Still, she was pleased to be there, pleased to dip her toes back into normality and if it hadn’t been for her friends that wouldn’t have been an option. They’d made it clear they would be sharing her part of the bill until she was back earning a wage. Not for the first time Sue wondered how she would have coped without such wonderful friends.
“Anyway how are you feeling after Oliver?” Sue asked. Rachel had divorced her husband a long time ago and was now a confirmed bachelorette but Kay continued in her quest for love. Unfortunately her latest boyfriend had continued in his, despite the fact that they had been seeing each other for several years. Kay had often complained about the fact that he switched things on and then just left them; he did it with his iPod, television and laptop, only this time he’d left it logged into his e-mail account. When Kay had gone on to browse for a last minute holiday deal, she’d found a deluge of e-mails of a rather explicit nature. Kay hadn’t gone into any detail, she still found it difficult to talk about, but the revelation was enough to ensure Oliver’s immediately ejection from her flat, with no room for negotiation.
“I’m okay, it was obviously not meant to be. I’d rather find out now than later on.”
“Well, true, and you have the advantage of youth on your side,” Rachel smiled as she spoke.
“You’re hardly past it yourself,” Kay responded.
“No, I’m too set in my ways; sharing with someone now would just drive me mad. I can’t be bothered to have the argument about the loo seat always being left in the upright position. What about you Sue, any closer to plunging back into the market?”
“Me?” Sue gave an incredulous look as she ran a finger round the inside of her plate. “I hardly think anyone’s going to rush to take me on.”
“And why not?” Rachel enquired.
“I have enough trouble looking after myself.” She stopped and thought for a second before continuing, “Sometimes I think it would be nice, I do miss the intimacy at times, and no before you ask I don’t just mean sex, although that would be nice, obviously. But then, when I’m stretched out on the sofa, wrecked from just getting through the day, I thank god I haven’t got anyone else to consider.”
In truth Sue had thought about signing up to an online dating site before, something Lottie was always threatening to do on her behalf, but that was as far as the idea had progressed. For every one reason to do it she could think of ten more not to. In the end she had concluded that it was not for her, if it had been she would surely have done something about it by now. No, she had decided to leave the whole thing up to fate, she would either meet someone or not. She had relinquished any responsibility in the matter, which was fine because that way she was not actually required to do anything.
“Yum, I love the cannelloni in here,” Kay announced with a satisfied sniff.
Sue had gone for a margarita pizza, her reasoning being that she would only actually manage to eat half and therefore could take the rest back for her lunch the following day. She still had some money from her termination package but it was going down at an alarming rate.
Standing up to stretch her back and legs once more, Sue asked Kay and Rachel about school, wanting to demonstrate that she was fine over the whole losing her job situation, which of course she was not. The more her friends chatted the further away her life as a teacher seemed to be. She zoned in and out of the conversation, blocking the memories that threatened to bubble to the surface, causing her eyes to redden and her voice to thicken. She sought safety in eavesdropping over the chat of strangers, a pretty easy feat with the tables being in such close proximity.
The two women behind her were discussing the merits of one gas and electricity provider over another. They had arrived after Sue so she longed to turn around and discover at what age such banal conversation was acceptable; not that she didn’t talked about such things herself, but she did try to be at least a little amusing when invited out.
To her right were a couple, she presumed them to be anyway. Sue was guessing about early twenties, she couldn’t yet tell whether it was a first date going badly or the swansong of a romance. Hardly any conversation passed between them and any attempt to initiate some was pounced on by the other; faces alight with hope that soon flickered and died as they realised they couldn’t think of anything to add. Sue felt their pain and was very tempted to hiss in the man’s ear, just talk about the weather. At least that way, if her contribution was not welcomed, then they would at least be able to chat about the crazy woman who’d interrupted their dinner.
Sue had been just about to re-focus upon her friends when the ladies behind her muttered the ‘S’ word, which is always interesting when being discussed by strangers.
“Did she make much?” one woman enquired.
“Well, she’s not sure yet. Apparently she gets paid quarterly.”
Now, this was something worth listening to, obviously the fuel provider’s thing had merely been a warm up to the main nugget of information. Sue lowered herself back into her seat and then leaned slightly backwards as she tried to work out the parts of the chat she had missed. Surely a sex worker gets paid by the job, so to speak, not quarterly she mused.
“And has she done many?”
“No, this is her first one. She daren’t tell her hubbie, although she says just thinking about what she’s done is spicing things up in the bedroom.”
“Good for her. Have you ever…you know…”
“No, I wouldn’t have the imagination. She says it involves spanking and such, I’m too old for that.”
“Well, it’s different writing about it than actually doing it.”
At this point Sue’s chair wobbled dangerously on its hind legs then threatened to overturn. She made a grab for the table as the chair back crunched into that of the woman behind her.
“Sorry,” Sue turned to apologise. The woman gave her a vague smile in return. From Sue’s quick glance, they both seemed to be in their late fifties, yet something had obviously made their blood run a little quicker and Sue was rather curious to find out what it was.
