!' He tipped his head in her direction. 'Rottweiler in slingbacks!'</span></div><div><span> This made Saskia laugh, and Neil grinned back, warming at this. With eyes that lingered on her inviting features, he leaned towards her ear. 'I am so proud of you. You're easily the prettiest woman here tonight.'</span></div><div><span> She raised her brows and stated quite frankly, 'Well, any Dad would <i>have </i>to say that.'</span></div><div><span> 'No, no. It's nothing to do with the biased-father thing - it just happens to be true.'</span></div><div><span> 'I think someone's had too many Jack Daniel's.'</span></div><div><span> 'Oh, come on. You must have felt a flush from all those eyes on you tonight?'</span></div><div><span> 'That was just everyone wanting a gawp at the boss's daughter.' It was enriching though, feeling like his little emblem.</span></div><div><span> 'The boss's daughter...' he repeated. 'I still can't believe it.' </span></div><div> Staring at him for no more than a few seconds, a diminutive nod was all she mustered before downcast eyes tried uselessly to hide the prickly glimmer in them. Drink induced or not, his words made a bolt straight for her heart.</div><div><span> 'Hey?' He stopped and lifted up her chin, wiping the wet from her cheek with his fingertips. </span>'Awe... come here you soppy thing.' He pulled her forward and rested her head on his chest, with his own head resting down on hers, not giving a shit if mascara stains smudged his shirt. Those long arms folded right round her waist, and a thumb found itself resting on the crisscross side panel of her dress, stroking lightly and comfortingly up and down a window of exposed skin. </div><div> It was a divine feeling, an unequivocal need to be ensconcing such a precious belonging, knowing that one day he might be all she's got. It was almost cruel that life had passed so long without her. Under this very dance, he knew there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her. Closing his eyes, he got lost in the fading moments of the song, singing the words in his head<i>:</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i> ♪'The blame I lay on her......Wonderland.♪'</i> </div><div><br /></div><div> He always believed that in a song you can find the perfect feeling that real life is reluctant to provide, yet here it intensified by having her in his hold.</div><div><br /></div><div><span> The keenly awaited load of netted balloons looking down on the pick and mix of could-be lovers, were on the brink of freedom. The latter part of their dance felt strange, majestic even, and as the music stopped and the glorious shower of balloons and foil ribbons fell to a chorus of Christmas cheer, they freed themselves from their clutch and stood inert. For a moment, everything disconnected, until she reached out and gently thumbed the lapels of his jacket as he put his hands lightly on her waist. Foreheads touched, and Saskia looked almost as if she was reluctant to open her eyes. But other couples leaving the floor, popping and kicking a path through the balloons, seemed to jerk her back to the motion-filled here and now. </span></div><div><span> 'You okay?' he asked. </span></div><div><span> 'I need to go the loo...' she announced to his amusement - always seeming to know how to round off perfect moments, she did.... </span></div><div><span> In the sudden full brightness of the swanky room, he watched her trot off, then turned to eye the utter mess that merry celebration could bring. It would take staff hours before their heads were hitting their pillows. Some clean up operation this would be. The reward would come with all the extras the guests abandoned for staff to take home; everything from money and food, to decorations and Secret Santa gifts, stretching this party even further.</span></div><div><span> </span></div><div><span>That dissonant sound once the music and racket stops - letting you know how pissed you are by the level of its drone - was buzzing loudly in his head. As much as he couldn't be bothered with the farewells, he wasn't at a point where he was too drunk to happily suffer it out. It was mostly <i>'Merry Xmas' </i>wishes and thank you's, and the occasional male idiot with mistletoe who dared under alcohol to coax a kiss from him, to which he sometimes - cheeks only - happily provided. After twenty minutes, with just a trickle of people around, he realised Saskia hadn't returned. Probably got caught up saying her own goodbye's. Glancing over at the table, he saw her bag wasn't there, so therefore must be with her. He'd give it five minutes and then he'd phone her.</span></div><div><span> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="color: #f1c232;"> </b><b style="color: #f1c232;"> </b><b><span style="color: #04ff00;">end of **<u>Wonderland</u>** (part two)</span></b></span></div><div><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-25889738187255438842024-01-19T16:57:00.003+00:002024-01-21T17:20:36.886+00:00 Slow Motion (ch17)<p> <span style="color: #01ffff; font-size: x-large;"><b> start of **<u>SLOW MOTION</u>**</b></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></p><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>💃 </u></b></span><span style="font-size: small;">Talking away, the girls searched for a vacant cubicle, finding one each at the same time. But on pushing the door open, Saskia recoiled. </span>'Wow!' she said aloud, closing it sharply. </div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> Bent over the cistern had been a woman - smartly dressed in a red two-piece suit - snorting cocaine through a cut down straw. Saskia quickly moved along to find another cubicle to use and was surprised to see the snorter still insouciantly hanging around, giving her make up a fresh lick. She was quite a thickset brunette who looked to be in her forties,</span><span style="font-size: small;"> and she held Saskia's gaze in the toilet mirror as she went to wash her hands.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> 'Eyes popped back in then, have they?' she asked of Saskia, who didn't reply. Claire stood there silent and motionless, and </span><span style="font-size: small;">Saskia soon picked up a vibe that they may know each other. </span>'You can have some if you want... ' The woman offered with a hint of trenchancy and a deliberate sniff.</div><div> 'Sorry... not my thing.' Saskia replied, unsure if the offer was meant as sarcasm or to buy her silence - not that she was giving too much of a shit either way.</div><div> 'Oh, I see. Lambrusco more your 'thing', eh?' she said, turning to directly face Saskia with pouted lips and raised eyebrows. Yes, this woman was definitely being sardonic, but before she had the chance to reply and eyeball the snorter back harder, another woman appeared.</div><div> 'Julia, there you are. Been looking everywhere for you.' This Julia had made a beeline for the porcelain before joining the party, through her need to kick-start her night.</div><div> 'Just coming, Millie. Little Miss Prettytits here just caught me taking a line. I think it offended her.'</div><div> 'Let's just go...' Claire tried to lure her new friend back to the hall.</div><div> 'Look!' retorted Saskia. 'I'm not going to pretend I approve, 'cause I don't.' She didn't believe there was even such a thing as recreational weekend boosts from drugs; any time was a needless risk. 'One of my friends fucked up her life through cocaine - that <i>is</i> what you're using, isn't it?' </div><div> 'Ooh! Listen to Little Miss Expert!'</div><div> 'You were taking a white powder, you don't need much brains to harbour a guess at what it was, but she was only nineteen when she was hit by a car while off her face on the stuff!'</div><div> 'Obviously a silly cow then, wasn't she? Still... that's a poor Little Miss Sorrow tale you've told there. I may cry.'</div><div> Saskia felt a tug at the waist of her dress as Claire tried to forcefully pull her away. But she was now highly irked and in with a cause. Angry at her callous attitude, and pissed off with all the Little Miss references, it was time to put the quietus on this bitch.</div><div> 'Keep up the snorting and mocking all you like. But, sure, my friend was young and stupid, naive and influenced... what's <i>your </i>excuse? I mean... ' Saskia eyed her head to foot and back, with deliberate disparagement in her voice. '... you <i>must </i>be well into your forties. Are you not a bit old to be doing that sort of thing, or does it substitute for what you've not got anymore - like looks?!' </div><div> The other two women held each other's gaze; both knew how capable Julia was of <i>hit first - deal with it later.</i> Julia instantly pressed her forehead against Saskia's. 'Just who the fuck do you think you are!' One nut and Saskia would be down. While Claire was seriously thinking of fetching help, Millie's panic led her to intervene. 'C'mon Julia, it's not worth anything daft.' </div><div> 'That's true,' Claire voiced now, 'don't let it spoil your night, Saskia. Let's go... '</div><div> Taking heed, Saskia went to barge past Julia but she blocked the doorway, denying her exit. Wisely keeping her fists out of it, she had to retaliate for a slur like that.</div><div> 'Yeah, Saskia,' Julia mimicked her name with a derisory, wobbly head gesture, 'you don't want to spoil your night with one of the office boys you've no doubt promised to suck off for the free booze and buffet now, do we!'</div><div> This was getting sweeter for Saskia. 'You're wrong... Julia,' (name said with head wobble back). 'I've not been invited here with <i>any</i> office boy, or <i>any </i>friend. I'm actually here with Neil. You know... Mr. Balfour? The man who throws this party every year.'</div><div> Julia frowned. Neither she or Millie could make the connection. 'Pulling waifs in off the street now, is he?' </div><div> Saskia took delight in clarifying her position, 'I'm his daughter. So in a roundabout way that kind of makes <i>me</i> inviting <i>you</i> here tonight... and I can have you removed in a heartbeat for what you were doing in that cubicle!' </div><div> The revelation stunned Julia. She had known Neil not to have any family. Her partner - who still works for Balfour Enterprises - must have found the news of his boss's instant daughter too insipid to take home. But the shock that Saskia thought she'd hit her with switched into Julia's glee, as a huge destructive smile spread over her face. She was about to return fire with a mighty weapon.</div><div> 'This is the heart of London, darling, it's all caviar and cocaine. And if you don't believe me - ask your father! He's partial to a line himself... oh, <i>and</i> he's also slept with half the women he's hired - including me.'</div><div> 'Oh, for fuck's sake!' Millie protested; this had gone too far. Julia could never operate on a level of even <i>fake</i> politeness if she tried; goes straight for the jugular regardless of who you are. Grabbing her motormouth friend by the sleeve of her jacket, she started to pull her out, but not without one parting shot;</div><div> 'Oh, by the way - ask him if he remembers the time he snorted a line off my back... I got a bonus for that. Have a nice night, Little Miss Prim!'</div><div><br /></div><div> Alone again with Claire, Saskia's brain stuttered for a moment as she stared straight ahead, then dropped her head; stupefied at what had just happened, and struggling to keep tears at bay.</div><div> 'Well,' sighed Saskia, 'that's me told then.' She threw her head up, sending a half-smile at Claire who tried to play it down.</div><div> 'She's a lying cow, Saskia. Take no notice, she's always been a bitch.'</div><div> As fallacious as it sounded, she knew such a vile diatribe wouldn't be spouted if there was no truth to it, and she knew her new friend wouldn't hurt her with the truth. Saskia nodded and rubbed Claire's shoulder in agreement. 'I won't. And it's best not to mention it to Dad, either.'</div><div> 'Of course not,' a wide-eyed Claire promised. 'C'mon, let's get back to the party - keep up the Christmas spirit.'</div><div><br /></div><div>As they stepped back into the hall, Saskia searched for her father's face and he was happily exchanging man-humour in a group of around six at the bar. She pledged to enjoy herself without letting any scandelous unearthing be the driving force for the night ahead. She would keep a beady eye on Julia (easy to locate in bright red) who was, for now, tucked away in a crowded corner. But Saskia knew she wouldn't be ensconced long before shimmying that fat arse through the seated crowd and be in Neil's company.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #01ffff; font-size: x-large;"> end of **<u>SLOW MOTION</u>**</span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-78424971009573882672024-01-17T16:53:00.005+00:002024-01-17T16:53:54.899+00:00Wonderland (pt1) CH16<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: #f1c232;"><b>start of **<u>WONDERLAND</u> (PT1)**</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">🎄</span> Saskia had never eaten such delicacies in the whole of her life; hadn't even heard of some of the food Neil ordered. She joked (he'd hoped) that she thought foie gras was something to do with cars, but he'd cogitated over time she really could, periodically, be a ditzy (dyed) blonde. More expensive menus, she knew, brought about some rare and unique dishes. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> But at dessert she felt genuinely bad at having to put a spoon through that lacy string dome to get to the violet ice cream floral perfection, and Neil had to draw the line at her wanting to take a picture of it before its upcoming demolishing. This was the first time she had eaten out anywhere without condiments (in square pots or otherwise) present on the table. It was quite a thrill. Apart from waving her fork inelegantly around in the air, and picking candle wax drips off with her fingernail, she behaved very well for a posh-food novice.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Replete with her posh nosh-up, walking from the restaurant into the main function room was magical; from satiation to delectation. Christmas decorations adorned every wall, window and door. Helium-filled gold and green balloons wavered every so often from tables, alongside parades of luxury crackers awaited pulling, their innards - no doubt - destined for the bin. Lit holly boughs draped every wall, helter-skeltered round every pillar, and on every door sat a coruscated wreath.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The biggest, most impressive tree Saskia had ever clapped eyes on stood proudly in near-symmetrical splendor. She circled it at least ten times to catch its beauty. It was when admiring the huge star-topper that she noticed a net hanging high above holding up a humongous amount of balloons, promising jollity and mirth for later release. The girl was enraptured, near speechless, which pleased Neil immensely. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Wow... this is breathtaking, Dad!' she said, all the while anticipating this particular Christmas night out would be rip-roaringly hard to match. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Isn't it just?' quipped Neil. 'Shows I have a heart at least once a year. C'mon... let's grab a drink before the madding crowd appear!' A top table was reserved for them and a few select others, and while they sat - the only meantime couple in the hall - the hotel caterers and DJ started to prepare for the evening roistering.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm quite nervous meeting new people,' she blurted out, swigging her champagne far too readily.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oi! Let's not go mental with the drink.' He smiled wryly and took the glass from her hand, laying it in front of her. A rerun of gig-night would pop up in his memory from time to time, and as much as she had behaved responsibly since, he didn't want to chance a repeat performance. 'We'll wait till after the vultures arrive, then go nuts.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Fair do's... ' she shrugged, willing to exchange glugs for sips meantime.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> With their glasses filled with champagne (he'd be on the JD's soon as his 'table friends' were here) a second time, guests started to ingress almost on the dot. With a free bar all night and travel expenses home already funded to them, they'd be mad not to make the most of it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia felt rather silly standing near the door and greeting the new arrivals beside a waiter and waitress with trays of champagne flutes. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Jesus Christ, Dad, we're not at a wedding... this feels daft!' Saskia whispered between hellos.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Shh... we'll just give it half an hour, it's the way things are done.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yeah, in Henry the bloody Eighth's day maybe! I'm surprised you didn't arrange a fanfare...'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He clipped her shoe with the side of his, in a signal for her to shut it as they both struggled to contain a laugh. For tonight, at least, there would be no majestic approach; his staff could drop addressing him as <i>sir</i> tonight - most opted for Mr. Balfour. All but a favoured few and the odd brave one would use first name terms.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> As expected, the first festively-draped was a younger bunch; some having brought their change of clothes with them to work, not wanting wasting a moment. Despite not mingling too much with his staff at work, he was still very good at remembering names. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Saskia, this is Alastair, Claire, Rufus - or Rudolf as he's called this time of year - and Emilyne.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hello,' she smiled pleasantly at them, shaking each hand, not sure if an exchange of words were expected. She felt it weirdly regal and unnecessary but thrilling at the same time. They grabbed a drink each and settled themselves at the table next to their boss's. From the corner of her eye, Saskia could see their heads turning her way, and above the girls' shushing she made out:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Must take after her mum 'cause she really doesn't look like him, thank God! Mind you, with all that money he was never gonna produce a fugly, was he?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia gave an intentional little cough just to unnerve the boys. Her own nerves had remarkably waned, swapped with this unique sense of pertinence. Just to rile them a bit further, she turned right round and slowly reached for another glass of champagne, throwing a diminutive smile their way. It was fun to see them squirm. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Within a few minutes, a regular flow of guests started to fill the hall, and Saskia was relieved when Neil suggested she go sit with Claire and the others her age range. Her company was accepted gratefully and with a hint of honour. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Falling quickly into the zone, Saskia was sharing interests and laughs (and no doubt, phone numbers); You'd wouldn't think they'd been friends for only one hour as there had initially been a bit of a fear factor when elected to minister the boss's daughter. She could have been a hard-nosed uppity cow, but instead was <span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">not filled with anything but a soft curiosity of the people she'd just met. And when she</span> got up with Claire to visit the Ladies, she passed Neil without looking his way, (which made him smile) he wondered if he'd even get to consort with her much tonight. But he was happy to stand aside for now, and simply watch the reaction to his little showpiece. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: x-large;"><b> end of **<u>WONDERLAND</u>** (part one)</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-25501289431058160252023-11-07T15:42:00.005+00:002023-11-07T15:42:44.071+00:00Wasted City (CH15)<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: x-large;"><b> start of **<u>WASTED CITY</u>**</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>👔👗</b></span>The work's Christmas party was due to take place tonight; an affair of grand proportion. But to say that Neil was an ostentatious organizer of this over-the-top event was true and the opinion of some, the same said some never objected to their Christmas bonus. As well as an added lift in staff's pay-packet of a hundred pounds, they were also treated to this annual work night out. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The Bodden Bray hotel was its permanent venue - free bar, free buffet, free gratis all round. Not only was that for present workers but past employees (plus one) also; anyone would be a mug to miss it. Of course, this year had an added added-bonus. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> For more than a decade, Neil attended partnerless: tonight he would be accompanied by Saskia. And if the word round the office was true, (one or two had casually met her) they were in for a treat. But for the here and now; there was some shopping for the night ahead still to do. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">To Neil's dismay, Saskia had left it to the last minute to get kitted out for the party. A fortnight prior was the original goal, but her little cafe was doing great business with the lead up to Christmas and that saw her having to sacrifice some Sunday's too. However, this weekend was freed well in advance from cafe commitments, allowing ample time to enjoy it. And for convenience Neil booked overnight rooms for himself and Saskia in the hotel.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Today would officially be their first proper shopping expedition together and as with most blokes; shopping with or for women<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span>always set them aquiver. The hope here was that it could all be done in the one department store; House of Fraser or Harvey Nichols usually catered to his tastes, and hopefully hers too. In, out, done. But whatever one she decided upon, quickness in satisfaction could bag them a longer lunch. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Before leaving his room, he stood counting a goodly sum of notes from his wallet. Usually his own spending was done via cards, but he liked to have a surplus in his wallet in case the day had any sudden change to it. Besides, he was a very generous tipper - something you can't do with plastic.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil gently knocked on Saskia's door, before warily peeking his head round; God knows what state of undress she still may be in. As he took a seat, she popped out from the bedroom with no hello, cursing that she couldn't find the earrings she had put down somewhere so went back into the bedroom for another pair, then located the desired ones in the kitchenette. She gave him a 'won't be long' promise while swapping them over. By now Neil had acquiesced himself to her last minute rushes (where she was now fixing her jeans again in a way that makes it hard not to watch - especially when she added a 'hup' to the jumping action). </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Just going to grab my coat, Dad...'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> God, he was weary just watching all her darting around and somehow knew this was just a little taster for how manic the day would become. When she reappeared, he was pleased to see that she had wrapped herself up sensibly and not about to face the wind-chill factor in anything light or short. Like him, she wore a long, woollen coat (albeit mottled and boucle with nonsensical badges on the lapels) and thick bobble hat. As much as they only planned to shop at one store, they would most likely have to walk a fair distance getting there due to dire London parking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ready?' he asked her in a tone that indicated; <i>are you sure about that?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Uhu'.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Thought any more about what kind of dress you're going for?' He was hoping to at least hear a colour she'd decided on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nope,' she said, pronouncing the 'p' of the word like a popgun pop. He raised - yet again - those<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>expressive eyebrows and tutted. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'C'mon then... let the madness begin. Marcus is waiting outside for us.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">As expected, parking proved to be a plight, even with the addition of several extra designated zones for Christmas shoppers. Simply finding a safe drop-off point from the chauffeur took twenty minutes and they had the comfort of calling him back to be picked up despite any time lag. But at this rate they would be lucky to fit in lunch at all; it was contingent upon her and her pernicketiness.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Blessed with a beautiful dry sun-filled day, it had taken just ten minutes into their walk for Saskia's cheeks to be flushed with rosy winter-chill. Her reason not to wear gloves always irked Neil, remarking that frostbite wasn't worth the risk for having a constant swiping finger at the ready. Gloves forever on, off, on, off would only risk the chance of dropping one's phone all together, she argued back. But it felt nice to feel Neil's own gloved hand unexpectedly reach to catch hers as they walked as passersby glanced in their direction. She had an innate prominence of both wanted and unwanted attention as the street thronged with swarms of Christmas shoppers. He was never fond of Saturday afternoon people with their shoulder-to-shoulder bumping and dodging, cursing and apologising as it was, never mind seasons greetings added in the mix. But... a promise was a promise.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> It helped him not, mind you, that she didn't quite stick to their plan, just <i>having</i> to buy a few perfect little gifts displayed in windows, for others. Rarely had she the opportunity of deep-London shopping. While she smelled of a mix of tester perfumes, <i>he </i>smelled of Ultraviolet Man and growing impatience. It was time to curb it and get her <i>own</i> shopping done.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A floor aide, introducing herself as Sophie, greeted them. The dress, the dress, the dreaded dress! So many hung around her that Saskia even doubted if this Sophia would know where to start. She incited Neil to sit on a luxury sofa, (while Christmas carols bleated mercilessly from hidden speakers) as Saskia was guided towards rails with attire that may suit her. Picking colours that complimented blondes, (which was seemingly the whole spectrum) eventually the selection had been whittled down to three. It was a bit of a relief for Neil to see her taking them into the fitting room. He expected to be lunch-bound within ten minutes. Mug. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> What in God's name was taking her this long in front of a mirror? Half an hour. Half a ruddy hour and still no sign of her! An accompanying 'victim' sat across from Neil, waiting for his missus to reappear, and they exchanged nods and witless expressions. Both their heads whipped round at the sound of footsteps, but it was the other bloke who, at last, was granted liberation. As he made his way to the till with his wife, he threw Neil a commiserating smile. Seriously. How much longer?</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil started to randomly hum tunes out loud to mask the Christmas tosh surrounding him, convinced it was getting louder. He was so fed up that he started venting his annoyance by talking at the mannequins next to him. At this (slow) rate, there would be more chance of one talking back than Saskia having made her mind up! But they seemed to have heard his plea. Out she comes for his opinion, wearing a very becoming lilac dress.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil's face was blank. The outfit didn't quite receive the response hoped for. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div> 'Well, what do you think?' she asked, while Neil's lips thinned into a grimace. </div></div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It's nice, but I can't really say with the— ' he pointed, indicating the very much out of place hat on her head.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Just concentrate on the dress - ignore the rest of me.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Kind of hard when it's staring you in the face.' The easiest thing to do was to simply say <i>perfect -</i> and they were out of there, ending all this festive-anguish. But when he's asked for an opinion, he delivers it. Saskia gave a frustrated sigh.;</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, but the hairdressers not coming till five o'clock, and my hair's a mess right now, so it's staying on!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You could whip it off, just for a mo—'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Not gonna happen'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And the umm.....' He then pointed to her thick, heavyset boots, which had been mostly hidden under her jeans.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> As much as 'for fuck's sake' was bouncing around in her mouth for an exit, she gave a little tense growl at his stymied attitude and constant aversion to clumpy shoes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Sophie was finding their exchanges amusing. Men usually gave an abrupt, agreeable opinion (when in reality they don't-give-a-shit) just to get the hell out of there, and here was a father - a man awash with gentry - in the throes of boredom and shop-weariness now seeming to be pissing her off on purpose. Still, they were rather entertaining.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia turned and took the other two contenders from Sophie, holding one up either side of her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'So, which one of these do you like?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Which one do <i>you </i>like?' he said straight back at her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well them <i>all,</i> obviously... gimme ruddy strength!' She turned to Sophie: 'Would it be okay to quickly try the aquamarine one again?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil's head jerked up at the word 'again'. 'No, no, I'm not hanging around any longer.' He'd resigned himself to the fact that lunch would be well out of the question now, but a drink may not.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Why not?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Look, Saskia, just buy the three of them.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia's head shot round to him, scowling doubtfully. 'Don't be ridiculous Dad, the cheapest is £300!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He shrugged and smiled and gestured with his hands. 'It's Christmas! You can make your mind up at the hotel - surprise me!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia's skilled collaborator looked at her with highly raised eyebrows, and a 'you lucky girl' smirk on her face. Time for her to capitalize further on her sales pitch with the foot factor about to butt in. 'We have the perfect shoe to match every dress?' Spoken in the form of a question.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> But before Saskia had a chance to reply, Neil stood up and took over: 'She's a size 5. Give her a pair to match each dress, just make sure it's a neat looking shoe and not a... ' Neil waved a finger at her feet, words failing him, 'bloody... chunky type thing!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The girls' faces exchanged mischievous delight at his comical descriptive. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You mean platform, Dad.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Whatever. Just make sure they're nothing like those things you galumph about in!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What the hell does galumphed even mean? Is it a Scottish word?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No, it was invented just for you!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> As much as Sophia could have listened to them for ages, she felt it was time to interject. 'So, a three inch court shoe?' she suggested correctly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, but I'd like the turquoise pair in metallic.' Saskia said, already having checked-out the shoes on the sly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> A very satisfied Sophia watched in glee as a daughter's excitability near knocked her father down in thanks. That was the thing with the opulent, they easily cough up to ease their day; she made a fortune in commission through Daddy's Little Girls. Had Saskia not disclosed the reason for the hurried dress hunt, she would have suggested chucking in accessories too, but she left some regard for their busy schedule.</div><div style="text-align: left;">He offered to carry her bags for her - which was always the gentlemanly thing to appear to do in a deluxe store after purchase. It had been her first experience of upper crust spending, whereas he had shopped there regularly, but never with a daughter, so it gave them a unique, two-way sense of importance. If happiness could jump she'd be swinging off those diamanté chandeliers right now. They said their polite farewells and he hankered even more strongly for that quick-fix drink.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The second they were out of there she freed him of the bulge of bags on his left, latched an arm through his and he smiled fondly at the gesture.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Sorry that took so long...' she said, feeling she had to fit in an extra dollop of appreciation, not having expected to be coming away with <i>three</i> outfits.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No worries,' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I feel quite bad now we've missed lunch.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Wouldn't have missed all that indecisiveness for the world,' he replied, keeping deadpan, enjoying toying with her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Picked out a suit for tonight, then?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Three weeks ago.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Dicky or straight?' she inquired, referring to his neck wear.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Whichever one's still in the pocket, most likely.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Sure you don't want to at least get yourself a new... I dunno... aftershave or something?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He gave a cordial smile knowing exactly what she was doing - trying to fit him into focus (hers having been £1,500 pounds worth of focus) too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Stopping her suddenly in their tracks, he turned his head to look at her, 'Saskia, this was <i>your</i> Christmas present from me, lunch was only a possibility - we got there in the end. Let's see if there's a pub we can fit a swift one or two in before Marcus comes back for us.