Chapter 5

After Cressy and I disconnected after her reassurance that Faye had stayed with her all night, and hadn’t gone off to Fredericks’ place, I sat back and thought over what she had said. It had never entered my head that Cressida seriously had her eye on me as a prospective partner, and it cheered me considerably, not that I thought it would ever work. I could not envisage living with Cressida for it would entail coming into regular contact with Faye as my ex-wife or worse, with Fredericks as her husband! I realised I loved Faye too much to be able to stand that, and I hated Fredericks too much to tolerate his presence either!

However, it did not stop me having naughty thoughts about a naked Cressy writhing, gasping and moaning in my bed. I suspected she would be dynamite between the sheets, even though I was certain it would never happen, but I felt a definite stirring down below at the thought! I reprimanded myself and got on with my work.

It was Faye’s day to finish early for the children, and I did not want her to see the post before I did, so I went home at lunchtime. The letters I wanted had arrived and I felt a surge of relief. Now I had even more of the information I needed. I stayed long enough to make copies of the documents enclosed with them and put them in my briefcase before going back to work, leaving the rest of the post on the doormat where I had found it. What a devious character I was turning out to be!

I now had a copy of the marriage certificate of Fredericks’ parents. I consulted a people-finding website and searched the electoral rolls for “Fredericks”. I found what I wanted with relief and noted the phone number, grateful that his parents hadn’t moved. I then sat and pondered how to approach Fredericks’ mother. Finally I just dialled the number from my office ‘phone, expecting an answer-phone or no answer. I was wrong on both counts. I switched on the recorder I used for business calls.

‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice.

‘Oh, Mrs Fredericks?’

‘Yes. I should warn you we are on the telephone preference service if this a cold call it is illegal and will be reported.’

‘It isn’t a cold call, Mrs Fredericks. I’m phoning about something that happened over fifteen years ago. You moved I think to Hertfordshire from Lancashire?’

‘Yes, but I don’t see that that can have any importance now?’

‘Well, I’m trying to trace Leo Fredericks, your son, on behalf of an old friend of his. Do you recall a girl called Faye Graham?’

‘Oh, yes!’ her tone, until then guarded, relaxed and warmed. ‘What a lovely girl. Leo was really taken with her and I think she with him, but they were very young, and he soon found another girl down here. I was quite sad about that really, but nothing could have come of it with them at each end of the country from each other.

‘If I remember she wrote to him for quite a while, but once he started dating Charlotte I don’t think he replied to her letters once he was dating Charlotte. I used to ask him about it – I kept seeing the letters with her handwriting on the mat. I think he must have told her about his new girl eventually, because she did stop writing. So she wants to get in touch?’

‘I think it’s something to do with a school reunion. Do you know where he is now and whether he’d be interested?’

‘I’m not sure. His father and I ... well ... Leo’s rather lost touch with us ... I mean ... well ... it’s a family matter but he’s not been in touch for some years. I miss him. I heard he’s back in Lancashire now, but I’m not sure about that. Is she...?’

‘Yes, she’s still in Lancashire. Don’t worry, I’ll find him now. Thanks for all your help.’

‘If you see him, please ask him to phone me. Will you tell him I miss him?’ There was a catch in her voice, I felt sorry for her.

‘I’ll be sure to do that for you.’

You bet I’ll tell him, I thought grimly, as I downloaded the conversation onto my own laptop.

When I returned home, I was greeted by two subdued children, who clung onto me rather more than usual. When I entered the kitchen, Faye glanced over her shoulder at me and then returned to slicing the vegetables.

‘I apologise for not letting you know I was staying with Cressy,’ she said without facing me. It was a formal apology with no emotion behind it.

Since her back was to me, I made no attempt to hug or kiss her.

‘That’s okay, Cressy phoned to tell me, so that put my mind at rest,’ I said, ‘I only found out you hadn’t come home when I awoke this morning, so I wasn’t worried for long. I’m going for a shower.’

Faye said little during the meal, and then only to the children, who in turn talked to her minimally, but chatted with me. It was not a comfortable situation, but neither Faye nor I made any attempt to mitigate it. I could see both children eyeing the pair of us. After the meal I filled the dishwasher, and the children disappeared to their rooms. Faye also vanished.

I sat in the living room. The TV was on but I did not see or hear it. For so many years I had taken for granted deep intimacy and sharing with Faye, there had been an openness between us, an easy comfort, with lots of love and laughter.

I once again wondered where all that had gone. Twelve years and suddenly nothing to show for it. I had been sure of Faye and I knew she was sure of me; it had been such a certainty that an alternative had never arisen in my mind. Now nothing was certain: not my future, nor my marriage, nor a happy life with my children living in the same house.

I felt defeated. Faye seemed to be drifting away from me, avoiding me in the house and in bed.

Then as if she knew how I felt, Cressy sent a text.

Hang in there champ! F conflicted. She v worried about U. CU Fri. XXX Cressy.

It was as if she were psychic I thought, and my spirits lifted. I sent a reply.

Thanks, I needed that! Love, A.

I couldn’t see Faye ever making her mind up without being pushed, and on Friday I was going to be doing the pushing. Would I be able to force her to make that choice? I was not at all sure that the outcome would be in my favour either, but I now felt I had to end her vacillation or lose my sanity. The strain was becoming unbearable.

Michael interrupted my thoughts, arriving with a Maths problem in his homework, and I spent a while making sure he understood the process rather then just getting to the correct answer. Then once the lad had wandered off happily, I left my seat in the living room and went in search of Faye.

As I wandered the house, I wondered at the school setting homework so near the end of term - they finished on Friday for the summer holidays.

I called in on Sam, who was lying on her bed with headphones on, texting her friends.

