by Gill Mather
Emma was able to say more about the painting and how great it was, that she’d like to see more of his work if possible, that it must be wonderful to have such a vocation; she’d just chosen to take biology at uni because it was her best subject at school although she hoped to do medicine later; if she couldn't do that she had no idea what she’d do afterwards.
Neither of them wanted another drink and he said that naturally he’d walk her home again. At her gate they paused.
GREG SAT ON his uncomfortable folding fishing stool wriggling and watching the restaurant entrance from a belt of trees opposite. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was looking for. He'd got the idea after going to visit Don. He sometimes drove past Mayfield Cottages both because it was on his route somewhere and these days also out of prurient curiosity. The surge of anger he felt when passing the house was almost pleasurable. One time when driving past he'd seen the daughter Emma being picked up by someone in a small car. He’d followed at a distance, observing her and the driver parking at Bingleys Restaurant and Emma getting out wearing what looked like a waitress's outfit. After that he'd regularly gone and staked out the restaurant in his spare time.
These days you had to watch out being caught on CCTV. The damn cameras were everywhere. Accordingly he sometimes took different pool cars from work and sometimes, as the weather was so good, he also parked his own car some distance from the restaurant and walked to a position from which he could see the various comings and goings. He wasn’t clear about what he expected he might see, but it was a connection with Emma. Perhaps something would come of it.
Frustratingly, the many individuals that seemed to work at the place were entirely unknown to him, not to mention the patrons turning up and leaving in their Lamborghinis and Ferraris as well as the more common BMWs and Porsches. He was about to knock off at three pm to go home to his probably empty house this Sunday afternoon and no lunch (fat chance that Luke, if there at all, would've knocked up a meal for them), when he saw someone he thought he did vaguely recognise. Surely he'd seen the same chap in the same car arriving at Greg's own place of work a few times to pick up one of the lab assistants. Both then and now this man had worn what looked to Greg like a chef's jacket. Which figured.
Greg hadn't taken much interest in the occasional collections at the lab. He'd only noticed at all because the lab assistant was pretty and had a nice pair of knockers. Greg seemed to recall that she had had time off work some months ago and the word was that she'd been away having a termination, again of little interest to Greg since, if you read the stats, a large proportion of the young girls you came across had either had or were about to have a termination. However Greg wondered now if the boyfriend knew. Or the girl's family. She had since left the company and Greg didn’t know where she was but it shouldn't be too difficult for him to find out.
An idea had already started to crystallise in his mind and knowing about this girl might help things along. It may come to nothing but it was a connection to Emma and hence to the father. It was certainly worth investigating.
“YOU CAN COME in if you like," said Emma. "Dad and Grace have gone out for the day. They’ve gone on some outing by coach. I think it was with a horticultural society your mum belongs to. She’s re-done our garden anyway. Come in and see….” she was going to say “the love nest” but changed it to, “where your mum lives.”
He followed her down the path to the back of the house and in through her second back door. She could have used the main back door but she’d grown accustomed to using this door now, though she was suddenly presented with the problem of whether to take him straight to her bedroom. Which might seem rather suggestive. Therefore she passed her open bedroom door and made for the kitchen with him following behind.
“I’ll make us coffee if you like.”
“Hmm,” he said as he looked about him.
“The rooms are fairly small but it’s quite a big house really. It’s two old cottages knocked into one. I’ve lived here all my life.” He walked off into the living and dining rooms and peered up the stairs.
Coming back into the kitchen and still looking about him he said wistfully, “I can kind of detect my mum’s hand here and there. Just little things. The way things are arranged. The colours she likes. That sort of thing. We moved around a lot with my dad’s job but all the houses had a certain look to them. Anyway, I think I caught a glimpse of my painting when we passed the first room. Is that your room?”
“Yes. We can drink the coffee in there. I moved into that room to keep out of their way!”
They put their mugs on her small coffee table and sat on the bed, she a little stiffly, him sprawled out more. The bed she hoped wasn't too obviously a bed. It was up against two walls in the corner and she’d draped Graces hippie bedspread over it and put cushions along the back to make it more of a sofa when she wasn't in bed. He patted the bedspread and smiled. “I recognise this,” he said. “You’ve made the room look really nice. Mum said something about it having been an old storeroom. It looks great.” He was looking at her steadily and he had sat up again next to her.
“Emma,” he said quietly and put one hand on her arm, “you know I like you a lot.” Suddenly his accent had changed. He wasn't the Essex lout any more. He sounded cultured and a lot older than twenty. Most of the young men she’d known before would have blushed scarlet at this point and probably started to backtrack, but Luke did neither of these things.
Emma’s innards were being attacked by a violent tingling. Like when you got a sudden fright but the feeling didn't go away. She recognised it as lust, arousal and it was doing things to her down below as well. She’d never felt like this with a bloke before. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth opened and she squirmed at the sensation between her legs. Luke clearly noticed and, encouraged, he kissed her softly at first, but then harder and she felt herself sliding down onto her back with him on top of her. He kissed her face and her neck and felt her breast. This was all so incredibly nice. Far far nicer than normal.