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Jostling through London streets - <i>her </i>looking tawdry, <i>him</i> chic - was becoming one heck of a challenge and they were having no luck in finding a muted pub; his head peeking in doors, then straight back out again. To be expected really, this close to Christmas. Neil had rarely been the type that tolerated standing in places where he didn't know the clientele. No. They had no option but to make their way back to the drop off point to be picked up again, and it was during that wait that she wished she'd owned a pair of gloves.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">They hit the shower at roughly the same time. His water flow was strong and cool, meant for a zing-hit, while hers was hot and steamy, meant for a pore-cleanse.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Out first, Neil inspected his suit once again, double checking that it was stitch perfect, though he always travelled with a spare. He'd plumped for one he'd worn only the once before; a dark greenish-grey main colour with a mild tartan through it noticeable when close up. His usually sharp mind couldn't recall exactly where or when that had been, but he was certain it was less than a year old.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> As yet he still wasn't sure what colour shirt would suffice (he had multiple to choose from with him too) as long as it was not office-white. For round his neck, he had chosen a ribbon tie with a slightly stronger black and green tartan to it. Sorted. All he had to do now was get dressed and check up on whatever stage of preparation Saskia was at. Men usually have a headway advantage over women, but she had exactly one hour until their dinner date. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He gave three rapid taps on her room door. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'S'open,' she called, 'just come in!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil entered, and Saskia greeted him towel-wrapped on both head and body. He was just about to remind her of their tight schedule until the incredulous gawp on her face kept him silent.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Wow, Dad!,' she scanned him head to foot. 'You look... amazing.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Uh ... thank you?' he frowned, not quite thinking he deserved the laudatory reaction but he took it all the same.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No, I'm really impressed!' She loved the shape of his suit: jacket slim fitted with just the right amount of sleeve peeping out: trousers tapered and settling neatly on the foot. 'And you're not wearing tan or grey shoes either!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oi!' he snipped back at her. 'Where do you think I get my clothes from - Sunday magazines? I'm pretty careful in paying attention to what's happening in the world. Sometimes. Life's not just work and waste paper bins, you know!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia smiled rather ruefully at him, then hung her head, as in shame, and this puzzled him. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What's up?' he asked.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She averted her eyes from his and swallowed, catching his look again. 'It's nothing, I just didn't mean to imply you were some kind of old fogy or anything.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Don't be silly,' he dismissed her worry away with his hand, wanting to give her hug to reassure her she hadn't, the silly mare. 'Look, we've got less than an hour to get to our table. I'll pop down and see how the function room's coming along and let you get on.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Okay, the hairdresser will be here any minute anyhow. Oh, before you go, Dad, could you do me a favour?' She picked up a plastic tube from the table and handed it to him. 'Rub some of this on my unreachables for me.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Huh? '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It's body glitter,' she laughed at his mystified look, 'just over my back and shoulders please.' She turned round, posing like a scarecrow. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, he started to rub the squidgy stuff over whatever skin was on view, being careful not to rub too near to the towel-fold holding her decency up. God forbid that dropping down!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Jeeesus,' he said as he performed the grim deed, 'I'll never get this shit off my hands.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Saskia stared into a long wardrobe mirror and was taken aback. Rarely did she look and feel so refined, until her tummy grumbled in unladylike fashion. The very second she checked on the time, Neil knocked on her door. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Coming,' a rather half-nervous, half excited Saskia called to him and he backed up a few steps, in wait of her appearance.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> On opening the door a strong waft of scent escaped (since knowing Neil, she'd sprayed perfume liberally around as if it were air freshener) and out stepped his very own starlet. With a smile unable to stretch any wider, he reached gently for her hands and spread her arms out for a better look. 'Simply beautiful.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The dress that left the other two party-deprived, fit impeccably. It carried a sweetheart neckline and a criss-cross of open panels down each side. The waist nipped in neatly and dovetailed to just under the knee in full circle. Her perfectly-matching shade of shoe, with it's metallic-look leather, saluted the subtle sheen of the dress. Opting for the aquamarine (it had a prominent advantage from the start) was the best colour to accentuate her hair. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What's this?' he asked, lifting the long herringbone plait that draped over her left shoulder, falling to the front.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'An extension the hairdresser attached for me. Looks real, doesn't it?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Freeing her hand, he gestured with a finger that he wanted her to twirl. She spun a few times, the hem of her dress fully out, causing a small eddy of air around her knees from the movement, while her plait (which almost hit him) settled back in its prime position over those light scintillated shoulders once she stopped. This simple, unadorned dress was the perfect compliment to his suit. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You mean the world to me, you know,' he told her in full sincerity.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She stepped closer to him and stroked down his cheek with the back of her hand. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I know. You're a sweet old thing really, aren't you?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil did not commit himself to answer her evincing sentiment and drew his gaze directly downwards, needing a second to compose himself. After a short cough he lifted his head, then jutted his elbow out to her and she readily took it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'C'mon kiddo, let's go eat.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Inside the lift, in a heavily accentuated Scottish accent - which he knew made her squirm - he proclaimed:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Don't know about you, but I intend to get <i>blootered </i>tonight!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Scottish for getting pissed?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You're getting good at this game.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> They looked at each other, then snickered ridiculously.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #6aa84f; font-size: x-large;"><b> end of <u>WASTED CITY</u></b></span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++</span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-52184889850394393292023-10-20T14:35:00.002+01:002023-10-21T14:21:21.498+01:00Imperfection <div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: x-large;"><b> start of **<u>IMPERFECTION</u>**</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <span><b style="font-size: xx-large;"><u>🎠</u> </b>Saskia's Fiat was still in decent running order, and despite the rather stiff exchange they had a few months ago on replacing it, Neil still dared to ask about its performance from time to time. Nothing too intense, just a mild, usually one-off inquiry in the hope it was perchance on its way out. But p</span><span>art of his 'punishment' for having had that dig at her beloved car and wishing its demise, came swiftly - just a few days afterwards. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span> While driving with him in tow, at every nifty left corner she took, she would deliberately and dramatically keel over, head flopping close to his shoulder just to unnerve him. Of course, he soon became used to it and that particular silliness dropped, only making the very occasional appearance when he wasn't expecting it; like tonight on their way home from picking up their usual bottle of wine or two. He was in the middle of telling her how unfunny that was and she really shouldn't be such an idiot in the dark, when </span>bright lights and movement up ahead waylaid their conversation, drawing her into even more immaturity.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, look!' Saskia said briskly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What?' Neil answered, suddenly aware of fairground lights and movements peeking over some tree tops. Now, around two yards closer, Neil could actually feel thudding vibrations from inside this potential rust-bucket; it seemed to absorb the pounding rather than bounce it off (decision made, she <i>was</i> getting a new car like it or not!) The child within her stirring, and Saskia indicated to go right, and he protested instantly. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'We've no time for this, I've got that lamb marinating!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, come on grumpy-lamb-chops, I think you'll survive being a half-hour hungrier!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil looked at her askance, catching her determined smile in profile, sighed and succumbed, knowing he'd do anything to please her. Luckily she found a space despite the only luminosity coming from the fair itself.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Just as they made their way over the gravel to the entrance, Neil squished a white trainer straight into that infamous muddy grass, forgetting that they were returning from a modern gallery visit, in casual clothes. As long as he didn't look down at his feet after each step, he might survive this. His presence beside her, however, came with a stipulation, </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm telling you here and now that my arse has never gone higher than the dodgems and won't be sat upon any time here!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Relax, Raptor, we'll stick to the arcades.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Then a smell, all sweet and strawberry-like wafted toward them, and just a few yards on a strategically placed van selling candy-floss lured you over, the essence alone stopping you in your tracks. And candy-floss was no ageist but a clever temptress, as plenty of adults were walking about picking off tufts of their childhood, till only the stick was left. Watching the skilled seller twist and shape with ease, it took only ten seconds until that cloud of pink delight was in her hand.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Want one?' Saskia asked, genuinely considering he might. 'They have them in blue, too.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Why would <i>I</i> want one?' he piqued, becoming a little piqued.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She shrugged, with an expression of pure mischief that simply irked him more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And you shouldn't either, you'll ruin your appetite!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She couldn't help but laugh at his response, he sounded <i>soooo</i> ridiculously parental. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What am I... ten!' she scoffed. 'There's no weight to this stuff, just melts the second it's in, there'll be plenty room for that lamb-thingy you're making.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> If things weren't sugary-bad enough for him, while merging into the thick of the fair in their search for arcades, she turned at some screams, gluing her floss to the shoulder of Neil's black leather bomber jacket; they had hardly been in the place five minutes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, for fuck's sake!' he said loudly, (forgetting there were kids around) and gave a loud sigh as Saskia lapsed into panic mode, feeling bad about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hold on,' she said, rustling in her shoulder bag while the floss, still in one hand, was flitting all over the place. 'I'll get that off right away!' But the makeup wipe just stained the leather even more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Och, it's in your hair too! Right... ' He snatched the pesky stick from her and chucked it out of harms way onto grass between stalls, 'that's got rid of that!' Saskia made no protest, just gave him a piteous look as he said, 'I can only imagine you were raised a very sticky child!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Making their way through the crowd, colour jumped out at them from every near-blindingly lit stall. Beats from typical rave-like songs thumped through their chest, while piercing screams entered Neil's head and stabbed needle-like to his ears. He didn't know why, but he felt rather nervous passing some of these huge, maniacal-looking rides - especially with the wind that whipped from them - preferring constructions of the still and solid kind. But Saskia knew from the arcades, juvenescence would still spread and make way for older heads when the body can't risk speed or height. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> It took them a little while to actually locate the arcades which were sited at the far end of the ever-worsening muddy ground, and they entered the nearest one filled mostly with old-school-type entertainment. Even Neil, old as he was, felt retrospectively suited here. And Saskia jumped for joy with excitement at a vintage two-penny falls machine and cashed two pound coins into pence, leaving Neil to amuse himself at the bandits, where he eventually come across one he could more or less associate with his underage pub visits.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> After a quick £20 worth of what he called <i>hee haw</i> (Scottish vernacular for nothing), Neil re-emerged at Saskia's side to check up on her luck. Every so often he heard her winning coins, and was immediately rapt by the challenge before her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Bringing his architectural side to the fore, he carefully studied the way the coins had settled. Her monetary plight had her down to her last two coins, and the pile through the glass in front of her teetered on the brink of throwing themselves off the edge. If his calculations on the way the stud placements were fixed, she just had to drop a coin and let it land nearer the left and the forwarding slide (or slightest vibration) should do the trick.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Right there!' Neil tapped with his finger the slot to fire it down. It zigzagged down, landing perfectly for success, but the push bar only managed to make it ride over other coins. Now she was down to her last twopence piece. Success this time, surely? But watching it bump down with baited breath, all that resulted in was a mild shift at the front.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Again!' ordered Neil, 'It has to go this time.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I've no more!' she screeched, frisking herself madly for a spare coin but coming up with nothing; there was no way she was leaving the win for anyone else! Neil popped his hands into his jacket pockets for a check, and while doing so she in her frenzy plunged hers into his front jeans pockets, and with blithe unconcern was brushing his penis with her fingers in her mad search to find that elusive coin! He just stared at her in disbelief and she drew them free. </div><div style="text-align: left;">'What?! I can't leave it like this!' she squealed. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Calm down, woman,' he tutted, 'there's one at your feet - look!' By Christ, the girl was irrepressible!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She quickly picked it up, rubbed it off her lapel for luck and shoved it down the same 'winning' slot. Even Neil's heart was in his mouth. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Nothing. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Nothing but a shuffle closer to the edge.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What!' he said, long and loud. '<i>That</i> should have dropped... sod this!' He twisted his head around, checking the joint out. Everyone seemed transfixed with their own battles in the arcade, so gave the unjust machine a thud with his fist.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'There you go!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> A hail of twopence pieces tumbled loudly into the winning dish near her knees, and she grinned hugely at the dastardly deed. There he was, this multi-millionaire thumping a machine for a pittance so his daughter wasn't disappointedly duped. 'Bloody thing's probably fixed with magnets!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She scooped her 'win' into her pockets, contented enough even though she didn't even break-even. They'd go into the charity jar at the cafe.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Their venture after the arcade led only to the paltry stalls on their way out. Feeling elated, (Saskia scored surprisingly well at the rifle range where she trounced him) she walked with a stuffed-something-or-other under her armpit for the collective price of £12. The furry horse-like thing would no doubt have cost a pittance to manufacture, yet she still felt it money well spent.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What is that anyway?' Neil asked, puzzled by its appearance. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It's a unicorn, got a gold horn coming out of its head - look.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Hmm... doesn't look much like it to me. Anyhow, you're lucky. In the seventies you won a gonk.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'A what?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Gonk', he repeated, bringing unfortunate tubular hand movement in on his description. 'Basically it was a toilet roll tube with some fur wrapped round it and a paper face stuck to it.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What was it suppose to do?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nothing. Just stood there staring scarily at you. Think my mum eventually used it to clean her blinds.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia smiled, enjoying these strange tales of yore. He often brought his mother up in his memories though asking of her out of the blue could noticeably upset him. With his parents splitting when he was young could upset the balance of his loyalty. Though his mother never bad-mouthed his father, nor interfered in their relationship, Neil still felt a guilt factor for ever having trusted him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Just ahead of them while making their way back to the car (dinner <i>would</i> be extra-late tonight!) a woman was trying to exit the grounds with her grandson, but the boy was protesting and pleading with her to let him on this certain ride.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'But look, Nana...' He stood in front of a paper height gauge glued to a post. 'I'm tall enough for this one!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, I <i>see</i> that,' she emphasised, 'but it also states that you're too young to go it alone. I really couldn't stomach going on, son, I told you that before we even come here.' The agreement was that dear old grandma would only partake in things that didn't include velocity nor heights.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> '<i>Please</i>, Nana! All my friends at school have been on it.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The older lady - a woman in her latter fifties - stood and watched in terror at the vicious speed and twists of these lethal-looking contraptions; even the carousel had looked too rough for her liking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm sorry, Simon, it's <i>not </i>happening. Come on... let's some ice cream or rock candy.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The look on the little lad's face radiated devastation, and she was sure there was going to be guilt-inducing tears to follow; sugar was no trade off, no substitute for the thrill of his life. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'll take him on!' Saskia, said with alacrity. 'Can't have him being the odd one out in class now, can we?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh no, really, I couldn't possibly— '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nonsense,' Saskia said, taking the situation in hand by slinging her toy into Neil's chest and hanging her strapped bag over his head to hold too. Grabbing the boy by his sleeve, she led him through the barrier before his over-fussing nana could do much about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'll have to pay for him! ' she called after them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'll get it!' Saskia called back. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The young lad's face lit up. Not only had he just met his own Joan-of-Arc-in-a-park, but she was a babe - the kind of girl boy's on the cusp of teenage-hood giggled senselessly over. Out came his phone for a selfie, lest his friends think he was bullshitting them! </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Zip that phone safely before the ride takes off - put it in your chest pocket!' The uneasy gran called out to him. Thirty seconds later they took off with a mighty whoosh!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil just stood there like a lemon next to the woman, adjusting his 'handbag' to the front, an oversized smile on his face.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It really was nice of her to take Simon on the ride. I told him it was out of the question before we even came here and he still chanced his luck.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Kid's eh, what are they like?' Neil quipped back, as if he was some sort of expert.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Mind you,' she continued, 'it must be a little less worrying with your granddaughter being that bit older.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, she's not... ' He suddenly stopped his correction, guessing the changing lights and shadows did his age no favours, '...afraid of heights in the least.' It was all he could think of to fill in with. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> During the pleasantries with the woman, a small fountain of what looked and sounded like nails or rivets hit the barrier enclosing the ride. On further inspection, he saw it that it was a spattering of twopence pieces. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Coming off the ride jelly-legged and adrenaline-rushed, the beam on the contented little lad's face was well earned. Job done, thought Saskia. The woman once again thanked her and gave Neil a fond goodbye.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Here...' he threw the shoddily stitched unicorn for her to catch, and as he did so she noticed a silly grin on his face. She had to ask;</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Okay. What's the Cheshire-cat face in aid of?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm pretty sure she was chatting me up.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia froze to consider this, then jerked her head up to look at him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Really? Mind you, you two did look cozy, even from high up. You could have been in there, Dad!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nah!' he shook his head, 'wouldn't have worked.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Why not?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She thought you were my <i>granddaughter</i>.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia laughed, then put on a deep voice. 'Raptor!' she teased and gave a yelp as Neil got her in a sudden headlock and knuckled her skull. It was an impulsive move on his part; quite beneath him to show such ribaldry in public. Freeing her head, he put an arm around her shoulders and walked on. 'Besides, I've no time for another woman in my life - not with you around!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Phew!' She mocked swiping sweat from her forehead, not quite realising how potently he meant it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> As for his daytime hours he seemed to be conforming, building layer after layer of the homey, unscripted life he once knew. He'd enjoyed his evening far more than he'd dreaded it and was rather sorry to be leaving all the chromatic and recrudescence behind them. Tonight was a fifty minute lesson in fun - even with her panic-stricken sexual assault on him - despite the only things he was taking home were an empty stomach and mushy-muck from his shoes and she a bout of relief.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The over-marinated lamb was too late to prepare, so The Bamboo Panda Chinese takeaway had taken over for tonight's choice of meal. The giggles were very much still with her but intensifying now as double-gauged glasses of wine were making up for lost time. Saskia sat by Neil's feet on the floor as he bent forward from the settee, laptop on the coffee table, moiling at some next-day scheduling. But nothing of interest on TV or her phone gave him the scope needed for full concentration and he had no choice but to acquit himself due to her endless chatting. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Can't you amuse yourself for ten minutes?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nope. Bored. Besides, you said you didn't have any catching up to do.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He sighed and slowly folded down the screen. 'Old habits. But you're right. I did.' Nothing was so imperative that it couldn't wait.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Quickly, she turned round on her knees to face him, one arm draped over his left knee, the other sipping away at her wine. Looking up at him with those over-mascara'd big green eyes. 'You work too hard. All you'd achieve by doing that now is fitting in an extra coffee in the morning.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Gently he brushed a stray bit of hair from her eyes. Even yet, there were times he still couldn't believe just how radiant she looked, how mind-blowingly immersing she could be. Then he took sudden rise, giving Saskia cause to quickly swoop her wine from any spillage on the settee.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Wow, Dad! A little warning wouldn't have gone amiss - nearly caused a map of Bali on the couch! Hey, are you okay?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Bit of a headache, actually. You know I don't mind you staying up, but I'm off to bed.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh,' she frowned, he rarely complained of such. 'God, I hope all that fairground noise has helped do that... '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No, it's more likely to be the wine. We got through almost three bottles.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'll get you some paracetamol.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> She stood to head to a kitchen drawer, but he gently grabbed her wrist as she tried to pass. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No, really,' he said, pulling her into a hug, 'it's fine, I'm fine... I'm always fine with you, you're all the medicine I need, just don't know the right dosage, I'd probably be tempted to peel the label off, - then where would we be?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia frowned, pulling back to look at him. 'Dad... you're sounding gibberish, I don't know what on earth you're on about. Are you <i>sure </i>you're okay?''</div><div style="text-align: left;"> A plaintive smile crossed his face and he made a dismissive gesture. 'Ah, just ignore me. Think I might be a tad too drunk. I'll see you in the morning ... strong coffee.' He kissed her head, headed off and she watched until he slid under the sheets, making just a small bump under the spacious king size, where he lay staring at the nighttime sky. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Picking up the TV control, she lowered the volume and did her own staring at nothing in particular, trying to fathom out his drunken bosh. Then she shook the puzzler - and it's feeling of something left unsaid - from her mind and made a latte to take to bed. One thing <i>was</i> perfectly fathomable; goodnight's were getting harder.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <b style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: xx-large;"> end of **<u>IMPERFECTION</u>**</b></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-67459119581041945202023-10-11T16:07:00.001+01:002023-10-11T16:07:24.521+01:00SATELLITE <div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: x-large;"><b> **<u>SATELLITE</u>**</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #c27ba0; font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">📡 </span>On his 56th birthday last year, he spent the whole day at work with not one iota of a hint to anyone that it was so. For his 57th this year, he decided he would push the boat out. Literally. It seemed forever since the 'Sirena' had last passed along the Thames, and at Saskia's insistence that he had to mark the day somehow, he suggested they do just that. It had an upper function deck with room to facilitate a party of ten people, which was ideal as Neil only ever permitted the closest friends on board. At one time he never skipped a birthday on his boat, it was a regular occasion when he was married, but despite the long absence he had it maintained and managed at a docking marina - a kind of nursing home for unwanted vessels with can't-be-arsed-with-it-now owners. He gave permission for the business to run it for engine and structure purposes four times a year, but in true probability it would be more like a dozen times. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> So that was another money-spun buy Saskia was becoming inured to; gloriously rich people and their '<b>Oh, by the way, I've just remembered - I've a £100,000 boat tucked away somewhere, let's take a trip on it' - </b>as if they'd just remembered nonchalantly that there was a packet of biscuits tucked away at the back of a cupboard. Still, excitement loomed in a hard-to-contain fashion; this was to be <i>his</i> celebration, yet she was the overexcited one. A while back she'd been perplexed; what <i>do</i> you buy a man who wants for nothing for his birthday? A card, company, and the night remaining dry would be enough of a gift, he said. Nah. It needs to be stated personally too, she quietly mulled to herself.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The part of the Thames he planned to journey along was scenic for a good few miles - his favourite sight being willow tree branches bowing down to bob on ripples, and houses along the river's edge had a glorious view of the boats that passed; a perfect accompaniment to garden Pimms and cucumber. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil also suggested to her to bring a friend for company (as he invited six of his own along), but weekday nights were unsuitable. As was she, most of her friends were at the latter side of twenty, and mostly married with children, and as she was one of the few that shuddered at the thought of babies (she'd never go gaga at all that goo-goo malarkey), so she was happy to endure a bunch of wrinklies instead of mini-shit machines for one night. A car was to be sent to pick her up from the train station rather than straight from work (which she deemed would be 'embarrassing!), and it was only right she enjoyed a pre-drink with her father (who couldn't really wait to vaunt her off) while on board too. A licensed driver from the marina was hired to steer the boat, allowing him to savour his night of endless champagne.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tentatively, she climbed aboard, Neil holding her hand as he commented how fetching she looked in her flowing turquoise dress, though not quite enamoured with shoes looking unsuitable for climbing deck steps, or even dancing in. This was her first experience on a river boat, and it was less wobbly than she'd imagined. In fact, it felt comparatively as sound as solid ground. There was a mini-bar under deck and it looked relatively homely once you were down the steps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Holding drinks while tagging along, he gave her a quick feel of the boat before the guests arrived - including a shot at steering, where she felt assuredly smug, borderline upper-crust almost, as she floated by feeling - without looking - the wishful eyes of those on the river's paths as she passed. Another little taste of luxury that began to teach her that money <i>can</i> buy happiness.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">They soon came to a stop at a car park by the waterside to pick up Fran and Delia. A delightful couple, but an oddly paired one. Saskia couldn't help but stare at Fran with his head looking too big for the rest of him. Barely over five feet in height, with sand coloured hair and fuzzy chin, but with, strangely, very dark eyes setting below his orange brows. Saskia couldn't help wondering if he'd just had a nice little spin on his wheel! </div><div style="text-align: left;"> With them, an unexpected guest lingered at which Neil gave a rather deflated sigh, y<i>ou've gotta be joking, </i>playing in his head, as he forced a 'genuine smile' at the same time. Delia, his mother (a good two heads higher than her husband) was a well groomed woman forever in flat shoes and a wind-defying beehive structured meticulously on her head. She kissed Neil's cheek with fragility and made a huge fuss at her introduction to Saskia, grabbing her hands, taking one step back and ran eyes up and down her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'My, my, what a young beauty you are - that dress is adorable!' She gently slipped her hands free from Saskia's, a sudden serious face near drew her eyebrows to touching point. 'I was sorry to hear of your mum's illness, but it must be a comfort to have your father in your life now.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil had filled them in on Saskia before their arrival. As Delia's manner was rather stuffy and direct, he thought it best to try pre-damage limitation so she didn't pick at Saskia with her rather <i>luvvie- darling</i> tone, too much. Delia was a woman often mocked at the golf club when Fran was not around, but she was an old friend's choice of wife - what could one do? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Neil, honey, you don't mind us bringing Howard along, do you?' She smiled and turned round to her goof of a son and flicked him under the chin. 'His archery class was cancelled, tutor felt poorly, so he was at a bit of a loose end.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Of course not,' Neil lied, an effing big one with bells on - the boy was a posh, post-Eton nightmare!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Thought he might be a bit company for the lovely Saskia.'</div><div> 'I'm sure he will!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The flared-chino and corduroy-jacketed un-invitee briskly shook Saskia's hand (his firm grip flapping the under skin of the top half of her arm) and gave three hello's in a row. Fran, the mild mannered father was much smoother in his approach, so it was plain to see where his son's eccentricity comes from. With intro's over, they all headed for drinks, Neil exuding an apologetic grimace to Saskia in advance. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> After two other guests, Rob and Sue, (who were blissfully down to earth) were picked up further along, and a few drinks had coloured the senses, Saskia took it upon herself to invite Howie - as he now asked to be called - up onto the main deck for a drink. It was probably the most exciting offer he had had in years, so he readily led the way. Once sitting down on the side bench he grinned constantly, catching her eye then looking away like a poorly controlled glove puppet. As much as his nervous manner was amusing Saskia, she thought she'd better help break the poor guy's ice as there was no way he was going to break it on his own; he'd most likely just sit there and melt. Then all it took was one question. One perfectly innocent, respectful query:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'So, Howie, what is it you do?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Chuffing hell, he just galloped off, full speed ahead; she thought the bloke was never gonna take a breather. He banged on about about how he was in his last year of study in marine biology, having taken samples of seawater from all over the world and did she know that even the Thames had amazing organisms, and diapods? All Saskia could fit in response was random: 'oh' 'yep' 'really' 'mmm' 'uh-huh' kinds of input. When he told her he might even scoop a sample of the Thames to take home and microscope it tonight, she ashamedly pictured him falling overboard! She thought Neil was bad with hand gestures, but Howie was wildly throwing his arms during his convo - a hand even clipped her hair twice! As if things weren't bad enough, she also sat through his love of archery and a history of bow and arrows. After what felt like forever to her, he now felt satisfaction in himself that he'd 'impressed' her enough and at last directed a question her way.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Is it okay to ask, Saskia, - very nice name, I'm sure it's Russian - what profession are <i>you</i> in?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Profession? Um ... I'm kind of a, well, public server, you could say.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, I see, for the government?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Not quite,' she gave a mild shake of her head. 'I serve tea and cakes in my mum's cafe.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, that's quite...' he struggled for a word to compliment this menial 'profession', '... noble.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia curled her lips inwards, trying to ward off her desire to laugh, while Neil was hovering at the bottom of the steps, listening in on Saskia's agony. He reckoned he would give it another ten minutes before thinking up a rescue for her, but right now he was enjoying his eavesdropping.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> While the 'friendship' was forming, Howie was also getting another thrill from all the outsiders that enviously eyed the privileged boaters that passed, simply by sitting next to such an attractive girl, allowing himself the fantasy of them being perceived as an actual couple. Things were getting cringingly worse, as every time the wind blew hair around her face, he kept fishing strands from her mouth in what he considered a gallant gesture.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At long last the rest of the soiree came up the steps and joined them on the upper deck; she'd never been so relieved to hear company approach. The garrulousness of Howie was genuinely giving her a headache and she needed a break. Saskia stood as his mother stopped to smile at them both. 'And how are you two getting along? Famously, it looks like! Was he telling you about his hopes of becoming a professor soon?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Mum!' he protested, giving some sort of a snort that doubled for laughter, while the boy flush furiously.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> A sudden vision of her cleaning her son's face with spit and a hankie sprung suddenly to Saskia's mind. 'Yes, he has,' she replied through curled-in lips, praying the microbe-talk was about done; she was rather brained out by his knowledge of all things boring. 'very much so.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Taking a quick peek down the hatch she saw Neil staring up at her, a smirk of biting ridicule on his face. Calculating by this point that she would be in need of more alcohol, he ascended on deck to refill glasses with champagne. Delia sat down next to Howard for her top up, but a panic-stricken Saskia moved sharply, excusing herself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Spending more time than necessary in the rather incapacious toilet, she tried to gear herself up for watery round two. The boat's motion had stopped while she was sitting on the bowl as the last two of Neil's friends come aboard, so reluctantly released herself from the time-wasting latrine. Nipping a quick vodka into a glass from the drinks tray - double; maybe even triple - she swirled the drink round in the glass, counted to three and downed it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Bracing herself - hoping the vodka would hit her quickly - she gingerly climbed the stairs, popping her head up like a periscope to seek out the whereabouts of Howard, relieved to see he had joined the newcomers in conversation. Neil espied the head of his daughter emerging gingerly from the hatch, walked over and reached a hand down to help her up, duly walking her over to meet Paul and Rosemary. It didn't take long for Howard to reattach himself to her and resigned herself ipso facto to it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Darkness was descending a few hours later and the boat's music and lights were upping the mood. The alcohol had very much soothed Saskia, and now she was up for anything. So when the mellowed birthday boy got her up to dance to a contemporary, catchy song - whose beat demanded 1950's type twirling - she did not demur. It was strange how his inhibitions and stoic manner transposed into an embarrassing-dad type, not giving a toss who was watching (or shouting to) them. After the dance, she followed her dad and they rested over the edge of the boat to catch their breath.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Dad, I didn't think you had all that energy in you, I could hardly keep up!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ach, there's life in the old dog yet! Has Hapless Howie asked you for a dance?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nah. I don't think <i>dancing's</i> ever been his niche.' Poor lad. His offbeat ways and clothes (hard to decide which was worse) didn't exactly warrant a wow. Mind you, the fascination that stemmed from a tiny sea monkey tank he got at eleven was at least assuring him a financial future; he was gregarious enough - for like-minded company. 'By the way... did he really just turn up out of the blue?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Why? Did you think it was a set up, hoping you two would click?' he said with a huge grin. 'Maybe Delia did, she's been trying to marry him off for years. Quite taken by you, she was. Bet she's planning the wedding already!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oi! I'd probably need an encyclopedia and be constantly pissed for that.' She suddenly felt awful for mocking him, and for such an unfair appraisal of considering him a weirdo within minutes of meeting him. Howard really wasn't that bad looking, despite his sever side shed. On the whole she supposed it was down to one's upbringing. Parental infliction - especially by the mother; she felt she related a bit more there. Her own path hadn't been the one she'd pictured herself travelling along by now. How unforeseen events can muscle-in on the journey...</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Still speaking face to face, Neil noticed over Saskia's shoulder, the young man at issue approaching them. Keeping his face stiff, he spoke through clenched smiley teeth, eyebrows raised high like a ventriloquist's dummy, 'And here he comes.' But his advance was venial, he was merely over to say his goodbye's. It was now past 11' o'clock and he didn't operate as well out of routine.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Just to say we're off now, Mum's saying goodbye to the others. Thank you so much for such a pleasant evening, it beats archery club hands down. He shook Neil's hand and instead of shaking Saskia's, he risked leaning forward to kiss her cheek. ' Such a shame I couldn't interest you in joining, but I guess it is more of a man's thing!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm just not a very sporty person. Listen, Howie... how about a dance before you go? I know you said it's not quite your thing, but we could put on a slow number - no skill needed, just moving about in a circle and treading on each other's toes.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Um, I don't kn—' Not taking no for an answer, she grabbed his hand and shouted for a certain song to be played. He didn't know it, but by the end it would be the sweetest song he'd ever heard. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Delia walked over to Neil and watched them as they tripped their uncertain circle. 'Ah, look at them, ' she remarked, 'don't they make a lovely couple?' She gave Neil a nudge and he nodded his head in agreement, with a different answer inside it. </div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: -18px;"> The second all the goodbye's were made, Neil turned to Saskia. 'Aah, that was really sweet of you, you'll have had his belly flipping.' He knew the dance would have meant a lot to the lad,<span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> but then spoiled the moment by adding, 'P</span>robably the closest he'll ever be to getting laid.'</div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: -18px;"> 'DAD!' she protested, giving him a light backhander to the stomach.</div><div style="text-align: left; text-indent: -18px;"> 'C'mon,' he smiled, 'I want to show you something.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Leading her up to the head of the boat, he asked her, 'Can you remember that long tunnel we went through earlier on?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Not really,' she answered, they all looked the same in daylight.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, we've turned and heading back to it. Don't think you'll forget it now. Look.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> She followed the direction of his pointed finger. Further up the river came a glow, like an orb sitting on top of the water. 'Wow!' she said, 'what's causing that light?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Bit of a story to this. Apparently there used to be loads of accidents here - no <i>person</i> ever got hurt, but boats kept clipping the sides and fronts, causing damage. People got fed up as the tunnel lights set into the stone kept conking out, so some clever clogs came up with the idea of lighting it themselves as a kind of protest, and strung it with metres of lights. There's loads of solar panels round both the entrances. After a mention in the local paper to shame the River Trust, fellow boaters have been donating and adding lights themselves ever since. That was over fifteen years ago and it's become a kind of local tradition.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah... what a genius idea!' Saskia was well impressed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> As they were almost at the entrance, Neil put a hand round her waist and pulled her closer to him. 'Here we go!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Weather-wise it had been glorious and the now night sky was a riot of crisp, shimmering stars, but this tunnel's lustre was made just as brilliant with reflecting lambency on the surrounding water. Caught up in the wonder of it, she pictured being in the inky sky, a star within grasping reach to put in your pocket. Such thinking one never grows out of. Barely two minutes later, however, it was over.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'For something so simply made, that was breathtaking, Dad.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I thought you'd like it. Magrette loved it too, every birthday without fail.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia was touched to hear that, giving him a wistful smile and a sympathy nudge, resting her head on his shoulder, and he acknowledged her concern by snuggling her tighter to him with both arms. Magrette had a tendency to linger in the depths of his mind and certain reminders of her still smarted after ten years. But despite that, he at least had re-established himself with his near-forgotten-about boat - a thing he most likely would not have done, nor even <i>wanted</i> to have done, had he not Saskia in his life now.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> * * * * * * *</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After paying the steersman of the boat firm handsomely for tonight's services, they were picked up at the closest point of the river, heading for home, and immediately changed for bed. A rapid tiredness hit both of them, but there was as yet one thing she wanted to do, though still feeling hinky about it. Midnight was creeping closer and in the end she decided to go for it, sitting straight across from him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Think I'll be hitting the sheets in ten,' Neil announced. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yeah, me as well.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Had a good time tonight, turned out to be quite entertaining!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Wasn't it just! Actually dad,' Saskia leaned over the side of her chair and produced a striped navy and blue gift bag that she'd sneaked and tucked by its side earlier on, 'I've got a little something for you.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, kiddo, I told you there was no need.' He was rather touched by the gesture; hadn't been given a present, nor wanted any, for years.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Don't get too excited, you haven't seen it yet!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> It felt heavy and solid - a total puzzler. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I decided against bringing it to the party tonight, I preferred to give it to you here.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil fished inside, pulling it out from lots of thin streamers. It was a pine and glass clock, around sixteen square inches; the wooden inner square had the face etched with numbers; encased round all the edges was three inches of thick see-through glass with a section of pure white sand laying along the bottom one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I made it at woodwork class.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He stared at it, smiling hugely. Taking that as an obvious sign of approval, she bounded over, jumping to settle beside him. 'On the hour it rotates, and the sand falls again back into the bottom one.' She took it from him and turned it round. 'See that little lever there?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes?' He was even more intrigued. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'That has a mechanism that turns that cog to make just one square glass edge move - clock hands stay in the middle as normal - so when it hits the hour, <i>voila</i> - it starts making the sand fall. There's a curve of glass at each corner making sure it filters along.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah.' Neil clicked on, 'similar to an hourglass.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yeah, more or less but quicker and at a right angle.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Very clever.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, I have moved on to advanced level - mechanical's, now. Sometimes it looks like waves or a far off mountain range. Daft, really, but you can see what I mean.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Boy, was he touched. Bringing a lump to Neil Balfour's throat was a rarity. 'And you've been working away, making this for your old dad?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, I noticed you didn't have one up, so... '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He sat quietly in thought, letting the seconds pass, rubbing a thumb gently down the smooth, clear glass. 'Saskia... I don't know what to say.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, as long as it's not <i>'shit'</i> you don't have to say anything.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He placed the clock carefully by his side and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her to him. Her tummy churned unexpectedly stronger this time. But she <i>was</i> being engulfed in his pride, feelings heightened by alcohol and the success of her gift - that would be why. Just normal simple belly flips. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Right, young lady,' he announced, unwrapping his hold and placing the clock on the spare chair. 'I'm putting this up first thing in the morning, best get off to bed.' He kissed her head. 'Want me to dull the lights?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah, no, it's okay, I'll put them off, I'm going to mine.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Night, then.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She watched until he reached his bed and slid under his sheets before heading to her own. So he had been stunned into silence, and never said <i>shit. </i> Now she didn't have anything to say, but the word - albeit through a different context - was bouncing like crazy in her head.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="color: #01ffff; font-size: xx-large;"> </b></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-83974308879567879512023-09-30T17:13:00.000+01:002023-09-30T17:13:08.059+01:00It Starts And Ends With You (CH 12) <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Dosis; font-size: x-large;"><b> ** <u>IT STARTS AND ENDS WITH YOU</u> **</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>⛳</u> </b></span>This would be interesting; finding out how far her natural driving range was, or if she would indeed manage contact with the ball at all. The suggestion of a round of golf was (supposedly) thought up by Saskia her own-sweet-self, for Father's Day; although she told him that Marcus had suggested a course he'd played on only the once before, so their day wouldn't be interrupted by him bumping into others he knew. Nonetheless, it seemed a perfect way of marking his <i>first</i> ever Father's Day - despite him being old enough for Granddad status. But before she was let loose in the green immensity, he was going to give her a feel for the game at the course's practice range first (and also to gauge just how much of an openness-risk she'd be) otherwise it would be one hell of a boring tag-along for her. Regardless of how the day ticks past, the 19th hole (which she remarkably had heard of) was the ultimate ending for them both. It had been a little while since he'd last sunk a few.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia waited at a more 'convenient' corner pick-up-place close to her home. Neil was amazed to see her standing there (as she hadn't texted him back this morning to confirm this) and gave him a quick glance through the window. Single-handedly, she continued to thumb away on her phone - without taking her eyes off the screen - and opened the back car door, plunking herself and her big heavy bag down next to him. Marcus exchanged a nod with her in his mirror and started pulling away.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Morning, Dad.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Good morning. Nice to see you up and about this early. I'm actually amazed you made it on time.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She gave a mild tut of indignation. 'Who says I've been to bed?' With sparkling eyes and neat fluffed up hair, she didn't have the appearance of having pulled an all-nighter.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hmmm,' Neil considered the fact that she may not be joking. 'Anyhow ... ' a forced, asinine smile spread over his face, and he flicked the tips of his fingers quickly back at himself, '... gimme, gimme, gimme!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She frowns and looks straight at him. 'What?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah, surely you bought your old dad a card?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia dipped down into her bag, making Neil notice her feet. 'You're wearing clumpy shoes! I told you, you can't walk on a golf course with those!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Stop panicking man, I've got brought other clothes and shoes to change into! Here.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil sat back and took the envelope from her. As expected, the card was a humorous (age referral) one, but he took the slur in good grace. Under the verse inside, she had simply written: <i>Love you, Raptor... Saskia..xxx </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Uhu, that's... cheeky... but nice.' Thanking her by squeezing her hand, he put it back in its envelope and asked Marcus to place it in the glove compartment. He would keep this £1.89 (she rarely thinks to peel the price sticker off the back) card in a safe, sentimental drawer when he got home. Fatherhood was kicking in at an enormous rate, heightening ever more with occasions like today. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The drive through Berkshire would take roughly an hour. It had been a while since he last had a game of golf, and though this one wouldn't strictly be a challenge, it felt nice to be reacquainting himself with the old irons. As visitors, Neil told her they would have to adhere to the etiquette of the club's rules and conditions as knew she was rather vociferous when some things frustrated her. With this prior warning, he hoped she would stick to her behavioural assurances.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> On route, Saskia did her best to keep up trivial chatter. Her phone had been snatched from her and duly chucked in her bag, as Neil was getting fed up with her being transfixed by it, it was <i>his</i> day after all. But as they continued to chat over something and nothing, Neil became more aware of the surroundings as they journeyed. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Are you sure this is the right way, Marcus?' he asked.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The driver leaned to the left to check his sat nav. 'Yes. Still on track, Sir.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Perhaps there was some recent diversion regarding the route, but time dictated they should be arriving shortly. At least the weather would make the course playable as it promised to be dry, if not so sunny. But a short while later, Neil's suspicion of things not quite adding up returned, as Marcus drove through a little Tudor style village. The last time he played this course it was secluded, out of the way and with no such little town close by. Now he was certain something odd was occurring, and round the next corner it all became clear.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No!' Neil groaned, 'I don't believe this- you gotta be kidding me!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia, grabbed her bag, got out and ran round to Neil's side of the car, opening the door for him. 'Happy Father's Day!' she announced very loudly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The poor, deflated man crept out slowly and stared at the sight straight across from them. <b>Mattillo's Crazy Golf Show.</b> Now it made sense: the wrong route, the lack of conversation between Saskia to Marcus (they were usually quite chatty with each other, having debates, or engaging in quizzes on long journey's) and her unsuitable footwear. Even to the point of carefully stopping the Merc a (shortish) distance from the entrance. How stupid would it have looked with a chauffeur stepping out to let a man of a certain age exit in front of an amusement park - especially with an absence of young kids? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You shameful, shameful child!' Neil said, looking serious, but having to give them full credit for the bluff - his actual set of golf clubs was in the boot, having been on this futile journey. He felt his veneer of respectability slipping like a sheet of melting ice each time he was with her. Just as well he hadn't changed into his proper golfing gear beforehand. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, and by the way, Marcus...' he added, '... you're fired! After you come and collect us, of course.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The driver winked at Saskia on the success of the ruse, he'd enjoyed being in cahoots with her. 'Good luck,' he wished her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She'll need it,' Neil told him. 'Right lady... let's go. Prepare for a thrashing!' And with that they headed for the entrance. He hadn't seen this one coming. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Despite being this early on a Sunday morning, there was a fairly-lengthy queue for the course, and in seeing that he wasn't the only man his age made him feel a bit better. Although most appeared to be with groups of younger children (grandchildren, presumably), <i>everyone</i> buzzed, geared up for fun. Crazy golf was one of life's games where the shape of youth carries it's interest on into old age.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> After collecting their clubs and scorecards from the kiosk, they entered through the gate into vast wonderment. Neil expected it to be mostly zigzags and windmills, but there were all sorts of mechanical aids, waterfalls, moving stairs and lifts, lights, animated figures lifting balls onto connecting trains, boats and tunnels. It was breathtakingly fantastical, well worth the £20 adult entrance fee. Whomever designed and thought up such sublimity were nothing less than genius. For a few moments, Neil doubted he'd have the skill to tackle some of the challenges. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Played this sort of golf before?' he asked her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yeah, of course, days out with Grampa as a kid but nothing like this, though - looks mental!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Certainly looks a scary bugger... right, kiddo,' he rolled his sleeves up, 'let's go.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">They headed towards Hole No1, beside the huge <b>START</b> sign (God knows where the <b>END</b> one was situated)! It was a fairly simple one, a hill and a few skittles to knock down to get to the hole. In fact, the first few were nothing too complicated, a clever appetiser to get everyone into the swing of things</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ladies first...', Neil proffered an upturned hand out for her to begin with, and things commenced with easy success - she seemed not too bad at this.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The guidance on the scorecard stated you should move on to the next hole after ten attempts at holing your current ball - which also helped keep the traffic of players flowing - and before long she was sucked into both the arduous and the joyous side of things; stomping when she was beaten and jumping when triumphant. All too soon the seriously testing side of competitive play started to kick in.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> At hole No.23 (a <i>loop the loop</i> that reminded Neil of his first Scalextric), her ball kept rimming the hole, circling then veering off, and the underdog here was starting to lose her rag - not quite in quiet defeat. Things weren't helping when wind sped round her legs, flouncing her skirt up as Neil jocosely goaded and lambasted her incompetence. But she soon cared not a jot what flapped about and sparked up a fruitless determination to at least win (or fluke) just one more hole from the remaining obstacles - but his growing score was pissing her off. He <i>could</i> have intentionally lost the odd one or two, but it was such a joy watching her (and five-to-eight year-old's) break into teeny tantrums. Thankfully, she kept her swear words to a mumble.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">A few holes along, Neil suddenly abandoned their play to skip across to where a little lad of around six was anxiously struggling to get his ball down that hole. Feeling compelled to help out, he jumped over to him and offered to help. Standing behind the little lad, both of them holding the club, he angled him more to the right and tried it once along with the boy, then let him take the shot himself and in two tries, succeeding. The delighted, little lad (who was accompanied by his grandma plus siblings) turned and threw Neil a big smile, then a YAY! It was the first time he'd ever high-fived a kid. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> 'Oh, my God!' </i>Saskia whispered, <i>' he's absolutely loving </i><i>this!'</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Watching him, she stood in quiet admiration. Neil, normally a non-shifting turgid, was growing from being ho-hum to galvanising. Studying the joy upon his face, she felt so proud with herself for arranging today. Shame that sensation didn't last long. Just a few minutes later he was having to help her in the very same way, at the very same hole, and all that got <i>him</i> in return was a dirty look when raising his palm for high-five number two - though her face still as pretty as a picture in a huff!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Working throughout the colours, textures, sounds, lights and lunacy, three whole hours had passed in completing the whole thirty fourholes - of which Saskia had only won a quarter (if that) of. Handing back the clubs and their score sheets, Neil was declared the victor. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Would you like a winner's badge?' he was asked. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ooooh yes!' Neil answered hyperbolically, and was handed a sticker that he stuck onto the chest of his jumper with a few securing taps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia was handed one too which proclaimed <i>I'll Beat You Next Time.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b>'Wha-at? No, no, no! Don't you have one that says '<i>Loser</i>?' he mercilessly teased. The woman just smiled and shook her head.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You, young lady, have been well and truly stymied.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I take it that's a Scottish word, then?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Aye, an old golfing term and it suits you to a <i>tee</i>!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She gave a fond smile accepting her defeat, and started to galumph ahead, Father's Day present now over. 'Well, c'mon then, Raptor!' she called back to him once she'd sensed he wasn't by her side but taking a few still moments to marvel at his girl. Catching up, he put an arm around her shoulder, causing that pleasing flutter in her chest she was getting indescribably partial to. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Although declared <i>his</i> day, Saskia convinced him to take them for a burger. It had been well over ten years - and with his stepsons - since he'd last entered such a joint (at present heavily filled with 'access day' Dads with their kids) and the smell alone evoked similar memories. Before settling upstairs with their meals, she ran out to the car with a burger for Marcus. Food was normally banned from company cars, but she wasn't leaving him out.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She gave the straw to her milkshake the popular rip-and-blow to get the paper off, straight at Neil. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'God... are people still doing that?' He picked the paper from his tray, scrunched it up and threw it back at her. Watching Neil lift that bun to his mouth for a first bite was fascinating; Mr. Gourmet-Chops lowering himself to eat with the rabble! If he was being honest, the beef and gherkin tasted foreign but rather good - though one would hardly become a convert.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> So today had been filled with sneaky variability, yet change usually didn't sit right with him. But like the burger he was wolfing into, his day had gone down undeniably well.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I know things weren't <i>quite </i>what you expected, and I'm bailing out a bit early, but thanks for being so understanding, Dad, but it's a bath and an early night for me. I really did overdo it last night.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hmm...' he gave her that twisty-scornful-mouth thing of his, '...and here was me looking forward to the 19th hole with you.' He continued to tease at her reneging his day, but she had work in the morning, and he had to give her credit for that. 'I'm sure I can find another abandoned father out there to share a consolation drink with this evening.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It was fun, though.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It was... but I think I know what you're trying to do.' He looked at her resolutely, while stuffing a few fries in his mouth.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And what's that?' she frowned.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'When we decide to go out? Spending time at zoos and farms, crazy golfing, Sea-ruddy-World? It'll be Legoland next! I know I missed out on your entire childhood, but can we try 'adult' things as well?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Her frown deepened, Li-i-ke, what?' she said, slowly and warily. 'Hang gliding? Bungee jumps? Paintballing?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He gave a heavy sigh. 'Like, art galleries, cinema, exhibitions, museums, I dunno - even Madame ruddy Tussauds, or <i>real </i>golf courses.