It was just after nine when Sue arrived back home. Her back ached, her legs throbbed and her body felt bone weary, yet instead of heading straight for bed she turned on her lap top. Fingers hovering over the search engine box as she tried to think what to put in it; she had thought of sex, spanking, books, but was rather afraid something might appear that she really didn’t want to see. Impatience with her own prudishness surfaced, she had after all been married, had a child and had sex numerous times before, and at the end of the day that’s all it was, with whips and paddles. She pressed enter and a whole world of erotic literature appeared on the screen. The list was truly never ending, and she’d had no idea such stuff existed. She’d been aware of the slushy romance books of heaving bosoms and forceful tools, but this stuff was modern and in places quite hard core. It seemed that whatever floated your boat, there was a category of books devoted to it; pure erotica, bondage, sadomasochism, it was all there. A look at some of the front covers was enough to make Sue’s long ignored libido stir just a little. She logged off and went to bed, but she’d already decided to do more research in the morning.
Chapter thirteen
Sue’s fingers hovered above the keyboard. As a youngster she’d always dreamed of being a writer, had always believed there to be a novel lurking within her soul. What she hadn’t considered was that she would be sitting contemplating writing, what could only be described as, soft porn.
She’d checked out a few of the websites previously, Lovingly Yours and E-love being two of them. E-love even provided the aspiring author with a formula to create a simmering novella. All Sue had to do was fill in the blanks, surely she could manage that? The problem was that she’d never read anything in that genre before, and had no interest in doing so now. Plus, once Sue had an idea in her head, she tended to want to jump straight in; it was why she never prepped areas before painting them. She didn’t want to waste time researching the su
bject and reading other work, she wanted to do it. In this case however, she was rather stumped. She knew what she couldn’t write about, bestiality and cock stuffing (??), being a subject too far, but she couldn’t think of where to start. But then didn’t these things always start with the heroine hating the male lead while finding him devastatingly attractive at the same time?
She’d start with what she knew, a school teacher perhaps, with a passionate longing for a colleague. Then an image came into her head of bodies writhing on a teacher’s desk, and that seemed somehow an immoral thing to do. She couldn’t write about squirming loins if she knew kids would be working at those desks the following day, even if it were only in her own mind. No, she’d have to think of something else. Perhaps a teacher on holiday in a foreign land, yes, she decided, that could work. And actually once she began to write she thoroughly enjoyed herself. If nothing else, ten years of celibacy had given her an excellent imagination.
Her fingers flew, a teacher with her life in danger because of something she’d witnessed; a rogue cop (because they always were), being the only person to believe in her and help her to survive. As Sue couldn’t be bothered to research an actual location, she invented one; the same with police procedure. It was fiction after all. Inspired to write, her body sunk back into the comfort of ‘work’ mode, the day passed quickly and it wasn’t until the next morning that she learnt a valuable lesson. If you had chronic back problems, sitting at a lap top for several hours was not advisable. It felt like a slap in the face. She’d found something to lift her up and life, and her body, had laughed at her and pushed her back down.
That day went on forever; she couldn’t stand for long, walk for long or sit for long; pain careered up and down her legs and through into her back. Every step hard to make and the stairs seemed to be a never ending mountain of discomfort. In the end she resorted to lying down on the sofa, watching rubbish on the TV that she had no interest in. Yet her mind carried on, her thoughts and musings were her own. They weren’t owned by her pain and never would be. All she had to do was work out how the two could live together, if not happily then at least in some sort of harmony.
A step toward that process came the following week as her GP sorted out the necessary paperwork for her to be seen by a private neurologist.
“I hope something will come of this,” Dr Murphy said. Behind the formality Sue could see the other woman’s thought processes, like a telegraph across her brow, but I don’t believe it will.
“I’ve just got to give it a go, at least then I’ll feel like I’ve explored everything. I need to do something toward returning to work because at the moment the momentum seems to have stalled.” That was the politest way Sue could think of saying, let’s face it you’ve nothing left to suggest.
“Did Dr Grove ever mention the Pain Management Unit to you?” Dr Murphy asked.
“Yes, but he didn’t really go into any details,” Sue replied. What he’d actually said when she’d enquired about it, was that it was a waste of time, it was just a group of people sitting around talking.
“Well,” Dr Murphy continued, “I’ve referred a few patients there and they’ve certainly reported back that it was a positive experience.”
“I’ll give anything a go,” Sue responded.
“Okay, I’ll sort out the paper work for you to be seen privately, although it will be up to you to make the appointment, and I’ll sort a time for you to go through to the Pain Management Team.”
“That’ll be great, thank you.”
And it did feel great, Sue mused, she was taking control. Now her future held options that could lead to a return to work instead of, well, instead of nothing.
She actually smiled as she relayed the information back to her dad in the car.
