The Life and Loves of Gringo Greene

by David Carter

  She must have been watching because she immediately came outside, opened up the adjacent vehicle, and began moving boxes of groceries and bags from hers to his.

  ‘Here, let me,’ he said, taking a suitcase from her.

  She was content to let him, and impressed and happy he’d offered.

  ‘Be careful with this,’ she said, pointing to a large semi clear plastic urn. ‘It’s the water, there’s none at the cottage.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said, grasping the huge water-butt. It was much heavier than he imagined and he struggled to shift it.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ she said, but he’d already discovered that much, as he dropped it in the back of his car and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘That everything?’

  ‘Just one other thing,’ she said, and she stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek in full view of the windows of the flats. She knew damn well they would all be watching, she would give them a cheap thrill, it might be the highlight of their week, and she was thrilled when Gringo clasped her head between his hands and turned it and kissed her full in the lips.

  ‘What’s that for?’ she whispered, struggling to remain calm.

  ‘For asking me. Now get in the car.’

  ‘Yes sir!’ she barked, as she performed a mock salute, before jumping in beside him.

  Gringo noticed curtains twitching. Sarah did too, and afterwards they laughed about it together.

  She had scrubbed up well. The dark pencil skirt made her appear slimmer, and the white blouse, top two buttons undone, complimented it well. Gringo pinched an occasional peek at her as they hurtled down the Friday night motorway. He liked the pearl earrings too, perfect for her fair face, and at that moment he thought her incredibly cute, mid forties or whatever it was, he didn’t care.

  She radiated happiness sitting beside him, he couldn’t help but notice, and he wondered if she would have driven all this way, dressed like that, all by herself, if he had turned her down. Perhaps she knew someone else she might have asked. Maybe there was a first reserve lurking somewhere in the background, perhaps he was the first reserve, though that idea didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she said.

  ‘No. Never eat early.’

  ‘Me neither. There’s a quaint pub, the Black Cat, not far from the bungalow. The food’s good and I’m happy to goes halves.’

  ‘The Black Cat it is.’

  The pub was busy but they found a small vacant table in the corner. They ordered fish and ate a leisurely dinner, their knees interlocked beneath the table, as they sank another bottle of wine, Sarah drinking most of it, and a couple of shorts to follow. It made no difference to her bright eyes and steady, thoughtful voice. To both of them it seemed inconceivable they had met only yesterday. At half past ten Gringo let slip a yawn, failing to stifle it before she noticed.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you a night off.’

  They shared a look, and in that moment Gringo determined that tired or not, she most definitely would not be getting a night off. Afterwards he ignored her protestations and paid the bill, though she forced him to agree that she would pay the following day.

  In the car outside they began kissing as soon as they were inside. Neither were in any hurry to move off, though eventually she said: ‘Come on, I want to show you my bungalow.’

  He clicked on his seatbelt and said: ‘Does this place of yours have a double bed?’

  She smirked at him through the side of her eyes and said: ‘Course it does, absolutely essential, but no electric light. Everything has to be done by candles.’

  Gringo rolled his eyebrows and grinned and said: ‘Candles are cool. I can do candles.’

  By then they were rolling down a B road, her right hand caressing his left thigh.

  ‘It’s not far from here,’ she said, ‘second on the left, coming up.’

  He took the turning and found himself driving between established brick-built bungalows, but at the end of the road the bungalows ended and the road became an unmade track.

  ‘Not far now,’ she said, ‘take it easy, there are big ruts in the lane,’ and she was right because the car was now lurching every which way, even at dead slow speed. The track narrowed and was bounded on either side by high country hedges. A fox dashed from the bushes yards in front of them and crossed the road, its silhouetted form picked out by the headlights.

  ‘See that!’ said Gringo, wide-eyed like a kid.

  ‘Yeah. I often see that fox round here. He’s probably hunting rabbits.’

  Gringo hadn’t seen a live fox since he was a child.

  At the end of the lane was a five-bar gate and dangling from a chain was a sturdy looking padlock. The lane was narrow and turning the vehicle round would be difficult.

  ‘Now what?’ he said, but when he glanced at her she was dangling a key from an Audi key ring, and then she made to step out of the car.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ he said, grabbing the key.

  ‘Don’t drop it.’

  He jumped out and undid the lock, leaving the key in, leapt back in the car, drove through, stopped, jumped out again, closed the gate and locked it, jumped in and passed her the key.

  There was an impressed look on her face.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ she said.

  ‘You’re welcome. Now which way?’

  In the darkness he could just see they were on the edge of a sizeable field. Before them was a fork in the track, but the grass had grown long both ways and the track couldn’t be seen, just an impression of what was beneath in the way the grass blew in the night air.

  ‘To the right, just follow the impression, can you see?’

  He squinted and drove slowly on, headlights on full beam, becoming aware of three, no four, single story buildings hidden ahead in the blackness. There was a half moon in the sky, but also sporadic cloud that occasionally blanked out the light. The buildings were maybe thirty yards apart and none of them were lit.