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Dad... ' Saskia reached over and grasped his hand, 'I'm <i>not </i>trying to recapture my childhood for you, really I'm not and I love you for thinking that, but we're all still teenagers at heart - well I know I am - so I might still suggest daft days out. However, I promise we'll do something eighteen-plus soon!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She sealed the deal by slurping a deliberate long and loud suck of milkshake through her straw, as he duly stuck the winner sticker from his jumper onto the inside of his wallet for a permanent reminder of his day. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Throughout the day and since their meal, she kept to herself the fact that he hadn't checked his nails. Not even once. And she'd settled more since her flummoxing at being offered a new car from him, getting more used to his comfortable way of life, and tending now to get not too fazed by it all. </div><div> 'Good,' he said, eloquently, 'that's that sorted,'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> """"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-44740601896754759272023-09-20T15:46:00.002+01:002023-09-20T15:46:55.635+01:00In My Car (CH 11)<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: PT Sans Narrow; font-size: x-large;"><b> ** <u>IN MY CAR</u> **</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>🚦</u><b> </b></span>Filling up her car after they'd filled up an idle hour at a cosy little restaurant, he watched her from the passenger seat, contemplating how to run a certain something past her. In a nutshell, he didn't like her motor but knew she adored her 'four previous owners' little Fiat. And that level of love was shown by the pristine condition she kept it in. In light of her lax attitude towards tidiness in general, one would half expect to be kicking empty juice bottles aside whilst seating oneself, whereas the vehicle was spotless and smelled divine. </span><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;">However, every time he sat in that passenger side he couldn't help but let his eyes flit all around. Her actual driving skills posed no problem with him - it was the structure of her cherished runaround he took exception to. This silver accident-waiting-to-happen-and-you're-buggered-if-it-does had to go, and tonight would be the night to broach the subject. But he was sure there </span><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;">would be hugs of delight. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> Unlike the usual practice of just buying a motor and jingling the keys to a used car (as most parents do in exchange for a marked birthday or reward for hard work), he felt it best to voice it over with her. In effect, he could quite easily buy her a car that he deemed perfect, all tied up in a huge bow with a surprise key hidden in a chocolate box, but felt that a step too far. Apart from the fact that she was twenty-seven and passed her test yonks ago, she was well passed the 'grateful for anything' stage and he figured that she'd want to discuss style, size, make and colour. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> Catching him staring at her from the kitchen area as she was doling out the </span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">Haagen Dazs </span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">ice cream bought at the garage, she dunked the scoops noisily into their sundae glasses and frowned at him;</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'Okay, Raptor, spit it out... what's on your mind? I know there's something stirring under that silver mop of yours!'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'Ah - is it that obvious?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> She quickly nabbed two teaspoons out the drawer, and carried their desserts over and bounced down beside him on the settee. Having double the amount of scoops in her glass than he did, one wouldn't think she'd not long consumed a whole sea bass and fries. He watched part-mesmerised as she polished off a whole ball in just three mouthfuls. Shaking her greed off with his head, he continued on with his quest; </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'Well', he said deliberately slowly, 'I was just </span><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;">thinking that maybe you could be doing with a different car.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Oh. Why?' she asked, part-confused. 'She's running okay.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'Just thought you'd maybe like another one.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'If it ain't broke, it don't need fixing, though.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Aye, I know, but it'd be— '</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'A waste of money, Dad. C'mon, don't be silly. I appreciate the thought, I really do, but she's not at the knackered stage yet. Besides, I know my car inside out, I'm well used to her.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'You'd have to get used to another someday anyhow.' </span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">Saskia tutted then sighed, not wanting to think of her bitty-little car's demise. 'It could break down any minute,'</span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> he added.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> 'So could yours!' Strange. </span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">This wasn't going the way Neil imagined, he thought she'd jump at the offer of new wheels. Where was the wide-eyed reaction, the open mouth, the enthusiasm? Instead, it was taking some convincing. 'Anyway, ' she continued, 'the M.O.T. is good for another three months.' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Neil took a moment before speaking again, having been focused on the speed of the scoops now travelling into her mouth, but he didn't click on that that was a sign she was beginning to feel rattled. 'You can't let anything like <i>that</i> hold you back, and a Fiat? Sort of a little-old-lady type car!' H</span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">e pulled what she perceived as a somewhat disrespectful look </span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">on his face toward his déclassé of her car, and she dropped the spoon noisily into her now empty glass. The ice cream may have slid down easily, but it felt as if it was beginning to stick in her throat. </span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Look,' he harped on, 'I thought it would be nice if this Sunday we visit some showrooms. You can pick any garish coloured car you like, wheel trims, added extra's - whatever takes your fancy. We can even go shopping afterwards for new covers and cushions - and the best scented car fresheners around. Don't worry about it being a petrol guzzler, I'll make sure you're always well tanked up—'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Oh, for Christ's sake!' Saskia stood, and marched off in a strop to the kitchen, dumping her sundae glass on the counter. 'Dad, I'm <i>not</i> getting rid of my car and I don't know what ever gave you the idea that I'd want to!'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Neil was stunned, addled. She'd never raised her voice to him before, and it seemed to set him rigid in his seat,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">awkwardness well and truly slapping him in the chops. 'Saskia, darling— ' he said, his Scottish accent thickening with her obduracy.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Look, I'm planning on running her into the ground, however long that takes <i>and</i> I'll probably want a funeral for her at the scrap yard. So, until then - my car's staying put!' </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Neil sat forward and clasped his fingers, dismayed and at what he thought would be a good deed. 'Okay, okay... I was only.—' </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Only assuming that I would jump at the chance of zooming around in a motor I would never normally have been able to afford! ' she snipped him off indignantly. 'And how did you picture me then? Tearing along with open windows, music blasting, sneering at people at bus stops when I pass by? Or holding my head hoity-toitily high when carrying my shopping from Tesco and into my needlessly-roomy boot!?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'No, Saskia... it's not like that.' </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> No matter how rich Neil was, she couldn't see herself floating around ostentatiously in a thousands-of-pounds present when there was no need. Despite his wealth, it didn't feel right to her. A misty film started to coat her eyes. 'Have you any idea how long it took me to save for that car?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Well, of course, he didn't. He'd long forgotten the days where he used to work his fingers and feet to the bone for a profit now the money was pouring in from his workforce's efforts. Shamed into silence, he</span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> hung his head. He'd never consciously considered it much before but realised he probably delves in with as much subtlety as a bulldozer when relating to money. At this particular moment he couldn't answer her.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'No,' she sighed, 'didn't think so.' Suddenly and validly, she stomped off in an impetuous manner, the slamming of her bedroom door putting the quietus on the situation.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Neil headed for the toilet to dispose of his ice cream. He felt like shit and didn't quite know where to go from here. This ardent plan of throwing joy upon her had bombed. Big time. On the other hand; what else did he expect from someone who gives their car a gender? He gave himself a few minutes before trying the old tap-on-the door, here-comes-the-apology bit. He knew she would be expecting it, it was just a case of how it should be delivered. All he could do was tap and see. Listening at the door there was nothing but silence. He rapped three times.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Hey, kiddo. I'm sorry. Just me and my fancy ideas. I had no right to decide what was best for you and I promise not to call the shots again. I should have taken no for an answer there...' Still no reaction. '</span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">For the record, though, that car still won't see you to <i>your</i> little-old-lady' stage. In saying that - neither will I... think you can forgive me?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Her door skimmed open an inch or two and a slice of her face peeked through - his humoristic age-jibe seemed to do the trick. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Want to catch a film before bed? Joint decision, of course...'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> She slid out past him with a look of reproach, giving his shoulder a fun-shove in the process and took her place on the settee. He plunked himself right beside her and put an arm around her. A fresh, unfamiliar wave, almost like tiny-but-pleasant pinpricks, washed all over her. Must be her body and mind's way of reassuring her that all was forgiven. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> * * * * * * * * * *</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> From her room, much later on once she was sure he was asleep, she called her mother, hoping she was still awake.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Mum? Sorry it's late but I need to let you know.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'What's up, baby?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'I don't think I can do this anymore...'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'What do you mean?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'I had a bit of a row with him tonight.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Beverly gave an impassive sigh. 'Father's and daughter's do that, don't worry about it.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'I didn't like it though, it didn't seem right.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'To be honest I'd thought you'd have your first one a lot sooner, and I wouldn't be surprised if he feels the same.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'I dunno, Mum.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Saskia, you know how things are right now. You've got along okay, this far, haven't you?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'I felt like swearing at him, then felt like crap for thinking like that.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Trust me, Saskia,' she laughed a little, 'I'm sure he'd simply think; </span><i style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">like mother, like daughter.' </i><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";">Have you made up now?'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Yeah.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> 'Well, then... look, love, I'm in bed now. I'll see you in the morning, okay? Nighty night.' And with that blunt goodbye, she ended the call.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> Saskia stared at her phone screen. 'Well thanks for asking what it was about, Mum!' she mocked, and threw her phone by her feet, head back on her pillows. So it was fairly late, and her mum was a bundle of worriment these days, but sometimes things needed a mother's reassurance - whatever the time of day. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;">she stood fixing her jeans in a way that makes it hard not to watch... especially when she added a 'hup' to the jumping action...</span></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #ffd966; font-family: "PT Sans Narrow"; font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow"; font-size: x-large;"><b style="color: #ffd966;">end of <u>IN MY CAR</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> </span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-6791806230686331062023-08-27T19:26:00.003+01:002023-08-27T19:26:41.257+01:00Sleepover (CH 9)<div><span style="color: #01ffff; font-size: x-large;"><b> start of **<u>SLEEPOVER</u>** </b></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">🌆</span> Saskia had now started spending those overnight's with Neil; one mid week and most weekends - where they usually spent their time out and about. But she was dubbed by him as being Wednesday's treasure, where he delighted in evincing his cooking passion for her. To cater for that passion, his working day ended at 5pm sharp, giving him time to take on the rush hour traffic and to ensure he was home early enough to tackle any complex recipe's. So straight after their working Wednesdays she takes the forty minute train journey, where he picks her up from the station. Beverly didn't mind chopping an hour and a half off her daughter's shift to accommodate this, finding it necessitous to a cause. Saskia felt right at home very quickly. It was as if the apartment had been waiting on her, shouting out for her feminine feel and feminine voice to reverberate off it's walls.</div><div><br /></div><div>They were corollary growing closer and had started to pick up on each other's mannerisms; untidiness being her only shortcoming. Usually, she kept herself pristine in appearance - hair, makeup, clothes. Some would say a reflection of such neatness would follow on in one's home life. In reality; crisp packets would lie around and she'd quite happily flick crumbs from her cleavage onto those McQueen Persian rugs; she'd march inside, forgetting to remove her shoes first (despite the shoe rack directly at the side of the front door); after coffees or teas she'd dump the mug straight into the dishwasher without first pouring out the excess, and so the list went on on top of the general clutter and coat-dumping. He didn't even want to envision the state her room would be in after she leaves. He was always reminding her or telling her off for such slackness. Heaven knows who she got this messy nature from. Her mother as he could still recall, was as much of a neat-freak as he was. Returning from anywhere and his house had to be tidy, whereas Saskia had a <i>sod the house, fun comes first </i>attitude. To her, mess was glorious evidence of the good times we have. Yet, as even most children know, there comes a time to tidy those toys away; to grown-up Saskia, such things were done in <i>her</i> own adult time. This irked him more than he cared to admit, but he somehow managed to put up with it. She was basically a queen cat marking her newly found territory; a reminder when she wasn't there. A small price to pay really, for having her around. And if things got too bad for him there was always his faithful cleaner, Valerie. An extra shift or two - cash in hand - wouldn't go amiss. God help the day and the flat that ever houses her on her own! But it was very safe to say that her hair and her DNA were settling themselves in nicely. Besides, he could hardly set boundaries 26 years past their sell-by date, could he? </div><div><div> Under <i>his</i> getting-to-know-you scrutiny, he was pretty much on her <i>vintage gold</i> list (that she had to explain was a term for a cool old dear!) Not really any traits that she disliked - although she soon began teasing him every time he checked his nails (which he did obsessively everywhere they went) as he simply could not tolerate the thought of dirt living under them for anyone to see. Out came this little file with a jagged end to scrape the minutest of build up away! His father ingrained this habit into him as appearance was considered vital for the kind of work they were carrying out. And those intolerant words were very much still ringing n his ears; <i>"Dirty nails NEVER accompany a tie." </i>Any strange quirkiness of the other hadn't rocked this newfound unity. So far.</div><div> But amidst all this luxury she stayed very much herself in his penthouse flat; floating about in such manic delight. From late raids of the fridge, to what they watched on TV, to where they would sit. </div><div><div>Sometimes, when he was tidying up some work business before bed, (sometimes with a coffee in front of him) she'd jump over the back of the settee landing right next to him, wobbling and almost knocking his laptop off his knee, and demand to know what he was 'up to'. But he always had a smile at the back of any near-misses. He was just grateful that she never conducted herself in public with such ruthless energy; she was mostly a good girl then, although her capers on the balcony could be somewhat loud. Her latest whimsical ideation was to fly a paper aeroplane off it before darkness descended, and to try and keep it in sight. His theorem that she was bonkers was formed basically from the outset, and he reckoned after just this short while he'd feel lost not having her and her risibility around - even if the amount of flesh she flashed at times made him feel uneasy. It didn't bother her one scintilla. For all he knew he was maybe just an old fuddy-duddy? Wasn't that something that progressed with fatherhood? Although words formed in his head about it, he said nothing. If she was comfortable with it, then maybe he should be too. </div><div><div> </div></div><div> Of her visits, Saskia hoped she would never allude (for fear of offending) her partiality for bedtime and that end-of-the-night feeling that she was about to sleep in an unfamiliar bed: fresh and clean duvet cover with that creasy-crinkly sound when she moved: the different lighting and getting to know the unfamiliar shadows around. But here that touch of tartan and Scotland in her room was sweet and homely to her. There was no reason why, really, but she felt a strange, unequivocal belonging, though she'd never set a foot in the country in her life, and it was as if she was being egged on by her surroundings to venture there sometime.</div><div> But unbeknown to her, it had been a consideration of his to take her there. His daughter should be introduced to half her roots, shouldn't she? And although he virtually had no family left there (that old aunt <i>must</i> be dead now, surely?)) to have drawn him back sooner, it would be interesting to know what she'd make of Scotland. Of slang vernacular streets, where she'd acutely have to ask him to repeat what on earth people were saying. To rotten weather, and daylight that hung around longer. If she'd eat sheep's pluck haggis if she knew what was in it, or if she find fish supper's more tasty, or if she'd even sip a vintage malt whisky if she got a whiff of it. She might find the tourist side a bit boring; too many hills and castles - but plenty of soft rock to appease. But she'd be breathing in <i>fresh</i> air and would taste and bathe in <i>pure</i> water. After conjuring up some simple clichéd curiosities of Scotland, he again venerated at how he'd actually lasted so long in London; now he had a reason to take a journey north. All he needed was a space in his diary, a willing companion, and the nerve to ask her. </div><div> Already this windowless room felt safe and subdued, warm and cocooning. But she did feel a tad envious that he fell asleep every night without closing curtains. The freedom of being so high up made it near impossible for another's eye to intrude (lest there be some dude at a window with some mega-ranged binoculars!). And the sound of city life wasn't intrusive - it just fell before you on mute here. She'd loved to live the sensation of what late-night London must feel like from his bed..... </div><div><div><br /></div><div> * SLEEPOVER: PART TWO * </div><div><br /></div><div> While helping him put the dried tureen and flatware away, he quite out of the blue asked if she would like to accompany him on a dinner invite this Sunday. Since Magrette's departure, his old friend and workmate,<span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: medium;"> </span>Brian and his wife, had him over every last Sunday of the month, and he hadn't been since Saskia appeared on the scene - which left him feeling rather bad. They had been there for him in times of absolute anguish, and that invite still invoked ten years down the line. How she would feel about being in others' company, he wasn't sure but he felt ready to be showing her off now that the story of her unexpected existence was gradually being fed to those around him. As much as he was loving her company, he didn't want be forever shutting her away in a box. He was proud enough letting Joe Public know she was his beautiful daughter on their outings, but felt it was time to include her into her circle of friends as long as she didn't find that too intimidating.</div><div> 'We don't have to if you feel it's too soon,' Neil quite genuinely said, 'I'd understand.'</div><div> There was a pregnant pause before Saskia spoke, 'Tell you what ... how about we compromise?'</div><div> Neil felt a sudden urge to brace himself . 'Like ... what?' he asked warily.</div><div> 'How about you meet some of my friends, too?'</div><div> 'Oh! When and how?' He felt a bit anxious of what was about to be proposed - he could clearly see uncertainty in her wide eyes.</div><div> 'I've been invited to a gig next weekend, it's a friend's band that's playing. We're not in touch as much these days, but we make the effort for the odd meet up. How about you come along, say hello to them?' </div><div> 'Aw, kiddo, don't you think I'm bit too antiquated for that kind of thing?'</div><div> 'No! Some of their parents will be there, too, they always are, besides, I'm dying to show my recently-discovered, mega-rich father off!' </div><div> 'Really?' Neil scoffed - she was nothing if not blunt.</div><div> 'Ah, c'mon? You don't have to stay long ... fair's fair?'</div><div> He threw the towel from over his shoulder down. 'I'll think about it and that's as far as it's going for now! Right ... last coffee before bed? I'm getting tired ... you still staying up?'</div><div> 'Nah - I'm pooped, too. Put extra cream in mine?' she said, and headed for the toilet.</div><div> He watched her as she moseyed off barefoot dressed only in an oversized fluffy jumper whose sleeve was often trailed under her nose. 'Looks like I'm making your latte, then!' he said out of earshot. 'Gig? Ah, fuck...'</div><div> As unappealing as it sounded to him right now, he knew she would more than likely get her way. As daunting as her existence could be, he was forever finding bolts of whatever firing up from somewhere - even at her crazy suggestions - and guessed this must be that fathers and daughters intergrading thing. And maybe this gig wouldn't sound so ridiculous by the morning.</div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #ffd966;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div><b><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #01ffff; font-size: x-large;">end of **<u>SLEEPOVER</u>**</span></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-49384024897362456652023-08-19T16:07:00.002+01:002023-08-19T16:07:30.016+01:00Castle (CH 8)<div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: x-large;"><b> ***<u>Castle</u>*** </b></span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>🏰</u> </span>On the journey she was awash with a strange excitement. Invited to his home for the first time, she was about to see the building that had been his been his most successful design before he stepped down from architecture. Neil was cooking for her tonight. He never needed an occasion to use his culinary skills, nor did he bother about how time-consuming and complex the menu. A typical night was gourmet-then-bed. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> As they pulled up outside his apartment block, Saskia was astounded by the size of it. It didn't quite grok with her that she was on the outskirts of London now, as no other such grand a building was neighbouring it for miles. It was three sided - <b>t</b>riangular but with curved balconies at each edge point where the sides meet. With sparkling glass windows mirroring the sky, she had visions of poor birds flying straight into them! </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Feeling somewhat ladylike as Neil opened the car door for her, she carefully swung those heels round and onto the ground without chipping the car. Her view ran smoothly up the building as she stepped out. 'Wow!' she said, impressed at the sight; the view from the top floor must be breathtaking. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The ground around her was vast and open, with each side of the triangle having its own square of grass with benches, all surrounded by flowers no higher than a foot. A fountain built in at the point of each triangular peak and spat water fifteen feet into the air in a straight flow. Neat trees either side of the entrance curved and joined to form a dappled canopy overhead. The whole design gave the busy London skies quite spectacular aerial imagery - intricate looking and worked to planned perfection. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And you did all this, Dad?' He simply smiled and gestured for her to follow him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Swiping his security card to pass through the first double doors of Balfour Complex, concierge (Martin, today) waited at the next set of glass doors a few feet away with a personal greeting; Neil's well familiar face required no ID, and he wasn't insulted by being asked anything of Saskia. In fact, he was rather amused at wondering what young Martin made of him walking in with a tidy piece of skirt. Not that he viewed his daughter in such terms, but he knew what young minds were like.<span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #202124;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"> </span></span>Her heeled boots clacked off the marble flooring as she followed him to the escalator, her steps resonating too loudly for her liking, striking up memories of high school where she'd be given a tongue-lashing for wearing high heels along the administration corridor if she were caught. She also didn't know if he was fooling her or not when he said he rarely used the lift, but she and her shoes were grateful to be not taking the stairs. It was while waiting on lift descending, that she noticed the sign on the wall to the left: </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div> <b><i>Residents are reminded to check</i></b></div><div><b><i> both in AND out at reception</i></b></div><div><b><i> when using the pool and/or the gym. </i></b></div><div><b><i> Thank You</i></b></div><div><b><i> ALCOHOL NOT PERMITTED</i></b></div><div><br /></div><div> 'Told you,' Neil smiled, nodding towards the words - her face a picture of wowed disbelief. </div><div> 'That's nuts...' she whispered, 'a pool and a gym? I'd never make into work!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> All this had the feel of a high class hotel than a block of residential flats. But the splendour didn't end there; she hadn't reached <i>his</i> Heavenly abode yet.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Opening the door for her to slip in past him, she only took three steps before being rooted to the spot, the only thing moving being her head. Her eyes took in the wonderment of the open plan apartment. It looked somewhat strange but fascinating seeing four rooms in one stretch of the eye. To her right was his kitchen, not great in size but cleverly designed with space-saving units and just-for-one mod cons and gadgets on spanking, granite counters. Apart from a guest room and a separate bathroom, all other rooms were there before you, but without any walls.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The biggest feature of the sitting area consisted of a large, grey mega-soft sofa with matching chairs positioned squarely in front of a long, chrome-framed fire place that sunk into the wall, the flicker of false flames dancing up from large oval pebbles behind cool-touch protective glass. A very low greyed pine table sat in the middle of the suite. In matching pine again, a bureau and a couple of sideboards sat against walls as you walked your way in, and any decorative ornaments and bowls were positioned dead centre and in perfect symmetry. Overhead lighting consisted of thin chrome bars bursting like fireworks. The whole decor ran itself radiantly in serene greys and whites with the occasional toss of black for good measure, while the decor got gradiently darker until black dominated the open plan as it made its way to the windows. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> It was the bed in the farthest-away part of the floor that fascinated her the most. A king-sized beast of a thing where ten little ones could easily roll over without<i> </i>falling out! It sat close to huge ceiling-to-floor sliding windows - a full wall's worth of a view of distant London while still under covers. Her mother would take a fit if she saw this - she'd never have wished any ex this well...</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Can I get you a drink, Saskia?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hmm?' she mumbled, releasing the breath she didn't realise she was holding. 'Ah...yes. Start with a coffee if that's okay?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Sure. Any preference?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Not answering right away, she made her way towards those huge windows, slinging her bag and jacket onto and over an arm chair in passing. 'Ah ... whatever you're having.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Okay, just... make yourself at home,' he was reluctant to say, before picking up the abandoned denim jacket (that looked raggedly sorry for itself) with a hint of rebuke, and placing it neatly in the closet. He had this notion that tidiness may not be part of her daily regime. 'Home it is, then,' he whispered to himself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> By the time he had the coffee's out, she was by the windows, transfixed on the view. Neil smiled, feeling rather good at the way she'd been absorbing her surroundings. Creeping up on her, she jumped at his voice. 'Coffee.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Jeez, Dad, never heard you<i> </i>there, and I can't hear a single thing from outside, it's like you've pressed a mute button or something!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Here,' he handed her her drink, 'I'll sort that out right now.' Sliding one of the doors open, he invited her on to the veranda, where a gentle bustle of outside then said hello. 'Drink these out here before I start cooking.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> All balconies were a good fifteen foot up from the flat below's one, sweeping round in half oval which joined the three-sided building -like that of the curved end of snooker triangle (though more apparent from above.) Decked out in fancy navy, grey and blue shades, a two-man table and chair set sat at the best viewing point, while a cluster of pots with plants and coloured flowers sitting each side of the doors. Saskia had to feel the petals, convinced they must be fake as he didn't come across as one who would potter about with soil given his nail-checking obsession. But they were indeed real. A canopy and patio heaters took care of sudden weather changes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Standing at the railings together, sipping from teeny coffee cups, he felt relaxed at the way <i>she</i> was relaxing. But it helped to be in his company beyond the constraints of a stuffy suit. He looked a different man in mufti; jeans, cable sweater, and canvas shoes, gave him an altogether, softer, easy-going look.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'God, the view's amazing,' Saskia said, 'I initially pictured you more at home in a converted house in Knightsbridge!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Giving a little smile, his memory raced back to his previous home with Magrette, and she was close to the mark on that guess. But he thought it pointless to comment on that; where he lived now was his new start after their split. 'It's nighttime that brings the magic with it. You get a clearer view of the landmarks once they're lit up - quite far off mind you but you can still make them out. Anyhow, I'll leave you to finish your coffee out here, best make a start to our tea.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Tea?' she frowned, 'I was hoping for a glass of wine next... ' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> He tucked in his top lip to stifle a giggle. 'Sorry ... some daft little habits never leave you. It's what it's called in Scotland - eating a meal around this time.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah, I see... '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> During their car journey he made it quite clear that he manned the kitchen all by himself - that his cooking involved him alone - and not to feel offended. But being perfectly honest, she told him that cooking was her disaster point; she'd most likely do more harm than good anyhow. It was a simple dish really, (her request!) but her last attempt at quiche ended up as an omelette as she thought double cream was only used in puddings. No. She was happy with him going solo.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Washing away the last of her meal with a mouthful of red Bordeaux, she clattered her cutlery down in joyous gluttony having cleared the plate.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm not just saying this to big you up, Dad, but that really was delicious. How'd you get the pastry so buttery?