With Age Comes Experience

by Nickton©

 

THEY say ‘With Age Comes Experience’. They also say ‘Life Begins at 40′. Then again, ‘They’, whoever ‘They’ are, say a lot of things, most of them pretty pointless, when you think about it. But I’ll let them off about the Life Begins at 40 bit – it’s near enough. In my case, it began at 42.

That was a few years back, mind, but it was one of the best, most exciting, most liberating yet bittersweet times of my life. And now my past was coming back to – well – maybe not haunt me, but confront me, and the butterflies in my stomach were churning.
I wandered into the kitchen for the umpteenth time to see Rose busily preparing the salad and Hannah putting the finishing touches to the trifle. Delicious smells of a superb roast dinner wafted out of the oven and I felt my mouth watering. But still those butterflies overcame the pangs of hunger. Because I’d be seeing her again.

“How’s it coming along?” I enquired, with a jollity I didn’t really feel.

“It’s just fine, Dad!” exclaimed Hannah. “Same as it was ten minutes ago!”

Rose turned round from her salad preparations. “For goodness’ sake Clem, why don’t you just go down to the Golf Club for a pint with Bob?” she chided, although gently, in her usual way.

I felt myself smiling as I took a good, long look at my beautiful partner. Lustrous red hair (admittedly tinted, but weren’t we all a bit grey nowadays?), low cut fashionable rugby shirt which only a girl of Hannah’s age or a woman with plenty of sex appeal at Rose’s age could wear well and figure-hugging jeans. Any wrinkles she had were definitely laughter-lines and her greeny-blue eyes regarded me as they always did – with an exasperated fondness, underpinned by a deep loving.

“I’m being a bit of a nuisance, aren’t I?” I said sheepishly, with the slight shrug and little-boy-lost look which Rose found endearing. Most of the time anyway.

“Yes, you are, Dad.” Hannah interjected. “They might not be here for another hour at least. It’ll be all right, I said it would. Daniel’s cool.”

“And they’re coming from different directions, so there’s plenty of time for you to go and have that pint, Clem.” said Rose. “Now – off you go and let us do our womanly work, toiling away in the master’s kitchen.” Hannah gave a mock snort of derision, although she grinned at Rose’s joke.

I held my hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’m off,” I said. “I’m just going to check something on the computer, then I’ll be out of your hair, okay?”

I reversed out through the kitchen door to a chorus of exaggerated Byeeeeeees from the two women in my life. Yes, a drink would be good – it’d settle my nerves if nothing else.

I crossed through the living room into the adjoining den, pausing only to pour myself a scotch from the well-stocked drinks cabinet. I had no intention of going into my study, I had another plan. I ran my finger along the several volumes of photograph albums on one of the upper shelves of the tall den bookcase, selected the right one and pulled it down. I blew the dust off, eliciting an indignant snuffly sneeze from Ridley, my Chocolate Labrador who was, as ever, sprawled across the battered old couch.

“Sorry fella,” I muttered absently, patting him on the head. “No, no don’t get up – I’ll sit over here, shall I?”

As I sat down in the patched old armchair opposite the couch, Ridley, oblivious to the sarcasm in his master’s voice, yawned expansively and settled himself even further down into the couch cover, having had no intention whatsoever of getting up. He’d had his morning run, that was it now until late afternoon as far as he was concerned.

I shook my head at the supreme laziness of certain members of the Labrador breed and then began to flip through the album. As I knew, it was pictures of the family when the kids were teenagers, just before and just after Maggie did her flit. There she was, in fact, looking as arrogantly confident as she always had, designer clothes, big earrings, perched on the couch with Hannah one side and Daniel on the other, her arm round Daniel. Hannah was smiling, but only for the camera’s benefit. Daniel had always been Maggie’s favourite, Then again, he was male, the fact that he was her son was just incidental.

I smiled wistfully as I flipped over the page to find a couple of the last pictures I’d ever taken of Rufus, my old Golden Retriever, lying out on the lawn, enjoying the sunshine, a dog in the autumn of his life but content for all that. As always, I felt the lump grow in my throat and the slight sting of tears in my eyes when I thought of Rufus, so I skipped the page and then – there she was!

Samantha. Sammy to everyone.

Both pages I was looking at contained a montage of different photographs of Hannah and Sammy. Best friends and what a pair they were! Hannah, the slightly more serious brunette with fuller figure, in contrast to Sammy, with her strawberry blonde hair, deep blue eyes and slim figure.

Hannah and Sammy in party dresses, off out to the disco, or club, or whatever it was, 15 year-old man killers, wearing blue eye shadow and very little else. Sammy and Hannah messing about in the paddling pool with next door’s younger kids, Hannah in the one-piece dark blue swimming costume, Sammy in the pink bikini. Hannah and Sammy in school uniform, ties loose, collars open wide, hugging each other and larking about in the garden and in Hannah’s room, supposedly doing homework.

Hannah looking serious as she planted a shrub in the garden. Sammy looking wickedly amused behind her, wearing lurid sunglasses and a skimpy green tank top, belly button showing, the rose tattoo clearly visible on her shoulder. Ah yes, the tattoo… that’s what started it all really.

I slowly closed the album and sipped my scotch, letting my thoughts drift back three, no, four years to that fateful day…

* * * * *

“All right, Mr Clements?”

I looked up from my newspaper and smiled as Sammy bounced into the living room alongside Hannah.

“That time already is it?” I said, casting a glance at the mantelpiece clock which indicated just after 4.15. “School okay, was it?”

“It was school,” muttered Hannah, undoing her tie and flopping down into an armchair, grabbing the remote and flicking the TV on, rapidly scrolling through all the satellite channels in ten seconds flat.

“That’s the Sixth Form for you,” I said, “The work gets harder.”

“It wasn’t too bad. Had Double Maths last thing though,” trilled Sammy, plopping down onto the couch next to me, just slightly too close as she always did, and then shifting along further. “You had a good day, Mr Clements?”

I couldn’t help but look down her open blouse, catching a glimpse of a pink, lacy bra beneath. As if sensing this (sensing? She knew!!!), Sammy loosened her tie a bit more to allow more of her cleavage to be shown. She wasn’t a tart, not like some of the girls of her age at the school, but she was well aware of her charms – and why not? She was extremely attractive.

“Not bad, thanks, Samantha,” I said recovering myself slightly and trying to sound like a grown-up. “And I’ve told you before, Love, call me Clem. Everyone else does, it’s okay.”

I stood up, hoping to God she wouldn’t see the telltale bulge in my trousers. She beamed up at me, bright blue eyes flashing. “Thanks Clem,” she said, “And call me Sammy. Everyone else does.”

“Oh right – of course. Sammy it is,” I said. “Ummm… cup of tea. Sammy? Hannah?”

Hannah grunted, which I took to be a yes, while Sammy said pleasantly, “Yes please, Clem. Milk, no sugar, remember?”

“Tea will be served shortly, young Misses,” I replied, in a posh, butler-type voice.

Sammy laughed. “You’re more fun than my dad,” she giggled. “Especially with your old 80s music. You’re cool, Mr Clem – um – Clem – you know that?”

Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Pul-leeeeease!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t think your Old Man’s cool then, kiddo?” I chuckled. “I was a New Romantic, I’ll have you know. Not that long ago, either!”

With that I swiftly gyrated towards the kitchen, singing the old Adam Ant lyrics; “Unplug the juke box, and do us all a favouuuurrrr. This music’s got no taste, so try another flavouuuuuurr!” attempting to do the dance steps at the same time. Sammy laughed. Hannah pulled a cushion over her face. Once in the kitchen I blushed. Just what was I trying to prove and why? I was 42 for God’s sake, not 22! Acting the way I did with Sammy wasn’t being very grown up! I was old enough to be her father, after all.

Rufus yawned and stretched on his big, soft doggy beanbag next to the washing machine and gave me a quizzical look.

“Don’t ask.” I said.

I busied myself with the tea, which I brought into the living room on a tray for the girls, left it on the coffee table in front of them and excused myself to my study. “Dinner’ll be at 7.30, Hannah,” I said. “Does Sammy want to stay?”

Hannah stood up and picked up her school bag and mug of tea. “We’re going to my room to do our homework,” she said. “You wanna stay, Sammy?”

“I can’t tonight,” said Sammy, looking genuinely regretful. “Sorry Clem – you’re a great cook an’ all. I always like your meals.” She followed Hannah, mug in hand, paused at the living room door and smiled at me. A really nice smile, lips parted, white teeth showing and the tip of her pink tongue. A sexy smile.

“See you later, Clem,” she said, quietly.

* * * * *

I spent the next few days thinking about Sammy. Not constantly, but frequently. Yes, sure I was old enough to be her father, but she wasn’t my daughter. She was a very attractive, 18 year-old, not a kid, a young woman. Okay, she as still at school, but that didn’t make her any the less attractive. All the same though, I chided myself, I shouldn’t be harbouring thoughts like that about one of my daughter’s friends. If I wanted female company, I should try looking for someone closer to my own age.

The fact was though; I hadn’t had any female company since Maggie had finally gone. Hadn’t wanted any.

So I busied myself with work – these days I was working as a consultant from home and could e-mail anything which was needed rather than spend tediously long hours in office meetings. Was I ever glad that I was able to leave that job and set up to work from home? And it was nice to know that the money wasn’t too much of a problem these days.

Rufus got his regular walks – even though he was a lot slower and stiffer than he used to be, thanks to advancing years, and I would meet up with Bob, Reefer and some of the lads at the King’s Arms for a pint or two. Bob was always trying to get me to join the golf club, saying how I’d really enjoy the game, but somehow I always resisted. Perhaps one day….

In keeping busy and occupying my time, I wasn’t thinking about Sammy. Well, not every often anyway. The trouble as, she often came home from school with Hannah and my thoughts about her intensified. It wasn’t just simple middle-aged lustings, I was sure of that. Sammy flirted with me outrageously at times, so it was as much her doing as mine.

Confirmation of her feelings about me came one afternoon in late September. I’d been working in my study, busily communicating with an American client by Instant Messenger, so I’d lost all track of time. When I’d finished the conversation and e-mailed the required documents, I glanced at my watch and realised that it was nearly five o’clock. Hannah must be home from school by now, but I hadn’t heard her come in.

I went out into the hall and listened up the stairs. I heard music playing and was amused to hear that it was Duran Duran – Hannah must’ve got one of my old cassette tapes on in her room. I walked up the stairs and paused outside her door; ready to knock when I heard voices. The music wasn’t too loud, so I could discern most of the words. I could hear Sammy’s voice clearly. Suddenly, the song came to an end and the music stopped abruptly. The tape must have finished. The girls carried on talking.

“Oh, but he can be so embarrassing about his music sometimes,” said Hannah, obviously referring to her Dear Old Dad.

“Leave it out,” chided Sammy, coming to my defence, “Your Dad’s cool. He’s nothing like my Dad. At least he’s not boring and always going on about school work and complaining about your clothes.”

I felt myself blush slightly. She was standing up for me!

“Yeah, I s’pose so,” came Hannah’s voice. She seemed a little further away, so I figured she must have been fiddling with her tape deck. “He’s pretty easy about most things. I reckon he’s just happy to have a quiet life since my Mum went.”

“You never say much about her,” said Sammy curiously. “I never used to come round for ages when she was here. What was she like?”

“I never used to ask anyone round because of her,” replied Hannah quickly. “Anyway, she’s gone now, so that’s it. Dad’s happy enough I think.”

“Has he got a girlfriend?” giggled Sammy.

Hannah giggled back. “At his age?”

I felt myself scowling. Cheeky little…

“He’s not that old! I bet he’s got loads of women after him!”

“I dunno. Maybe he has. Horrible thought, though, having sex at that age, isn’t it? If he has, he never brings them back here.”

The music started again and I took a few quiet steeps away from the door, then walked briskly forward and rapped on the door. “You home Love? Is Sammy with you?”

Hannah opened the door. She’d changed into her usual casual attire of crop top and jeans. Sammy was sitting on the end of her bed, still wearing her school uniform – or most of it anyway. She cocked her head round and flashed me a brilliant smile and a little wave. “Hi Clem!” she said, perkily.

“I’m doing dinner in a while,” I said. “Would you like to stay, Sammy?”

She enthused that she would, so I set to in the kitchen, my ego somewhat boosted by Sammy’s robust defence of me to my own daughter. I was cool! And she must fancy me – it was obvious!

Dinner (beef bourguignon) was gratefully received by both girls when I placed it in front of them. Sammy’s eyes widened when I placed three bottles of ice cold Budweiser on the table. “Go on,” I smiled, “It’s only light. One won’t get you drunk, I bet you drink far more than that usually.” I raised my own bottle and took a swig. “Cheers!”

“Cheers” responded Sammy, taking a swig. Hannah rolled her eyes but she, too, took a swig.

“That reminds me,” I said, reaching across to a pile of papers on an unoccupied dining chair. “I got these photos back today. They’re from August when we were planting the shrubs in the back garden, the day before your 18th birthday party, Sammy. I bet you had plenty to drink then!”

“Yeah, so did Hannah,” giggled Sammy, ignoring the ‘daggers’ from my daughter.

I passed the photo envelope over to them and the girls leafed through the photos, laughing and exclaiming at how they looked.

“You can see your tattoo nicely there, Sammy.” I said, leaning across and pointing at the photo of her standing behind Hannah, who was planting a shrub. I felt Sammy’s cheek brush against my arm, with slightly more contact than was needed. I withdrew my arm, but slowly.

“Yeah,” she said, sadly. “I’m having it removed next month, though, Clem.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Oh, my Dad’s been anal about it ever since I got it done, and that was ages ago, on my 16th birthday for God’s sake,” she exclaimed, her brow furrowing. “Anyway, I’ve got fed up with it too, because it wasn’t really what I wanted. Anyway, he’s forking out to have it removed by laser surgery.”

“I wouldn’t let my Dad tell me what to do like that,” said Hannah. “Not to do with my body.”

I shot her a filthy look. “I wouldn’t be uptight like that, would I?” I snapped. “Did I mind when you had your ears pierced a second time? Or had the belly button stud put in?”

“All right, all right,” muttered Hannah, attacking her food moodily. “You’re cool, aren’t you Dad?”

I saw hers and Sammy’s eyes meet. Sammy scowled. Now what was all that about?

* * * * *

It was two weeks later when things came to a head. Literally.

It was a bright, crisp, mid-October day. Blue sky, warm sunshine and the leaves changing colour, a slight nip in the air. Rufus had enjoyed his walk in the park, snuffling through fallen leaves and I had a spring in my step. Days like this just made one feel glad to be alive. Especially after how bad things had been for me…

I’d not long been home, having just cleared away the plate on which I’d had a sandwich and was contemplating another cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Rufus raised his head from the bed and gave a half-hearted bark then flopped down again. The walk had worn him out.

I walked down the hallway, unsure of the silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass of the front door. I was surprised and delighted to find Sammy there when I opened it.

She looked up at me and smiled, a rather shy smile, head slightly cocked on one side. She was wearing her school uniform including her blazer, and was rather awkwardly holding her rucksack-bag on her left shoulder, as opposed to the right, which she usually favoured. “Hi Clem,” she said.

“Come in Sammy,” I said, recovering myself quickly. “I’m just about to brew up. You fancy a cuppa? Er – Hannah’s not here.” I cursed the stupidity of my last remark. Of course Hannah wasn’t here. She’d be at school for the next couple of hours.

“I – er- had a free afternoon,” said Sammy, “Study time, y’know? But I wasn’t feeling up to it. My shoulder’s aching.”

“Is it?” I asked, closing the door after her and noticing that she was removing her blazer very gingerly. I took the blazer and hung it up on a wall peg. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s where I had the tattoo removed,” winced Sammy, walking through to the kitchen as I motioned her to with my hand. “It’s been over a week, but it still stings.”