  ‘It’s the second one along,’ she said, for some reason whispering. ‘You can drive right up to it.’

  He pulled the car gently to a stop at the side of the building and cut the engine. The moon was back and for the first time he was aware of the river beyond, slowly passing by, a puff of mist on the far side, moonbeams bouncing from the sleepy water.

  ‘I’ll open up, put some lights on, and make the place ready. You bring in the stuff.’

  ‘No worries,’ he said, as she went to the door and opened up and disappeared inside.

  Gringo fetched the luggage from the boot, his overnight bag, and her two heavy cases. What the hell had she brought? He struggled to the door and eased it open with his foot. Inside was a kitchen, a surprisingly smart, fitted kitchen in the country style, complete with sink and taps, though as he was later to discover, the only thing that ever escaped from those taps was rusty smelling belches.

  She had lit nightlights, tiny candles on saucers set on the worktops, and after coming in from the dark; they threw out a decent light. He went back for the provisions and finally the water butt that he set down at the end of the worktop.

  There was no sign of Sarah so he took a wander round. The kitchen led through to an open plan living area with a big floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the river, not that he could see much outside, with the candles burning and the moon missing again. There were three or four easy chairs scattered about that had seen better days, especially as she owned a second-hand furniture store, he couldn’t help thinking, though maybe it wasn’t easy to deliver stuff down that narrow lane.

  There was no TV, no computer, no internet, no music, no gaming consoles, no telephone, though he did have his mobile with him, you couldn’t be entirely cut off, no electricity, no gas, no running water, no shops close by for provisions, no postal or newspaper deliveries, no callers, no nothing. It was wonderful.

  There was an old transistor radio but the batteries had long become exhausted and had turned to a foul
smelling goo. It seemed inconceivable to him that in modern Britain anyone could live like this.

  The house was entirely timber built and he guessed it was around fifty years old. As in many holiday homes it came with a musty smell, but that was gradually being overwhelmed by the perfumed candles.

  At the end of the living area was a large stone fireplace and a brick chimney that went all the way up to the roof. Beside the fire a traditional basket was filled with chunky logs, while in the grate was the remains of last visit’s fire. He remembered her telling him all about it.

  In front of the fireplace was a rectangular rug, a thick turquoise affair with cream tassels at either end, the sort of thing he had seen in show houses years before when he’d first begun to look at property.

  At the side of the living area was a doorway that led to an inner hall and from there to the waterless bathroom, and two equal sized bedrooms. He could hear her in there making ready, whatever that meant, fussing about, but thought it best to leave her to it.

  He returned to the sitting area and sat down, alone with his thoughts, and shortly afterwards she appeared, framed in the open doorway, a dim flickering halo around her.

  ‘What do you think of the place?’

  ‘I love it. Bit of a shag palace really, isn’t it?’

  Sarah laughed and made toward him.

  ‘I’m not sure I would have described it quite like that.’

  Gringo stood up and they met in the centre of the room. He threw his arms around her and tugged her to him, then brushed her neck with his dry lips and kissed the pearl earring for good luck. Sarah shivered.

  ‘What do you want to do now?’ she whispered.

  ‘Go to bed.’

  ‘Thought you might say that. I’ll close the curtains and check the door. Won’t be a mo. Wait for me.’

  They came apart and he watched her go to the picture window and draw the curtains, the old metal curtain rings grating in protest as they closed. She went to the main door and checked the lock and drew over top and bottom bolts, blew out the candles and offered her hand, and they walked through together.

  One bedroom was lit, the other in darkness. He reached out and eased the door to the lit room open.

  He liked what he saw. There was a double bed set against the far timber wall covered by a thick maroon eiderdown. On either side of the bed were small tables on which stubby candles burned brightly, the kind of thing you might see in church, except the candles were green. Gringo’s nose told him they were scented too. To the right of the bed against the wall was an old fashioned dressing table, another glowing candle set before the mirror, doubling its output.

  On the left wall was a long window with closed Venetian blinds set against the dirty glass, though Gringo couldn’t know that, because thick maroon curtains had been drawn in front. No peeping Tom would ever steal a thrill here.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s fab.’

  ‘I’m glad you approve,’ and she came and stood in front of him.

  He reached out and clasped his hands around her cheeks and drew her up toward him. She closed her eyes; content to let him do whatever he wanted. A moment later they were in each other’s arms, kissing passionately, whispering weird words as if they had been apart for months.

  He began undressing her, but she was quicker. She had him naked in seconds. In the next moment they were beneath the duck feathers rolling about, biting and whispering and nibbling anything that came within range. As before, she needed minimal preparation, but whether she needed it or not, she groaned and grasped his head, and thrust it firmly south. The eiderdown was promptly discarded, and would remain so for some time.

  Wash it before you put it in.

  Her words came back to him. Not tonight, Josephine, there aint no running water.