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He shrugged. 'Practice, I guess.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Right!' Saskia announced, standing immediately. 'I'm gonna have another glass of wine, then wash all those dishes ... least I can do.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No need, the dishwasher will see to that. I'll grab that last bottle of wine from the fridge and we'll head to the sofa, let our food digest for a bit.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Now sitting with a stemmed glass of red in her hand, she made extra sure that the drink was hitting both her mouth and being placed back to the table steadily. Despite her head beginning to grow more woolly, she'd die if a splosh of uninvited red landed on the sofa.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> For a short time, while waiting for night to descend, they peppered each other with random questions - something like those meme's on websites - mostly about their likes and dislikes. More importantly, both seemed to be making the other laugh in equal measures, so they had good senses of humour on the plus side. On a lesser but still amusing side, she noted that his nail-checking habit followed him around indoors too, but didn't want to highlight the fact. At their first meeting in the park, she thought it could be out of shyness, or awkwardness, but she reckoned now, having had quite a few public meet-ups, that the man had a recurrent compulsion. Her red wine train of thought concluded that it was better than picking his nose!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Darkness had settled itself by almost an hour without them even realising. Time flies without the decency of slowing down when you're unaware of its status, so when Saskia queried the time she was sad to mention she would have to be leaving shortly as it would take a taxi at least 50 minutes to have her home. But before the goodbye's, Neil invited her back onto the balcony for that promised night-lights captivation - and she was staggered into stone. What a sight. Had she been bowled over any harder she'd be over that balcony! Once more they took their afternoon coffee stance - now replaced with a nightcap bourbon - capturing the wondrous sounds and visions cutting the night.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Who needs Wonderland with all this in front of them?' she cooed. 'And all the stars out, too.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Can you see the Eye?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Her eyes scanned the mass of twinkles and window squares. 'Oh, yeah, I see it now.' She pointed over to it then spun quickly around, her back to the barrier. 'Dad ... can I ask you a personal sort of question?' But before he got the chance to agree or not, she asked anyway. 'Why did you choose to live here? I mean, I know you designed it, but I thought you'd prefer something more secluded.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Secluded?' he asked, not really following her. 'I'm pretty much on my own up here! '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, I know, but I kind of pictured you either in a house with three floors and loads of squared windows, or one with a looong driveway, back and front garden— '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> '—and electronic gates, huuuge stone lions at the entrance, red telephone box outside,' he teased.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She tutted at his joshing. 'Maybe not to that such a degree ... ' She knew him well enough now to know <i>that </i>wouldn't quite be him (as much as it appealed to her) '... but I thought you'd have preferred somewhere more central.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Nah. The heart of London wasn't for me anymore after my divorce. I'm used to my own company now anyhow and it feels safer. Can get a bit noisier out on the balconies during summer though, but the soundproofing makes indoors peaceful enough.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Don't you think Magrette would come running back if she saw this view?' The tipsy-induced thought slipped out from her too quickly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I don't think her husband would be too happy about that!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia noticeably cringed and she flushed in earnest, not sure what to say.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah, sorry, Dad, me and my big—'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil reached out and pulled her into a hug, laughing at the look of abashment at her blunder. 'That's okay, kiddo, (a nickname he'd started using for her on occasion) 'you weren't to know.' He released her from his fatherly crush a few long moments later, her red face started to lose its luster. 'Anyhow, we best be getting you home. I'll give Marcus a call and he'll come pick you up.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Who?' Saskia felt a bit concerned at first, not having heard the name before.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'He'sa driver for our company - my one, usually.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'But it's half eight.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'He gets paid for the inconvenience, plus he lives just five minutes away. He'll see you home safely.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Wow ... taken home by a chauffeur? What will the neighbours say!' she playfully quipped.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Don't fret, he'll have normal clothes on.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Okay then, Dad, cheers ... best nip to the loo first.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Heading back to the balcony after her loo visit, she stopped quietly by the open doors, arms crossed and leaning on the door frame. She stared at him holding on to the balcony, arms outstretched. The spotlights in the decking threw up a hazy brightness, causing a misty aura to his outline in the cooling night air. Saskia smile. She could see for herself why he had satisfaction from the highest floor - he was lording it over everyone else, wasn't he? King of the castle, jewel in the crown. Sensing her presence, he turned and followed her back inside to call his driver. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Standing ready to leave, jacket on, Saskia thanked him for such a pleasant evening, stating that it was a shame the night ended so soon, but sleep beckons earlier bedtimes for working hours. His excitement and joy had fortified and heightened each time he saw her. Tonight had been more private, the first time away from the distraction of others. Fatherhood was kicking in at an enormous rate and he was yearning for more. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Listen, Saskia, let me know if you think I'm overstepping the mark here, but ...' His nerve slipped a little and he bottled it, '... och, it doesn't matter.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No, go on. What were you about to say?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, there's actually a spare room tucked away here,' he nodded to the door in particular, 'and well, maybe sometime in the future you could use it? Obviously with certain arrangements to suit work and your mum and things. It would be nice to know you didn't have to rush off.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Um ...' she was taking her time to considering this.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Sorry, sweetheart, of course it's too soon. I didn't mean to put pressure on you.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She smiled broadly, and grabbed him into an unexpected hold. 'Of course, I could. You are me old dad after all!' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil gripped her back to near crushing point, eyes closed, relieved he hadn't botched the evening with his impatience. 'I've loved having you here tonight.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Pulling herself free from him, she fixed him in an affectionate stare. 'We've twenty seven years of catching up to do, so I think I can manage one or two nights a week!' she assured him. 'Leave it with me.' He nodded, happy with that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Right, then... do I have time to check out this room before I'm chauuuffeeered,' she said in a deliberately lengthy tone, 'home, tonight?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yeah, sure.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> As he was leading her to her new sleeping quarters, she said in a faux, posh voice 'Ooooh! I do hope the neighbours will still be up.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She expected the room to be drab or in pastels as most are, but the hit of colour - mainly red - startled her. Tartan bed sets and curtains welcomed guests, while large, commissioned paintings by Steven Brown, mainly stags and highland cows in vibrant colours adorned the walls. On another wall was a hung a lonesome Scottish calendar that an old friend never forgets to post every Christmas. The carpet was red and a set of pine double wardrobes with matching dresser, stood solidly in place. Bedside tables with lamps finished off the room. She loved this little splash of native eccentricity in his otherwise neat world. To most, it probably conformed more towards the feel a of a cheap highland bedsit or But and Ben, but to her it shouted <i>I still miss Scotland.</i> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'As you can probably guess it doesn't get used much, I think the cleaner's maybe had a kip in it before!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You have <i>a CLEANER</i>?' She gawped wide-eyed at him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Here as well, yes. Just on Thursdays, and ah, sometimes Mondays, look ... ' he brushed off the luxury that was tantamount to Saskia as good as having his arse wiped for him, and continued with his thought, 'we can change the decor, make it more to your liking.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'What? No!' she protested. 'The room's fine as it is, really. Besides, I'm half-Scottish now, am I not!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes,' Neil smiled at the pleasant reminder and ran a finger down her soft, warm cheek, 'so you are!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> A loud buzzer went off somewhere in the sitting room, indicating that her car was ready to see her home. He accompanied her and introduced her to Marcus, and soon waved her off. It had been a successful enough evening,<span style="font-size: medium;"> </span>one of many aspired ones to come. Because of his millions, and with his standard of living and level of comfort around him, he hoped he hadn't come across as too much of a pretentious git. But if anything, she had truly helped strip away that businesslike, city-hungry veneer that cocoons him throughout the day. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back indoors, he picked up her wine glass from the sitting room table, twisting it by the stem and examined all the fine and crooked lines the stain her lip gloss had left. It still felt surreal that he had a daughter. Tonight had meant the world to him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Usually the dish washer was loaded minutes after the meal, as a dirty pile bugged him. Tonight he hardly noticed it. Although starting to feel tired, he didn't quite like the thought of waking up to mess in the morning, yet he survived the tableware stewing in their own congealment these past few hours.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Pat yourself on the back, mate'. He said to himself. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="color: #ff00fe; font-size: xx-large;"> end of ***<u>Castle</u>***</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p><br /></p><div><br /></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-64676181551635365592023-08-12T15:53:00.000+01:002023-08-12T15:53:02.943+01:00The Most Beautiful Thing In My Life (CH 7)<div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: large;"><b> **<u>THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING IN MY LIFE</u>**</b></span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: x-large;"><b><u><br /></u></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>🌞</u></b></span><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: x-large;"> </span>Frankton Park was relatively quiet for a Friday afternoon. Although the vast coloured flower beds were singing summer, for May it was bright but particularly cold. Neil felt it wise to put on a long winter coat. He didn't mind meeting outdoors at a coffee bar - whatever surroundings she felt were congenial.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Enthusiasts brought a mass of remote controlled sailing ships to the lake, each one a vessel of calm and this helped to hold his interest during the wait. His head kept flitting to every movement that caught his eye, and he still could hardly believe exactly who he was waiting on. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now ten minutes late, he was starting to consider a possible change of mind on her part. Punctuality was rather an obsession with him, and in his line of work he hated being the one kept waiting. But this was bigger than any contract or business deal. Nothing to sign here, just hope that all goes well. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Then she appeared, descending from the steps close by. A picture of pure delight; dressed in a little black cropped woollen coat with a red tartan skirt peeking an inch or two from under it, thick black tights to fend of the unexpected chill of the day, and red ankle boots with funky little key rings hanging from a metal loops at the back, finished off her outfit. She permitted her recklessly-dyed blond hair to go wherever the weather took it. Neil waited until she reached the bottom step before rising from his seat at the coffee bar to greet her. A huge smile spread across each face the second they saw each other.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Hi, Dad!, she said, moving round closer to wrap him a hug - that took care of the concern (handshake, kissed cheek, distanced hello?) as to how he should welcome her!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Hi. How are you?'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Good, thanks.' </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Get parked okay?' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Just round the corner.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Good, good,' he answered, feeling a little stumped; the dialogue and questions in his head as to how the conversation may flow seemed to have taken off with the ducks. After a brief silence and some looking around till their eyes met each others again, </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Neil started wriggling free from the table and chairs. 'I'll, ah, get us a coffee, then ... any preferences?'</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'No, not really,' she replied, 'I drink any that ends in a vowel!'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> This made Neil's grin wider. 'A safe cappuccino, then?'</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Safe cappuccino,' she nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The skittish smile remained on his face as he ordered their drinks, all the while telling himself that she was a strikingly beautiful girl and seemed to have a remarkably sunny nature, but i</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">t was expected at some point that circumstance would prioritize conversing and he was unsure as to how where it may lead. Naturally, he knew they both would</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> have questions for this coming together for the first time. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">He laid down her drink in front of her along with some sugar sachets and plastic stirrer, not really sure where to start. But Saskia's directness dealt with that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I really was delighted you wanted us to meet. What changed your mind?'</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He took a careful sip of his coffee, rubbing away any possible froth with his bottom lip, and leaned back further in the metal seat. 'Time to think really. Took a bit of courage to look through the album you gave me. As you can imagine, the news came as a bit of a shock ... but I'm glad you left that contact number in the back page - bit of a clever touch that was!'</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'As long as you didn't find it too cheeky?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'No, not at all ... <i>and</i> as for that Jack Daniels bit? Spot on! A good guess?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Had a feeling it might be, I honestly did, but I asked mum if I was right.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Ah,' he said,' 'I'm surprised she still remembered my preferred tipple!' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Trust me - her memory was always as sharp as a tack. I could hardly get one over on her as a kid! Of course, she's slowed down a lot at the moment - sleeping a lot. '</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> His smile dropped slowly and he briefly glanced away. 'I'm really sorry about your mum,' he felt obliged to say now she'd mentioned her, she <i>was</i> the catalyst for them being right here, right now.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> A brief gaze landed on her polystyrene cup, then straight into his eyes as she nodded her gratitude. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'Still not fully sunk in. You get a few brief moments after waking and then it hits you again. It was so unexpected, out of the blue. Two weeks prior to finding out for sure we were still going swimming. Mum's pretty fit for her age, but I knew something was up. She did her best to hide it. It's taken a lot out of her, but,' she gave a little drum roll with her forefingers on the table's edge in defiance, 'we're determined to soldier on, keep daily life as normal as possible.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I admire that ... still, must be tough</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> on you too?'</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Oh, I don't mind the physical stuff. Mum's too knackered to function at times and that can be hard to witness - it's the uncertainty that's worse. Even with the nurses and hospital clinics being really supportive and positive, I know there's a chance she might not beat it. Fear drove her to tell me about you, she was so nervous. I've never seen her cry and shake so much, begging forgiveness, and I was still a right cow to her ... '</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Saskia,' he interrupted her before she went any further, feeling bad for asking, but it was genuine concern. 'There's no need to go over this. Really. Your mum explained it all to me. I've been a bit of a prat in trying to ignore things, myself.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Dad, you don't have to apologise or anything.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yes, I do, I handled our first encounter rather harshly. It was all so staggering, I mean - becoming a dad at fifty six?' He whistled and rolled his eyes, making her laugh. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Make any man run a mile!' she concluded. Those dimpled cheeks when she smiled were </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">fetching, making her fleetingly appear younger than her twenty-seven years. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'Want to finish these coffee's and take a little walk? I love this park.'</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Aye, then you can let me know more about you.'</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'You too!' She threw the suggestion straight back, pointing a finger at him. 'Don't think you're getting off with that, either!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Sure ... if you want to be completely bored out of your nut!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'I was thinking that myself!' she said, and it was no sooner out than she realised it may have sounded as if she agreed with him. Rapidly, she flushed a panicky shade of red that almost matched her neck scarf! 'Oh, God, Dad, I didn't mean you, I meant me doing that to you - the same ... the boring bit, ah, thing...'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><div> A bemused smile crossed Neil's face, delighting in her bit embarrassment. 'I know what you meant. Guess we're both a bit clueless at the moment.'</div><div> 'Yeah, but it's not the best of starts with my newly-found father, is it..? She gave him a fluttering glance to accompany those rosy cheeks, and he found the unintentional blunder a touching benchmark to the start of a possible new phase in his life. 'C'mon, let's see if we can do a lap of the lake without me putting my foot in it... '</div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Their stroll was taken at a very slow pace, walking side by side with a respectful gap between them. By his judgement</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">, they seemed to be clicking. Just a few minutes in and she had him hooked by her jocular banter. </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> She used this time also to overtly-but-surreptitiously look him over, scanning certain bits of him at a time, concluding that he was not an overly handsome man. When he smiled, skin crinkled around his softly-clouding, greenish-blue eyes, and </span>two little sickle-shaped dimples bracketed his mouth when he smiled,<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> but that was what redeemed the rest of his ageing features that were perhaps making an appearance too soon - a consequence of hard work, no doubt. Face; long and thin, with the beginnings of dripping jowls </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">and his nose long and slightly squint - though you had to stare to see it - with its slight bump only showing in profile. What captivated Saskia most was his hair still being luxuriously thick, though largely grey, with bits of black sneaking an occasional peek through unpredictable waves. This seemed to be the only unruly feature about him. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> As they walked, he could see she certainly did had a definitive resemblance to her mother at that age. Her </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;">big green eyes sitting over parallel-line cheekbones, and the dyed blonde hair perhaps took her looks up a scale, if she naturally shared the same hair tones as her mother. Like Beverly, yes,</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> but nowhere near as fetching. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> During their walk, he got a thrill every time she referred to him as Dad (something she did without okaying it with him first), hoping persons passing heard. Inside he was screaming </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">look at me, I've a daughter! </i><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> He was receptively discerning, knocked for six at the speed of this importance. Maybe there was such a thing as instant fatherly devotion. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">And for </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Saskia, the biggest relief was her unexpected aptitude in grasping his rich Scottish accent</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> (which he used in properly pronounced words and not some unintelligible Scottish slang) as she feared she may have to pardon herself repeatedly if not.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'So, what </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">is </i><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">it you do?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Gee, where do I start?' he said, knowing he would have to use layman's terms as he didn't want to sound as if he was a pretentious (and rich) git. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Property mainly. Buying, building and selling, renting out apartments, houses, offices. We also import and export building materials abroad. I also own a small advertising agency on another floor where I work. It's my mate who runs it mostly, I'm just one of the directors.' </span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">What was that he just said about pretentious gits? </i><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'All perfectly boring.'</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> He decided to stop there. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Ooooh - you're a Jock of all trades, then?'***</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'O</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">ch,' (now that</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> sounded <i>very</i> Scottish) h</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">e gave her a good-natured, chiding expression at her dig at his birthplace and </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">resisted reminding her that she was actually half Scottish herself now.!' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Just joking, Dad... couldn't resist. Sounds not that bad at all, </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">you've not heard what I do in my spare time - it's become quite a passion, actually!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He frowned, intrigued. 'Go on.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I take night classes ... in woodwork.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> 'Seriously?' He didn't look convinced, and it showed with such a bushy-brow frown.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> Saskia couldn't help but laugh, it was the reaction she was used to. 'I'm serious! I couldn't quite build a shed or anything, but I love carving wood. I'm a dab hand with a rotary burr set!' <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I must say, I never expected to hear that!' he said slowly. '</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">What made you interested in such a ... blokey thing?'</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Well,' she said, with a nod of the head. 'I chose it in my last year at high school for a couple of reasons. One was because I used to get teased because of my name.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Your name?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yeah. The "kia" bit of my name got me labelled <i>Ikea - </i>you know, the famous Swedish wood company,' she said, rolling her eyes, 'so I thought, sod it, I'd be as well living up to my nickname somehow just to piss them off, but mostly it was because I really fancied the teacher, Mr Bruce - as did most of my friends. It was supposed to be a giggle, but I got right into it after making an egg rack! Mr. Bruce, however, lost his appeal when rumours went round that he was shagging the head of the drama department.'</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Ah, so there was a rival in with a higher chance, then?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Not really ... <i>Mr. </i>Kendall was head of drama - but it made us feel good that we weren't in with a shout to start with!' </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This made Neil laugh out loud. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'Anyway, the local council opened up free night classes every Monday and Thursday at college, so I signed up for a term. I'll only be making menial things, mind you. I've already made a jewellery box, some kitchen utensils, and this God-awful mug tree that looks more like a weapon, but, hey ... I've advanced to "things for the hall" now. Not quite sure what to choose next, it's a toss up between an umbrella stand and a shoe rack!<i> </i> I get a certificate at the end, but sadly,' she feigned a huge sigh, 'there's not the remotest possibility of a romance on offer.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> 'I'm surprised, you're such a pretty girl,' he risked a compliment, and she glanced away with what looked like the beginnings of another little flush.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> So, w</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">hat about you?' she asked, to ward off any awkward reaction stirring up. 'What do you like doing? </span><br /><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Well, surprise, surprise - I play golf.' </span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Golf? Saskia scrunched up her face and replied in single syllable segments. 'I had a fee-ling you might say that!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I know, I know, the dreary typical dad thing! But I do find it relaxing ... and I cook for myself every night.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Every night?' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> '</span><i style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Every </i><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">night I'm able.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'You're keen! I get sick at the sight of cream cakes and sandwiches at the tearoom, and it's usually just microwaved whatever at home!' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'You or your mum not into cooking then?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Not so much these days. I sometimes feel bad if I hear her vomiting after meals as I don't know if it's an aftereffect of treatment or if she shuffles it down hoping it stays there, not to worry me.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> A short silence befell them, and he didn't quite know how to react to this which she picked up on right away.</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'God, Dad, I'm sorry. I promised myself I wouldn't bang on about Mum too much, don't want to make you feel awkward.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'No, it's me who should be apologising, it was an insensitive thing to ask, I just wasn't thinking...'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'But, still... you shouldn't need to hear any gruesome bits.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> He waved a hand in front of him, flicking away her words. 'Don't be daft, I don't mind. She's your mum.'</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yeah, I know, but she made me promise I'd give myself a break as well, focus on me for a while. That's why I'm glad to be here - even if it's only just this once.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> A huge rush of pity and affection for her washed over him as she stood dewy-eyed, stemming tears and he wrapped his arm round her shoulder; a first time experience. He'd just been drawn into the scope of fatherly protection and didn't quite know it. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">They continued to walk in silence a short while, till he said, 'Shall we grab another coffee?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> The sun appeared from behind the clouds at that precise moment, as if indicating that she was okay. 'Yeah, c'mon.' </span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He withdrew his arm as they headed back to the coffee bar, as he had this sudden fear she may find him overfamiliar too soon. </span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Three young, preschool boys headed their way, all clutching dinosaur figures and imitating their loud growls, and nearly ran into them; their mother scolding the little rascals for not looking where they going.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'So sorry,' she said in passing, 'boys and their toys, eh?'</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Oh, I don't know, ' Saskia replied, 'I loved a good T-Rex myself when I was little!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Really?' Neil said with a huge grin, forming those cheek-sickles again. He reckoned with someone so dainty it would have been rainbows and kittens all the way during her childhood. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'I was dinosaur mad myself as a boy, well until I started high school at least.' </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">This daft insight, this past connection in common thrilled them. So, his little lost girl was into a similar liking as a child.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Me too! I remember mum shopping with me for tee shirts and suchlike in the boys department and pretending they were for my non-existant brother. I had the full works, bedroom was covered with them: duvets, curtains, posters. nightlight - I sort of went from Cartoon Network to the Discovery channel overnight. Mum tried to discourage me, said I had too sweet a face for a tomboy, but her boyfriend at the time was on my side. No way was I backing down - she had to get used to it.' </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Obsession is obsession, I suppose! Okay, then ... favourite?' he challenged her, raising his rather unruly brows.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'That's easy! The Charonosaurus, they looked really graceful. I loved the crown on their heads, the way it swooped right back.'</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He was impressed. Those fellows were not very typically talked about in documentaries and books. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'Oh, yes, I remember those. So there <i>was</i> a hint of girliness still lingering back then?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Saskia playfully slapped his shoulder. 'Shh - you'll ruin my childhood street cred!' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> They exchanged ludicrous grins, both feeling a bit giddy by their absurdity. It felt like a guilty pleasure they never wanted to expose yet having, at last, a valid chance to do so. It was fun, so they kept on.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Okay, then, Raptor,' she jokingly used instead of calling him Dad - since they were on the subject. 'What was your favourite?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Ah, now, </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">I was fascinated by the Ankylosaurus. Beauty of a beast that was, and fabulous in battle!'</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> She went on to impress him even more. 'Weren't they kind of spiky, with a ... a ... ' she was gesticulating a tail coming from behind her while trying to recall them, and he found it highly amusing to imagine what it must look like to others, '... like a cannon ball on the end of its tail for whomping the enemy?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'That's the guy!' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> To think one of his main worries for today was the inability to bond, and never in a million Triassic years reckoned dinosaur-talk would have a strong pulling bind. Any fear at not being able to think up cherry small talk was quelled five minutes after meeting. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Words were no problem for her, she swam through them effortlessly, and he was lapping up every minute of their balmy ramblings. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the sky, the wind was bullying a few clouds around, while a bitterness snapped at their faces as they walked. The smell of his strong cologne, one that she couldn't place (as it was too expensive for her nose to have previously sniffed), helped to mask the smell of damp wood chips enclosing the seating area.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Sitting </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">back down at their previous table, replenished with welcoming hot coffees, (which she <i>insisted</i> she paid for - rich dad or not) time neared for her to go: it had zoomed by by way of success.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Dad, can I ask you something? I know it was a while ago, but I'm curious.' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Ask away.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Did you love Mum?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'Yes. I loved your mum very much at one time. We were pretty serious, it just wasn't meant to be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Do you think you'd still be with her if she'd told you about me?' It was at this point that Saskia realised he had a habit of checking his nails a lot - particularly at more awkward moments.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He gave a long, reflective look at the yachts over the lake again. 'I don't think your mum or I could answer that for sure now.' </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Had that been the case, he'd never have met Magrette, who'd been the only women he'd ever loved, and still carried a photograph of her on him. But, as work was the biggest issue before losing her, work would most probably have destroyed him and Beverly, too. He could understand however, Saskia's desire to have a sense of belonging. Especially now. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'I would have taken care of you, though, had I known.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> She nodded and gave him a reassuring look, although she wondered if that would mainly have been a monetary matter. 'I know you missed out on a lot, Dad, I have too, and it's something we'll never recapture, and I guess we've only got the future that could help heal that sort of wound.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Neil couldn't answer right away, he was stunned by her words and took a deep, made-up-his-mind breath. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'Then let's see how things go from here. Would you like to do this again?'</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yes', she said, her smile broad and quick about it. 'Maybe go for a wine or something?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Sure. Any part of your weekend free?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Got to work full days Saturday now ... could make it at night, though?' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'As long as it's not interfering with plans, or friends or ... anything?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Dad,' she said, with wide eyes and high brows. 'I'm sure they'll survive a night without me. Mum's friend usually spends Saturday's with her to give me a bit of a break. It'll be fine.'</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Okay then, we can confirm where and when nearer hand the time?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I'd like that - let's go for it! You can maybe let me taste your cooking sometime too.'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> So with that inked a stamp of approval of the other. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">After walking her back to her car, she hugged him extra tightly, and he felt a 'thank you' within it, as well as a frisson of something totally new betiding in exchange. Happy with the sentience that she'd be smelling that fragrance again, (next time she'd ask him what it is) she kissed his cheek, then set off, flicking him a last wave at the exit, carrying the vision of his demilune dimples on her journey home. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> He w</span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">atched as her car took to the busy street, to be sucked away into the flow of traffic. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Slowly his hand moved from wave position to touching the feel of her lips on his face, savoring the tingle. Who knew the girl would hold such pleasure. For now, though, she was still Jacqueline's prized secret. At least he had one person to share his first moments of pride with. He might even go through the photo album with her. Then the</span> discernment that they may never have got in touch at all if not for that album, suddenly scared him.</div><div><br /></div><div>********************************************************************************* </div><div>Peeking through a slither in the door, Saskia saw her mother laying on the sofa, PJ's on in front of the telly. </div><div> 'How did it go?' Beverly called to her as she hung up her coat. 'You were gone a lot longer than expected, I was getting worried.'</div><div> 'Went well, actually.'</div><div> 'Does he want to see you again?'</div><div> 'Of course he does.'</div><div> Beverly gave a slight giggle. 'How could he not, eh? Are you sure you're gonna be okay with it?'</div><div> 'Why wouldn't I be? Today went fine - stop panicking mum!'</div><div> 'Well, that's good. Can you put the kettle on, love, I'm parched ... that film will be on in a minute.'</div><div> So that was it? That was all she was gonna ask? Saskia sighed at her lack of interest. She knew her mum had been to hell and back these past months, but she'd been there with her and she was doing her best to appease her. Life would continue to throw bad blows around relentlessly, while presenting nothing but pitfalls. Saskia knew a future relationship with Neil, a man she'd never heard of until recently, was a huge gamble. But it really wouldn't have taken her mum that much energy to muster up a bit of returned interest. <br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">*** end of <u>THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING IN MY LIFE</u>**</span></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""</b></div><div><b style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-weight: 400;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; font-weight: 400;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1a1a1a;"><br /></span></div></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-76702096296360074862023-07-28T15:53:00.002+01:002023-07-28T15:53:32.760+01:00Love Comes ( CH 6 )<div><span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"> **</span><u style="font-size: xx-large;">LOVE COMES </u><span style="font-size: xx-large;">**</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">💞 </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Friday at last. This week had been a time-consuming-perpetual-meetings one and despite staff overtime there were still ends to tie up. As golf was expected to be wiling away his whole weekend, he needed everything - especially paperwork - out of the way. Not wanting the latest contract to be decided without his stamp of approval, he had no choice but to burden himself with patience and takeaway food. By eight o'clock, he was already three drinks affiliated.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> Popping over to his vast book shelf, incessantly </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">searching</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> for a certain one, he sighed in despair at a fair quantity of them being higgledy-piggledy and out of sequence. His rich Scottish accent always seemed to thicken when no ears were around to hear him curse, but he was in a native-lingo rant when the glass door swung open and almost caught his elbow.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Whoa!' </span><div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Oh, I'm sorry, sir, didn't know you were still here!' Valerie, his cleaner of ten years for both office and home was keen for the off, hoping he wouldn't ask her to hang around longer. 'Like me to do anything else before I get to you?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> 'No, it's fine Val, be as well calling it a night, I might be some time yet. Have a good weekend.'<br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'You, too, sir.' </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">The perpetually pleasant cleaner, skedaddled forty-five minutes earlier than usual, giving her the chance to make even more paper posies for the church fete tomorrow</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> After locating the book, he topped up glass number four and sat back down again to finalise his desk work - that last full stop would make him feel gloriously free. Tapping the A4's into neat structure, all it needed was a quick staple and he was outta there! But the gun wasn't in its usual place, setting off another annoyance. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">'C'mon, c'mon... ' </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Swiping drawers open and shut, faster and louder with each wrong guess, it had to be in the last damn lateral drawer to his left. With mighty quick movement, the drawer opened, sliding the stapler and the photo album Saskia handed to him those few weeks back to the front, stopping it dead.</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Neil, stared at it. It hadn't entirely been a case of, <i>out of sight , out of mind,</i> with the purple leathery thing, for it it caused a seed of disquiet to germinate inside him from the day he accepted it, but he never got quite to the point of wanting to take it home. He grabbed the staple gun, used it, put it back in its particular place, and just as he was about to close the drawer, impulse decided to put its neb in.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> It felt weird in his hand, knowing what content lay inside. Jacqueline was the only other person who knew about it, and he trusted her implicitly to keep schtum. As much as she wanted to though, she never pushed for him to act upon it. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">The promise he made to the girl was that he would not throw it away. Let it gather dust (fat chance) if it must and even if it's never opened, she said she shall at least settle knowing that she tried. Wouldn't necessarily matter then if he had a look or not, she would never know anyway. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Under the rays of his desk lamp, now that evening had come calling, he flapped it open to the first plastic coated photo; one of her as a baby asleep in a cot and she'd put a paper tag in beside the snap letting him know that she was one year old. Despite knowing perfectly well what the album contained, that first glimpse still caught him unawares. As he flicked over each laminated sleeve, he saw that she'd arranged the photos in chronological order of age, and he gave a smile - knowing that's how he'd have organised it too. Something in common then? She made the journey more interesting by adding in days of significance - Christmases, Easters, Halloweens, birthdays - and he found himself taking longer over each new photo revealed. </span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> A succession of warmth, sadness, loss, pride and joy, streamed through him like coloured wiring all wrapped in one wax coating and switched on. The very last sleeve held a snap of her and her partner at her high school leaving prom. What an amazingly beautiful, young woman. The joy in her tuxedo-beau's face said it all. Her looks certainly did come more from her mother's side, but in the close up's he noted an eye imbuement much similar to his own. All in all, he concluded from the snaps that Beverly had done a ruddy good job of raising her. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> Flipping over to the very last page, Neil found no photo there, but an unexpected hand-written message from Saskia:</span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <i>'Well ... you made it to the last page! By this point I'm guessing you're roughly on your third or fourth Jack Daniels?! If not I hope you might </i><i>still feel brave enough (or mad enough ) to give me a call. I'll keep my fingers crossed and my hopes high. xxx. Here's my number, just in case: </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> So - she seemed to have a good sense of humour, <i>and </i>she was uncannily right about the Jack Daniels. That was either a really good guess or her mother had a good memory! The message kind of threw him by way of her making the extra effort. All she asked for was a bit of contact - was that really so awful? He just watched the growing up of his child in a matter of minutes, and asked himself if he was he happy to let any more years pass regardlessly by? Logic told him that calling her may not be a good idea; she had been a snag in his head slowing down his mundane life by interfering with his thoughts, but would it really be that bad in her presence? </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">From the moment he unexpectedly met her, he carried a feeling of having nothing to offer her as a father</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> (he wouldn't know where to start!) and he was certainly no substitute for her mum.</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> If still married to Magrette, he knew she would encourage him to do the decent thing (under the circumstances) and at least call the girl. Ignoring her existence would not eradicate her from this world or from his head.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">The nib of his pen was tapping off the desk in a rapid '<i>will I, won't I'</i><i> </i> manner.</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> After one extra large slug of Jack Daniels he lifted up his phone, carefully punching out the numbers that may change the course of the rest of his life. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> Ringing. One beep to two of his heart beats. A sudden disquietude swept over him, making him nervous enough to be digging his nails into the palm</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> of the phone-free hand. Nothing yet. He would give it just a few more rings, then stop; he wasn't prepared for leaving a voicemail. Then he heard a bright hello. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Uh, hi ... is this Saskia?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yup?'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> There was crowd noise in the background, so he hoped she'd hear okay. This call might potentially never take place again if not. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'It's ah ... Neil, here. Neil Balfour?' </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Oh!,' she sounded surprised. 'Wow!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I've been thinking that I would like us to meet up some time ... can that be... '</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Before he got the chance to finish, a rather elated sounding Saskia cut him off. 'Really? Oh my God - that's ... brilliant!'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The </span>raucousness in the <span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">background was getting louder and before Neil got the chance to talk arrangements she rather loudly had to tell him: 'Oh, I'm really sorry, but that's the doors opening and we need to get to the front. Been here for hours! Can I get back to you on this number later ... tomorrow?'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yes, yes, of course.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'This is rotten timing. I really am sorry, but I've gotta go...'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Um, okay. Bye then,' he said, but before he pressed end call, he caught her shouting to him:</span><br /><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I'm glad you called, Dad! Bye!' </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He sat back in his chair, swiveled from side to side as far as his feet would allow. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">There. Two mad-rush minutes was all it took, and it felt sound and redeeming. Her call would most-likely come when he was on the green, but for now he at least had time to think about a meeting place. Pity he caught her while she was out with friends. To see some atrocious band, no doubt. Hark at himself. Two minutes a father and he deemed himself ready-equipped to critique the young! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> He grabbed the album and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket. It was going home with him this time. Whatever would become of tomorrow's call, she felt comfortable enough to already be calling him Dad. And with that in mind, instead of going straight home, he thought he'd pop in somewhere (albeit by himself ) to wet the baby's head. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif;"> </span></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-20957762887806174692023-07-14T16:11:00.000+01:002023-07-14T16:11:57.094+01:00Nothing Is Real But The Girl (CH 5)<div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="color: #ff00fe;"><b><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> **</span><u style="font-size: xx-large;">NOTHING IS REAL BUT THE GIRL</u><span style="font-size: xx-large;">**</span><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>👧</u></b> </span>Taking the lift to the cafe in Blazes, Neil was awash with trepidation. How things were going to pan out he didn't know. This time yesterday he was on a golf course, whacking any frustration or displeasure out on a little white ball and the promise of a good swallow afterwards. Now he was potentially going to have his life turned upside down in his dinner hour - food the last thing on his mind. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Stepping from the lift, he gazed around at those sitting at tables. The coffee bar looked pretty full, and he couldn't see her anywhere. He walked aimlessly around until a hand reached out and grabbed him at the wrist before he passed. A woman in a baggy, beige raincoat and a patterned blue headscarf looked up at him and gave a little smile.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Beverly?' he inquired, startled somewhat by her appearance.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Were you looking for the long auburn hair?' she said rather puckishly, knowing the bald head underneath tended to make people feel uncomfortable.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Something like that ... ' he smiled awkwardly back, sliding his legs under the table and sitting across from her. Both noted right away how much they had aged over the years.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The stunned silence at seeing each other again after all this time lasted a short while, until the waitress come over to take their order, each only asking for hot beverages.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Cancer?' he asked, his business-like head pushed him straight to the point.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She gave a curt nod. 'Breast.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He nodded back in ascertainment, but didn't pass on any sympathy - not knowing quite what to say.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I wasn't too sure if you'd turn up - must have been a shock to say the least.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, it's not the usual type of mail I receive,' he added, with a brief smile. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I didn't have any other means of contact with you, it was a bit desperate, I know. I am sorry.' He gave a terse nod of understanding and let her continue: 'I didn't come to this decision lightly, Neil, but when you're diagnosed with a life-threatening condition, all sorts of things run riot in your head. Terrified me, still does.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Another brief silence gripped them, and he felt lost again. He would have to let Beverly broach the subject as best she could, her being the news bearer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I was five months pregnant before I found out for sure, too late to make any other choices. Everything happened so quickly, the timing couldn't have been worse. My parents went nuts - especially my father, as you can imagine.' Thirty years may have passed, but some memories of their time together should still surely be carried with him? They certainly were for her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'So, why couldn't you have told me? I know we had our differences, but ... '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Dropping her head for a few seconds under this complexity, she knew it all had to come out, no matter how grueling the manner. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'We had not long since split up and I thought how bad I was physically feeling was down to that; nausea, achy, tired and stuff, and before I knew it, I was too far on to do anything about it.' Her eyes rose to meet his. 'You <i>do</i> remember that previous pregnancy scare we had?' Neil indicated he could by giving a small quantity of nods and a bite to his bottom lip. 'You more or less said you would drag me to the abortion clinic if I was.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> True, he was appalled at the possibility of a baby, but he also recalled her reaction as being similar. They were still fairly young, speaking of a future fresh with certain plans that didn't include being hampered by such responsibility. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'That was near the start of our relationship, Beverly, we hardly had been going out together.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, I know, and we were scared shitless as to how our father's would react.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'It really wouldn't have been up to them.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, it <i>shouldn't </i>have but, come on ... it was never easy with those two. You and I would have been better off as just friends.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Maybe, but they would had to have accepted our decision in the end.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly gave a slight shake of the head. 'After the way things ended between them I doubt there would have been any happy endings - especially with a baby in the mix.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I believe my father may have come round in the end.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Neil,' she sighed, 'I don't mean to sound spiteful or anything, but your father left my father a broken man after he pilfered his share of the business from him.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil cast his eyes downwards - he thought pilfer far too small a word. This was something his father hid remarkably well from him, and it wasn't until much later on in life that he found out just how bad it really was. Although Neil had no direct involvement in this, the money had set both father and son up for life, while Beverly's father legally could do nothing about it. His father was a crafty financier, with craftier friends who helped bilk thousands from right under his partner's nose when his partner refused to take on an iffy proposition, but one which fortuitously paid off in the end. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'But what's that got to do with you being pregnant if the baby was mine?' he asked, his voice rising up a notch.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The waitress arrived with their order, noting the sudden hush from them both. It was amazing the stories she regularly overheard, and sensed this must be a biggie! They courteously thanked her and took a quiet pause while sorting their drinks, and waiting until she was out of earshot.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly sniffed and scratched the back of her neck with a finger, and put down her cup before she continued, knowing this may not go down too well with him. She still hated his father's guts, still felt his cunning, sly composure, his double-tongued smoothness. Words would have to be chosen carefully, it was important she didn't flounder.</div><div> 'Once my dad got over the initial shock he changed, became wildly protective of us - felt he had let us all down. Took him a while to accept my pregnancy but he was pleased in the end, it gave him and Mum something to focus on, something good to come from it all.' She raised a fist to her mouth and paused, as if reluctant to let the words out. He knew this must be fairly daunting, but listened intently as the story unfolded. </div><div> 'We agreed to raise the baby ourselves, and Dad made me promise not to ever let you know. He was raw, devastated, determined not to let your father - or you ... ' she gave a quick, nervous grin, '... take anything else from us. Didn't trust your father at all after that and with their split up so acrimonious, he was genuinely scared you'd have a hold over his granddaughter, too. Mum died just a few years later and we were safeguarded even more.' Beverly drew her eyes from him and took in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. There. She'd got through the worst bit.</div><div> Neil sat, obfuscated, not quite sure where to go next, what to say. Should he be sad? Relieved?Angry? But an ill woman sat across from him, and wherever the conversation had to go, he had to keep that in mind. All he could pull out of the pot for a few moments was a nod of the head and a rather quiet okay. </div><div> 'Is your father still around?' He felt he had to ask.</div><div> Beverly closed her eyes and shook her head. 'Died just over a year ago. Yours?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Both away.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The pair of them seemed reluctant to elaborate on the causes, but Neil knew that grief from their fathers' deaths would have hit her far more intensely than his, she was always very much a daddy's girl. Her account of things, as unjust as it still might sound to some, started to make relative sense, if not totally understood.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Neil, my mum died of cancer fairly young - younger than I am now. That's what triggered my decision to contact you.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'How is your treatment going?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Awful!' she grimaced, 'I'll probably go home and be violently sick in a few hours, but I have to put my faith in what's ahead. The backup is amazing - nurses and doctors, group support. I've always someone at the end of a phone. It's that bit easier knowing others going through the same.' Beverly stared down into her tea cup, unblinking, and Neil was afraid she might cry. Tears were something he was not good company with. 'If I die, she'll have no-one, no family at all ... well, just my useless sister, but she buggered off to Spain years ago and hasn't showed face since - not even for her own father's funeral.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'That's not so good,' he said, not feeling concerned with the fact, but felt obliged to react.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She'll have no-one if I die, and Saskia's a good kid ... well, grown woman now, really.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Saskia ... is that her name?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes,' she smiled fondly, 'took us a while to decide, but it was fairly new and fresh back then. Dad didn't like it at first, often call her 'Sassy' to wind her up.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Have you a photo of her?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Things were now going in the direction she had hoped, some interest building up. 'Yes, of course.' Beverly tapped through her phone and handed it to him. 'That was taken last week in the little cafe we run together.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He reached for it slowly, and she never blinked as she kept her eyes on him. The reaction he'd give to such a disclosing moment could go conversely, but a smile crossed his face almost immediately.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Pretty. Looks more like you, though.' He stared for a few seconds longer and felt his tummy churn and a warmth rise in his chest, unsure if it was over the vision in the picture, or attestation hitting home that the girl must be real. He handed the phone back, where Beverly continued to admire her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, she does quite, although a lot of people think she's more like Mum. She's kept your eye colour, mind you, that speckled green and not boring brown like mine. And that platinum blonde hair in the picture she's had for a while now, but she's had it <i>all</i> colours; pinks, blues, red!' Beverly stared proudly at the picture a bit longer, before dropping the phone back in her bag.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'So ... ' he had to ask, 'what has Saskia made of this all, I presume you've told her?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She raised her eyebrows. 'Went crazy, as was expected. Tried to tell her what I've just told you in the most sensitive way I could, but she was still gutted and I can't blame her. Of course, she felt cheated, lied to, angry that she hadn't the chance to know you. Hardly left her room for two days - not even for work.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And how did you explain my absence? She must have asked about me at one time?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She did as she got older. I told her we had been dating just for a few weeks and you left for work abroad ... we lost contact. To be honest, she accepted it more easily than I dreaded, but there were other single-parent friends of hers at school, so it helped knowing she wasn't the only one.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Did you ever tell her my name?' The questions from Neil were flowing fairly easily, despite not having had time enough to prepare himself for this. But if this was the only chance he had, he would need to pepper her with as many as possible. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Not your real one. Dad decided against it, too scared she might hunt you down in later life.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And the birth certificate? What went on that?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly cringed. 'God, that wasn't pleasant. I had to say that I didn't know who her father was, so a section is left open for any future declaration of parenthood on the father's side. Basically, you were classed a one-night-stand circumstance. I can still hear the loud sigh of disdain from the registrar yet, as if saying, <i>yet another one! </i>'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Yes, I can imagine,' he said. Of which he really couldn't, but he was more gearing himself up for his next question. So far she hadn't mentioned any partner or other siblings, but he still would like to know. 'Is there a father figure in her life at all now? I don't mean to pry, I just ...'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly sat up a bit straighter, waving any uncomfortable intent away with her hand. 'Not at all, it's okay to ask, but no. The closest we got to that was when I was engaged for seven years, but we split up when she was fourteen. Terry was a great step-father, they got on really well, she was fond of him. Marriage didn't come about though, we always seemed to be putting it off until next year. He was always just Terry to her, I never pressed her to call him Dad or anything. Despite how things stood, I always knew something like that wouldn't be right.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> For a reason he himself was unsure of, he felt a mild sense of relief knowing this. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And if you don't mind <i>me</i> asking, Neil ... has Saskia any half-brother or sisters?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No,' he smiled, feeling she may have already guessed that, 'but ironically I <i>was </i>married for seven years, but that was as far as it went. No children.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Really?' Beverly took the liberty of drawing them into a bond of coincidental humour; 'What's that they say about the seven year itch ... ?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil let himself wonder how things may have turned out <i>had</i> he helped raise his child, but he knew that even if he had done the decent thing, there would have been no marriage for them. 'I did have a couple of step-sons during that period. One still works in my company building, although we don't seem to meet much, and the other returned to Italy to be with his Dad. Sadly, we've lost touch now too.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah ... distance and time. Something I never really gave any relevance to till now.' Beverly said wistfully, while Neil realised he'd just given her more information than necessary. So there was, at the very least, a sort of equal respect unfolding.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil's phone went off and he had to excuse himself to take the call. After fifteen minutes, he hadn't returned, so Beverly ordered another tea. Thinking that this might have been a chance for him to split, she was relieved to see him return from around the corner. It looked like he was going to see this one through. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Sorry about that, I really should have switched it off.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'That's okay,' she said, bemused a little. 'Still a busy man, I see! If you need to leave, I'll ... '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No, no, they'll manage till I'm back.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Well, I shan't keep you much longer, anyhow, I usually need to rest after the chemo.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> It was undeniably unpleasant to hear her say that, and he respected how arduous going through cancer must be, so he decided it may be a good idea to wrap things up anyhow. 'Have you any thoughts on where things go from here? Any expectations?' he asked.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You showed up, Neil, I have to credit you for that at least.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'So ... ?' he pressed her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Look,' Beverly sighed, spreading her fingers and flattening her palms out on the table in readiness for her declaration. She'd been waiting for this bit with prior thought, wanting to give him a realistic perspective. 