“Of course, the tattoo, yes,” I said, dropping tea bags into two mugs then pouring boiling water onto them. “Did the hospital manage to remove it okay?”

Sammy sat down at the kitchen table and unbuttoned her cuff, and began to roll her blouse sleeve up, pulling it as high as she could, trying to get expose her shoulder. I felt my groin hardening at the sight of her doing this, my mouth suddenly becoming very dry indeed.

Sammy gave up on the sleeve and pulled it down. She tugged back her open collar (two top buttons undone, I noticed), revealing her slender shoulder. It looked smooth and pale, like the rest of her skin, except for a small pink patch at the end, where the tattoo had been removed.

“It stings more than when I had the bloody thing done.” she said, delicately tapping he pink patch. “And all my Dad goes on about is how much it cost him to have it done private. Stingy git! The surgeon was one of his mates and did it on the cheap anyway.”

I couldn’t help myself… I had to touch that soft skin. Just to show concern. Also… also to show my interest. If I felt her react against it, I wouldn’t pursue it and everything would be fine.

“May I?” I asked, delicately running my fingers across her shoulder to the end, stroking the pink patch and then running my fingers back towards her neck. I noticed she had a leather thong necklace on, with some sort of Celtic cross pendant attached. My index finger ran under this and pulled it up slightly. “Um… nice necklace,” I said, hoarsely.

Sammy slowly reached and put her hand on my hand and extracted my finger from her necklace. That’s it, I thought, she’s offended. She thinks I’m a dirty old man out to grope her…

But instead she laid my fingers flat on her shoulder again and gently guided them along her shoulder and back again, then nuzzling down into my hand. I could feel the warmth of her cheek.

I reached my other hand behind her head, stroking her hair, highlighted by the sun shining through the kitchen window and traced my fingers round her cheek and under her chin, which I gently moved up so she was looking directly at me. Her eyes sparkled, deep and blue, her lips, smeared with only the most delicate pink lip gloss, parted, showing her even, white teeth. I bent down towards her, my breath rather ragged, but I veered away towards her shoulder and kissed the pink patch lightly. I felt her squirm with pleasure and sigh deeply. I took a chance, kissing her further along her shoulder, then on the side of her neck.

“Clem,” she moaned dreamily, her eyes half closed, her mouth opening wider. I pressed my lips onto hers, tasting the sweetness of them, gently tugging at her bottom lip with mine. I felt her tongue touch my lips, and my tongue responded by touching hers, a frisson of excitement coursing between us. I pulled her closer to me, my tongue thrusting into her mouth, exploring her, tasting her, whilst her tongue insistently burrowed its way into my mouth, flicking across my tongue, urging me on. I felt her hands grip me in a surprisingly strong embrace, one gripping my shirt on the shoulder, the other around my waist, pulling me to her.

I had to say that the position was quite painful on my back, so I gently pulled her to her feet, which was much better for us both, our lips still locked. I ran my hand through her silky hair, tickling the back of her neck and feeling her tense with pleasure. I pulled her school tie undone and began to swiftly unbutton her blouse, my fingers shaking, wanting simply to rip it open to save time. Perhaps she felt the same way. As I was tugging the blouse out of her waistband, fumbling with the last three buttons, she reached down, grabbed each side of the blouse and ripped it open, the buttons plinking onto the floor, allowing me to pull it down her shoulders and slip it off her arms.

I pulled back from her lips and looked down at her. She was wearing a white satin bra, simple but attractive, her breasts not too big, not too small, snugly encased in the half cups. I reached behind her and tugged the fastening undone. The bra loosened and fell forward, her breasts still covered. She held her arms out so that I could pull the bra away from them, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were pert and firm, her nipples pink and inviting, already erect and hard. I bent forward and licked each in turn. Feeling her moan loudly with pleasure, her fingers digging into my shoulders and twisting my hair. I increased the pressure of my sucking; pulling each nipple towards me and then releasing it back.

Just as the pleasure reached its crescendo, my erection now threatening to burst through my flies, the first real arousal I’d had in years, rationality clicked in. I hugged her close to me, feeling her heart beating furiously, savouring the warmth of her flesh and her sweet smell of arousal.

“Are we mad or what?” I whispered, licking my lips in a futile attempt to moisten my dry mouth.

“Yes, I think we are,” she whispered back. She looked up at me, her expression one of deep yearning, of longing… of need. “Please Clem,” she said quietly. “Shag me. Fuck me, I want you. Please.”

“Are you sure?” I forced myself to say, my voice seeming to come from a long way off. “You’re – you’re only 18. You’re Hannah’s best friend. I-I’m old enough to be –”

“Sushhhh”! she chided, gently placing two fingers on my lips. “You’re not my Dad, you’re Clem. And I fancy you, I’ve fancied you for ages. And you fancy me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, yes I do,” I gasped. “And you’re sure…?”

She clung to me, limpet like, one of her legs rising and her knee rubbing against my groin, savouring the hardness within. That was answer enough.

I knew I’d never make it upstairs in time. I was too close to ejaculation for that. It’d been too long since I’d made love properly. I hadn’t even wanked for two years.

Making a decision, I scooped Sammy up in my arms, as she squealed with delight, kicking her platform shoes off, leaving just her white pop socks on her feet as I carried her out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the den, which, being at the back of the house, was less likely to be the focus of any callers. The window itself was partially obscured by a Cyprus tree that had shot up, this adding a cool greeny light to the cluttered room.

I kicked the door shut behind us, my back protesting, even though Sammy wasn’t exactly heavy, and I lowered her down onto the couch, almost falling on top of her.

She gleefully pulled me down onto her, kissing my rough cheeks, rubbing her hands over my stubble – I hadn’t shaved that day – digging her long nails into my back as I sat astride her, kissing her all over her slender body, licking, sucking, nibbling.

My erection was now throbbing so painfully I could bear it no longer. I wrenched Sammy’s short black skirt up and ran my hands over her thong. My fingers almost immediately slipped past the damp material into her moist, inviting pussy. I tugged at the thong, Sammy bending her legs to help me. The material ripped and it was off, slung aside, eliciting a giggle from Sammy. She sat up, lunged forward and pulled my belt undone, tugging at the fastening on my jeans. I helped by unbuttoning it, but allowed her to wrench the zipper down. Her eyes widened when she saw the huge bulge in my boxer shorts. My eyes widened too – I didn’t believe I was this aroused!

She seemed afraid to reach in through the flap and pull my cock free, so I eased it out myself, allowing the grateful member spring to attention, the purple head throbbing, glistening at the tip with precum.

She bent forward, trying to lick it, but I gently pushed her back onto the couch, knowing that I couldn’t maintain this for many more moments. I positioned myself carefully over her inviting hole and then slowly eased down.

She was tight. Very tight, and she yelped as I sought entry.

“Sorry,” I whispered, pulling back and then slowing easing forward again. She smiled and brought her legs up, wrapping them tightly around my waist, drawing me down to her.

And then I was in, a sudden thrust, a cry of pain from Sammy and I had plunged into her depths. She lay back gasping, then nodded her head vigorously, to urge me on. In, out, forwards back, harder, faster…. She moved her hips in motion with my thrusts, a little awkwardly at first until she got the rhythm, gripping me tightly, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her mouth open. I felt her clit rubbing against my cock as it moved, her cunt walls squeezing me tight, contracting. I felt the pressure growing, my knees weakening and then the merciful, grateful torrential release. Spurting hot and wet deep into her, filling her, mingling with her own juices. Her body spasmsed and the contraction grew tighter as she climaxed with me, a long drawn-out scream breaking free from her mouth, a long, incoherent moan from me.

A few more spasms and we lay there, locked together, gasping and sweating. I supported my weight on my elbows and looked down at her, brushing her long hair from her eyes, delicately caressing her cheek. Her lithe body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, the patch on her shoulder standing out almost red against the pink of her flushed skin. She opened her eyes and looked up at me, her chest heaving with exertion. I straightened her necklace for her and held my fingers to her lips. She sucked them the held my hand to her left breast, where I began to tease her nipple into her even greater erectness.

“Clem,” she gasped, fighting to catch her breath. “That was fucking amazing!”

I swallowed and struggled to control my breathing: “With age comes experience!”

* * * * *

I looked across at the battered old couch, smiling as Ridley yawned and turned over in his sleep. Yes. That was where we’d first fucked, all that time ago. And what a wonderful memory it was, too.

Almost as sweet was the memory of those long moments when we lay there, after that first, mad session, cuddling close to each other, sharing each other’s warmth, gently exploring each other’s bodies with our fingers and just talking…

* * * * *

“Do you miss her at all?”

Sammy nodded towards a framed family photograph on the bookcase opposite. It was on old one, Maggie and me with the kids when they were a lot younger. The perfect family. Yeah, right.

“No, not at all,” I said firmly, then amended, rather more thoughtfully, “No, I do miss Maggie, the Maggie I fell in love with, the Maggie I married. But she died a long time ago, long before Hannah’s Mother left.”

“I don’t remember a lot about her,” whispered Sammy, gently stroking my cheek, concern in her eyes at my obvious pain. “I only met her once or twice. She seemed very – very –.”

“Remote?” I suggested.

“Yes. Remote. Sort of – disinterested, y’know? I remember Hannah being really upset that her Mum didn’t praise her up for some good marks she got for some project, and that was ages ago. Hannah hardly ever talks about her now.”

“Well, she was jealous of Hannah,” I said. “Hannah is everything she wasn’t. Genuinely attractive, friendly, intelligent – full of natural charm and grace. Something she’d never have in a million years.”

And then the words came tumbling out of me, almost like a valve had been released deep inside me – almost as if the rampant, furious love-making – okay, the raw sex then – had set it off. I told Sammy how Maggie had become increasingly disinterested in the children as they grew up, although she’d always make a point of praising Daniel over Hannah, because Hannah was my daughter, always had been Daddy’s Girl. No way was Daniel ever gong to be Daddy’s Boy, and she’d succeeded in that. I told her how Maggie’s tastes had become more extravagant, how she belittled my efforts to find work when I was made redundant, through no fault of my own at age 33. How she conveniently overlooked the fact that within a year I’d found a better job, one where I could work more from home and spend more time with the family. How she’d become totally turned off the idea of sex with me, and how she’d refused to go to any kind of marriage guidance or counselling, instead forcing me into declaring we had an ‘Open Marriage’.

“That basically meant she was free to fuck anything with a penis and a pulse, but if I so much as looked at another woman, it was shrieks of ‘who was that whore you were speaking to? Which tart do you want to shag now then?’ I couldn’t bring any guests home to entertain for work or even socially, she’d just slag me off in front of them, make me look stupid,” I said, grimly. “She was a nightmare. And when she started to get into drugs well….”

My voice trailed off. Sammy looked at me with genuine concern etched on her young face. She kissed me and held me tightly. “I’m so, so sorry Clem,” she whispered, “I had no idea.”

“No-one did,” I snapped with an anger that made Sammy flinch. I swiftly smoothed her hair and pulled her closer to me, noticing that she fitted snugly against my side.

I told Sammy that, to Maggie’s credit – just – she never openly did the drugs at home. But I had known she started on the drugs. I noticed money bleeding out of our bank account. I even had to divert funds to a separate, secret account to make sure we got the mortgage paid each month and had housekeeping money. That’s when I started on the freelance consultancy work, too, to bring in extra money, just so she couldn’t get her grubby mitts on it. But I found evidence of her drug taking in discarded syringes in the bathroom bin, carelessly wrapped in panty liner bags, I saw the redness of her nostrils every time she’d been snorting coke. And the arguments!

“Why didn’t you leave her? Or throw her out?” exclaimed Sammy angrily. “I’d have battered the miserable cow to a pulp if it was me.”

“Easy to say, harder to do in practice,” I said. “She was always very good at making out I hit her, to anyone who’d listen. She used to goad me, just so’s I would hit her

and she could get the law involved. She wanted me out of here, and then she could divorce me for cruelty or for desertion, get half of everything. But I stayed for the kids’ sakes.”

I went on to tell Sammy about that wonderful day when Maggie announced she was leaving for good. She’d hooked up with some rich old fart who lived way up north – Durham it was – and she demanded a divorce. I told her to go fuck herself and her boyfriend. She just snapped that she’d wait two years, then file for divorce herself and still get half of everything because she was entitled to it.

I then told Sammy the worst bit – Daniel went with her. He was older than Hannah, just 17 to her 15 and he took his Mum’s side.

” I don’t think lover boy was too chuffed when her son moved in too, but it wasn’t for long. Daniel did what he always wanted to do and went into the RAF. He’s an officer cadet, doing quite well for himself. And yes, I do miss him. We haven’t spoken since the funeral, and that was two years ago.”

I finished the story with the best bit – the fateful telephone call, just over two years ago, from Durham police. Maggie had been found dead, apparently during a drug-fuelled sex game with her lover, which had gone wrong. The inquest was all over pretty quickly and with absolutely no press coverage, because Chummy was apparently involved in the local media somehow – as a director or owner of a newspaper, I think. That suited me anyway – I didn’t want Hannah or Daniel to be the butt of jokes made about their infamous mother.

The good thing was, she was still technically my wife and, after a bit of wrangling, the life insurance paid up. Not a fortune, but enough to pay off most of the mortgage, allow me to give up my job and just stick with the consultancy work, which was much more lucrative. And best of all, I could be a better parent to Hannah – the poor kid deserved some stability after all the shit she’d had to put up with and witness over the past few years.

“You’re a good Dad, Clem,” sighed Sammy. “I wish my Dad was like you.”

“Oh, he loves you, I’m sure,” I soothed, “You know what us Dads are like about our daughters – ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ and all that. Except Hannah thinks I’m just embarrassing now.”

“Clem – you’re cool!” said Sammy. “I’ve told Hannah that. And I should know – I’m her best mate!”

With that she slid over me, straddling me, her lithe, young body vibrant and lovely. She swiftly unbuttoned my shirt, helping me to shrug it off, and then she bent lower and pulled my jeans and boxer shorts off. I kicked my own socks off, noticing with some amusement that she was still wearing her white pop socks. It looked endearing and very sexy.

It only took a few licks of her little pink tongue across the tip of my aching cock to restore it to its former glory. She sucked hard on the head, drawing it into her, her tongue still probing the very tip, her teeth gently rubbing up and down the shaft and she moved her head backwards and forwards, encouraging me to match her rhythm with upwards pelvic thrusts. I was pleased to note that, in its fully erect state, only half of my cock fitted inside her mouth.

Having brought me nearly to climax again, Sammy slowly released my throbbing member and lowered herself onto it, her cunt wide and glistening. She was still a tight fit, but not quite as tight as before, and it felt so sweet. She began to buck downwards on me, my urgent upwards thrusts meeting her, my hands on her slender hips, forcing her even further down, my cock penetrating into her hidden depths.

Twice in less than half an hour! Hell, I hadn’t had once in two years!

Once again, we both climaxed simultaneously, this time with a warm buzz rather than a hot explosion. I could feel our juices running out from her sated cunt and onto my legs. She slid off me, snuggling up again. Drawing her legs up to prevent my precious cum from draining out of her.

I glanced at the wall clock. “We’d better be getting dressed, Hannah’ll be home shortly.”

“Okay,” she sighed, contentedly. “Just a couple more minutes eh? This is so comfortable.”

“Uh – Sammy….” I began, as a sudden thought occurred to me. “We didn’t use any precautions, are you –er – well…?”

“Shhh. It’s alright Clem,” she whispered, kissing my chest and running her tongue over my own hardening nipples. “I’m on the pill, have been since I was 15. Mainly for my periods.”