“Good,” he said, “now we might start getting somewhere.”
“I hope so,” Sue replied. And she did, she hoped so, with an optimism that flooded through her body. Maybe this was the one tiny thing that needed to be done, for someone to say, yes, I know what’s wrong. But she also knew that she’d clung to small pieces, tiny indicators of a recovery before, only for it to be thrown back in her face. She’d been seen by physiotherapists, attended the back fitness gym and the hydro therapy, with no lasting results. But now she was paying to be seen by someone, surely she’d get the answers she was looking for. Sue had heard of so many people who’d relented and gone private, only for a diagnosis to be made and a life returned to. This time it had to be her turn.
Chapter fourteen
Sir George
Sir George smoothed down his hair and adjusted his tie. He then turned and studied his reflection side on. He’d maybe put on a few pounds over the years, but a chap had to have his comforts. Overall, however, he thought he was in pretty good shape. Satisfied at his appearance, he turned and dismissed the butler standing behind him. He was damned if he could remember his name, but then these fellows didn’t expect one to anyway. That bloody Frenchman had made a great show of shaking everyone’s hand when he had arrived yesterday, and insisted upon striking up conversations with the staff, which both embarrassed them and annoyed the hell out of Sir George. Of course, that was probably why he did it. Well, tough, this time the meeting was being held on British soil, and they would behave like gentlemen.
Sir George patted down his pockets before he left the room, habit of course, checking to see if he had his wallet and car keys, neither of which he had with him anyway. All personal items had to be handed in as one entered the meeting place, only to be returned as one left; an inconvenience that had its benefits, like the inability of Nancy to get in touch with him. Bless her heart, the old girl had her merits, like her devotion to her charitable works, but that didn’t mean Sir George wanted to hear about them. There was definitely something to be said for compartmentalising one’s life.
Sir George stopped at the top of the great sweeping staircase, his gaze scanning the portraits in front of him. What would today’s generation leave behind, he wondered? Family snaps showing the dysfunctional nature of today’s society? When had it become so wrong to view a family unit as a wife, father and children? Anything seemed to go now, same sex marriages, single parent families, teenage mothers, and everyone else was meant to fund their existence. Mothers of sixteen were to be congratulated on coping with motherhood at such a young age, and were then given a house within which to keep producing offspring at an alarming rate.
Sir George reached into his trouser pocket for his white, linen, handkerchief, yet another dying convention, he thought, as he blew his nose loudly. Still, today was the day when the fight back began. It was time to regain control, to re-educate society for the good of all. No, he corrected his thoughts, for the good of those who deserved it.
Having made his way down to the ground floor, he stood in front of the door to the breakfast room. A final check on the tie and he entered.
“Good morning gentlemen, I trust you slept well,” he said, announcing his arrival. He had of course timed it exactly. One couldn’t make the same impression if one arrived first. No, he’d had his man inform him when the rest were taking breakfast.
The Spaniard, Italian and German were seated at a long table, covered, of course, with a white starched tablecloth. They looked up and responded to his greeting before disappearing behind the pages of their morning read. The blasted Frenchman was engaging one of the waiters in a conversation about football. Sir George scowled in his direction; the poor waiter looked as if he wished the very floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“Good morning Sir, will it be your usual?” the other waiter asked.
“Yes, and a copy of The Times,” Sir George replied. He always had smoked kippers and scrambled eggs, as he felt they provided the best start to the day, the addition of the paper meant that he too could eat his breakfast in peace and not engage in meaningless small talk. The waiter, pinned against the wall by the Frenchman, finally made his escape, which was just as well because Sir George had
waited several minutes for his morning cup of tea, and that wouldn’t do at all. Once breakfast was finished, taken at a leisurely pace, they could begin.
The study was a haven of intellect; its very design sharpened the mind. The oak panelling suggested sobriety and thought, its rich red wallpaper exuded strength and power. It was, Sir George thought, a good room to ponder the future of mankind because that was their role today. One small group of many, spread throughout the world. Sir George could see the enormity of the occasion shining in the eyes of the others, and dare he say it, a bubble of eager anticipation too. Sir George could almost taste the thrill of power.
“Gentlemen, shall we get started?”
*****
Two days later Sir George sat, ensconced, in his favourite armchair at 21 Dean Street. He didn’t view the club as a home from home, no, if he could have chosen it would have been his primary residence; only going back to Nancy on a weekend, providing a united front on social occasions. He was sure such an arrangement would suit the old girl too; after all she’d adopted enough blasted animals over the years to keep her company; not to mention the steady stream of members from the various clubs she participated in. Whenever he complained, which he did, frequently and loudly, she sent him upstairs to his study. At least at the club he was given a warm welcome, and he could be sat, with a brandy in hand, within moments of entering the place. The only thing that spoiled the surroundings was that in the winter Sir George did like his toes warmed in front of a roaring fire, but removing ones shoes was not an option at Dean Street.
An Ordinary Working Man Page 5