'I think she would like to meet you some day, I guess it's only natural to want know where you came from. But she understands, too, that might not happen - even with you having turned up today. Saskia's rarely on the negative side, but I think now she's prepared even for that. And just in case ... ' She hauled her bag onto her knee from beside her and brought out from it a small photo album, sliding it across the table to him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> On the cover it read; <b>For Dad</b>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil simply stared at the leather covered memento, as Beverly explained:</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She's filled it with photos of her from a baby upwards, to more or less the present day. Bit of a warning though, there might be a few with me in it too. More than anything, she wants you to have it - just to know that you know of her. She's aware that this might be as far as things go, but I promised I'd offer it to you, and I at least owe her that.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil didn't lift it. A whole part of his life he'd had no control over, no choice in, was contained in these pages and that scared him. He was struggling to process the enormity of it all, and he felt lifting it might be seen as his form of acceptance. There was admiration there with her laying bare her soul as such an illness tore her apart, but it didn't alter the fact that this girl would have most likely never have known of him on any account. Even with the revelation out in the open, it made little difference to the here and now. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Beverly,' he said, deciding to be brutally honest, 'Don't you think it's a bit too late now? We don't know a single thing about each other.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, I've said this to her, and myself time and again. I'm in the wrong, and that's unfair to you both. It's just a pity that it's taken something like this to bring out the past. You know now at least.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> It pained him to see the ravaged woman sitting across from him - the Beverly from his youth - looking pale, bald and emotionally torn, and he struggled to find any comforting words or solution to her situation. All he felt he could do was wish her well and leave her believing that he would at least think things over. But he had no time to do so, for there and then, his decision was final.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> From over Beverly's shoulder, Saskia, who had been waiting in the basement car park, appeared from the lift just up from them, and quickly scanned the faces for her mum. She made eye contact with Neil and the second he realised who was heading towards them, he wriggled free from the table, taking no second look at his daughter. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm sorry, Beverly, I can't do this ...'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> It took her a moment to work out his hasty reaction. She twisted round, watching him go. 'Can't you just say hello, Neil!' she called after him, but he quickly entered the lift. 'You bloody, idiot!' she near-shouted at Saskia. 'I told you to stay in the car!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I was getting worried about you!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Snatching the photo album he'd left behind - purposefully or not - Saskia headed for the stairs. With any luck she could catch him in the underground car-park, if indeed, he was parked there. No guarantees, though, she couldn't recall seeing him while she had been there.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The young, messy, browned haired waitress felt rather smug at predicting possible chaos, nudged her and said to her friend. 'Biggie ... told ya!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He was aware of running footsteps behind him as he neared his car, and just as he reached down to open the door, she called from a few yards away.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She sprung all this on me too, you know!' Her words rooted him to the spot as she, quite out of puff, paced more towards him, 'but believe me ... she's been punished enough. Please don't blame her.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Neil drew his hand back, straightening himself up and looked in more detail at this young girl. A quirky little thing, wearing a short jacket, bovver boots and a skirt hardly covering her grace. Her black beret was struggling to hold up a huge sunflower at the front. Her heart-shaped face was blessed with neater features than his own, cheeks taking on a mild blush after panning down those eight flights of stairs. From the short distance away she was smelling sweet and delectable. Despite the apparent blood-tie to him, she still had the aura of a stranger, no different from any girl who passed him in the street, or served him in a shop. For the first time in his life, he felt lost and incapable with her standing there in the flesh. But he had to reach inside and handle things with honesty.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I can respect what your mum's going through, I really can, but I don't think we would work. You look and sound a really nice girl too, but I'm sorry.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia hung her nodding head, and he hoped that her mother really <i>had</i> prepared her for this. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Okay.' She smiled up at him. 'That's okay. I can imagine how you must be feeling, it did my head in for days!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I hope you don't feel too disappointed. I truly am sorry.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> She whipped her head back up to smile at him. 'Hey ho - that's a bit of a pity. When mum told me about you, I thought I'd found someone who may actually approve of my music, and my hair, and my driving. I don't cause much bother these days, either - well past shitty-nappy stage <i>and</i> the teenage tantrums, oh, and I calculated you owe me around twelve years back pocket money ...'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He couldn't help but react to her humour and gave her back a grin, while she gave an antsy sway, surmising that the humour was a cover, a way of her withstanding rejection. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Can you please just do me one favour?' She handed out the little album book that he left behind as he fled. 'Take it with you?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> That he did, saying nothing in return. In the few second's silence she stuffed her hands in her pockets and started to take steps backwards, signalling retreat. It was sad, but Neil felt relieved when she turned completely to go. After a few steps she swung round one final time; </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You don't even need to look through it, I'm happy with the thought that one day you might. Bye then.' The gutsiness in the girl had to be admired as despite her cheery exterior, he intuitively could tell that she must be hurting. 'Oh, and if I ever forget what you looked like - I'll Google you!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> A last nod, and he was finally in his car, angry at himself for not leaving things for another week as was Jacqueline's advice. What difference <i>would</i> an extra seven days have really made in the twenty seven years he'd never known her? It might have given him a chance to prepare and ascertain better handling of it, or completely decide against it, instead of now feeling like shit. But it wasn't exactly a contractual matter, (where he was an expert) it was to do with morals of flesh, blood and emotion. Even so, he was pretty sure the outcome would have been the same.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">'Well?' Jacqueline asked, as soon as he closed the greenhouse door on his return. A simple small shake of the head said it all, and she sighed, wishing now she had made that weekend call to him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> **********************************************************************************</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: PT Sans Narrow;"><br /></span></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-27093869144635342362023-06-30T16:15:00.001+01:002024-01-08T17:33:20.928+00:00Five O'Clock World (CH 4)<div><b style="color: #f1c232; font-size: xx-large;"> **<u>FIVE O'CLOCK WORLD</u>** </b></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>⏰</b></span>No one could face London traffic without being extra guarded. It was the scourge of any beautiful day, driving from the clean air of the outskirts and into the manic and pollution of the city. Every morning Neil drove himself to work at Balfour Enterprises. His day, as always, finished at 5pm on the dot, and didn't really care if anyone else's did. Complete your quota and you were outta there with him - tough if you weren't. Perks of being the boss.<br />
<div> His usual morning hit of caffeine came in the shape of a drive-through large cappuccino to help tackling the traffic. Had he ever paid any attention to his car-rantings, he would have driven his own self round the bend. And now a quick right turn had just helped to spill coffee from his polystyrene cup onto the passenger seat. Had it hit his suit, he'd have gone turnaround and straight home to change. Image carried utmost importance for him and his staff, presenting a whole, not-a-hair-out-place affair - if you excluded his own, unruly waves - of which singularly, <i>he</i> could. But dried in map-like stains on silky suits, simply wouldn't do. Entering the car park, Mark, his chauffeur and attendant, wished him a good morning and opened his door for him. </div>
<div> 'I'm afraid there's some spillage, a dodgy coffee lid. Could you see to it for me?'</div>
<div> 'No problem, sir.'</div><div> Neil swung open the doors to the building, giving his usual 'here-we-go-again', sigh. Even being as fit as he was at 57 years old, he always took the elevator. Although he rented out many of the floors in this building, he was happy to be nearer the top. A twenty-three floors ascent is still one heck of a climb, and he wouldn't risk a sweat-on. </div><div> The floor from which he ran his businesses, that dealt mostly with property and overseas building sites, (now his architectural days were behind him) had his own office incorporated within it. A room within a room, if you like, big enough to just host him and a secretary. It was dubbed 'the greenhouse' (which he found quite amusing) as it consisted of four sides of eight feet high windows, with a light polycarbonate roof. Each and every window, on each and every side, hung top to bottom venetian blinds. That gave him the scope to shut his employees out, or keep one very keen eye on them. With one turn of the head, he had the peripheral view of the whole office and workers, although most staff desks were adjacent to his. </div>
<div> On entering the pristine room, he gave his usual morning greeting to all as he weaved his usual route to get to his space. One sit down and quick check around from his uncluttered and orderly desk (the exact way he expected all desks to be) he was appeased to see heads down going at it. There was at least two inches of paperwork per person, materially enough to his satisfaction. Yesterday had been a bank holiday, so there was a lot of catch-up in play! He had a stolid approach to the efforts of his staff, and generally viewed him comparatively to fireworks - still safe in it box if all was well, or a sudden explosion if you sparked his wrath!</div><div> This morning was rather warm for the time of year and the heating system was still on, so within ten minutes his jacket was off and hung up. Jacqueline, his private secretary of ten years, who typified the whole secretary look, (cardigan, glasses and hair up in either a no-nonsense bun or ponytail) knocked twice and came into the greenhouse to start her day too. Usually she gave him a percolator coffee and an hour before approaching him with anything, but she knew this couldn't wait. Slowly, she crept over to stand at his desk. Trying to mask his annoyance, he spoke as pleasantly as he could.</div>
<div> 'Jacqueline ... what can I do for you?' Said without looking up.</div>
<div> She licked her lips. 'It's regarding Friday's mail?'</div>
<div> 'Something need signed?'</div>
<div> 'No, it's just ...well, a letter arrived for you and I think you need to take a look at it.'</div>
<div> 'Can you or Robert not take care of it?' he asked, his focus still downcast.</div>
<div> 'Not really.'</div>
<div> 'I'm trying to get the Carter contract away in time, so I don't need this right now, we've a day to catch up with.' A hint of irascibility started to pinprick its way through, with a hefty sigh on standby.</div><div> 'I appreciate that, Sir, but it's rather personal ... from a Beverly?' </div>
<div> His pen stopped dead and his head jerked straight up. Beverly was an old flame, or rather a former partner who had long fizzled out. She was more or less his first serious girlfriend, but he hadn't heard of, or thought about her for nigh on thirty years. There was no other Beverly he knew, so in all likelihood it was her. How strange.</div>
<div> 'What did it say?'</div>
<div> 'Please sir - read it.' The reluctance of committing herself to read aloud sparked certain caution in him, as she held the letter out. He took it from her and she turned to leave the room.</div>
<div> 'No, Jacqueline ... stay, please.' The nature of how she was handling this told him that she must be aware of some pivotal point or other. No wonder she'd been acting strained.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<i>Dear Neil,</i></div>
<div>
<i> I'm not sure if this message will actually get to you, but if it does, I hope it finds you well. I am not doing so good and it's because of this I need to let you know. This letter was not easy to write and I wasn't going to send it at all. I do hope I've made the right decision. </i></div><div><i> Neil, you have a daughter. I gave birth to her months after we split up, and she's almost 27 now. I know this </i><i>will be a shock, and I apologise for that. All I ask is for a chance to explain. </i></div>
<div><i> I shall be in London this Tuesday attending a hospital appointment and this </i><i>could give us the opportunity to meet. I'll be heading to Blazes department store afterwards, which I believe is not too far from your offices. From 1pm, I'll be waiting in the coffee bar section of their restaurant. If you can't make it or don't get this letter in time, I shall be back for treatment the next again Tuesday (9th). Same </i><i>arrangement. If you don't show up for either one, I will wholeheartedly understand.</i><i> </i></div><div>
<i> Beverly (Reymarr) </i><br /><i><br /> </i>His secretary never took her eyes off him as he read. Slumping back in his seat, exasperated, and still holding the paper bolt-from-the-blue, she couldn't begin to imagine how such news must feel. After a short silence, he sat forward, not quite taking all of this in.</div><div> 'Did you read it all?' he asked.<br /> 'Yes,' she admitted, 'it was kinda hard not to once I read ... you know.'</div><div> He smiled at her honesty. 'Fair enough. What do you make of it?'<br />
She raised a hand to sit on her chest, and glanced awkwardly around her before holding his gaze again. It was as if neither wanted to voice their conclusion, despite both surmising the same. She drew in a brave breath. 'Sounds like she's ill with something serious.'</div><div> He nodded and had a stare at his paperweight. 'Anyone else know of this?'<br /> 'Absolutely not. I was the one who opened it. The envelope wasn't marked 'private' or anything, but I thought it odd with the hand-written address, so separated it right away.'</div><div> 'That's good'. Loyalty from her knew no bounds, and he knew he would be lost without her and often told her so.<br /> Looking at the envelope in more detail, he noticed the postmark from where it was sent was not too far away, and she still seemed to be using her maiden name. Why she added it in brackets kind of puzzled him. Even with the vast passing of time, it was something he'd hardly forget given that both their father's ran a small business together way back. That was how they met. The handwriting didn't spark familiarity in the least, and there were no lasting embers of romance that some carry with first loves.<br /> 'This can't go any further, Jacqueline.'<br /> 'Of course not, that goes without saying. So ... what are you going to do?' The big question! Jacqueline knew only too well that Neil Balfour was a man that very much needed to get things out of the way (usually by 5pm if at all possible). But this predicament couldn't be listed for quick erasure off the to-do list. While knowing the golden rule of never disturbing him at home for anything work-related, (lest the bloody building be on fire) she was now questioning herself if perhaps she should have called him at home over the weekend. But a call over something so startling, she felt, was better disclosed personally.<br /> Neil rubbed a hand over his chin, his working mind now well and truly addled. 'Not sure, Jacqueline, but at least I've got till tomorrow to mull it over.'<br /> 'It's Tuesday <i>today</i>, sir.' She raised her eyebrows. 'Bank holiday yesterday?'<br /> The news had thrown him off guard from usually being on the ball. </div><div> 'So it is,' he gave a part-embarrassed smile and tapped nervous fingers on the desk, leaned back and shaking his head at the ceiling, morally stumped. </div><div> 'Why not give yourself till next week, a bit more thinking time?' </div><div> 'Christ, I don't know ... ' he composed his sitting stature. '... you come to work of a morning and you're a father by elevenses!'<br />
</div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #f1c232;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"> <span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: x-large;"><b>end of <u> Five O'Clock World...</u></b></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: "PT Sans Narrow";"><div><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman";" /></div></span></div>
Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-51000865706506727662023-06-14T17:13:00.001+01:002023-08-29T20:55:04.027+01:00Breastless <div><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">start of **<u>BREASTLESS</u>** </span></span></div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>🍰</u></b></span>Holding hands, the hair clipper's speedy buzz rasped from behind. Sitting tensely upright, feeling more like they were heading for the guillotine, the two friends had another two friends - one standing at the back of each chair - poised for the off.</div><div> Under a loud chant of <i>'Do</i><i> it! Do it!' </i>a huge cheer went up when the razor started skimming off their already scarecrow-like trimmed hair, both promising not to look at the other until both heads were skin-shiny. The grip on their hands went from firm to bone-crushing in a matter of seconds, and on the count of three, to loud applause, they turned to look at each other...</div></span>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'OH ... MY ... GOD!' </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Each took a mirror to see for themselves. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'What the ruddy hell have we done!' </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> The room fell into fits of laughter as locks of hair - one pile reddish-brown, the other tones of blonde highlights - gave themselves up to both sadness and determination. Beverly, the previous-brunette, and Fay, the past-blonde, hugged each other tightly. When one has breast cancer and another friend goes the extra mile in helping you through it, it makes dealing with the dreaded disease that bit more kick-ass! The ladies involved, who all lovingly baked, and kitted out the living room with balloons, banners and bunting, were aiming to raise around a thousand pounds for charity.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Oh, sod it Fay ... I know we said we'd not open the wine box until the cake and coffee had gone, but it's nearly the afternoon.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Fay giggled back at Beverly. 'What, at quarter to eleven? Tell you what, we'll go for a sneaky one in the kitchen, hide it in a mug! We deserve an early stiff one after that brutal shaving! C'mon... '</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">Beverly's daughter Saskia, came into the kitchen to rub her mum's bald head. 'Well, that's you done now. Can't believe how shiny it is!' </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'I'll be dusting mine with face powder to hide any sheen!' Fay said.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Good call.' </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Still going to practice the head-scarfs, in a short while?' Saskia, asked. She had a few ideas she wanted to try out on the baldies heads once they were more relaxed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> 'Yeah, absolutely.' Fay agreed, 'I'll go get the box from upstairs. </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">As she was leaving the kitchen, Beverly whispered to Saskia, </span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;">'I just knew she'd have a wonky head!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'Mum!' Saskia scolded, giving her a humorous slap to the shoulder. 'That's terrible!'</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> Joining the other's back in the lounge, Saskia watched as her mother mingled, radiating fortitude and friendship. She knew she had a challenging time ahead - a journey that could be stopped short depending on what the future held. But she'd be filling her role as a daughter, knowing she had an important part along the way with her - whichever ending came about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="color: #e06666;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">end of **</span><u style="font-size: xx-large;">Breathless</u><span style="font-size: xx-large;">**</span><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b></span> </span></div>
Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-63958383140799365842023-06-14T17:05:00.005+01:002024-01-22T17:56:59.898+00:00In The Middle (CH 10)<div><span style="color: #ffd966; font-size: x-large;"><b> **<u>IN THE MIDDLE</u>**</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>🚿</u></span>In utter amazement, Saskia had just learned that Neil was, back in the day - a punk. A whole spiky-green-mohawk, studded black leather jeans and ripped band tee shirts, plug and safety pin chains affair.</div><div> 'No way, Dad! No way did you go around like that!'</div> 'I'm telling you. I saw the Sex Pistols loads of times!'<div> Through narrowed eyes she look at him, she wasn't convinced, simply couldn't muster up an image of this at all. 'Why hasn't mum mentioned it?'<br /> 'It was before we met - honestly.' He laughed at her expressions of dubiety. 'Look, I'll see if I can muster up a photo sometime, I'm bound to have one locked away somewhere.'</div><div> This revelation was drawn out by pure chance. As it happened, the club that they were due to go see Saskia's friends perform in, was the same underground club - Divers - that Neil once frequented himself when he was into the punk rock scene. Such stark familiarity felt peculiarly intrinsic than coincidental. How could he <i>not </i>go? But toying with her a bit longer - now serendipity had helped make his mind up - was far too tempting to let pass.</div><div> 'You <i>are</i> still coming, aren't you? I've told my mates you'll be there and you'll enjoy visiting an old haunt again.' </div><div> 'Oh, I don't know ... still feel I'm a bit too old.'<br /> 'Doesn't matter if you're a raptor or not, loads of older folk are always there. It's for local bands mainly, all ages come to cheer them on. Say<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span>you'll come, Dad, I'm dying to show you off!'<br /> 'I'm not a pair of shoes, Saskia!' </div><div> She tutted her frustration back at him. 'Just <i>come</i> - stay for a coupe of drinks at least?'<br /> He knew that she wasn't seeing her friends so much for playing catch-up with him, so it had always felt like a meeting-her-half-way kind of offer. 'It's this week, isn't it?'</div><div> 'Thursday night. I was planning on catching the train after work, you could meet me off it?'</div><div> He hissed out a lengthy sigh. 'Alright, you win - but I'm outta there like a shot if I <i>am</i> the only raptor. I mean it!'<br /> 'You're a gem, Dad.' She bounced up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. 'You'll like the band, they're sort of new wave-ish - listenable enough. I know the lead singer from high school.' <br /> Chewing the inside of his cheek in premature foreboding, he said adamantly while physically pointing out his message with serious finger motion: 'Me. Raptor. Outta there - okay?'<br /> 'Sure'. And she ran off to phone the news to her mate, while he - although mostly dreading it - felt secretly gratified for being considered such a cachet showpiece.</div><div><br />There was no time for Neil to change from his suit. A phone call back from China kept him an hour longer in his office, and by the time it was sorted Saskia had already been on the train. To keep his evening events from office knowledge, (he didn't want mocked) he decided to meet her directly from the station. No ruddy way would he be waiting outside the venue by himself till she showed; old suited geezer hanging around a bunch of lollygagging gig kids? Nah! Plans made were plans made, and as bothersome as they may be he was sticking<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> t</span>o them.</div><div> Taking a train himself, which he rarely did, he felt stupid having to double check with the station staff that he was on the correct platform. But she come flitting off the scheduled one, waving a hand and hanging on to her hat with the other, her favourite red tartan mini skirt swinging with each bouncy step. As she approached, he again questioned himself on what in God's name he was doing. Nonetheless, he greeted her with a hug and kept his face happy and gait casual, with no hint of hesitation as they headed for Divers. <div> On reaching the venue, before he let the basement stairs engulf and spiral him down from pavement level, he took a few moments to absorb his youth before reentering the place. A kind of lost scent swirled over him, as he recalled Thomas, Colin, Barry and Gregory, all punk friends in full anarchic regalia, with names not to be called out lest it ripped their eminence asunder. Yes, the memories sucked him back all those years; gangs of coloured hair and eyeliner that had to be desperately removed before work in the morning. Wet arses from pavements, sat on for hours before doors opening. The effing and blinding, false bravado and bruise-comparisons. Any misgivings about coming here were exchanged now for welcoming nostalgia. Even the paint on the railings looked as if was still the same flaky, neglected coat. </div><div><div> 'Right,' Neil said, 'ladies first.' </div></div><div> '<i>Ladies...?</i>' Saskia jested, 'In <i>Divers? </i>That's gig blasphemy here, that is!' Saskia jested, and led him down. </div><div> She was greeted right away by a small group of friends at the bar while Neil hung back and let the greetings-before-the-meetings occur. Never before had any of them met or even knew a multi-millionaire - it was surprising enough to discover she even had a father.</div><div> As the young ones exchanged banter, Neil was transfixed at his old entertainment pit. The place had, as expected, its decor changed but still kept the element of rough and ready, while the pillars and posts, toilets and light fittings all appeared - as did the bar - in original form and placement, and still providing a starting block for up and coming musicians. <br /> When it came to the one-to-one introductions, he was met with an almost wary silence and just brisk, hello's in return. It wasn't being in the presence of a parent that induced silent respect, or fact that he was Scottish and they feared not to understand the accent - it was the fact he was worth a hefty bob or two! Prosperity or not, Saskia painted him as a down to earth guy, but a test of that was about to transpire.</div><div><div> Dan, a good friend of Saskia's from her high school drama class, bounded through from the sound check session on realising she was there. This big, grizzly guy (all bushy bearded, long haired and leather coated) approached Saskia, grabbed her, and in one fell swoop dipped her backwards, quoting from Twelfth Night but in his own- version ramble,<br /> '<i>Here cometh my dainty one! If music be the food of love, play on... </i>' Then he kissed her full on the lips, for no longer than a few seconds, and swept her upright again. Saskia laughed and threw arms around him.<br /> 'Hi Dan! God it's been over a year since we last saw each other!'<br /> 'Hello, beautiful!'</div><div><div><div style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Dan knew he'd </span><span style="background-color: #f3fff3;">never mean anything in the heart department from Saskia, so always settled for a kiss. But he'd drop any girl for her, in the flick of a switch. </span>Enjoying every moment, Saskia then took a perverse pleasure in introducing him then to Neil, as a mortified Dan, reddened readily, mumbling away between an apology and explanation, till Saskia set the record straight.</div><div style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> 'We took higher drama at secondary school, Dad. This is always how we always greet each other, it's just our 'thing'.</div></div></div><div> Curling in his bottom lip, Neil, staring the whole time, slowly raised his hand, putting a damper on that little theatrical moment. 'Hello, Dan ... pleased to meet you'. No smile. On purpose.</div><div> 'You too, Mr, um ... '<br /> 'Balfour,' Neil finished for him.<br /> 'Yup,' the big lummox swallowed, nodding away uneasily. He really was just an oversized pussycat.</div><div> The barman rang a bell and announced loudly that the bands would be on stage shortly, and opened the hall partition. With that a wave of frenetic bodies rose from their meantime tables, clanking glass, spilling beers and swear words in desperation to claim a table near to the stage. </div><div> 'I'll keep you a seat, Dad!' Saskia called as she was swept away in the flow straight past him. Neil simply rooted himself till the coast - and the bar area - was clear. 'Large JD on the rocks, please,' he ordered. On placing down the drink, the extremely young looking barman (maybe it was still a haven for underagers) smiled and asked, 'First time here?'</div><div> 'Use to frequent here, actually, but it's my first in a very long time.'</div><div> 'Ah ... don't think any of the acts tonight will be worth the ink, the more promising ones are usually kept till the weekend.'</div><div> Neil pursed his lips a little, frowning out the barman's statement, a bit befuddled. 'Sorry?'</div><div> 'Oh, um ... ' the lad said while rinsing out glasses at speed, 'is there a particular band you're in to see? Hope I haven't put my foot in it.'<br /> Then he clicked on; he was standing there like a veritable music scout in his Saville Row suit, possibly after the next Top 20 artist whose songs he wouldn't give a shit about once the deal was sealed. Sure, he wasn't stylized to happily step on a piss-ridden floor at the urinals, so he understood why his clothes kind of led to the young man's conjecture. The venue had, after all, produced quite a few mainstream bands in its time.</div><div> 'I'm not!' Neil shook his head, keen to rid such a possibility, 'I had other plans tonight but my daughter roped me into coming here straight from work instead.' Neil necked his drink in two goes. 'Better go find her... keep the change.' He tapped by the coins left over.<br /> 'Cheers! Enjoy your night,' the lad said politely, and when out of earshot commented: 'you're gonna hate it!' ***</div><div><br /></div><div>The hall filled with people rapidly, high spirited voices collecting in sudden rushes of volume as the support band was screeching its instruments in preparation for the first song. Christ, this was going to be loud. Not even his trip down anarchic memory lane where he pogoed like an idiot, could stop him from bracing himself at the old <i>'one, two, one, two'.</i> But he was rather relieved that there <i>were </i>a few older others already sitting at tables, probably feeling similar. </div><div> Saskia was at the hall bar with the skinny guy with too much hair gel and the boniest hand he'd ever shaken.</div><div> 'Dad!' she called as he passed. 'We're over at the side table,' then pointed it out.</div><div> '<i>Great,'</i> thought Neil, '<i>Right next to a humongous bloody speaker!'</i><i> </i></div><div><i> </i>'What d'you want to drink?'</div><div> Waiting beside her until the orders were placed on a tray, Neil flicked out a £50 note from his wallet. 'It's okay, we've put a kitty in.' Saskia told him, but he flicked the money between two fingers more insistently at the hesitant barmaid, who this time took it and rang the sale through the till. She, also, was told to keep the change. And while his wallet was still out in abundant-generous mode, he drew out a bundle of £20 notes. 'Treat your friends,' he told Saskia, while scrawny Joseph stood in jaw-drop mode, 'I know you don't see them often.'</div><div> 'Dad, there's no need!' </div><div> Though he knew, she knew and they knew he could well afford it, it truly wasn't part of the night's agenda - a round or two at the most maybe - the young group had not awaited a free ride. Tonight was more to do with pride and common connection; another factor to help bind their lost years. 'I'll get my own, sweetheart. Honestly.' With a twisty smile and a scrunched up nose, she accepted and led the way back to the table. </div><div> The second Neil's arse met the chair he physically jumped as the support band kicked off in sync with him sitting. If nothing else, it would at least mask vibrations if a heavy duty lorry passed over! For having been a hardcore London punk, he had always felt nervous when the joint's chandeliers shook!<br /> Thankfully, as the night wore on the booze started to loosen restrained tongues - double helpings of shots at a time being a huge benefactor - and Saskia's friends were left gobsmacked when she snared Neil into his erst, punk territory- talk ... well, shout, actually. Even with the music having temporarily stopped to allow the main band to set up, the hall still annoyingly resounded with voices and bustle. He knew his throat would protest from it's thrashing in the morning. Then the table cleared as quickly as the bar did the second the band's frontman's lips met the mic to welcome their following. Neil was left (sitting this time) like a ninny on his own, while the fans got within spitting distance— if not closer— to the performers. This abandonment was, however, pre-decided by Saskia. An elbow in the face, or any bruise in any manner, was not quite the memory or souvenir she wanted him to be taking home.******</div><div><br /></div><div>As the floor overcrowded with fans, Neil's table was forever getting bumped into. Why couldn't they just stay in their ruddy seats? But then he thought that a bit unreasonable - it was just the old pot, calling the new kettle, black. Leaving the table, he wound his way toward other raptors standing at the back near the PA system. Leaning his shoulder on the same thirty year old (or more) scuffed-stained pillar, he was actually getting a better view with being a few steps higher up. </div><div> Saskia noticed the empty table, checked the bar and panicked when she didn't see him there, but his wave caught her eye and she relaxed. He managed to lip read her mouthing: <i>'Bloody brilliant!' </i>while stabbing a finger towards the band. In return, Neil nodded with high-rise brows and a faux, <i>I'm enjoying myself </i>smile, all the while wishing he was outta there! Saskia faced forward and back into fan mode. When would his torture end?