She sighed and hugged me. “Hannah uses the same brand,” she added dreamily.

* * * * *

After that, the stage was set for our regular trysts. Trysts. A nice name for a nice activity. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, we’d use it – and each other – to maximum effect. Sammy was soon a regular visitor of a school day to my house, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, whenever she had a ‘free’ and the chance to escape for some pleasure. I had to admire her style of “dropping in for a quick shagging” and then having to go back to school afterwards. “So what?” she grinned wickedly, when I asked her if it was a problem. “I just change my knickers and I’m all set up for the day. I bet not many of the others get a good seeing to before doing their course work.”

Oh, I made all the right concerned noises about it possibly affecting her schoolwork, but she assured me her grades and course work weren’t suffering and she was still getting good marks. I decided not to start getting too parental about it. After all, I might be old enough to be her father, but she wasn’t my daughter.

Talking of my daughter, Hannah was a problem. Well no – she wasn’t a problem per se; we just had to be careful to avoid her or not to let her get any inkling of what we were up to. Sammy would still come home with Hannah after school, or call for her before going clubbing with her, so I had to smile and make polite – if slightly flirty – conversation with Sammy and pretend everything was normal. For Sammy’s part, she obviously enjoyed the role, and would always be randier and more excited the next time we got together. I also enjoyed myself by taking ridiculous risks when Hannah was at home.

Like the time after school one day in mid December, the house sparkling with Christmas decorations and growing festive spirit. Hannah and Sammy were going off to see some new must-see film at the cinema. After dinner, Hannah nipped upstairs to have a quick shower and change her clothes before going out. Sammy was still wearing her school uniform, mainly because she knew I liked to see her wearing it, but intended to change into clothes she had brought with her.

“I’d better get up to Hannah’s room and get changed, Clem,” she said as she finished off washing the dishes at the kitchen sink, whilst I brewed a pot of coffee.

“Right,” I said, absently, tiptoeing across and pushing the kitchen door closed, almost chuckling when I realise she hadn’t turned round and was still at the sink.

I sidled up behind her and slipped my hands round to her breasts, squeezing them, teasing her nipples into erectness.

“Clem!” she giggled. “Stop it! Hannah’s upstairs… she might come down and find us…”

I dipped my hands into the soapy washing up water and returned them to her breasts, her blouse now wet and clinging to her body, the outline of her bra and her erect nipples clearly visible to me from her reflection in the window.

“You’re getting me wet!” she half protested.

“I like you wet!” I smirked and nuzzled her neck, pulling back her collar and kissing the back of her neck underneath the springy ponytail she was wearing her hair in.

She moaned, her eyes closed, head lolling sideways. I pressed my hardness against her pert bottom, eliciting a further dreamy moan from her. I seized my chance. I swiftly pulled her skirt up, yanked her tights down and wrenched her thong aside, unzipping quickly and thrusting my ramrod cock towards her buttocks. Sammy instinctively positioned herself to allow me access to her from behind and, I was pleased to note, she was as wet as the water in the sink. I slid easily into her, our experience of each other now such that we instinctively knew the positions that suited us best. I pumped into her, her knees set firm against the under-sink cupboard, my hands gripping her hips. It didn’t take long before I was pumping my own wetness into her inviting hole, causing her to beat her hands into the washing up water and splashing suds and water across the work surface and over herself.

“Yesssss!” she howled as I ejaculated in a series of short spurts.

I withdrew, dragging my still semi hard cock back into my pants and zipping up. I pulled her disarranged thong back into position and pulled her tights up for her, smoothing her skirt down. She sighed and turned round from the sink, reaching for the nearby hand towel and drying her hands. Her blouse was soaked, as was her bra and her skirt showed dark stains from the soaking, too.

At that precise moment, Hannah bounced back into the kitchen, clad in her pink towelling dressing gown, her wet hair bundled up in a towel. “What the hell happened to you, Sammy?” she exclaimed.

“She dropped the casserole dish into the sink,” I laughed, pointing to the so-called offending casserole dish, which was innocently minding its own business on the draining rack.

“You silly mare,” giggled Hannah.

“Good job I’ve got some gear with me, isn’t it?” smiled Sammy. “But can I borrow a crop top to go under it, Han’? Only my bra’s really wet now!”

“Sure. C’mon, we better get changed upstairs.” said Hannah.

Sammy shot a wicked look at me as she followed Hannah out of the room. I winked back at her and made a quick pelvic thrust motion for her amusement.

Life was good. Life was sweet. Life was fun.

* * * * *

Of course, things change. Things always change. Only sometimes what looks like a change for the better can often be a change for the worse.

One significant change came soon after Christmas. Hannah announced she had a new boyfriend as she left the house for school one morning.

“It’s news to me,” I told Sammy that same afternoon as she was getting dressed. “I didn’t know she had an old boyfriend even.”

“What, like I have, y’mean?” asked Sammy cheekily, wincing slightly as she pulled her white panties on over the slap marks on her buttocks. (A thong just couldn’t offer the right amount of comfort).

“Someone needs another slap or two!” I growled, in mock anger, pulling at Sammy’s panties, much to her half-hearted protests.

But yes, Hannah did indeed have a new boyfriend, a nice sounding chap named Marcus, some 18 months older than her and already at college. He came from a good part of a very nice town, he was studying engineering and he was a keen rugby player. I made all the right parental noises to Hannah about not letting her schoolwork suffer, but hastily amending that I knew she would be sensible about that anyway. For once – and to my surprise – I didn’t get a lot of sarcastic lip in return and Hannah even asked if she could bring him home one Sunday to meet me, after he’d been playing rugby.

I had to admit, I did like Marcus. Tall, broad shouldered and with unruly but not outrageous hair, medium length sideburns and even sensibly dressed. What’s more he was polite, had a good sense of humour and even expressed a passing interest in my 80s vinyl collection, talking reasonably knowledgably about Spandau Ballet and the Human League. Hannah clearly adored him and I had no concerns as to her well being.

Soon after, I met Marcus’ parents – at Marcus’s and Hannah’s suggestion – when they invited Hannah and I over to Sunday lunch at their rather splendid converted farmhouse on the edge of a small town in the Derbyshire Dales. Very decent, hard working types – Marcus’ father was a Managing Director at some big conglomerate – and obviously very proud of their son. I felt a warm glow of pride when they said what a nice girl Hannah was and how I’d done a marvellous job of raising her at a very difficult phase of her life after her mother had died. (Quite how much they knew about that, I didn’t ask, but my guess was Hannah had simply said Maggie had died in an accident and left it at that. I certainly had no wish to enlighten them further).

Of course, the natural progression to all of this was when Hannah started to spend nights at Marcus’ home over weekends, or (I suspected) sometimes at his Uni’s Halls of Residence. Naughty! But I took it all with good grace and didn’t come the heavy parent. I had to say though, it was a strange feeling; much as Hannah was a young, modern woman, sensible enough to be on the pill, I just didn’t like to think of any man porking my Little Girl. But did Sammy’s Dad feel that same way about her? It was strange – I never thought of 18 year-old Sammy as someone’s daughter. She was my girlfriend, simple as that. Girlfriend? Yes – my girlfriend. It had a nice ring to it.

So, with Hannah spending nights away, Sammy was able to wangle the odd night at my house, which led to great fun.

“What do you tell your parents when you stay over?” I asked her one night when, exhausted from lovemaking and a major bondage session – which involved my licking fizzy tonic water out of Sammy’s aching cunt – we lay side by side prior to falling asleep.

“Oh, I tell ‘em I’m staying with a girlfriend,” she yawned, sleepily.

“Don’t they ever get suspicious and check up on you?” I asked.

“They don’t any more,” sighed Sammy, “I ask my mates to cover for me.”

“Oh right,” I said, absently inserting my index finger into her moist depths and enjoying feeling her body tense and her hands grip tightly round my balls. “Who’s covering for you tonight then?”

Sammy sat up, all thoughts of sleep gone now, throwing back the duvet and yanking my cock into life, bending down to take it into her mouth. “Hannah is,” she mumbled.

Of course, Sammy didn’t tell Hannah about us and Hannah never suspected – as far as I was aware anyway. An even greater opportunity presented itself to us just before the school broke up for Easter. Hannah asked me at breakfast one Saturday morning if she could spend a few days that holiday with Marcus.

“His parents have got a holiday cottage down on the south coast, near Brighton I think,” she told me, excitedly. “They said we were welcome to stay there if it’s okay with you.”

I deliberately waited a few minutes before replying, slowly pouring out a cup of tea and then sitting down opposite her.

“How’s the applications for Uni going?” I asked.

“Fine, fine,” she said, impatiently. “I think I’ve got a good chance with Lancaster.”

“And do they do courses in Forensics and Law?” I queried,

“You know they do, I told you already!” she said, with exasperation. I was enjoying this. “Well? Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Go to stay with Marcus! Honestly, Dad!”

I sighed and looked directly at her. “Well, you’ve been studying hard, your exams start next term, and I suppose you could revise a bit whilst you were away.”

Her face lit up. “Does that mean I can go? I can stay with him?”

“Of course it does,” I beamed back. “I like him. And I know you’re a sensible girl. So yes, you can. And – ,” I paused dramatically, reaching across the table to where my wallet lay. I pulled out four £50 notes. “Here… take this. Spending money. For your holiday”

“Dad! Are – are you sure? Can you afford it?”

“Probably not,” I smiled, “but I’ve just been paid very handsomely for a good consultancy job, so I can spare you a small treat.”

Hannah jumped up, mobile in hand. “Thanks Dad Thanks so much! I’m going to call Marcus. I’m seeing him this afternoon – he’s playing – he’ll be so pleased!”

She paused by the side of my chair. “You know, Sammy’s right about you,” she said, quietly.

My heart missed a beat. “Sammy? What –what does she – she say about me?”

Hannah bent down and kissed my cheek then skipped out of the door. “That you’re cool. You are cool, Dad.”

So whilst Hannah and Marcus had a happy holiday down Brighton way, Sammy and I had a happy holiday up our way. She wangled a few days away to stay with her older cousin Carol who lived in London – a very independent young woman from the sound of things – and, of course, aforesaid cousin covered for her, mainly because she thought Sammy’s parents were (to quote Sammy): “a prize pair of anal retentives.”

Not only did we have great sex, morning, noon and night – thinking up ever more inventive games – we also did little fun things together, things we hadn’t had the time or the inclination to do previously; watching videos and DVDs together, having meals together, walking old Rufus in the woods together and going down the pub together.

I have to admit that taking her down the King’s Arms was a calculated risk on my part. Sammy might live on the other side of town, but here was always a chance someone would see her and mention the fact to her parents. Or worse, they’d clock her with me. But I deliberately brought Sammy into the pub – my local – to show her off to the regulars.

To my delight, Bob and Reefer were there, playing pool. They caught sight of me, waved through the games room door and then, having finished their game, came to join me.

“Nice of you to put in an appearance, Clements!” said Bob, slapping me on the shoulder. “Haven’t seen you for – ooooh – four, five months? Not since around Christmas time. And when are you going to come down the Golf Club and sign up as a member? A game or two might do you good, lose some of that!” He tapped my belly with the back of his hand, but frowned slightly when he realised I wasn’t quite as flabby as he remembered.

“Been working out?” he chuckled.

“Sure have,” I beamed. “This is Sammy.”

Sally stepped hopped down from the barstool and held out her hand, delicately painted pink nails looking, as ever, so sexy and lickable.

“This is Bob,” I said, then waved a hand at the lanky figure of Reefer, unkempt and with two days’ worth of stubble as usual. “And that long streak of mist is Reefer.”

“Hi Bob, Hi Reefer,” purred Sammy, shaking their hands and smiling coyly. I felt my chest swell with pride as they responded, the look of surprise and confusion clear for all to see on their faces.

We repaired a corner table with our drinks and talked about this and that, Sammy flirting outrageously with the pair of them and quizzing them at length about our exploits at school in the 70s and as young studs in the early 80s.

“And Clem got slippered, I got slippered and this bastard got away with it because he said he was just delivering a message!” roared Rob, finishing the story of how half a dozen of us silly sods had been caught by the prefects climbing into school through a window during lunch break and our Head of Year being so indignant that he’d been pulled away from the staff room in his lunch break – where he’d been watching the test match on TV – that he slippered us all ‘just for wasting his time’. Clem pulled the outrageous stunt saying that he’d only been delivering a message for the Deputy Head when the Prefects pounced and they didn’t believe him, so he was let off!

Reefer grinned bashfully and excused himself, stubbing out his roll up and lurching towards the men’s room.

“I’d better go powder my nose, too,” said Sammy, pulling her handbag over her shoulder. “Why is he called Reefer, by the way?”

“Why do you think, Babes?” I asked.

Rob made an exaggerated display of puffing on a cigarette as though he were toking on a joint.

“Oh, I see,” smiled Sammy.

“He knew a lot of shady types back then,” I added as she left for the ladies.

“Still does,” chuckled Bob, “but nowadays it’s usually old shag. Talking of which – ,” he waited until Sammy had gone then fixed me with a hard stare. “Are you and her – y’know – at it?”

“Yeah,” I grinned. “Good, innit?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it sometimes,” he said. “But Clem – she’s – what? How old?”

“18, nearly 19,” I smiled smugly. I have to say, looking back, I must’ve been an irritating bastard right at that moment,

“Clem – she’s old enough to be your daughter!” he exclaimed. “Fuck it man, she’s almost the same age as my Jessica!”

“But she isn’t either of our daughters is she?” I snapped, leaning forward. “Be happy for me Bob. After all I went through with Maggie, don’t I deserve a bit of fun? A bit of happiness? Oh, I’m sure it won’t last forever, but she seems pretty stuck on me right now!”

Bob downed the last of his pint and patted my shoulder. “I am pleased for you Clem, really I am,” he said. “And yeah, you do deserve some happiness after the Bitch From Hell, but all I’m saying is – be careful. She might be old enough to shag with, but she’s still a kid, right?”

“Yeah, right,” I muttered, moodily, swigging down my lager.

And you’re just fucking jealous I can pull the young birds, I thought angrily to myself.

* * * * *

But on the Friday of that week, our last day together, Sammy showed a side to her nature which I hadn’t seen before, and one which I didn’t much care for.

I’d had to go to Manchester to deliver a report I’d prepared for a client, in person. I’d suggested at breakfast that Sammy might like to come and do some shopping whilst I was seeing my client. She declined, saying that she was going to see a couple of her friends who had left school two years before, then they were going clubbing.

“It’s all right, Clem!” she said, with impatience as I protested the point. “It’s only us three girls, we’re not going out to pull a load of spotty plonkers. I’ll be back by one, and we can have some fun in bed, right?”

“But I reckon I’ll be home before then,” I interjected. “I’ll be alone for the evening.”

“Oh come on Clem,” said Sammy, ruffling my hair as she stood behind my chair. “How often to I go out on my own? And you hate clubbing… they don’t play your music for a start.”

“Oh, fair enough then,” I smiled, even though I still felt annoyed – and that was irrational, I realised – “Take your mobile in case there’s any problem.”

“Yes Dad!” Sammy called out cheekily as she headed upstairs to the bathroom. I shook my head and smiled, but something didn’t feel quite right and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

In the event, my meeting went very well, I picked up a nice fat cheque, which I immediately banked in central Manchester before driving home. I walked Rufus round the block, hardly noticing at just how slow he’d become lately – and then strolled down to the Kings Head for a pub meal and a pint. Bob wasn’t in, but Reefer and a couple of other lads were, so we ended up shooting some pool until closing time when I hurried home, hoping that Sammy had come home early.