  Twenty-Two

  Gringo woke at half past nine, though he didn’t know that until he reached over and took a peek at her wristwatch parked by the dormant candle. He could hear birds singing, though they hadn’t woken him. Today, nothing would have woken him. Sarah was close by, naked and fast asleep. He slipped from the bed and went searching for the bathroom; the only downer being the loo didn’t flush. She would show him later how that was done by hand flushing using water drawn from the big urn he had almost ricked his back lugging in. He wiped his hands on an old towel and went back to bed.

  She was still asleep.

  He slipped in beside her and began caressing her tummy. She promptly woke up, though pretended to remain sleeping, the pleasure too good to miss.

  A few minutes later she whispered, her eyes still closed, ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘What does it feel like I’m doing?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I like it. You’re a very naughty man,’ and soon after that, without any further conversation, they slipped into the routine of what they’d been doing for most of the night.

  It was half past eleven when they finally rolled out of bed. Sarah went hunting in one of her cases and retrieved a white-towelled gown, before hanging her things in the wardrobe in the other bedroom. She went through to the kitchen and struck a match and fired up a gas camping stove, filled the kettle, set it on the rickety stove, before going to the curtains and drawing them open.

  Gringo wandered into the room, yawning, wearing black Armani underpants and nothing else. He went and stood in front of the window admiring the view. Outside was an area of rough wooden planking with cheap plastic chairs perched at one end that no one would ever steal, and he guessed it would make a decent suntrap.

  ‘All right?’ he said, admiring the view of the river rolling gently by, and the meadows on the far bank.

  ‘I’ll make some coffee and boil the kettle for your shave.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Two canoeists floated by, staring into the chalet, seeing Gringo standing there half naked. They yelled good humoured abuse, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying, and the current soon swept them away. Gringo and Sarah drank two cups of instant coffee and in the next moment he was in the bathroom, peering in the old mirror, shaving carefully, for he didn’t want bloody leaking wounds on display over lunch.

  He threw on a check shirt and black jeans, as Sarah washed and dressed and did her makeup in the bedroom.

  ‘Will I do?’ she said, stepping into the living area.

  She’d donned a beige pleated dress that zipped up the front, the zip slightly open. The dress was probably aimed at a slightly older woman, something his mother might have worn, but Sarah carried it off well, and Gringo surprised himself because he liked it.

  ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She unlocked the door and they went outside and jumped in the car. The small plot of land around the shack, for in reality that was what it was, was laid to rough grass, and it needed cutting.

  ‘The grass needs attention. Is there a mower?’

  ‘There is, locked in the shed at the far end. When we come back, you can do it if you like.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  The gate to the field was open this time and they were soon back on the tarmacked road.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Turn left at the junction. There’s a carvery I know, not far from here, thought we’d try there.’

  They drove through two small country villages on roads that Gringo had never travelled before, then came to a third larger hamlet, where on the right side they found a large pink faced pub. Over the door was a flapping canvas sign that read: Carvery Open All Day. As Much As You Can Eat - £8.95

  The promotion was drawing in the punters for the car park was rapidly filling. He found a space and pulled the car to a stop. Sarah checked her peach lipstick in the vanity mirror and turned to him and said: ‘Do I look all right?’

  He checked her face, unable to hide a smile.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘There’s a smudge at the end of your mouth, as if you’ve been
kissing.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t.’

  ‘I know,’ and he reached over and wiped it away with his thumb. ‘All done.’

  She checked her face again, happy enough. ‘Ta.’

  Inside, the atmosphere was bustling.

  ‘It’s always busy on a Saturday, locals and day-trippers alike,’ she said.

  They joined the queue and were soon served, the young chef returning with a huge loin of sizzling beef, as he bellowed: Ham, Turkey or Beef! as if he was a trader in the market. All you can eat; the very best meat!

  They were hungry and both opted for the beef with Yorkshire pudding and a mountain of roast potatoes, and this time Gringo let Sarah fish in her purse and settle the bill. A small table in the corner had become vacant and they grabbed it before another couple had a chance.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Love one. Chardonnay. Bottle.’

  Gringo peered around for a waitress but they were busy so he went to the bar.

  ‘Don’t leave your meal,’ she said, ‘get it later,’ but he was already on his way.

  He wasn’t away long and in the next minute they were eating lunch, two glasses of icy wine before them, their knees once more interlocked beneath the table.

  They took ages over the meal, and afterwards moved into the rear lounge, sitting close together, Gringo sipping the last of the wine, as she dispatched two large gins. They left at three and sat quietly in the car. He knew she wanted him to kiss her, she usually did, but he would keep her waiting, if only for a minute or two, and when it came, he gave her a night time kiss in the middle of the afternoon.

  Afterwards she whispered: ‘What do you want to do now? Do you want to go on somewhere?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘There’s only one place I’d like to go,’ he said.

  ‘Where, Gringo?’

  ‘Back to the bungalow.’

  ‘Me too,’ she whispered, hardly believing her own words, and then Gringo kissed her again, and started the car and they headed home.