“Emma. Do you want to go to bed?”
She nodded. They got up and got undressed, helping each other where necessary. Luke shut the door and kissed her naked as they stood there, hands all over each other. Briefly he licked one of her breasts then he pulled the bedclothes back and they were in each other’s arms, close together moving next to each other. Emma felt some of her customary resistance and reserve return but Luke was reaching for his jeans and pulling a condom from one of the pockets. He applied it quickly and apparently expertly and got on top of her. His hands were soft and gentle and he gasped when he entered her. He didn't move a great deal and he kissed her a lot. She wanted so badly to respond but somehow she couldn't.
After a time he said breathlessly, “Emma. You’re wonderful. So beautiful. Sweetheart, you need to try and relax a little more. Nothing’ll happen if you don't. Try not to think about anything, anything at all. Just think about your body and how much you like doing this. You do like it don’t you.” She nodded. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. Just open yourself up and do what comes naturally.” He kissed her neck quite hard and she moaned and arched her back and, holding onto his backside, she pulled him to her hard. It was really exquisite. She pulled him harder and moved her hips in a circular motion. Something was happening deep inside, something so sweet and now unstoppable. Her vagina seemed to be opening with the feeling coming slowly down it. She pulled him tightly to her and held him as she climaxed for the first time ever, adrenaline coursing through her body and limbs, heightening the effect.
Without knowing it, she found she had been crying out loudly and now he was. It was divine.
“Luke,” she said at last and he kissed her, but this time his lips were loose and soft and he was no longer breathing heavily. It was like a sort of thank you.
“Emma, you beautiful thing.”
“That was gorgeous.”
They didn't say any more. Emma was re-living the experience in her mind as they
lay naked together. She felt as though she’d passed a milestone. This was after all what people raved about. And it was worth raving about! She felt absurdly happy, euphoric. She wondered if it would show on her face when she went to work the next day. Or when her father and Grace came home if she chanced to meet either of them on the way to the bathroom when she had a shower later. She knew Luke had probably realised that she was quite a novice at this but was grateful to him for not saying so. It would have made her feel very small if he had. She’d never actually spent the night with anyone before. She wondered if Luke would want to stay the night but rather thought it wouldn't be such a good idea.
Neither clearly did Luke. “I’ll have to go soon,” he said. “It’ll take me an hour or so to walk home and I don't want to be too late tonight.” She wondered why but supposed it was really because he didn't want to risk meeting her father and his mother. She was actually quite relieved but Luke was trying to justify himself and was saying, “I hope you don't mind. I mean, I hope you don't think I’m just leaving you after….you know. I thought it was gorgeous too. We can meet again can't we?”
Emma was more than satisfied for the time being with the afternoon’s events and was sure she would be able to survive on the memory alone for a good number of weeks. She didn't think she was in love with him, but he was very nice. It didn't occur to her to wonder if he might be in love with her.
“Emma?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“When?”
“Well I work every day and evening except Sundays. And….er….my dad and Grace aren’t always going to be out. And they don't always tell me if they’re going out somewhere. I’m not sure.”
“Well. Give me your mobile number and I’ll leave you with mine. Perhaps we can arrange something during the week. I’m free just about all the time as you know.”
“Yes OK. We’ll arrange something.”
009 The Return Match
DON’S NEGOTIATONS WITH the Solicitors the week after his lunch out with them weren't going too well. Though he’d given them a quote, they hadn't yet agreed a price. When it came to that, they had scoffed at the seven thousand he’d originally quoted them which he’d actually thought was far too low really for the work involved but it had become a competitive area. They had mentioned some ridiculously low fee they’d paid to have their current site written years ago. The site was of course pathetic to useless. They’d suggested two and a half thousand maximum which was apparently their budgeted figure. It was what he’d charged the accountants but that site was nothing like as complicated or large or detailed as the one required by the Solicitors. Don had had to say sorry but he wouldn't be able to do it for that. It seriously occurred to him that they felt that for the price of a lunch, he was supposed to have become somehow beholden to them. That was certainly the impression they gave.
Don had said that the lowest he would go was five thousand pounds, basically take it or leave it though he hadn't put it so crudely as that. To the commercial partner he was negotiating with, this seemed to mean that Don would still accept a far lower figure and the man had appeared perplexed when Don had continued to refuse the partner’s gradually increased offers from the two and a half grand baseline budget figure. Really the man had the mentality of a street trader. He got up to four and a half as “my last and final offer” and when Don still said no, the partner had had a little tantrum at the other end of the `phone and Don had quickly ended the conversation by saying:
“Well, come back to me if you change your mind.”
They had left it there and Don had forgotten about the job and marked it down to experience. He got on with writing a small site for an author of romantic literature, a charming woman who came to his house and willingly fed him everything he needed for the site and he was able to do it in a day for the modest fee they agreed. She’d been delighted with it, coming round the next day with a cheque and a bottle of wine for him.