</div><div> Finally, the last song was announced, and Neil surprisingly found his foot tapping along to the catchy little number (oh, the wonders of alcohol and relief!). During the chorus, he watched as Saskia waved her hat in the air, until the lead singer noticed, then beckoned her to throw it. Bending his knees, she frisbee-like spun it towards him. Destination; his head. If she misses; the suede hat is flattened. But the guy judged it to perfection; this little trait the band kept up every time she went to their gigs! Neil found the quirky move rather, well, moving, gleaning that his wee lassie was a popular girl, admired by a faithful bunch of friends. From what he gathered, they had all attended university and now had good jobs, with the exception of one who seemed very muddle headed, but nevertheless, simpatico. </div><div><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> His heart went out to his daughter who'd been there for her mother and grandfather, all those life-conforming years stuck in a cafe</span><span style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"> sacrificing a potential better future - lest she yearned for a job at Ikea!</span></div><div> Saying their goodbye's in typical drunk-huggy style (Neil very much an outlier as this was going on), he marveled at the youth of today, especially the way they knocked back alcohol like there was no tomorrow. Most of them would no doubt be fresh for work in the morning, while he stood seriously contemplating the day off; he was usually in bed by now. But he did promise to see her on the last train home. Thankfully that was only a ten-minute walk away.</div><div><div><div style="font-family: times, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></div></div></div><div>Linking arms as they walked, Saskia reveled in the success of the gig, with Neil enjoying himself a fraction more than he'd care to admit. The way she was downing those shots he was amazed she was still upright. Thankfully she chose not to wear heels so kudos to those clumpy boots for their perpendicular support. </div><div> Doing his best to keep up with her babbling, he had to pull her onwards and away from the enticing smell of the fish and chip shop they were passing.</div><div> 'Go on, Dad, just a bag of chips!'<br /> 'Look, your last train is in fifteen minutes and there's a long queue, we can't stop.'<br /> Under a hugely exaggerated huff of air, she plodded on with her angry stomach and its false hunger, until a little further along, they were heading towards a group of lads that Saskia had some hassle with at the bar during the gig. 'Ah, shit...' she said under her breath. </div><div> 'Woohoo, look who it is ... no wonder you got nowhere with her, Seb!' Neil wasn't really making any sense of the quips they were throwing among themselves until one leaned out and slapped him on the shoulder as they passed. 'Well done, old timer!'</div><div> Now he clicked. So the lamebrains thought that Saskia must have a thing for older blokes and that he'd just picked her up. 'Behave, lads, she's my daughter!' <br /> Turning round the mouthiest one shouted from behind them; 'You're joking, mate ... if she was <i>my</i> daughter I'd still be giving her a bath!' <br /> Stopping dead, Saskia roughly pulled her arm free and fast-paced it back to the lad in front with his arms crossed; a bolt of fast-acting ferocity surging through her. 'What did you say? What the hell did you say!? A bath... eh?' In a millisecond she pulled back her fist and punched him straight in the mush.</div><div> Under a chorus of lengthy <i>wows, </i>everyone's arms—including Neil's— everyone's arms shot up, hands landing on the sides of their heads like a footballer that just missed a goal. Luckily, one lads quick catch-reaction kept his mate from a possible head crack off the pavement. </div><div> Neil stood rooted and shocked, while one of the gang now saw the funny side and laughed at the stupefied dickhead that had just been decked by some dizzy blonde; bang goes <i>his</i> muscled-bravado now! Saskia continued to rip into him; 'Don't you <i>dare </i>disrespect my father! A bath? You cheeky bastard!'</div><div> Grabbing the shoulder of her jacket, Neil tugged her around and pushed her forward, raising <i>I'm sorry</i> palms up for a few seconds. The assault was very unexpected, but her next words just astounded. As she tottered along a few steps in front of Neil, she called over her shoulder. 'He'd <i>shower </i>me anyway if he was going to, he'd never let me sit in my own filth!' </div><div> 'Jesus Christ!' Neil stood, briefly motionless at her comment and now coarsely dragged her—mega- quickly— along by the hand, as laughter amplified behind them 'You're incorrigible lady!'</div><div> 'Am I? Okay ... whatever that means.' Saskia said, stumbling along with his grip on her hand at crushing point. </div><div> He was mortified and took a quick glance back to check their distance. With the vision of the young lad still on the ground with his bloody nose, he'd just caught an abstruse side of her coming from nowhere; but no doubt fuelled by booze, frustration and a lack of chips. <br /> 'Dad, those gits were hassling me and Luce at the bar earlier, they were being vile. The ruddy bouncer threw them out - he deserved what he got!'<br /> 'Yes,' he sighed, 'perhaps ... but did you have to say <i>THAT?</i>'</div><div> She threw her loose hand in the air, then let it drop. 'Well, maybe not... it just came to me.' She tried to stifle a giggle. 'I thought it was funny, though!'<div> 'God almighty.' He marched her on even quicker; the sooner she and that peppered tongue of hers were on the train the better. Thankfully, was only five minutes to until her train had pulled in, preferring to stay with her until it took off (just in case she did!) again. 'Text me when you're home, okay?' She promised to take a taxi straight from her stop. 'In fact, text me when you're in the taxi first... '</div><div> On doors opening, she stepped in, and turned to say goodbye by grabbing his tie with a double twist, giving him a full five second kiss on the lips!</div><div> 'Mwah, Dad-eeee! I'll call you tomorrow... love you!' </div><div> If Neil hadn't yanked his tie quick enough, it may well just have caught in the closing doors! 'Text me when you're in the taxi.' he reminded her again.</div><div> 'Okay-eee!'<br /> As she glided away, Neil let out an enervated sigh, urging his heart rate to drop to normal. The station was near empty, so no-one was really paying attention to her daft antics apart from railway staff. He needed very much to take a seat to come to. 'Why the Hell didn't I just let them use their kitty?' he soughed. He'd never seen Saskia in such a state. Mr Moneybags had stupidly - but kindly - infused an ethanol free-for-all. After a couple of minutes he rose and said: 'Sod it - I'm getting a sausage supper!'</div><div><div> He swaggered his way back to bag some soggy, greasy chips, (hoping that the boys had sodded off) still not quite believing how, in a matter of weeks, life had transformed him from a pertinacious, repetitive human, into a bloke readily on his guard. <i>Oh, Saskia Reymarr, what have you done to me?</i></div><div> <br /><div>^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^<br />Around 10.50 am, she called him at work. Bent over a particularly important document he was trying to finalise with Jacqueline's assistance, the sudden beep of his mobile startled them. Thinking it best to answer, in case it was important, he said rather chirpily, 'Morning, sweetheart... everything okay?'</div><div> 'No, it's not. Dad, I'm so sorry about last night, I hope I didn't embarrass you too much.'</div><div> Neil flicked his eyes across to Jacqueline, who kept her head down but hearing every word. 'It's fine.'</div><div> 'No it's not!' she stated again. 'I don't usually get that drunk and as for that <i>idiot</i> I lamped... you should have heard the way he spoke to us at the bar! I know it's no excuse but please believe it's really not like me, I've been feeling bad all morning...' Bad and with the hangover from Hell. 'Bugger, gotta go; customer. Call me later, yeah?' </div><div> 'Will do.' </div><div> 'Love you, Dad. Bye.' And there she put the phone down on him, giving the back of her neck a good rub; her head feeling way too heavy for it.</div><div> The grin on Jacqueline's face that was downcast, was still pretty clear. 'That sounded fun. Good night last night, then?' she teased. </div><div> 'Mental! Too old for gigs!'</div><div> 'You were at a <i>gig?'</i></div><div><i> </i>'Friends of hers - don't ask.'</div><div> 'I won't.' she said. Wise not to press things anymore. </div><div> If nothing else, he at least got some comfort in knowing that Saskia could handle herself - if such times were to again arise.</div><div><b style="color: #ffd966; font-size: xx-large;"> end of ** <u>IN THE MIDDLE</u>** </b> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div></div></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3413648554069885442.post-30227409460080758242023-06-01T16:31:00.003+01:002023-08-23T17:15:32.141+01:00Breathless (CH 2)<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: #01ffff;"><b> *<u>Breathless</u>*</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>👴</u> </b></span>Relief swept over Saskia at seeing her mother walk towards her through the <i>no thoroughfare </i>corridor with a nurse. Staff had been filling her in on how her father was and it didn't fare well. He'd had a heart attack: not strong enough to have killed him, though bad enough to have him drop to the floor. This would likely leave him vulnerable to future ones, as at home his angina attacks were becoming more frequent and intense. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Stopping in front of Saskia, the nurse left the women outside of Resus, where doctors were still tending to him. The second the nurse was out of earshot, Beverly turned angrily on her daughter.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Why in God's name weren't you home when you said you'd be, it was your weekend to get home early!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I know, I'm sorry, the time just flew by and the second I realised how late it was I went to call him.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> '<i>And </i>you let your phone die!' she added, making Saskia feel worse.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I used Amanda's and after three times of not getting an answer, I hurried home.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'And you didn't think to call me during all this?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Look, I stupidly assumed he must be in bed - I didn't want to worry you, but I knew you usually give him a call as well - thought everything must be okay.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly sighed and slumped heavily into the chair next to Saskia, her heavy-drop earrings swaying recklessly as her head bowed. She knew her father wasn't doing so well and despite both of them not really wanting to admit that he was incrementally changing, they didn't expect this. He was a master at hiding his ailments and his worries, and knew fine his health was put more on the line with any extra exertion. Every morning he joked that he had 'made it another day'<i> </i>in the mornings, and either or both would joke back that they'd have to shoot him<i> </i>to see him off. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> They could hear the flurrying around from the room behind them and felt fear pump through their veins. Heaven knows what the outcome would be but they instinctively knew he wouldn't be coming home any time soon..</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Listen, Saskia, I'm sorry for having a go,' Beverly quietly said - the seriousness of the situation seemed to both sober and soften her. 'I forgot to check on him myself, I know how fast a night out can go - and we damn well work pretty hard all week to earn it - but I've a feeling there'll be a lot of adapting to do.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Grampa will pull through, though, Mum, won't he?' Saskia nervously asked, her face ashen, eyes full of concern.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Course he will.' Beverly smiled and drew her nervous little girl into a hold. 'He's a trooper, you know that!' It was the biggest affirmation she felt she'd ever had to make. All she had to do now was convince herself of it too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> * * * </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The women stared at the near-husk in the air bed, laying on its side, head sunk into super-soft pillows, with sunken eyes in its sockets, no more than a helpless soul. Pain was killing him, while painkillers were killing the precious time they had left. Three quarters of all the visiting hours they managed were spent with him asleep.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Leonard didn't recover from his heart attack with any great promise, his existing health problems worsened instead. During his fall, he had broken his left ulna making matters worse, and from the hospital, he was prudently placed into a nursing home for a number of weeks - something his girls, as he fondly referred to them as, were vehemently against, willing even to take alternate days from work to have him home. But he was savvy enough to know their home wasn't suitable or could be adequately adapted to care for him. His pride wouldn't let them be burdened either. It was a shockingly quick decline, and he was taken back to hospital, especially now his oxygen saturation levels had dropped to critical numbers. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly and Saskia felt helpless. A combination of emphysema, spinal stenosis and acute osteoarthritis was wearying-out his final days, ripping away his once active life in under a year. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Just as they had decided to leave, old Leonard stirred, initially confused at the opening of his eyes. Giving him a minute or two to habituate his surroundings, Beverly squatted beside him, sparing him the need to twist and chance rubbing his bedsores. She smiled at him, stroking the back of her fingers along his clammy brow.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hi Dad, how are you feeling?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Leonard focused in on her and gave a crooked smile back, his words coming in between ragged breaths: 'Oh, you know ... much the same.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hi Grumps!' Saskia said to him, using the nickname she'd called him since a child, although when referring to him it was always Grampa - no N, no D. She crouched down, peering over her mother's shoulder, giving him a smile too. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'We were on our way out, visiting time's nearly up.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Huh,' he sighed, chagrined to know that. 'I've slept through again ... so sorry, love.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Goodness, Dad, you need your sleep when it comes, don't worry about it...'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> This past week had seen a vast plummet in his overall condition. They both knew it, but had been too considerate of the other to broach the matter. Each new visit brought new fear; the dread of seeing an empty bed on arrival. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Will we ring for a nurse to help prop you up?' Saskia asked, his sores far too open and raw for them to comfortably manage this simple task.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Oh, no, no, no. '</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'That's what they're there for Dad. You're really not bothering them, I keep telling you this.' Even in his sorry state he didn't want to feel burdensome. Without hesitation, she had two nurses by his side and painstakingly watched the torture on his face during the few seconds it took. He regained a forced smile and made an attempt at small talk for a few minutes, which did nothing but exhaust him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Listen, Dad, we'll go now, it looks like you need a bit more rest.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly stood, and her father's bony hand flapped by his side, failing to grasp hold a hold onto her. Once he felt her hand grip his, he pulled with what fractional might he had towards her. 'I need to talk to you, Beverly, on your own ... Saskia, sweetheart,' he said meekly, 'can you give your mum and me a minute alone?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Concerned lines formed on his granddaughter's forehead. Usually he was pretty open and forthwith in his concerns. But as much as Saskia felt uneasy by it, she respected his wishes. Kissing him goodbye, she told her mum she'd wait at the end of the corridor for her. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> While there, she was (as most visitors were) pivotally drawn to the strategically placed vending machine, feeling as if feeding it coins was mandatory with every 'wait' one endured. Choosing her overpriced fizz - the sound of the can landing with a thud accentuating in the quiet corridor - she sat with it and pondered over what needed to be said without her. Five minutes later, Beverly appeared.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Mum?' Saskia stood, concerned by her strained expression. 'What is it?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly shook her head. 'I can't talk about it right now.' Whatever it was looked like it had crushed her, hit her for six. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Is he okay?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'He's dying, Saskia, of course he's not okay.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'You know what I mean, Mum ... has he been told anything else we should know about?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Then tell me what he said!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Just leave it for now - please!' Her raised voice turned heads. 'I've a few calls to make in the morning, then I'll fill you in.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia gave up. No point in forcing the matter any more, her mother could be a real headache - worst during stubbornness - when she wanted to. She let it drop and took her mother's stony silence all the way home, then to bed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> * * *</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The phone call to say his final hours were upon him arrived two nights later, the one Saskia and Beverly knew was looming closer. Moved into a side room, those dreaded curtains had been swished fully around him, settling in farewell pleats. His breath had become short, inhales just a rasping struggle draining his life. They were met on arrival and through a blur of motion and colour, followed the nurse to the passing room. Saskia made a sudden halt outside the door.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I can't, Mum,' she gasped, bravery suddenly eluding her. The thought of witnessing her Grampa's final breath was unbearable, and her mother used no ascendancy to make her. She even told her to go home if that was what she wished, knowing he would have vouchsafed such a decision. Seeing him after death felt far less daunting, and felt she still needed to be there for her Mum. No matter how many hours may pass, she'd hang around in the late night cafe and her car. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Gingerly entering the room, all white and clinical with nothing on the walls but vital equipment, Beverly's heart sunk. Leonard always joked he wanted to die in a magnitude of roses, like the colourful ones in his beloved garden and taking a bunch with him through those pearly gates. Instead, he lay prostrate under the lure of death - old-ages' innermost nature - stripped of the scents and the vibrancy. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> She sat slowly down on the chair waiting by him. He was propped up on a cloud of pillows, eyes closed and gently muttering indistinctly every now and then, Beverly grasped his macilent hand and his head turned momentarily towards her. 'Hey, Dad ... I'm here.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Struggling to keep eyes open, Leonard managed to focus on his daughter who was doing an excellent job of keeping the tears at bay. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Ah!' he smiled weakly, 'there's my girl ... I knew you'd ... make ... make it.' Leonard's words came out laboured and scratchy, the tone so low Beverly needed an extra keen ear to hear him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Of course, I would. I'd do anything for my dear old Dad.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'No Saskia?' he was just still able to take in his surroundings.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Trying to find a parking space, Dad...you know how busy it gets.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I know, I know.' he said in agreement, and she wasn't sure if he was able to cotton on to the cover up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Just then, his nurse laid a gentle hand on Beverly's shoulder, whispering that she would leave them alone for a short while, and Beverly knew that her exit meant that now was the time and chance for final exchanges, and where forgiveness, sorrow and secrets come out in unmeasured sincerity.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Make sure you girls both look ... after each other, you ... hear me now?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'We will, Dad.' It was torturous to hear him struggle out just a few words at a time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Tell Saskia I ... I love her.' Now her tears spilled on hearing his own acceptance of his final hours, knowing that by morning he would be dead. 'I'm going to ... miss you, sweet ... heart.' She grasped his hand tighter, and he shook it feebly. 'It's okay, love. I'll be with ... your mum. She'll be waiting ... wh, wh ... with a huge ... bu ... bunch of ... ' His words tailed off, too exhausted for any more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Roses,' Beverly finished for him, and he smiled, grimaced, and let the pain in for it's final go. With a tear rolling down the side of his face, he turned away from his daughter.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Nurse Lawson returned to the room and quietly informed Beverly that they would be upping his pain relief and would most likely be unable to respond any more. With a quiet nod, the nurse injected more morphine and gave the grieving daughter a sorrowful smile and went to fetch her some tea.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In just under an hour there had been no more movement from Leonard other than the rise and fall of his chest. Beverly simply sat staring at his face, knowing it was almost over.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Do you think he knows I'm still here?' Beverly asked as the nurse still hovered about behind her. Even those unresponsive were said to be able to hear what was going on - often a conflicting medical opinion. The nurse, basing her answer on vast experience, told her she doubted it, but encouraged her to still talk to her father if she so wished. There was that tiny hope he might, and that was comforting enough.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The second the doctor entered the room, she knew.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm so sorry, your father's gone.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> An almighty wail released itself from Beverly as she leaned forward embracing herself. No amount of preparation catered her for the actual event, and she wondered how she would ever evaluate the loss.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Come,' said nurse Irene, let's get you into a side room until we sort dad out. Would you like me to fetch your daughter for you?'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I'm ... not sure where she is,' she sniffed heavily, catching her breath.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'She's at the end of the corridor. I'll bring her to you.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Saskia rushed into her mother's arms, hugging with all the strength she had left, cries of grief in unison.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Once the nurse felt they had composed themselves a bit more, she felt them able enough to be left them on their own, telling them on her way out, 'Mr. Reymarr will have to be moved on soon, but he'll be in the same room for now.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <i>Moved on, </i>Beverly repeated in her head, knowing that meant to the morgue. She couldn't quite believe they were talking about her father.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'I can still see him, though?' Saskia asked. 'You'll come too, Mum?' </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Beverly gave a curt nod. 'As long as your sure.' Though it would be Saskia's first time seeing a dead body, she still felt afraid to be doing so, despite it being her loving old Grumps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Of course, just press the call button when you're ready.' And there she left them to gather some preparation breaths.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> * * *</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sleeping. It really did look like he was simply asleep - as goes the theory of mourners. Saskia saw no greyness, just a lack of the usual pinkness of his garden cheeks. His hands had been clasped across his tummy and Saskia reached out her own hand to cover them, instantly recoiling it back as coldness shocked her. But she returned it slowly, rubbing a thumb quickly over the cool skin as if trying to return some warmth. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Hey, Grumps,' she said softly, 'the house is gonna be a whole lot quieter without you.' Beverly took a step back, giving Saskia the space for her goodbye's. 'I'm really going to miss your nagging and tutting, and I promise I'll try to at least keep the garden neat ... well, cut the grass from time to time, you know.'</div><div style="text-align: left;">Memory induced tears started to flow. No previous thought went into what this goodbye would contain, but she knew it would most likely be utter nonsense - always had been since she was a little girl. He had taken the time to listen to the childhood reasoning and ramblings that made him laugh, never once calling them silly or stupid. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Streaking her mascara more across her cheeks as she swiped away the wetness, she giggled softly. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> 'Just look at me Grumps ... you always told me off for crying, said tears were a waste of time, and here's me blubbing away in front of you!'</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Making extra sure her lips and nose were dry, she leaned down and kissed his cheek. Despite his many wrinkles, his skin felt as smooth as it did cold. Although her words were brief, they were enough. Between grandfather and granddaughter, there were no vital deathbed exchange of words, nothing to apologise for, or to reveal. 'Say hi to nana for me ... ' And with that she turned to leave. Being the driver she wanted to do her best to compose herself before the journey home. 'Get you back at the car, Mum.' She whispered on her way out.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Now a sole daughter stood looking at the only man she'd ever truly and unconditionally loved. One who sacrificed and swallowed his own hurt in life to protect his family. A man ascetic in life, and so doughty though fragile in death, that stubborn heart having lasted as long as it could for his girls. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> A giggle from a nearby room roused her from her thoughts. A heart here breaking, and there was laughter. Sudden stark realism hit that to these people her plight to them was but another day's work. All they were most likely wanting to do was store her father in the morgue, get the deed over with so they could have yet another coffee break and hope no other oldie pegs it through the night.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> Letting out a deep breath, she turned sharply, hands stuffed in coat pockets and made her way out with no thanks or goodbye's to the hospital staff. The medical certificate could be collected at some other time, she needed to get out of here.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> * * *</div><div style="text-align: left;">The funeral passed in a haze of the usual sympathies and dismal smiles with follow-up promises that people rarely keep. It was simple and understated with a minimum of friends. With Leonard having been an only child himself, relatives were few and moving to the outskirts of London kept him long out of touch with bygone associates. Friends of Saskia's attended for moral support - some having not known Leonard at all - leaving neighbours and a few friends of Beverly's to make up the rest.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> While it is usually the case that younger people bounce back from grief quicker due to their network of friends and their quiddity, Saskia was coming to grips with her loss while Beverly wasn't quite getting there. She'd become sluggish and took to drinking alone at night. Despite repeated invites to do something other than working, Saskia struggled to get her mum involved with anything to help take the place of this inertia. Tears had dried up, even by the day of the funeral, and Saskia worried that a lack of releasing grief would hold her back from getting over death, but was refusing yet to talk about him much at any point so far. Even when Saskia fondly quipped that part of her couldn't believe he won’t come bouncing around some corner, or laugh for falling for his elaborate joke, she was told to shut up and not be so stupid. She could accept that people could go cold inside, put up a barrier, even let empathy wither and die; feeling it better to be insentient than tackle the hurt underneath. But she was here for her mum, who seemed determined of going it alone. What Beverly didn't expect and couldn't handle was the feeling that her father had deserted her, leaving her to struggle.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div> A turning point came after Beverly received a letter from the nursing home requesting her father's personal belongings be collected. Since Leonard's fee had always been paid in advance, legally his room and its contents could remain until such a monetary period was up - despite how needed the rooms were. Asking Saskia to help her in this daunting task was at least getting her out of the house.</div><div><br /></div><div> * * *</div><div>Stepping inside room 23 felt awful. A sweet or stale fragrance no longer swam in the air, just a cold occasional breeze from the open window. Staring at the empty chair felt strange, like he was about to return from the sitting room or library. His bed was draped with his clothes and two bags of toiletries sat on top of them. The walls were still adorned with pictures, and ornaments and plants yet stood on the sideboard and the windowsill. </div><div> 'We have already sorted out a few things,' the accompanying nurse said, 'but we're not sure how much you want to remove.' Beverly knew by saying <i>how much you want to remove, </i>really meant <i>how much do you want us to keep</i> - especially the television and music players. The majority of deaths in the nursing home ended with relatives donating clothes and electrical appliances for less privileged patients - especially ones placed with funds from the council. The nurse hung about for a few moments with a <i>'well, what's it to be?'</i> grin on her expecting-generosity face. Beverly deliberately held her silence a long awkward moment - just until the uncomfortableness kicked in a bit longer - before turning her back to the nurse. 'Yeah ... well, we'll let you know once we're done.' The nurse said nothing in reply and walked out the door.</div><div> Beverly turned to find Saskia in a berating pose - all wide-eyed and purse-lipped. 'What!?' She raised her palms upwards, and let her mouth gape open before giving a puckish smile. 'Bloody vultures!' If nothing else, it was a relief to have her mum back, somewhat, to her old self again.</div><div> 'Okay .. where do we begin?'</div><div> Beverly picked up a bag with the nursing home's logo on it, from the bed and threw the flimsy thing, catching in the air a second or two, towards her. 'You start with the sideboard drawers and I'll do the bedside cabinets.'</div><div> Saskia helped herself during the clear out, by accepting the daft notion that old Grumps was in the room with them. A quiet hum strummed up from Beverly as mother and daughter went through a yes or no list of what goods and chattels should be up for donation.</div><div><div><br /></div><div> As Beverly sifted through the magazine rack, tossing old puzzle books, magazines and such like on to the chair behind her, the song she'd been lightly singing to herself, abruptly stopped. Lifting her head to see why, Saskia watched her staring at a page in a newspaper. A deep, pained frown formed on her head and she threw the paper fiercely on to the chair, dissipating the growing heap to the floor.</div></div><div> 'Mum, what is it ... what's wrong?'</div><div> Beverly stood ignoring her. With closed eyes and hand over her mouth, she stood shaking her head gulping in air in mouthfuls.</div><div> 'Mum?' Saskia prompted again.</div><div> 'It ... it's nothing, baby, just ... just these answers in a crossword your Grampa had been doing, they're all nonsense. Must have been the medication or something, eh? It just hurt a bit there, you know how good he was at them.' </div><div> 'Yeah, and <i>so</i> determined! Aw, Mum,' Saskia went to her for a hug. 'Let me do this, eh?'</div><div> 'No, no, it's okay, really. There are some books and a couple of his gardening magazines I'd like to keep. You finish up in the drawers and I'll finish up here, there's not much to go.'</div><div> In the end the women left with only a largish box and a two half filled flimsy bags worth of Leonard - the vultures getting the TV and CD system as desired.</div><div> On the way out, Beverly went to the reception desk to finalise any bills and to sign for the more important personal documents and effects of her father's. Old Leonard. Over and out.</div><div> Back at the car, Beverly suggested they head off for lunch somewhere, since they managed to sort out cover at work for the full day. Despite how difficult the morning had been, Saskia regarded the suggestion a positive step. Upwards and onwards. But little did she know that there was more heartache and asperity ahead. In another turn of events, an additional struggle was about to enter their world, busting through the door without the decency of knocking first. </div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div><div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div>Helenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13447013188405986054noreply@blogger.com0