She hadn’t. The house felt empty. I wandered disconsolately upstairs and looked into my bedroom – our bedroom – and sighed. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some of them ripped where our sex games had got out of hand. I straightened the bed linen, picked the clothes up, bundled all those which needed washing into the Ali Baba linen basket in the bathroom and the threw the torn ones away.

Rufus was whining and agitating to go out again, so instead of just letting him into the back garden, I took him for another walk round the block just to kill time. Once again, Rufus lethargic shuffling didn’t register with me, although he perked up when we met a Standard Poodle and her owner.

“Life in the old dogs yet eh, Fella?” I chuckled as Rufus watched the Poodle mince past, his eyes bright and his tongue panting. “You ‘n’ me both, ” I added.

Back home I watched a tedious film on TV and then pulled a bottle of chardonnay out of the fridge and placed it on the coffee table in the den, waiting for Sammy to come home. By 1.20 am I was anxious and called her mobile. I was immediately connected to her answerphone – the phone was switched off.

To start with, I was worried, but soon this gave way to jealous anger. Who was she with? Had some young bloke taken a fancy to her? Had she taken a fancy to him? I could almost picture her laughing and drinking with some callow youth in the club, or worse, slow dancing with him, his sweaty hands all over her lithe body. Over my girlfriend’s body!

In a real blaze of anger, I stalked upstairs, got undressed and threw my towelling robe on, then stormed down stairs and waited in the living room, drumming my hands on the back of the leather couch.

At just gone 2am, I heard a car pull up outside and heard Sammy’s voice thanking the driver. It must’ve been a taxi. Maybe she’d only had to wait a long time for a taxi. But then, why hadn’t she called me to pick her up? That in itself was bloody irresponsible and thoughtless.

After a couple of attempts to put the key in the lock, Sammy managed to burst in through the front door and push it shut behind her. She leaned against it until it clicked and she sighed expansively.

She was dressed like – like a common tart. Short, strappy red dress, red high heeled shoes, far too much make up and jewellery – three large gold chains round her neck and a set of bangles on one arm. No coat, naturally – they never wore coats out these days – it just wasn’t ‘cool’. Her hair was mussed and her skin shone with perspiration and alcohol consumption. I was sure her pupils were dilated, but this may have been a trick of the light.

She looked across the hallway and saw me sitting there, in my robe, regarding her.

“Good time had by all?” I queried, my expression quizzical, my voice flat as I tried to control my anger.

Sammy clasped a hand to her mouth and giggled. “Ooooh Daddy, you shouldn’t have waited up for me!”

“You said you’d be in for One!” I growled.

“I – I couldn’t get a fuckin’ cab!” slurred Sammy, “You know how-how it is, Clem!”

“Sit down before you fall down!” I snapped, all thoughts of chardonnay and romance gone now. “I’ll get you a coffee!”

Sammy swayed into the living room and then sank onto the couch, her head swaying whilst I rose with forced dignity and set off to the kitchen to make the coffee.

“You’re pissed!” I spat at her.

“T-Too f-f-fuckin’ right!” giggled Sammy, kicking her shoes off. “They kept on buyin’ me drinks, hoping they could get into my knickers. Stupid bas-bastards. All those drinks for fuck all!” She laughed nastily and flopped back.

I stopped and walked back to her, looking down at her on the couch, my hands on my hips. “You think that’s funny do you?” I snapped.

She looked up at me, frowned, tossed her hair back and sneered: “Oh Christ! Sometimes you’re so fuckin’ old! You are just like my Dad after all! I’m young, I just wanna have a bit of fun!”

“So, dressing up like a whore, flaunting your body and getting pissed is fun is it?” I retorted. “Save me from your sort of fun! And me, old? I used to put my fair share of booze away at discos, but I never acted like a total prat!”

Sammy tried to interrupt me, but I spoke over her. “And I’d never have gone anywhere with someone who looked like a tart!”

Sammy lurched to her feet and thrust her face close to mind, swaying a little unsteadily.

“I said I didn’t shag any of ‘em tonight,” she hissed, “But I gave ‘em all a nice, juicy blow job each. And I made them all come, too. And they turned me on, d’you know why? Because every one had a cock bigger than yours!”

“Really?” I sneered back. “Is that so? Well Samantha, don’t forget who taught you everything you know, don’t forget who broke you in. Whatever pustule youth you screw now, you’ll always know that. old Clem was the first!”

“Hah! That’s what you think!” retorted Sammy. “You weren’t the first – or the best – you never have been!”

I felt my face flush with anger, my fists bunched by my sides. I had to walk away from her, otherwise…

But Sammy saw my turning away as a sign of defeat, or weakness. She decided – unwisely – to hammer her point home.

“Fuckin’ hell! No wonder your wife went elsewhere for a decent shag, you sad bast-”

She never finished her foul-mouthed sentence. Before I could stop to think, to rationalise the situation, I spun round and slapped her hard across the face, sending her sprawling onto the couch.

“Don’t you ever –” I began to shout, but then it was my turn not to finish my sentence, because Sammy sprang up, anger blazing in her eyes and, despite her intoxicated state, she managed to scratch me across the cheek. I felt blood spring from the wounds inflicted by her nails. She was trying to beat at me with her fists, so I grabbed her wrists in an effort to restrain her. Maggie had been bad enough in one of her rages – usually drug induced – but Sammy was younger, faster and stronger. She was really scary!

“Calm down! Stop it now!” I shouted, fearful that her screaming and swearing would alert my next-door neighbours and lead to a visit from the police. I shook her as hard as I could and pushed her back down onto the couch, leaning down on her, holding her down, trying to make her calm down.

That was when she kicked me. Luckily she missed my groin full on, but she caught my upper leg and that was painful enough – good job she wasn’t wearing her shoes.

I grabbed her by the bodice of her dress with one hand and jerked her up towards me. Clamping my other hand on her cheeks, I stopped her screaming.

“Look at you,” I hissed, my face close to hers, my knee now resting on the hem of her dress between her legs, preventing her from kicking out or getting up. “Cheap common jewellery! Tat! Worthless!” I ripped the three gold chains from round her neck, ignoring her muffled yelp of protests and threw them across the room.

Rufus ambled into the living room, disturbed by the noise, barking and jumping up and down, stiffly.

“Dressed like a tart! Could you possibly show more tit? Tell you what, why don’t you just show it all, eh? Then I’ll throw you out and you can wander the streets butt naked. You might even attract some fucking customers!”

With that I tore her dress open, the spaghetti shoulder straps snapping, the flimsy material ripping away from her body, revealing her firm young breasts, only her decorative belt stopping it from ripping further. To my surprise, she was wearing a bra – a discreet strapless one, red, like the dress. I yanked the bra down from her breasts and she screamed, tears springing to her eyes.

I froze. What was I doing? What was I doing? Was I about to rape this girl? This girl young enough to be my daughter? What if it was my daughter in this position? What would I want to do to the man doing it to her?

I released her and rocked back on my heel. “I-I’m sorry, Sammy,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean – I wasn’t going to hurt you, I promise, I-”

But Sammy had buried her face in one of the cushions and was sobbing uncontrollably.

Rufus stopped barking, snorted at me as though with disgust and trotted back to the kitchen.

Now I was really afraid. What if she complained to the police? Or her parents? And what had I done to this girl I adored so much? I tentatively reached out and tried to stroke her shoulder, noticing the telltale pink patch where the tattoo had been now livid where her dress strap had cut into her flesh before breaking. She shrugged my hand off fiercely. I bent forward again and stroked her hair. This time she did not resist. “I’m sorry, Sammy. So sorry, darling,” I soothed. “I shouldn’t have done this. I’ll buy you a new dress, I won’t go on at you about going clubbing, I-”

She turned round, tears leaving muddy trails of mascara down her cheeks. “I’m sorry Clem!” she sobbed, all traces of drunkenness gone now – that’s adrenalin for you – “I shouldn’t have been so mean, I’m sorry!” She threw herself into my arms and we hugged tightly. I smoothed her hair down, but cursed myself for feeling aroused by this position, my erection pressing against her.

“Take me to bed, Clem,” she whispered, kissing me “But I’ve got to do something first!”

“What’s that?” I whispered back, smiling, and brushing the tears and mascara stains away from her cheeks.

“You’re right, I am a tart dressed like this,” she declared, holding up the torn front of her dress. “I’m going to get rid of it, every tarty bit of it. And then I want you to fuck me, and fuck me hard!”

I hate to admit it, but my erection felt like it’d burst out of my pants, I was so turned on, but also relieved that she still wanted me. “Are – are you sure?” I breathed.

She stood up, not wobbling now and pulled me up to stand in front of her. She furiously wrenched her belt undone and tossed it away, the torn dress dropping down around her legs.

She reached round behind her and virtually tore her strapless bra off, viciously wrenching the fastening apart and hurling the bra away from her. Her nipples stood to ramrod attention, rather like she was now, and I stepped forward, running the palms of my hands over them, pressing them into her soft mounds and then pinching them into hard points again.

I gripped her sheer red satin panties, twisted the elastic at one side and ripped them away, eliciting a satisfied sigh from Sammy. They slid down her other leg and she stepped out of them, almost naked now, her pubic mound glistening with her own juices. Sammy finished the job by wrenching the bangles off her wrist and discarding them where she stood. Now she was naked – and beautiful. And mine.

I took her hand and led her towards the fireplace. She nodded and smiled. She dropped to her knees on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. We’d made love in front of the fire one winter’s night and it was a fond memory. Sadly, there was no fire today, but I was ready to oblige with some fire of my own. I hastily pulled my robe off and then knelt down in front of her. She calmly reached out and yanked my pants down, releasing my blood-engorged cock.

I gently, but firmly, pushed her down onto her back and positioned myself between her legs. Then, with a speed which surprised me, I grabbed her legs, hoisted them up onto my shoulders and thrust into her beguiling cunt in one long, hard motion. No fumbling, no obstructions, straight in.

“Oh my god, yeeeessssssssssss,” screamed Sammy, eliciting a warning bark from Rufus in the kitchen. I thrust into her, backwards, forwards, up, down, her cunt not as tight as it used to be, but now even more deep and inviting.

Her nails dug into my upper arms, her legs squeezed against my neck, her head was back, eyes screwed shut and her mouth open in ecstasy.

I came in a swift flood, perhaps it was the stress, the anxiety, the adrenalin from the fight, who can say, but it was so good.

Sammy climaxed a split second later, her juices rushing to join mine in a glorious, vivid, noisy shared orgasm.

“With age comes experience!” I gasped, panting furiously, my heart beating fit to burst.

Sammy slowly lowered her legs down to the floor, caught her breath and panted back: “Yeah, and with youth comes flexibility!”

By 4 am, we had finally climbed the proverbial wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Sammy was now fast asleep, one arm across my chest, one leg across my aching groin. She was totally exhausted – spent. The second and third love making sessions had been taxing for both of us.

Just before she fell asleep, she’d explained that yes, she’d danced with some lads, but so had her girlfriends, and nothing untoward had happened. None of them was her type anyway and besides, even if one of them did get her into bed or up against the wall, he’d never do it for her, because he wouldn’t be me.

“You always say, ‘With age comes experience,’” sighed Sammy as she began to drift off. “And you’re right you know.”

I’d felt good for a while, and then my darker thoughts had taken over as I reviewed the strength and ferocity of my angry outburst, even in the face of her drunken state and general cockiness. I also felt, good though the sex had been, it hadn’t been the very best. It was almost bordering on rape. All because of my jealousy. Perhaps my air of coolness was now wearing off.

Maybe I was just too old for her?

* * * * *

Any such dark thoughts I harboured soon faded, however, and I put the whole thing down to a rather nasty misunderstanding on both our parts.

The next three months were hectic, to say the least, and pretty well shot past. Both Hannah and Sammy returned to school and pitched into their all-important GCSE ‘A’ Level exams. Both needed to attain a requisite number of passes in order to gain their places at their respective universities. Hannah was delighted to have been accepted by Lancaster – subject to attaining her grades – for a place on their Forensics and Law course (watching the X-Files all those years had been the catalyst for that. Mulder might be nice for teenage girls to look at, but Scully was the smart, rational pathologist), so she was happy. She was certainly working flat out on revising every spare hour she had. I had to say I admired her dedication; she was obviously rationing herself as far as Marcus was concerned too, but he was giving her plenty of space too.

Unfortunately, I too was being rationed. Sammy needed to study hard as well, and her visits were few and far between after Easter. At first I worried whether our first and only fight had changed the way she felt about me, but she assured me all was fine and when she did drop by on the rare days she wasn’t sitting exams or revising, she was certainly as flexible as she ever was.

I somehow felt that something significant had shifted in our relationship; the sex was still good, but less frantic, less urgent. It felt more… normal, sedate even. Not boring, not at all, but I felt that our relationship had moved to a different level. I even had the occasional mad though that maybe one day, perhaps a few years down the line after Uni, Sammy and I might actually settle down together as a proper couple. Maybe we could tell Hannah by then. But all such wild speculations were quickly dismissed. I’d never expected our relationship to last as such, but what had started out as a bit of fun for both of us had become something more profound.

I was also very busy with a sudden rush of consultancy work. Some days I didn’t even have time to take Rufus for a walk, but he didn’t seem to mind trotting out into the back garden, sniffing around and doing his business and then flopping down in the sun –or in the shade if it was very warm – and dozing. Good life if you’re a dog living here, I thought on more than one occasion, looking at him out of my study windows as I toiled away on the computer. I took a couple of photographs of him to use up a film I’d had on my camera, and the old clown had lain there, panting happily at me, posing as the noble hound. As soon as I’d stopped taking photographs, he flopped down again and dozed off.

Soon, however, the girls’ exams were over and the end of term approached. The Sixth Formers had an American-style prom arranged for the Friday evening of the week just prior to school breaking up. I was more than happy to pay for Hannah’s prom dress – she’d worked hard to earn it, and I’d even slipped Sammy a few quid towards hers after she complained that her parents had “been a bit bloody tight”.

Sammy had told me that she’d be going off to a club with some of the girls after the prom, then staying over at one friend’s house. She promised me that she’d be on her best behaviour and make it clear to any boy she danced with that she was spoken for. That satisfied me, although I still had a pang of jealousy. Still, I could hardly turn up as her prom date, could I? Besides, she wasn’t taking a date. Even Hannah was going alone, although Marcus, ever the gentleman, had promised to pick her up in his car afterwards and bring her home. Seeing as I wasn’t expecting Sammy that night, I’d casually mentioned to Hannah that Marcus could stay the night, although he would have to make do with sharing her single bed with her unless he wanted to sleep in the spare room.

Hannah had blushed slightly, but then reinstated her air of coolness and said, “Thanks Dad, that’ll be fine. We’ll manage.”

I bet you will, I smiled to myself. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole thing, but I told myself that I could hardly object to this, given my relationship with Sammy, not to mention the fact that Hannah and Marcus had been together on holiday and she’d stayed over at his parent’s house several times already. After I, I was no old fart – I was cool, apparently.

The following week, Hannah and Sammy left school, now both technically grown- ups in the big outside world.

Hannah and Marcus went off on holiday together to Spain. Hannah had an allowance which I’d set up for her out of the insurance money after Maggie’s death – in this way, she hadn’t felt compelled to take a Saturday job and interrupt her studying. So the holiday was paid for from the allowance as a “Well Done” gift for doing so well at school. Sammy, however, wasn’t nearly so fortunate, as she complained to me just before a wonderful ‘end of term’ session we’d had to celebrate her leaving school, which involved ripping every piece of her school uniform off her, bit by bit, followed by all sorts of sexual stimulation. Her father, apparently, felt that if she got a holiday job before going to Uni, she could earn some money and learn better to stand on her own two feet.

