Chapter 1

“Can you do me a favour Del, I’m fucked,” asked my mate Bob, over my land line one Saturday afternoon.

“Oh well, depends...”I joked.

“I’m stuck on the M27, the whole fucking motorway is closed due to a major crash and I’m getting the message down the line, we’re going to be here for hours.”

“Shit that’s bad, it’s been a regular occurrence for a few weeks now, but never known anyone caught up in one, you’re the first mate, any way you said favour?”

“Oh I’ve known two people, you know Stu, didn’t he tell you ... and Martin, he was nearly involved ... anyway, Jackie’s expecting me to pick her her up and there’s no way I can. It’ll be a great help mate.”

“So where is she?” I asked, checking my desk diary. “I’m free,” I tittered, as that chap on a TV sitcom used to. Bob chuckled.

“That Well Being class at Weeke parish hall, she goes to every month. It’s their big piss up today as the main leader and yoga teacher is leaving. The session she’s in is due to wind up at 4pm, they clear the hall for the drama group. Can you?”

“Yeah course I can, does she know?”

“I haven’t got a signal here, fucking charming Vodaphone,” Bob moaned. “It’ll be great maybe if you call her, you’ve got her number, and let her know. You know what she’s like ... you know anxious.”

I agreed and we finished the call and I clicked play on the video I was viewing, knowing I had a good half hour before I needed to leave the house, forgetting to call Jackie. I was so wrapped up watching naked ladies shower in a Russian communal room on the trusty old Hidden Zone voyeur website.

My Ford Mondeo eased into the traffic on the B3045 Worthy Lane, down to the Station approach traffic lights getting a green, cruised up Stockbridge Road. Under the main line railway bridge and on, finally then turning right into Stoney Lane. The modern brick building, was surrounded by cars, a few occupied by husband and there were several ladies exiting. Some were in fitness gear, some in ordinary clothes and one blue rinse, severe spectacled, tall woman in a smart business suit. They were nearly all of a certain age, as Bob puts it. I knew, having by chance clocked some travel documents, but they might have been previous, when I was taking them both to Bournemouth airport, his wife Jackie to be at least 70, not exactly, we never asked and she wouldn’t tell being ultra protective of an image she had created when she arrived in our midst a few years back, having transferred her abode from near Manchester to Badger Farm estate to live with Bob. They finally married in Spain where she owns a villa in Murcia.

Jackie’s image was always smart, well turned out, top to toe. Not trendy but entirely suitable for a lady of ‘a certain age’, her white hair coiffed to neck level, induced curls and a bit of a fringe. Plenty of make-up, always, never saw her without. A few of the gang reckoned subtle Botox lip work and definitely a boob job, but when? Several wrinkles collected round her mouth and eyes and there was definitely a double chin, but she was attractive in an elderly way. Her image was enhanced by her experience which she couldn’t resist telling anyone, of being a professional dancer in her youth. She had worked with the legendary Pans People - a glamorous five female dance group on TV, had done a stint as a pole dancer, performed a high level of ballroom dancing competition with a partner, and even now danced weekly with a bunch of females from the gang, Bob and I circulated in. Bob didn’t dance and was happy to see her go for weekends sometimes, purely for dancing.

I saw her appear at the front door, her eyes scanning the vehicles for Bob’s. I stepped out and approached her, having to negotiate past lots of dotty old elderly, to fit middle aged women, making unsteady progress to their cars or their lifts. She caught sight of me with surprise etched on her face.

I told her reason for me turning up after she had reached up, kissing me as usual. I smelt alcohol – a lot. She tried to usher me inside the hall, for some reason, but our way was blocked by several inebriated women, obviously the worse for wear following the farewell party.

“I hope that lot aren’t driving Jac,” I moaned, thumbing some of them almost fighting to get out and causing Jac and I hindrance in entering. That’s the thing I find with the mature and elderly people, lack of patience, as if they more than anyone else had little time and had urgent needs to be some where. Usually where I want to be.