The Grace in Older Women

by Jonathan Gash

  Priscilla spoke firmly. 'We are not exactly experienced, Lovejoy. But since meeting you, we realize the time has come.'

  'Has it?'

  'For us, Love joy. And you. We have no . . . sexual understanding.' She coloured, pressed on. 'You are our chance.'

  'I am?' I'd edged back, behind the bed. 'Of what?'

  'Of realization, Lovejoy. All our lives have been chaste. We see that you and sin are far more thrilling."

  Philadora put in, ‘You are ours, Lovejoy. The Obverse.'

  Their frigging zodiac. I was sick of the damned thing. 'Look,' I said, desperate. 'I made a mistake. My birthday's June -'

  Priscilla took out a birth certificate. 'No, Lovejoy. We got it from London.'

  'The question is, which of us will sleep with you first.' Priscilla faced me. 'I am the elder, it is my duty.'

  'No, Prissy,' said Philadora. 'I must sacrifice -'

  'Philadora, I've decided. Lovejoy, please bear in mind our relative ignorance. Inform us of your expectations. Will you require the two of us in succession, or night and night about?'

  A headache came on.

  Casually, I drifted to the window, surreptitiously looked out. Sure enough, there was a police motor across the street. I ducked back. Wilberforce the Hateful, fingers drumming on the wheel. And another motor with Tomtom and Sonk reading newspapers. Holly and Chemise were having an argument on the pavement with Beth and Sabrina.

  'We will fall in with your wishes, Lovejoy,' Philadora said gravely. 'And give you every . . .'

  'Satisfaction,' Priscilla said. 'No shirking, Philadora!'

  Well, Roberta was their contemporary, and I'd been delighted. So they dressed vintage, but so? It might be the fashion or something. I surrendered, ever the pushover.

  'Very well,' I said. 'We'll start this afternoon. Look, any chance of another breakfast?'

  Better go for nourishment, or I might not make it through the week.