I was quite outraged by this. The poor kid only had a maximum of eight weeks until going off to Uni and she surely needed – deserved – time to get everything arranged for her sadly inevitable move to Uni and also to have a bit of fun. She’d secured a place at Manchester, which was close enough to be very convenient for us to get it together.

“Look, tell him you’ve got a job if that makes him happy,” I said, “I’ll give you some money, okay?”

“Are – are you sure, Clem?” she asked with what I felt was genuine surprise. “Only, I – I don’t want to be taking your money and – ”

I dismissed her protests with an airy wave of my hand. “It’s alright,” I said, “I’ve been working pretty hard lately and there’s plenty of money coming in, so it’s okay with me to divert some of it your way.”

Sammy hugged me and kissed me long and deep. “Richard Clements,” she said, smiling adoringly at me, her blue eyes sparkling, “You are a gentleman, and you’re cool!”

She slowly stepped back, pulled her tie up straight and adjusted the bunches she’d fashioned her hair in and buttoned her blazer up – looking every inch the perfect – but also extremely naughty – schoolgirl. “Now then,” she whispered wickedly, “I’ve been very naughty, Mr Clements. You said I’m a disgrace to the school and aren’t fit to wear the school colours. You’d better punish me, hadn’t you?”

“Oh yes,” I replied slowly tearing the school badge from her blazer pocket, court-martial style, “I think I’d better. You’ve been very naughty indeed.” I gripped her lapels and ripped her blazer open, wrenching it down over her shoulders. “You are not fit to wear this uniform!”

Sammy giggled and then moaned sensuously as I began to pull her tie undone.

It was, as I said, a very good session….

* * * * *

If I’d hoped for a ‘summer of love’, I was to be disappointed. To start with, Sammy only put in an appearance once during the first week of the summer break, which I felt wasted valuable time when we had the house fully to ourselves whilst Hannah was away on holiday. Although the sex was good, it wasn’t enough and I felt pretty deprived after not seeing or even hearing from Sammy. I sent her two text messages to her mobile asking her if everything was okay and to get in touch, but she only responded briefly to the second one saying ‘C U soon, luv, S xxxxx’.

Trying to suppress my growing irritation about this apparent brush-off, I took the chance to e-mail Sammy too. I’d always studiously avoided sending Sammy too many e-mails, just to be on safe side in case any prying parents discovered them. If her parents were half as bad as she made them out to be, I wouldn’t put it past them to be checking her e-mails. I deliberately kept the message bland and non-specific, simply asking how she was, what she was doing and how about a chat soon?

When the e-mail elicited no response after a day I called her landline. I had an excuse prepared in case either of her patents answered the phone, and was going to ask whether Hannah had possibly left a crucial wallet round Sammy’s house, as she’d mislaid it. In the event it was Sammy who answered the phone.

“Sammy. Sorry to call you at home, but I was worried,” I began. “How are you?”

“Clem!” exclaimed Sammy, then dropped her voice to a whisper “Sorry I haven’t been round Clem, my Mum and Dad are being really anal in getting me packed up for Uni, and they keep going on about wanting me to spend time with them, so we’ve been going on loads of boring day trips to places together. I will call you and I will be round soon, I promise!”

We exchanged a few more brief words, I kissed her down the phone to which she responded with a dreamy ‘Mmmmmm’ and then I hung up, wondering whether she would be round soon.

She actually turned up on the Tuesday of the second week, in the early afternoon. “I’ve told them I’m staying over here,” she announced, dropping her overnight bag onto the hall floor as she walked in. “Said Hannah and I are going clubbing and Hannah’s asked me to stop over. They don’t know she’s away and she’ll always cover for me anyway.”

“Very clever and ironic,” I smiled, closing the front door behind her and grabbing her round the waist, kissing the back of her neck, causing her to squeal with delight. “I’ve been deprived for days, Sammy… so I’ve got a lot saved up for you!”

The sex was okay – that’s all I could say about it. Once in the afternoon, followed by dinner and watching TV together, drinking some wine and then another session in bed. Sammy excused her lack of sexual appetite as being a sign of the imminent onset of her period, to which I made the appropriate concerned comments.

When she left after breakfast the next day, she said she’d forgotten to tell me that she’d be visiting the halls of residence at Uni to check out her accommodation and was then going down to London where her cousin lived to stay with her for a few days, as Carol was ill and needed a bit of help and a friendly family face. She promised to call me, text or e-mail me.

“Come and see me as soon as you can when you get back,” I exhorted, trying not to sound too desperate.

“Promise Clem,” she smiled and kissed me quickly on the lips before skipping off.

So why, I asked myself aloud, did I feel so apprehensive? Was she going to be seeing any boys whilst she was away? I much like the sound of her cousin anyway – never had done. But I had to trust her and accept the fact that she was a good-looking girl – young woman – and what boy or man wouldn’t be attracted to her?

The next week seemed to crawl by. Sure, I had plenty of work to occupy me, but without Hannah in the house – or at least coming and going – and without the lovely Sammy to cheer me up, I was pretty bored. I even broke off from work for a couple of afternoons to do some gardening. Yes, I paid an old chap to come in during the week to do whatever needed doing, and a grand job he did too, but I wanted to get involved a bit, so I spent some time re-planting a lot of large, free standing pots which Maggie and I had bought years ago. I had to admit, I was rather pleased with my efforts.

Sammy did text me a couple of times, mainly to say that Carol was quite poorly and she’d be staying down there with her for a few days longer. I contemplated going down to the Kings Head to see if Bob and Reefer were down there, but I wasn’t really wanting their company after the way Bob had pretty much told me grow up about my relationship with Sammy. If he saw me so down in the dumps without her, he’d just say ‘I told you so!’

I finally had enough one day and phoned Sammy several times, leaving a number of messages. Finally she called me back.

“I was on my way home, Clem!” she said, reproachfully. “I couldn’t answer you ‘cos I left my mobile in my case and it was in the luggage rack on the train and the train was packed. I couldn’t get to it.”

“Okay, sorry,” I said, trying to sound cool and in control, “But I’ve missed you! When are you coming over again? Hannah’ll be back the day after tomorrow and it’ll be more difficult.”

“Oh. Well, that was the day I was sort of free,” began Sammy.

“Well, what about tomorrow?” I was getting more agitated, coolness forgotten.

“I’m not sure Clem, Mum and Dad’ll want me with them. Look, I’ve got to go – they’re just coming in the front door. See you soon. Bye!”

And with that she was gone. Just like that. No ‘I Love You’ or ‘I’ve missed you’. Typical thoughtless teenager! Didn’t she realise how much I’d missed her?

The next morning, I just couldn’t concentrate on my latest commission, so I decided on a plan of action. I would drive over to Sammy’s house and sweep her out to lunch and maybe back here for an afternoon’s fun. The pretext would be – for her parents’ benefit – that Hannah had left a bag behind there. ‘But Hey! Whilst I was there, would Sammy like to come out to dinner with us? We’d drive back together and pick up Hannah en route.’

I checked Sammy’s address in the A to Z and set off in the car, arriving in a pleasant tree-lined suburban avenue within three quarters of an hour. The houses were mainly detached properties, all fake Tudor beams and tall frontages.

I pulled up outside Sammy’s house and got out, walked to the front door. On the way, I noticed that a number of flowers in the flower beds lining the path to front door had been trodden on and recently by the looks of things. The immaculate front lawn had several tyre skid marks on it and an empty can of lager bobbed around in the fishpond.

I retrieved the can and opened the wheelie bin at the side of the front door to dispose of it. The bin was full to the brim with refuse sacks and loose rubbish – mainly bottles. Wine, beer, scotch, vodka, you name it, they were there. All evidence of a wild party.

I felt terribly apprehensive as I rang the doorbell, waited and then knocked. There was no answer. I pulled the doorbell chain again and knocked hard on the stout door. No response.

“They’re away.”

I turned to see a tall, rather distinguished looking man in casual shirt and cords, looking over from next door’s front garden. I guessed his age to be somewhere in his mid 60s, but he certainly wasn’t anyone’s mug.

“Oh,” I replied, “When did they go? It’s –er – it’s their daughter, Samantha I’m looking for.”

The man’s face clouded, and his cheeks flushed red. I thought the old boy was about to have an apoplexy.

“That little madam?!” he snorted, “Just as well she’s not there! Made our lives a misery this week she has, her and her yobbo friends.”

“This week?” I exclaimed. “I –I thought she was away –”

“No, her parents are away,” snapped Mr Next Door impatiently, as though I should know. “Left her here. ‘Oh, we can trust our Sammy. She’s 18 now you know.’ Yes, they can trust her alright – trust her to be a bloody menace!”

“What did she do?” I heard myself asking, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Loud music all times of day and night. Kids coming and going, in and out, in and out. Little buggers had a barbeque the other afternoon – my wife and I had to go indoors because of the smoke. And the language! And last night, she had a party. Well, that was the last straw, I can tell you. I’d already spoken to her about the noise, but that was it. I called the police. Oh, of course they didn’t want to come, did they? ‘It is not our remit to respond to noise nuisance, as this is a council matter.’ Bollocks!”

I took a step back at his invective. This chap was clearly rattled.

“My friend’s the Chief Constable, see him down the lodge often. I told them I’d call him at home, wake him up if needs be, tell him that his officers couldn’t give a damn about us being kept awake by teenagers playing loud music in the early hours, in a house where they’ve got no business. She certainly wasn’t in control of them at all, little sods – I saw two of them on my front lawn doing- doing – things!”

“Did the police come?”

“Yes they did, two cars, four officers. This lot scarpered quick. Bet they had drugs in there. One of ‘em was a sergeant and he gave that bloody Sammy a good talking to. All went quiet after that, but one of the little buggers drove over my hedge on the way out. Do you see? Flattened!” To emphasise his point, he tried to tug a crushed and lifeless segment of his low, ornamental hedge back into life, a tyre mark clearly visible across the hedge and flowerbed.

“I shall be talking to them when they get back on Saturday!” he ranted on. “It’s their fault. I shall tell ‘em, I shall, Been good neighbours for years but they’re too soft on that girl, spoil her rotten. Anything she wants, she gets. Only child, see? Too much money, not enough respect. Cocky little madam she is.”

I was aghast. “I thought her parents were very strict with her,” I said. “Her Father especially.”

“Ronald should never have given her a credit card. Told me he’d done it before he went, he did. ‘I’m so proud of our Sammy. She’ll do us proud at University. She did so well at school. We’ve given her a nice gift of some money for working so hard and I got her her own credit card.’ Man’s a fool to himself! Do you know she had a tattoo done a while back and then decided she didn’t like it. So what does he do? He pays for her to have it removed privately. It’s ridiculous! But I’ll be telling them, and my friend the Chief Constable’s promised to come round and tell them himself – I spoke to him this morning. Bloody teenagers! All the bloody same, the lot of ‘em!”

“My daughter’s not like that,” I began, “She’s a good kid and –”

“That’s as maybe. But do you know what they get up to when your back’s turned, eh?” he snapped, heading for his front door. “I’m glad my lot are all grown up and moved out, I can tell you!”

“I bet they are too,” I muttered under my breath as I strode down the path back to my car, feeling my face flushing with anger. She’d lied to me! Sammy had lied to me! She said she’d been away looking after her sick cousin in London, and she’d been here all the time, throwing bloody parties and barbeques for god knows who. And who had she been with? Not only that she’d lied about her tattoo, lied about her parents, lied about being short of money – she’d taken my money and no doubt used it to entertain a bunch of piss heads!

I slammed my foot on the accelerator and powered the car down the avenue, my mind a seething turmoil of anger and resentment. Although much of it was directed towards Sammy, a fair bit was directed towards me, myself. With age comes experience? Forget that! Try that other well-known age saying: There’s no fool like an old fool!

How I didn’t kill anyone on that manic drive home, I don’t know. I jumped a set of lights; I nearly flattened an old couple crossing on a zebra crossing (lots of fist waving and indignation) and nearly went into the back of a classic Capri. (Think of the insurance claim!). I was nearly home, trying to calm down and keep within the speed limit when I passed the Kings Head. I slowed down a little, contemplating dropping in for a swift half and seeing whether Bob or Reefer were in and whether they’d seen hide or hair of – Sammy!

There she was, wearing a fashionable black shirt and tight jeans, walking across the pub car park with a group of five or six boys – young yobbos by the looks of them – all tracksuits, silly hats and shaved heads. Looked like they’d just got up from a heavy drinking session on one of the outdoor tables, judging by the number of bottles and glasses littering the tabletop.

I’d missed the car park entrance now, but I pulled into the kerb suddenly, no indication, earning an indignant toot from the car behind which passed me, then I reversed at speed to the car park entrance, screeched forward and shot into the car park. I might’ve run the lot of ‘em over if I hadn’t swung the wheel to the right and jammed the brakes on. Even so, the front of the car overshot the flowerbed border of the car park and nudged the table and bench they’d just vacated, sending several bottles rolling onto the ground.

I simply was beyond reason at this point. I almost kicked the driver’s door open and virtually slid across the bonnet to get to the little knot of yobs that were watching the whole thing open-mouthed. None of them looked more surprised than Sammy.

“Clem” She exclaimed, “What’s up – are you –”

“Had a good party last night did you?” I yelled. “What’s all this then?” I indicated the outside table and its contents. “Hair of the dog? Did you pay for it all with Daddy’s credit card? Or did you use the money I gave you, you scheming little tart!”

Sammy tried to hide behind some lanky article wearing silly long shorts and a vest which looked two sizes too big for him, over which he’d thrown –and almost missed – a baggy checked shirt. He had lank, greasy hair, bum fluff-like sideburns and a bad case of acne on his chin. The little shit sported a tattoo on his neck, some sort of dragon-like thing.

“Is this him?” he sniggered, nodding towards me, a smartarse smirk on his face. “Fuckin’ ‘ell Sam, you said he was older, but I didn’t think he was a pensioner!”

The little bastard’s mates all hooted with laughter.

“Something amusing you, sonny?” I snapped, taking two steps towards him and realising that he was actually quite muscular in a no-spare-fat kind of way. And tall, too. I think I must’ve surprised him, because he took an uncertain step back, even though no one was more surprised than me. Anger and adrenalin had overtaken reason. There were, I realised, six lads all told, not one of them much over 20, and I could be in for a severe kicking if I handled this wrongly.

“Look Clem, just go, please,” said Sammy, perhaps gauging the situation better than I had. “I’ll call you, I promise, I-”

“So you let this old cunt fuck you, did you?” smirked the yob.

“Hit him Baz! Do him! Take him out!” his mates yelled, egging him on.

“Yes, she did, sunshine,” I said, evenly. “Long before you came along. So how long’s this been going on?” I demanded of Sammy.

Baz pushed her back and took a step towards me, eyeballing me, looking menacing. He stank of booze, but he wasn’t unsteady on his feet. “Listen granddad, it ain’t been goin’ on long, but she’s shagged me seven times and given me three blow jobs and I’ve had her up the arse once. That all right for you is it? All in a week, good eh?”

“Piss off sonny and press your spots,” I growled.

His mates yelled to him to ‘do’ me.

“You an’ me then, granddad?” he smirked, shrugging off the baggy shirt, to cheers from his friends.

My anger was still high, but dissipating. The adrenalin flow decreasing. Reason was taking over I noticed several people spilling out of the pub door to see what all the shouting was about, so imminent rescue was at hand – hopefully. Then I caught a glimpse of Bob and the Reefer. Bastards! They’d seen her in there and they hadn’t called me! How long had they known she was two-timing me? My anger flared again.

“Right, just you and me,” I snapped. “You and me. Okay?”