‘Okay?’ I asked.

She looked up at me vacantly, then took off the headphones. She knew I hated talking to her while she was wearing them, mainly because she couldn’t hear what I was saying.

‘Suppose so,’ she answered grumpily.

‘It’s not all cut and dried you know, my little one,’ I said. ‘Try not to cross bridges before we get to them, Okay?’

‘Okay Daddy.’

‘And try to be nice to Mummy,’ I added. ‘She hasn’t stopped loving you, you know.’

‘Hmph,’ came the reply.

‘Come on, Sam, you know I’m right. Please?’

‘Mm, Okay Daddy,’ and she put an end to further discussion by replacing her headphones and burying herself once again in her texting.

I sighed and left the room, glancing into the spare bedroom as I passed it in case Faye was there. Empty. I tried the bathroom; that too was empty. That left the loft room or our bedroom. I opened the door to our bedroom and stood stock still in surprise.

Faye sat on the floor, her back against the bed. On the floor beside her was a drawer from the dresser full of photographs and an opened suitcase containing still more. There were photos scattered around, some in neat piles. She was arranging photos into groups, and there were a couple of albums open, ready to receive them.

Why was I shocked?

Three years previously, Faye’s favourite uncle died suddenly and she was in deep mourning for some weeks. One day I found her in exactly the same position as now. She was leafing through all the photos she had of her uncle, and staring at each one as if that picture would make him a living presence.

That first time, I had said nothing to her when I saw what she was doing, for there was nothing I could say, but what I did was to go behind her and massage her shoulders until suddenly she broke down and wept with wracking sobs. Then we made love tenderly and she fell asleep in my arms. The event seemed to get her over the worst of her grief.

This time she did not look up, though I could see she knew I was there. She shuffled a few photos about, bent over them.

I said nothing this time either, but did the same thing. I sat down behind her, pulling her between my legs as I sat on the bedside. Then I massaged her shoulders as before.

She rested her cheek on my hand, and kissed my hand, and sighed.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered in a broken voice. That was all.

We did not climb into bed and make love this time: the children were still awake, but I draped my arms over her breasts and pulled her to me, and she held my hands in hers. I kissed her hair and she hummed gently, lying back against my body.

At length she stirred.

‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘I’d better get this lot cleared up before bedtime.’

I unwrapped myself and patted her shoulder as I left her side.

When bedtime came, I returned to find the room back in its usual tidy state. Faye was in the shower. I undressed, put on my dressing gown and waited. Normally I would use the bathroom to wash before bed while she showered, but for some reason which I did not attempt to fathom, I waited until she came out before using it in my turn.

When I re-entered the bedroom, she was sitting up in bed, naked, with the duvet at her waist, her breasts on show. She was truly beautiful. I felt a flash of anger that she wanted to give all this to someone else, but pushed the emotion down. I would heap love on her instead and make her feel guilty, or at least give that bastard a run for his money.

I climbed into bed and she turned towards me. I took her into my arms and we kissed long and sensuously. She moaned. I made love to her; I played her, using every trick, every skill I had built up over the years. I knew exactly how to give her the most intense pleasure, where to touch, where to stroke, without ever going near her breasts or her sex.

Her calves, the back of her knees, her back up and down her spine, her shoulders, neck, cheeks, lips, eyelids, hair, which I tugged gently as I knew this more than anything turned her on, all received attention until she was writhing. And I was kissing her, my lips fluttering over hers, gently biting her upper lip with mine, and only when she pushed her tongue at me, did I draw the flat of a hand over her nipples causing her to cry out as she neared a crest, only to fall back as I abandoned them for her waist and sides.

I nuzzled and sucked on her neck and she again began to climb to her climax, when I moved my lips to her breasts and my hand between her legs. She pushed her hips against my hand, wordlessly begging for release, but I refused her. My hand stroked down her thigh instead and she growled her disapproval. But then I stroked back towards her pleasure centre and after circling her wet opening, drew a finger over her clit, and sucked hard on a nipple. She exploded with a loud cry and fluttering gasps, losing control and thrashing about.

I lay over her, crushing her to the bed with my weight. My solid erection found her entrance and I thrust home har. She came again, whimpering with the excess of it, and I fucked her, arching my back again and again as my cock filled her and then withdrew, filled and withdrew, hitting the furthest end of her passage each time, and feeling her contract again and again against me, until I released deep within her, gasping and grunting as my contractions flooded her.

I raised my torso off her, but she pulled me back down, so I kissed her neck and licked her ear, making her shiver. Then I lifted again and kissed her eyelids, her nose and her lips. I looked into her eyes with all the love I could muster, and saw her love for me in her own.

We gazed at each other for a while as my erection slowly abated and I slipped from her, when I rolled off her and she came eagerly into my arms once again.

‘Aaron, I–’ she began hesitantly, begging.

‘No, love,’ I interrupted. ‘Let’s not say anything. We’ve argued enough.’

‘But I–’

‘Faye, my darling, do you think what you want to say will start an argument, get us at loggerheads again?’

She nodded and sighed deeply.

‘Then I have only two questions, and I promise I will not argue or get angry. One. Are you still going to see Fredericks on Friday? Just yes or no.’

‘Ye.

‘Two. Are you going to spend the night or weekend with him? Yes or No?’

‘No.’

The response was quite definite. It confirmed what I already thought I knew.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I love you so much. Let’s get some sleep.’

She raised herself on her elbow and stared at me, and I stared right back. There was no aggression in it, but perhaps wonder. At length she sank back into the bed, and I pulled her to me, kissing her afresh. She kissed me back with abandon. I wondered if she were trying to assure me of her love, or trying to assure herself that she loved me. I said nothing, but switched off the bedside light.