Don was now kicking his heels however having set aside several weeks to write the Solicitors’ website. Speed of course had been an essential requirement. So he called Grace at work to see if she could get the next day off suggesting they went out somewhere for the day. She called back quickly saying that after doing some juggling, yes she was able to be away for the day.
They had had a wonderful day out visiting the botanical gardens at Cambridge and on their rather late return, he’d actually been quite irritated to have found `phone messages from the commercial partner of the Solicitors’ practice demanding that he call back urgently.
There had also been a message from Emma saying that she’d been asked to go out to town after work and that she’d stay at a friend’s house that night.
“Oh,” Don had said out loud.
EMMA WAS NOW WORKING in the kitchens since the Monday of that week and any illusions she had been labouring under previously had been well and truly dissed. A keen watcher of the Master Chef programmes and The Great British Bake-Off as well as all the cookery programmes on TV, she'd fondly imagined that she would be making canapés, tastefully arranging chefs meze on wooden boards with artisan breads, various dips and balsamic vinegar, decorating cakes, that sort of thing. She knew that with no experience she wouldn't be making any of the dishes from scratch but had thought she might start to get some training at least in that direction and that in the meantime she would be allowed to do simple things like serving meals onto plates, making custards and sauces, creating vegetable carvings as garnishes.
Nothing could have been further from the truth. She wasn't even allowed to cut up potatoes for chips. Just peel them; hundreds of them.
She was set immediately the first day to peeling potatoes, then carrots and then onions (but she was taken off that when her eyes watered and hurt so much that they were threatening to close up altogether). Then they got her to sweep the floor and she was told this would need to be done every one to two hours depending on the conditions. She was sent to get things like detergent, more vegetables, other ingredients. She had to empty the bins and make everyone cups of tea. But worst of all was loading and using the industrial restaurant washing up machine; greasy, steamy, heavy work. And then of course emptying it. Plus there was the separate glass washer. She might have known when she was given a sort of boiler suit to wear at the beginning of the shift on Monday.
And if she ever found herself with an idle moment, she was told to clean. Clean, clean, clean. Clean the stainless steel units, clean the insides of the units taking out the contents to do so, clean the work surfaces being careful however not to interfere with the work of the chefs, clean the walls, clean the skirting boards, the doors, the sinks, the taps, the draining boards, any hanging implements that might have got a bit greasy since they were last used. She was asked to go through the drawers and check for any cutlery or anything else that might not have got completely cleaned on its last wash. And she had to look for things that probably weren't there but might be such as signs of the presence of mice or other vermin, look behind units, under them, in any small crevasses here and there.
She’d never before really thought much about commercial kitchens. Why would you? The kitchens in the TV celebrity cookery programmes she watched were always sparkling clean but that was just TV. Surely they didn't have to do it here in a village restaurant. However this lot seemed obsessed with it. When her old school had been going to have an Ofsted inspection, they’d rushed around for days before getting things right. Couldn't this lot do the same thing when a public health inspection was warned?
Sometimes the TV showed older clips of TV chefs from previous eras like Keith Floyd. And the kitchens in those days looked grubby and dark and cluttered, the pans with accumulations of brown greasy stuff burned onto them, the tiles of the walls patterned, flowery curtains at the windows. Lucky them, she thought, not having to worry obsessively about hygiene and cleanliness, or at least the appearance of it. This kitchen she was working in couldn't be more different. It shone and sparkled and it seem
ed it had to be kept that way at all costs, all of the time. But people still got food poisoning.
Was it worth it, she thought, just to get away from Alex, though of course there had also been her dreamy inadequate performance as a waitress of late. At least the kitchen work didn’t allow time for too much rumination. Peeling ten kilos of spuds took far too long!
Every day it seemed was going to be the same. Unremitting drudgery. On the Monday and Tuesday nights she fell into bed when she got home and stayed comatose until quite late the next day. Therefore when she saw a text from Luke on Wednesday teatime saying he’d just taken his dad to Stansted Airport, that he had the car until the weekend and could he come and collect her that evening so that they could go back to his place for the night (he’d been quite explicit about that), her first instinct had been to text back and refuse.
But then she had thought why not. She had slept late that morning anyway and ought to be able to keep going for many more hours. So she’d texted back OK and the time to collect her, called home and left a message with an excuse why she wouldn't be home that night and had spent the rest of the evening drinking strong coffees to keep her going.
LUKE PARKED IN the restaurant car park, got out and stood lounging against the side of the car. Emma took ages to come out but he wasn't going to risk going in and possibly seeing Alex who’d no doubt make something of his meeting Emma.
The second Emma emerged from the back door, he jumped to attention and went to meet her. He walked to the passenger door of the car with her, opened it for her and shut it behind her. This wasn't any kind of preamble to seduction so far as he was concerned. It was just the thing to do. No-one had ever done this for Emma however and she was greatly diverted. She noted the large Audi car and Luke’s smart casual wear, again done for Emma as merely being normal, necessary and polite when going to meet a girl. He had an INXS CD running. The car was quiet inside as Luke drove along and the interior luxurious, certainly compared to her dad’s old bangers over the years.