He nodded and bunched his fists. I adopted what I hoped was a fighter’s stance, fists up, almost laughably Queensbury-rules style. The thing is, I’ve never been a fighter as such. Oh yes, I’d had scraps at school, but my last full-blown fight was in 1980 at a disco and we’d both knocked each other down, got thrown out, made it up with a handshake and went for a pint down the road. I desperately tried to recall a few moves a client of mine who was into security had taught me. First rule: Let him make the first move.

Bad move. Even though I ducked back, his fist caught me a glancing blow above the left eye and it bloody hurt! I heard his mates cheer and Sammy scream. He was pissed, but he was fast. He was also over-confident. He lurched forward and swung at me. I sidestepped as I’d been taught and caught him a hard one – a lucky hard one – full on in his stomach. It was so satisfying to hear the breath explode out of him and see him doubled up. I seized my chance – as I’d been told – and piled in with punch after punch after punch – all uppercuts – into his stupid, ugly face, knocking the smirk off it, feeling the pain of bone on bone, feeling wetness spreading across my fists.

Sammy was screaming at me to stop, literally trying to drag me off, but I couldn’t hear anything except the roaring of blood in my ears. Everything else was a blur.

Then he was up again, lashing out at me. I blocked one blow, more by luck than judgement and delivered a right hook that Tyson would’ve been proud of right into his jaw. Down he went, sprawled on the deck like a bad stain.

Any exhilaration I might have felt quickly evaporated when I felt a bony arm lock round my throat and a bonier fist pounding my back. One of the little shits – and I guessed it was the thin ferrety one – had jumped on my back and was trying to pull me down. Another one, a thickset skinheaded type with a red baseball cap on his thick cranium (wrong way round, naturally) was advancing towards me, fists bunched.

So much for honour and one to one!

My reactions must’ve been pretty quick. Guessing I was near the car, I furiously backpedalled, using my greater weight to propel the ferret and myself backwards. A loud metallic thump and we were on the car bonnet, with me literally sitting on the little bastard. I could hear him yelling and struggling, flailing out at me. The big yob was nearly on me so I instinctively brought my leg up. Contact! My foot caught him beautifully in the groin, right into the danglies, actually lifting him several inches off the ground before he keeled over sideways, moaning and gasping, thrashing around on the ground, holding his bruised assets.

The ferret was becoming a nuisance, so I jumped up, grabbed his bony arm and swung him around in a circle and brought him crashing down, face first across the bonnet, grabbed the back of his hair and banged his face down hard into it. I saw specks of blood decorate the paintwork and he, too, slid to the ground gasping and coughing, holding his bloodied nose with both hands.

I turned to face any others, but no attack was forthcoming. The other three were holding back. In fact, Reefer was standing very close to one of them, hugging him almost, and saying something. As the roaring in my ears decreased, I thought I caught him say “Don’t even fucking think about it sunshine, got that?” The yob nodded, almost respectfully. I saw Bob fighting his way past the crowd to get to me.

I swung away and stood over the crumpled Baz, who was sitting up, holding a handkerchief to his nose, whilst Sammy knelt next to him, stroking his hair and asking him if he was all right.

“How’s that for you then, Samantha?” I gasped, my heart almost exploding, chest heaving, lungs on fire. “You want a real man or a long streak of spunk like that?”

“You’re – you’re fuckin’ mad you are, man,” muttered Baz through the handkerchief. “You’re fuckin’ psycho!”

“Want some more do you?” I almost screamed, although I doubt I could’ve even raised my fist, let alone hit him.

Sammy sprang up and slapped me once, twice, there times across the face, the ferocity of her attack beating me back.

“You leave him alone, Clem!” she screamed. “Leave me alone! You’re too fucking jealous! Why can’t you just take the bloody hint? I don’t want you any more!”

I stood and faced her. She stood and faced me, tears in her eyes. I snarled and raised my hand.

“Go on then!” she screamed. “Hit me! Go on, fucking well hit me! Why don’t you rip my gear off and rape me while you’re at it?” She grabbed her shirt and actually ripped it open to her cleavage, revealing a black lacy bra. “Like you did at Easter! I’ve still got the dress and the undies! Maybe we should show them to the police, see what they have to say about it?”

“Shut your mouth, you fucking liar!” I hissed, aware of the onlookers listening. “I did no such thing! Look, let’s talk about this, work something out –”

“No!” she screamed. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re too fucking old!”

I staggered. Of all the blows I’d received that day that was the worst. I suddenly felt a hand grip my arm and pull me away. It was Bob.

“Come on, Clem,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’re going, get in your bloody car!”

He manhandled me towards the car, but pulled me to the passenger side, yanked the door open and pushed me in. I slumped down dumbly, compliantly. “I’m driving!” he snapped, jumping in the driver’s side and turning the keys in the ignition. The engine coughed a bit then roared into life and he reversed us out of the car park. I saw Reefer standing at in the middle of the car park, watching us go and the knot of yobs shuffling off, supporting their bloodied comrades, Sammy with her arm round Baz, still stroking his bruised cheeks. The other onlookers were drifting back into the pub, some of them calling out to the yobs.

Rob straightened my car out and roared onwards. “I’m taking you home, Clem,” he said grimly. “You were lucky to get out of that alive.”

I said nothing. We flashed past the pathetic bunch of yobs and I saw Sammy, still ministering to Baz. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds. I saw nothing in her blue eyes but sheer contempt. And it was directed at me.

* * * * *

Bob stuck with me for the rest of that day. Throughout the early afternoon at my place, we put away most of a bottle of Scotch between us, while I alternated between ranting and raving about Sammy being a conniving little trollop to sobbing uncontrollably because I loved her so much and wanted her back. Bob made all the right noises, he patted my shoulders when I was blubbering, he told me to pull myself together when I wasn’t and he even joked with me a bit when we were both well oiled about how nicely I’d put the three toerags down earlier.

“You were lucky though,” he said, suddenly deadly serious and catching my eye. “If the other three had got onto you, they’d have killed you or at least put you in hospital. It’s just as well Reefer and I came out and a lot of the other regulars who actually like you for some reason would’ve stopped them. The Guv’nor was all for calling the police, that’s why I got you out of there so fucking fast.”

“Reefer saw one of ‘em off, didn’t he?” I said quietly fingering the throbbing bruise above my eye where Baz had managed to catch me one, “I guess he must still be pretty tasty with his fists.”

“It also helped that he was holding a flick knife to the guy’s ribs,” replied Bob. “That sort of thing usually concentrates even the densest of minds.”

“Same old Reefer, then.” I said.

At about 3.30 Bob phoned for a taxi.

“You off home then?” I slurred. “Stay with me Bob – I don’t want to be alone. It’s, well – it’s painful.”

“Taxi’s for both of us,” said Bob briskly. “We’re off to the Golf Club and – ” he held up a hand to stave off any protests from me – “You are going to play a round with me even if I have to drag you round every bloody hole on my back!”

“I haven’t got any clubs,” I protested.

“Then you can hire a set of the Club’s own, can’t you? Now – go and get cleaned up, have a pee and we’ll be ready to leave.”

I won’t say I played the best game of golf I’d ever played in my life – in fact I’d only played gold twice before, once with Bob and once with an influential client and I’d lost on both occasions – but it certainly was one way to sober up. I also think my anger got me round the course, as I sliced and hacked the balls along. I probably cleared more divots than balls, but Bob insisted we finish the round, even if I had a shocking handicap. After that, we had a few jars in the rather well-appointed clubhouse bar, where I lapsed back into a maudlin diatribe about how ungrateful and devious Sammy had been, how she’d betrayed my trust and how great the sex had been and why did she have to go off with that lanky pig-shit-thick tosser Baz?

Bob managed to make me keep my voice to an acceptable level and discreetly made sure I didn’t overdo it. Then he ordered us a cab to take us back to my place. By now it was well past seven o’clock in the evening. Bob had phoned his wife Sue to let her know he’s be staying with me that evening, because I’d ‘had a bit of trouble’. He’d also phoned Reefer to ask a couple of brief questions, which went along the lines of: “Ok? You onto it? Be all right will it? Call us when you’re done? We’ll be back at Clem’s soon, okay?”

“What was all that about?” I asked as I flopped back into the rear seat of the taxi, floating in a pleasant alcoholic haze.

“Just checking some business with Reefer,” said Bob. “I’ll tell you later.”

Soon we were back home and ready to start on another bottle of scotch. Bob called for a Chinese takeaway, which arrived at the same time as Reefer. He ambled into the living room, carrying one of the brown paper takeaway bags behind Bob.

“It’s the Reef!” I exclaimed, waving in salute. “Join us for some chinky, mate? There’s plenty to go round.”

“Cheers,” said Reefer, in his usual taciturn, but amiable way. He nodded to Bob. “Sorted.”

I was about to query this exchange when Bob interjected and slapped Reefer on the shoulder. “Nice one with that spotty twat at the pub, Reefer!” he said.

“Yeah, thanks, ” I added. Then I regarded them both seriously. “Did you know she was two-timing me?”

“No,” said Bob. “I only went in the King’s Head today because Reefer said he’d be there. That’s when we saw her with that lot of herberts.”

“And I only went in because Jaq got fed up with me being around her and Sophie all the time,” added Reefer. “She wanted a bit of pace, I expect. I suppose I can be a bit much 24/7.” He winked at Rob.

“Sophie?” I queried.

“His daughter,” added Bob.

“Daughter?” I exclaimed. I knew Reefer had got together with Jaq some months before, but I had no idea they’d had a kid, and said so.

“You never asked,” said Bob, sagely.

“Been too busy, right?” grinned Reefer.

When I awoke the next morning, I had a mouth like sandpaper and a head that felt like a piston was hammering away inside it, whilst the bruise Baz had inflicted throbbed in accompaniment. I was on the couch, with the duvet cover from my bed over me. Bob and Reefer must have seen me right after I passed out from too much booze and too much self-pity. I lay there for a long time, contemplating all that had happened the previous day, until the sun crept round and shone down on my face through a chink in the front room curtains. I was pleased to note that all the empty bottles and takeaway cartons had been removed – Bob could be very domesticated, because Susan was quite fussy like that. I slowly stretched out and got to my feet and padded through into the kitchen to find Bob sitting at the table reading the newspaper. The wall clock indicated 11.10.

“‘Morning mate,” grinned Bob, “You for coffee?”

“No thanks,” I mumbled with a painful grin, “I’ll stay here.”

Over coffee – no breakfast for me – Bob explained the significance of his exchange with Reefer on the mobile the previous day and Reefer’s enigmatic “Sorted!” when he’d turned up later on.

It seemed that Reefer and some of his less-than-squeaky clean ‘associates’ had tracked Baz and the other yobs down to the crappy snooker hall they hung out in and had made it crystal clear that they expected no reprisals against me. It would appear that Baz and co were a group of plonkers Sammy had met whilst out clubbing and had thought they were ‘cool’ to hang around with. I’d tentatively asked whether Sammy had been there with them. Apparently she had and Reefer had also pointed out to her that he did not expect Hannah to learn of our relationship.

“He threatened her?” I began, angrily, realising the hypocrisy of what I’d just said.

“No, he doesn’t threaten women,” said Bob, “But he just pointed out that there’d be – consequences – if she tried to be vindictive.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“Gone.” said Bob. “Apparently her folks are due back home today and the house was pretty much trashed by Baz and his mates, so they’ll go ballistic. Police got involved too, I gather. She’s taking herself off to London and then going on Uni. That’s what she said anyway.”

I digested this news. What a mess. Still, it could have been a lot worse. I decided to let the dust settle and then see if I could smooth things over with Sammy. Perhaps we could put all of this unpleasantness behind us. She’d see sense when she was away from that bunch of morons. I was certain of it.

Of course, things never quite work out so nice and neatly, do they? I spent the rest of that day recovering after Bob told me he’d got to get back to his long-suffering family. In the evening, I tentatively tried Sammy’s mobile. As I suspected, it went straight to answerphone, so I rung off and composed a brief text saying I was sorry and let’s talk.

I had no response that day, but I put on a brave face when Hannah and Marcus came home from holiday the next day, which was Sunday. When Hannah asked me about the bruise on my forehead, I simply said I’d had too much to drink when Bob and Reefer had come over and tripped over. That sounded plausible enough for her – after all, I was her clumsy Dad.

Over the next two days, I sent three more text messages and an e-mail. Still no reply. I was furious and frustrated, my work was suffering and I was perilously close to losing a good consultancy contract due to me being late with my finished report. My anger reached boiling point when my e-mail bounced back to me. All this could mean was that Sammy had changed e-mail servers. I phoned her mobile, determined to talk to her, only to receive an ‘unobtainable’ signal. She’d changed mobiles or at least mobile numbers. She was determined to cut herself off from me.

I stormed into the kitchen to make myself a coffee, to which I intended to add a good measure of scotch. I nearly tripped over Rufus who was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. He yelped as I steadied myself against the work surface.

“What’s your bloody problem?” I snapped. “Why aren’t you in your bed? Go on – bed!” I pointed to his beanbag to emphasise my command. Rufus shakily tried to rise to his feet but they trembled and collapsed beneath him, eliciting a whine from him.

My blood ran cold. “Oh Rufus boy!” I whispered, dropping down next to him. “What’s wrong, fella?” He nuzzled me and licked my hand, his eyes assuming a dream-like stare. His breathing was laboured and his back legs were twitching. I felt sick, all thoughts of Sammy forgotten.

The vet said that the tumour had probably been growing in Rufus’ body for some time and, like many such tumours, had only just flared up when the host body became weaker. It was situated in his lower spine, hence his legs giving way. There were also secondary tumours in his lungs. Even if they could operate to remove them, the anaesthetic would finish him off, as he was so old. I shouldn’t blame myself, the vet assured me, he was old for a Golden Retriever, he’d had a good life and there was nothing more I could have done for him.

Somehow I couldn’t see that as I held my old friend’s head in my arms as the final injection was given to release him from his pain and send him to a better place. This was my old dog, my best friend, and my faithful companion through thick and thin. This was the dog who’d growled and bared his teeth at Maggie when she’d tried to attack me with a kitchen knife years before during one of our more violent arguments. This was the dog who’d played happily with the children on the lawn when they were very young, putting up with them pulling his ears and tail, never once losing his temper with them. All of that, and I’d let him down in the last months of his life, as I’d been too tied up with some stupid, air-headed little bimbo young enough to be my daughter. I’d not paid attention to Rufus. And now he was gone.

Almost in a daze, I made arrangements wit the vet’s receptionist to have Rufus privately cremated and his ashes returned to me, paid the bill and drove home, numb, beyond tears, beyond mere grief. I packed Rufus’s bean bag, food and water bowls and toys away in bags like an automaton and put them away in the garden shed, as I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out. I sat alone in the den, waiting for Hannah to come home, not relishing the bad news that I had to give her and the inevitable tears that would follow.

Two days later, things got even worse, if that were possible. I was sitting in my study, in the early evening, attempting to muster enough enthusiasm to finish the horrendously late report when Hannah burst in and threw a pair of satin red panties onto my keyboard.

“What’s this?” she shouted.

My eyes narrowed at her as I picked up the panties. They were a pair of Sammy’s and were stained with her juices. “It’s a pair of panties,” I said quietly, picking them up between forefinger and thumb and tossing them back towards Hannah. “Why?”

“They’re not mine!” snapped Hannah. “I found them under my bed, in my room! If you must have your tarts round here, Father, I wish you’d tell them to stay out of my room!”

My tarts. Where had I heard that before?

I assumed that Sammy must have discarded the panties in Hannah’s room some weeks ago and borrowed a pair of Hannah’s, as her own were wet. She must have accidentally kicked them under the bed. Or maybe she did it deliberately?

“I beg your pardon?” I whispered, rising up from my chair.

“I mean, they look like they belong to some young bimbo!” retorted Hannah, “How young was she, Dad? At least you could get someone of your own age! It’s disgusting!”

“Mind your own fucking business, you stuck up little madam!” I roared.

Hannah recoiled, as though I’d slapped her. “How dare you talk to me like that?” I bellowed. “Always looking down your nose at me! Always making out how embarrassing I am. Well don’t forget who pays your college fees. No student loans for you, eh? Don’t forget who paid for your holiday, you ungrateful little cow!”

Tears sprang to Hannah’s eyes and she attempted to regain her composure.

“You’re only saying that because you’re upset about Rufus,” she gulped, “I’m upset too dad, I – ”

“What? Excuse me?” I sneered. “You? Upset about Rufus? When did you last take him for walk? Oh yes, busy with schoolwork, but he was an old dog, wasn’t he? Not cool to be seen with an old, doddery dog is it? It’s embarrassing, like me. Disgusting like me. He was old, he smelt, just like me, eh? Why not have me put down too? Don’t make out you’re upset about him, you snotty little cow! Not so very different from your mother, are you?”

“I’m glad I’m moving out to Uni!” she screamed. “You cruel bastard! I’m off to Marcus’s!”

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re going too!” I shouted back. “Go to posh Marcus’s house then. Bet his parents aren’t as embarrassing as me! At least they’re fucking rich! Suits you, doesn’t it?”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d said too much.

Hannah’s face crumpled into floods of tears and she fled from the room, howling. I considered following her, but the slamming of the front door was testament enough to the fact that she wanted to put plenty of space between us.

I slumped down into my chair and shut down the computer. I sat and stared at the blank screen as darkness closed in around me, the only light being that from my table lamp.

That night, I reached my lowest point ever and felt totally alone in the world.

* * * * *

The doorbell snapped me out of my reverie. Was that her? Or him? Here already? I jumped up and walked to the door of the den, the smell of delicious Sunday roast wafting to me. “I’ll get it!” called Hannah, bounding into the hallway. I heard the front door being opened and then silence. I waited by the den door for what seemed like an eternity of long agonising seconds, then Hannah gave a little squeal. “It’s only Marcus,” she announced. The silence had obviously been Marcus, fresh from his rugby match, giving his beloved a long, deep snog, followed by a pinch on the bum. I sighed and retreated back into the den as I heard Marcus join the ladies in the kitchen.

I sat down in the armchair opposite the comatose chocolate form of Ridley and smiled. The memories came flooded back thick and fast…

* * * * *

Redemption comes in many unexpected forms. Mine came – or at least began – one Saturday in early September that fateful year. I’d hardly seen Hannah since our argument. Nor surprisingly, she’d taken to avoiding me and staying more frequently at Marcus’ place. She was also busy with preparations for her imminent departure to Uni, so I guess they deserved time together.

I reflected that once she moved into the halls of residence at Uni, I’d be pretty much on my own for good. Sure, she’d visit home – this was still her home too – but odd weekends, holidays and so on. I wouldn’t have to cook for her, or tidy up after her or – I was going to miss her.

I apologised to Hannah for my outburst by leaving a huge box of chocolates on her bed with a “Sorry” note. She eventually started talking to me again, so one day when she was at home I felt sufficiently emboldened to ask her about Sammy, as I’d still had no word from her.

“Oh, she’s bloody weird,” said Hannah in exasperation. “Hardly ever calls me or e-mails me. Apparently she got into a load of trouble with her folks over this really rough crowd she got in with – met ‘em in a club over Stockport way I think. She had them all over to her place for a party and one of ‘em stole some of her Dad’s money and her Mum’s jewellery. The police got involved and they found fingerprints all over the place. Apparently it was this boy she’d been knocking about with – Baz I think his name was – and he had form a mile long. He was already on a two year suspended sentence for burglary anyway.”

“So – er – what happened? What about Sammy?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“Well, they arrested him and a couple of the other guys he hangs around with – raided their flat and found drugs, jewellery and all sorts. I heard he got about five years because of his suspended sentence too. I think Sammy’s Mum got most of her jewellery back. They were bloody mad at Sammy though and they’ve almost chucked her out. Good job she’s at Uni soon.”

“Will you see her again, what with her being at Manchester and you at Lancaster?” I asked. “Not too far away from each other and all.”

“Oh, she’s not at Manchester now,” said Hannah. “She changed her mind, she’s gone down to Bristol I think. They’d offered her a place originally but she opted for Manchester. I think she just wants to get as far away as possible from all the shit that’s been going on with this Baz and her folks, so she asked if she could come after all and Bristol said yes.”

Bristol? Just how far away did she want to get from me?

For my part, I tried to snap out of the deep depression I’d lapsed into after Rufus had died and Sammy had gone. Rufus I’d got ‘closure’ on, by burying the neat little casket containing his ashes in his favourite spot in the back garden. I’d planted a small rose bush on top, in the hope that part of Rufus would live on through the bush and its flowers.

My feelings for Sammy varied from day to day or even at different times of the day. Sometimes I wanted to punish her, make her feel bad for what she’d done to me, other times I truly hated her, or I might think I was completely over her and be totally indifferent to her, then all of a sudden a fond memory would pop in and I’d end up in heartbroken despair, wanting to win her back.

My work had suffered, but I did my best to pull it up to scratch again. I had a big push on several smaller jobs, clearing them out of the way to the best of my ability, sitting at my computer for long hours, fuelled by caffeine and, I had to say, nicotine, as I’d started on three of four cigarettes a day – and I hadn’t smoked for years.

However, I was stuck on the biggest consultancy contract I had, the prestigious McIntyre account. It just wouldn’t come right and I was a week over deadline. I’d had the Marketing manager, a bumptious little shit called Webber hounding me almost daily by e-mail and telephone, so I’d promised it’d be on his desk by Tuesday morning. If I fucked this one up, not only would I lose the second half of my payment and have to forfeit a penalty clause, the word might well get out that Clements was unreliable and this could have a serious impact on future contracts from other clients.

So, this fateful Saturday morning, I’d decided to devote the whole weekend – no matter how long it took or how few hours I slept – to finishing this bloody report for them.

So when Hannah marched into the kitchen early that morning, followed by Marcus and Bob, I was at first irritated at the interruption and then curious as to what the little bundle Hannah was holding under her fleece jacket might be, and what Bob had to do with it all.

“Hiya mate!” beamed Bob, with a knowing smirk on his face.

“Hello Clem,” nodded Marcus.

“Dad – meet Ridley!” said Hannah unzipping her fleece and, with a flourish worthy of David Copperfield she deposited a small, furry brown ball on to my lap. The furry ball turned out to be a chocolate Labrador puppy. The puppy started furiously licking my fingers – it could probably smell the butter smeared on them from the toast I’d just eaten.

“What is this?” I said slowly.

“It’s a puppy,” grinned Bob. “I thought you’d know.”

“Ha, ha, yes, but what’s it doing here?” I replied, tentatively stroking the little creature’s domed head.

“It’s for you Dad,” said Hannah, sitting down in a chair at the side of the table and cheekily taking a swig of my tea out of my mug.

“Why would I want this?” I said, trying not to return the puppy’s adoring gaze as it looked up at me.

“Because you need a dog, because you miss Rufus,” said Hannah, swallowing slightly after mentioning my old boy’s name.

“Now look – ” I began. The puppy stood up, put its paws on my chest and licked my face, paying particular attention to anywhere that tasted of food. My protests were cut short both by the puppy’s ministrations and the swift explanations of the others.

“We drove over to the breeder’s place last night to collect it,” said Marcus. “It stayed at my parent’s place.”

“And what did you have to do with this?” I said to Bob, fixing him with a hard stare.

“Total complicity, mate,” said Bob. “I found the breeder, I went with them last night, I spoke to Hannah about it.”

“You don’t have to pay a penny,” said Hannah, “We bought him. All of us, between us. It’s a sort of ‘Thank You’ present for being, well – a good Dad…”

“And a good mate.” put in Bob.

“And –er – a cool guy, basically,” added Marcus with a smile.

“I see,” I said. My resolve was weakening as the little creature started to playfully nip my chin. I gently pushed him back into my lap whereupon he widdled on my trousers. Just like Rufus had done, years and years before when I’d collected him from his breeder. Tears sprang to my eyes and a hard lump grew in my throat.

“I – I don’t deserve – this – you….” I stammered.

“Oh, stop whingeing and get your arse in gear, Clements,” breezed Bob. “We’re due on the green in 40 minutes.”

“I can’t,” I protested, gently passing the dripping little horror named Ridley over to Hannah who hugged him. He grabbed a strand of her long hair in his mouth and she laughed, painfully. “I have to finish this report – it’s the McIntyre account, remember? I told you about it a couple of days ago when you phoned.”

“Oh yeah, I do now you come to mention it,” said Bob. “Did I tell you that Gerald Waverley, the McIntyre MD is a member of my gold club? Says it’s cool, enjoy your game and take a bit longer for the report.”

I must have looked like a goldfish at that point with my mouth opening and closing, but no sounds coming out.

“No need to thank me,” laughed Bob. “Buy me a drink afterwards in the clubhouse. Now come on, we’ve got to get a move on.”

“I can’t,” I protested, pointing to the puppy. “I’ve got a puppy to look after now, haven’t I? I can’t just leave it on its own. And it needs a new bed, blankets, a collar and lead, food, toys…”

“All taken care of Clem,” said Marcus putting a sturdy hand on my shoulder. “He’s fully kitted out. It’s all in the car, I’ll bring it in.”

“And we’ll stay here today and look after him, get him settled in for you,” said Hannah. “I need to get packed for Uni anyway.”

What a set-up! They’d all got me just where they wanted me!

I stood up, gave her hair a friendly ruffle – that always annoyed her – and then bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “When did you become such a devious, sneaky, caring, intelligent grown up?” I whispered.

Hannah turned and looked at me. “I always have been,” she said, “I learnt from a good teacher, my Dad. He’s cool.”

I brushed away a stray tear.

“Come on, Clem,” exhorted Bob, “We’d better get going, Ridley’ll be fine.”

Hannah and Marcus chorused their goodbyes and Ridley yapped excitedly. Bob paused by the kitchen door. “Oh, Clem – we can spare five minutes,” he said. “Only you’d better change your trousers. The puppy’s pee’d on them.”

I played a better round of golf that afternoon. Bob still beat me, but my handicap had improved considerably. I even managed not to talk about Sammy once whilst we went round, concentrating instead on the game and reminiscing about Rufus. As Bob and I repaired to the clubhouse, I put my hand on his shoulder. “Thanks mate,” I said. “I really haven’t been much of a friend lately, have I?”

“Forget it,” said Bob, putting his hand on mine – all very manly- and shaking it. “You’ve helped me out loads of times in the past. That’s what mates are for. Oh – did you bring your cheque book?”

“Yeah, why?” I asked.

“Only you’ll be needing to pay your membership fees today,” said Bob, “I can’t keep signing you in as a guest. You’ll have to buy some clubs too.”

“I thought new members had to be proposed and seconded and approved?” I asked.

“Well, I proposed you, Gerald seconded you and that was good enough for the Committee,” said Bob as we walked into the clubhouse. “Mind you, it helps that Gerald is the Club Chairman.” A few drinkers greeted Bob, and a couple of others nodded politely to me, recognising me from before.

“Ah – here’s Gerald,” said Bob, clapping a sturdy middle aged executive type clad in a blazer on the back.

Bob introduced us. “Ah, Mr Clements – Richard, isn’t it?” said Waverley, as immaculately spoken as he was dressed. “Bob told me about your sad bereavement, Please accept my condolences.”

“Uh – er – thank you,” I stammered. “And –uh – please call me Clem, everyone else does.”

“Your uncle Rufus was an inspiration to us all, wasn’t he?” put in Bob, quickly.

“He certainly was,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face, realising how Bob had bought me extra time with the McIntyre account. “Sadly missed.”

“I called my Marketing chap Webber this morning at home,” added Waverley. “Told him to extend the deadline for two weeks for you on account of your having to settle your Uncle’s estate. That suit you will it?”

I bought Waverley and Bob large drinks and nudged Bob in the ribs after Waverley, having welcomed me to the club, wandered out for his round of golf.

“You cunt!” I hissed, “Thanks!”

“Anytime you miserable old bastard,” smiled Bob raising his glass. “Cheers!”

Things improved rapidly from then on. I managed to finish the McIntyre report ahead of the new schedule and Waverley was delighted, even authorising a bonus payment to me for my trouble. Hannah started at Uni mid -September and seemed to thoroughly enjoy her forensics course – grisly though it was in parts – and was obviously working hard.

Ridley turned out to be a superb dog, a clown of the first order, just like Rufus had been, although he was far more mischievous. I enrolled in some puppy training classes organised by the local dog club and actually found myself enjoying the discipline of training a young dog. I took Ridley with me sometimes when I went to play golf, now thoroughly enjoying the game, and the little fella was quite happy to snooze in the back of the car on his special blanket whilst I went round.

I still had my bad days – thoughts of Sammy came tumbling back, sometimes I’d dream about her and wake up feeling thoroughly wretched and depressed. I don’t care what anyone says – sex is important. And if you’ve been used to it on regular basis for a long period of time and then it’s suddenly withdrawn, it does affect you. A quick wank over a dirty magazine is no substitute.

But just to prove that miracles do sometimes happen, my redemption was pretty much completed when I met Rose. We all like to think we’ve met our soul mates in life with our partners, but it’s a sad fact that we very seldom do. I am convinced to this day that I finally found my soul mate in Rose.

It all came about in November. Gerald Waverley had been so impressed with my report for McIntyres that he asked me if I’d be so kind as to prepare a report for the Golf Club Committee on the possible sale of some ‘waste ground’ (basically some fallow fields) which adjoined the course and which was owned by the club. The idea was to put the land up for development, with old folks’ sheltered housing the preferred option. I felt that I could afford to be generous and do the work for nothing – it wasn’t that difficult anyway – so Waverley had immediately suggested that I be co-opted onto the Committee to fill a position that had fallen vacant. I was reluctant at first, but allowed myself to be co-opted. After all, there weren’t that many committee meetings and it was something to do. Perhaps, I reflected sadly to myself, I was slipping into middle age a little more gracefully now.

So one fateful evening, as the Committee meeting broke up and we adjourned to the members’ bar, my attention was suddenly caught by a very attractive red haired woman at the bar, chatting to an older woman. They were both obviously lady members of the club. I estimated the redhead’s age to be somewhere in her mid to late 30s. Her hair reached the shoulders of her smart jacket, underneath which she wore a purple open-necked blouse and a mid length dark skirt, which matched the jacket. Her legs were long and shapely. Waverley came up behind me, noticed my interest, and steered me towards the vision of loveliness.

“Ah, excuse me ladies,” he said. The older woman smiled and nodded, then went to join a group at a table. “Rose, I’d like you to meet Richard Clements – Clem to his friends,” said Waverley. “Clem, this is Rose Monahan.”

She smiled and extended a long hand towards me, which I gratefully shook. “Hello Clem,” she smiled, her slightly tanned face breaking into a huge smile, her red lips parting to reveal lots of nice white teeth. Not perfectly straight, but that was part of the attraction. She had laughter lines round her eyes and the eyes themselves were a wonderful deep bluish green. He voice was slightly husky, not vampish, but sexy.

Somehow I stammered out a greeting, my heart pounding and offered to buy her a drink. I tuned to offer Waverley one, but he’d sneaked off to talk to the older woman and her friends at the table.

So we drank and we talked and we drank some more and we talked some more. I found Rose genuinely fascinating and she, for her part, seemed interested in what I had to say. What I think did it for us was when she pricked her ears up at an old ABC song on the Club’s ‘quiet’ jukebox. “I love the 80s stuff,” she sighed. “Late 70s, early 80s, I’m there. That was my time.”

“Mine too,” I enthused and we were away, swapping stories of discos and oh-so-cool fashions and how we thought we were the bees knees.

“I became a punk when I was 15,” laughed Rose. “I had my hair cut short and spiked up, had it dyed pitch black. My parents nearly had a fit. They certainly did at my Catholic School – I almost got expelled for being a rebel! Later on I became a New Romantic – big Ultravox fan I was.”

I laughed. “Me too! I was a member of the U.I.S. – Ultravox Information Service,”

“I don’t believe it!” roared Rose, “So as I. It wasn’t ever the Ultravox Fan Club or the Ultravox Appreciation Society, was it? No… ‘Information Service’.”

“I used to try to shave my sideburns to a point like Midge Ure’s,” I chuckled. “Couldn’t grow them thick enough though. Same with the moustache… never worked!

This carried on for ages, and soon it became obvious that most of the members had drifted off home and the bar steward had lowered all but one of the bar grilles in a rather pointed attempt to make us drink up and also go home. So I took a gamble and asked Rose out to dinner. To my amazement, she accepted.

So we had dinner the following week and learnt more about each other. Rose was a divorcee and, technically, a widow. Her ex husband, a drinker and womaniser had left her for a younger model, leaving her with the care of three school age children. He’d been drunk when his car had crashed, a few months after she had successfully divorced him and gladly reverted to her maiden name – her father being an Irish immigrant railway worker. She was proud of her Irish roots but, as she joked running her hands through her hair, she had to dye her Irish roots a bit more nowadays.

She ran her own small PR business, having trained in journalism before she was married and was doing reasonably well for herself. Her three kids were all pretty much grown and flown, like Hannah and, as we both agreed, like all teenagers and twenty-somethings, they knew it all.

“But we were the same, weren’t we?” I said, “Thought we knew it all, invented it all, no-one could do it better.”

“True enough,” agreed Rose, “But the music was definitely better back then!”

The third date was to a Grand Prix meeting at Silverstone. It was different, anyway! One of Rose’s hobbies – no – one of Rose’s passions was Formula One racing. She was an avid follower of every Grand Prix series and a devoted McClaren fan. Whereas she’d be perfectly happy to crack open a few beers and watch F1 on the telly, she was never happier than going to see a race for herself. I was pretty ambivalent about racing cars until I met Rose. Let’s just say that I became a very willing – but genuine – convert. That’s love for you, I guess.

On the fourth date, we had sex. Well¸ not actually when we were on the date – they’d have noticed that at the cinema, even in the dark – but afterwards when Rose invited me back to her place for coffee – a suggestion which had us both laughing like kids.

“I know you’ve got a dog to get home to,” said Rose as she led me indoors, “So have I – this is Millie.”

Millie turned up out be a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who, apparently, adored Labradors. “Always goes up to them when we’re out walking,” said Rose. “Good job the little minx is neutered!”

“She’ll have to meet Ridley then,” I said. “So come over next time, yeah?”

Rose nodded and then silently took my hand and led me up the stairs of her cosy, well furnished Semi.

Her bedroom was extremely pleasing and was an interesting mix of styles. I was delighted to see three framed posters of various 80s band gigs, including Ultravox at Hammersmith Odeon in 1983. But the bed was the main focus of attention – big, wide and comfy, a four-poster no less.

We sat down on the bed together and Rose slipped her jacket off. She made the first move, slipping her slender hand round the back of my head, running her fingers through my hair and pulling me close to her, our tongues filling each other’s mouths.

I ran my hand over her sleek red blouse, slipping under her open collar, under her bra strap and along her shoulder. Inevitable memories suddenly flashed back but I fought against them.

I swiftly unbuttoned Rose’s blouse and shrugged it off her, running my hands over her breasts – larger, obviously, than Sammy’s, but still firm. Her nipples hardened beneath the silky material of her bra and I bent to gently nip each one with my teeth through the material. Rose groaned with pleasure and then pushed me back onto the bed, quickly undoing my loose tie and pulling my shirt open. She lay across me, licking and kissing my bare chest, teasing my nipples with her teeth. I reached around her back and wrenched her bra undone, pulling it off her, freeing her large, adorable breasts.

Rose sat over me and let me lick and bite her nipples into painful erectness, moaning loudly as my hand reached up under her skirt and pressed three fingers against her panties, the material suddenly becoming wet. My fingers slipped past the panties and sought the moist, welcoming depths of her cunt, teasing her clit, drawing juices from within her.

“Clem…. Clem…” she moaned. Suddenly she sat up and motioned me to move up the bed to the head end. Following her lead, I stripped off to my boxer shorts. She removed her wet panties to show a glorious pelvic mound, which, I have to admit, did contain a lot of red hairs. I was about to pull my boxers off when she stopped me.

“Wait,” she whispered, her voice huskier with lust. She positioned herself over me, her cunt just above my face and lowered her head towards my bulging groin. “You do me and I’ll do you,” she breathed wickedly.

I grabbed her buttocks and forced her fanny down to me, my tongue tasting her, probing deep, exploring her depths, finding her aching clit and pummelling it. I felt her tense and shudder, then it was my turn to tense as she grabbed the bulge if my groin and slipped her long fingers inside the flap on my shorts, her fingertips teasing the wet end of my throbbing cock. She withdrew her hand, gripped the flap of my boxers and suddenly ripped the fabric, tearing the shorts apart, letting my aching tackle spill free. I gasped at the intensity of her actions and then caught my breath as she took my pulsing cock into her mouth, moving her lips up and down the shaft, her teeth gently raking the skin either side, her tongue busily licking the purple head.

The pressure was uncontrollable, I felt my balls shudder and I was pumping, spurting into her mouth. At the same time my tongue jabbed against her clit, my fingers busily working alongside in her cunt and she responded with a wild spasm, releasing her juices into my mouth. We both would have cried out, but weren’t able to as we had our mouths full.

Rose gently released me and rocked back onto my chest, slowly turned round and then flopped down next to me on the bed, one arm gripping me tightly. Our chests heaved with the exertion, our bodies covered with sweat.

“That was so good!” I gasped, licking my lips, still tasting her.

“Mmmm – you too,” she whispered. “I knew I’d have to give you a blow job before we had sex though – same with me. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

I had to admit that it had.

“I knew it,” she smiled. “I looked at you that first time we met and I thought –’there’s a man who needs a blow job. No two ways about it, a blow job he must have!’”

“That’s such a coincidence,” I chuckled.

“What is?” he asked.

“When I saw you I thought to myself; ‘That woman needs to give me a blow job. No two ways about it, a blow job she must give me!”

Rose laughed and playfully slapped my chest. I responded by playfully slapping her backside.

I realised then that I had pretty much exorcised the demon named Sammy.

“Loved it,” sighed Rose. “Sometimes I wish I back in the early 80s, you know, a youngster again, but you know what they say Clem, with age comes experience!”

“So they say,” I agreed.

Some months later, well into the following year, I received an e-mail from Sammy. I’d long since got over her, but it was still a shock when I opened the mail sent from an unfamiliar e-mail address to realise that it was from her.

She’d obviously taken time to write it and had chosen her words carefully, but essentially, the style was all Sammy.

She apologised for her behaviour, said how sorry she was we parted on such bad terms and she realised now how kind I’d been to her and how cruel she’d been to me. The phrase ‘no way are you old, Clem’ was repeated twice in the mail, which pleased me. She also told me that I had been her first.

She told me how Baz had been arrested, how she’d genuinely had no idea that Baz and his mates had ripped off her parents; how her father had cancelled her credit card and told her not to come home until he said so. How her clothes and possessions had all been sent to Bristol University by her parents, how she’d not been home for months.

I had to admit, part of me felt she deserved it, the other part felt sorry for her. She still had some of the money I’d given her which had kept her going for a few weeks, but now she had her student grant and she was working part time at a TGIF place to make ends meet. She promised to pay me back the money one day when she could. Her media studies were going well and he’d made some new friends.

‘No boyfriends though’, she wrote. ‘I’m off men for a while, no offence.’

I wrote back a restrained, grown-up, even – dare I say it? – fatherly mail, saying yes, I had been upset, but that I’d been madly jealous and should not have come after her in the way I did at the pub. I expressed my feelings about Baz and his mates being arrested and assured her that her parents would mellow in time and forgive her, because ‘that’s what us parents do.’

I told her about Rose, said I was happy, told her Hannah was getting on okay and that I had a new dog. I told her not to worry about the money, it didn’t matter.

After that, we e-mailed every so often. Nothing heavy, nothing sexual, just two friends – of different ages admittedly – writing to each other to exchange news. And so things continued for the next few months.

Time passed….

Rose and I became ever closer, hardly ever arguing, just very happy and content in each other’s company. The sex was brilliant, Rose having a very broad repertoire and, sharing my tastes in bondage and roughness.

Rose’s kids met me and seemed to like me well enough and Hannah surprised me totally by really taking to Rose and treating her almost like a second mother or, more accurately, as the mother she’d never had. Sadly, I couldn’t introduce Daniel to Rose, but, as she told me, one day she’d meet him and one day he and I would talk again. And Ridley and Millie absolutely adored each other.

Hannah graduated from Uni with honours and was all set for a top-flight job in the police force. Sammy also graduated with some distinction and secured a job at BBC Bristol as a research assistant in the News and Current Affairs department. My consultancy work was never better and, with Rose’s PR skills, I’d marketed myself to a wider clientele. I played golf regularly with Bob and my handicap was something to be proud of. I even beat Bob a few times and I was certain he wasn’t letting me win. And for some weird reason, known only to themselves, Reefer and Jaq – bubbly Jaq with her little conker-coloured ponytail and flashing eyes – asked me to be Godfather to their second child, a boy named Richard.

I felt content, I felt… happy. Life was good, really good.

And it got better. Hannah told me one day that Daniel had expressed a wish to meet me and put the past behind us. I was flabbergasted. I’d known that Daniel and Hannah had remained in touch over the years, mainly by e-mail and the occasional phone call, but he’d never wanted to patch things up with me. The most I knew about Daniel nowadays was that he’d adopted his mother’s maiden name when he’d moved out with her, joined the RAF at 17, then latterly left the RAF aged 22 because it wasn’t for him and was now working in the private sector. Working at what, I didn’t know.

“I think it was after his 25th birthday, Dad,” Hannah told me. “You remember Mum’s will? He was to inherit some life insurance legacy she set aside for him when he hit 25. Seems he got a load of her private papers given him too. The solicitors had kept them with the legacy documents.”

“What sort of papers?” I asked, interested, despite myself.

“I don’t know,” said Hannah, “but they were personal. Seems he read them and realised that you weren’t the ogre after all, that Mum was a slapper and that she treated you like shit. I mean, I’ve told him often enough, but it was like he never believed me. This, whatever it was, confirmed it all.”

“Probably love letters from all her conquests,” I muttered darkly.

However, I had to admit, I wanted to meet Daniel again, to patch things up, to maybe make up for all those lost years.

Shortly after this, Sammy got in touch with Hannah and myself quite openly. She never referred to our past relationship – Hannah never found out – but she had some news of her own.

“I’ve been promoted to running an overseas news team,” she wrote. “And guess what? I let myself fall for someone I met when I was sent off on assignment to Kabul last year. Everyone calls him Algy, and he never uses his real name. I asked him why Algy and he said ‘because Biggles is taken’. We’ve been going out for months now, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to tempt fate, but we’re getting engaged. I’m coming up to Cheshire to tell Mum and Dad and let them meet Algy.”

I smiled, genuinely pleased for her. Her Mum and Dad had long since forgiven her for her lapse in behaviour, although if she’d ever been home to visit, she’d never told me, and I’d never asked. All the silly school girlishness had gone from her e-mails. This was a young woman in her early 20s with a professional career. Just like my Hannah.

Cutting a long story short, Rose suggested that we invite Daniel to dinner one Sunday, when Hannah and Marcus were here, too. Not only that, if Hannah’s friend Sammy was coming up with her young man, why not invite them over too? Hannah hadn’t seen Sammy for years.

“Won’t that be a lot of reunions in one day?” I asked, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect of seeing Sammy again. After all those months of wanting her back, I’d then had four years of not wanting to see her ever again, because I was happy not to. (I’d never told Rose about our relationship – there are some things you just don’t reveal, even to your soul mate. All she knew was that my former partner before her had been younger than me and we’d split up. Rose had told me that after her divorce, she’d had a fling with a 22 year-old gardener named Bruce. “He was young and virile, but very boring,” she laughed. “His technique was simple; kiss, tits, fuck. I prefer someone of my own age, Clem – with age comes experience, eh?”)

“No, having them all here will relieve the tension,” said Rose. “Trust me. It’ll work.”

* * * * *

The doorbell rang again. I jumped up. This was it. It was either Sammy or Daniel. Both were reducing me to a nervous, wobbling jelly, just by being here. This is stupid, I told myself. Sammy’s engaged to her new fella, and Daniel’s here to see you and make it all up. What’s to be afraid of?

I patted Ridley on his shiny chocolate head and hurried out into the hall. “I’ll get it!” I called.

Rose poked her head out of the kitchen door. “I thought you’d gone down the Golf Club,” she called after me.

“No, decided to be here to meet them,” I called back. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Sammy.

But not Sammy. She was more poised, more elegant. Her hair was shorter, cut in a neat, collar-length bob. Her eyes were still sparkling blue, but she was wearing fashionable square-cut spectacles now. She was wearing a well-tailored suit consisting of a tan jacket and trousers with a white, open necked blouse. A simple gold crucifix and chain hung round her neck, replacing the leather-thong and Celtic cross of old. I noticed the sparkling diamond ring on her finger as she held out her hand to me. I shook it firmly, but gently. She stepped up as I asked her to come in and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

I felt a slight frisson of excitement, but it soon passed.

“Hello again Clem,” she smiled.

At that moment Hannah appeared in the hallway and shrieked a greeting to Sammy. All at once they were schoolgirls again, hugging each other, kissing, laughing, looking at each other and remarking on their appearances. Marcus ambled out of the kitchen and almost shook Sammy’s arm out of its socket.

I ushered Sammy into the living room where Rose was waiting. Sammy shook hands with Rose and smiled an approving smile in my direction.

“Drink, Sammy?” I asked, standing by the drinks cabinet. “Oh, by the way, where’s Algy?”

“He’s parking the car,” said Sammy, indicating that she wanted a vodka. “Road’s a bit crowded, so he’s finding a meter round the corner.”

We all sat down with drinks and chatted. “Dinner’ll be ready soon,” said Rose.

“It smells great,” enthused Sammy, looking around my redecorated living room, perhaps trying to relive old memories. Who knows?

The doorbell rang.

“That must be Algy,” she said.

“What does he so again?” asked Rose.

“He’s an airline pilot,” said Sammy. “Works for BA, long haul.”

“Might be Daniel,” added Hannah. “I’ll go.” She left the room and I heard her open the door and exclaim a greeting. The living room door opened as I stood up.

A tall young man stood in the doorway. Broad, muscular shoulders and an almost military bearing. Neatly cut hair, steely brown eyes, square jaw.

A face I recognised. A face I’d seen in the mirror about 25 years ago, although not so ruggedly handsome.

“Clem, Rose, this is Algy,” said Sammy, taking her fiancé’s arm and leading him forward.

Thoughts crashed through my head.

And I thought Sammy wasn’t going to be able to surprise me ever again. What’s more, did she know? Was it deliberate? Did he know? Did his sister have any idea?

Doesn’t use his real name. Everyone calls him Algy. As in Biggles. But Biggles is taken. Left the RAF. Private Sector. Airline Pilot.

Algy, this is-”

His hand gripped mine and he smiled, warmly.

“Hello Dad.”