Chapter 3

The mystery of the disappearance of Mel and her family remained just that, a mystery. A lot of theories and rumours flew around at college, the most popular being that her father was some sort of crime bigwig, and they were in a witness protection programme. Someone suggested that her father’s associates had discovered where they were, and they’d been whisked off to Australia, or some such place.

On that first Friday, I walked from college, up into town and caught a train to Leeds from where I got the Trans-Pennine Express to Manchester. The train was in Manchester in under an hour, but, terminated at Piccadilly Station, which meant that I had to take the tram to Victoria Station, where my hotel was.

As I walked into the hotel, I was reminded that it wasn’t my hotel, it was our hotel when I was greeted by a very enthusiastic Cal.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she squealed when she finally stopped showering my face with little kisses, “let’s book in and go up to our room so I can show you just how much.”

I checked in, handed over my debit card and Cal and I went up to the second floor, room 207. I opened the door with my key card and held the door while she went in first. It wasn’t a luxurious suite, it was a plainish room, with a queen-sized bed, two small side tables, a TV set, a desk and chair and a single armchair. The en-suite shower room was on the way in to the room, and there was a small alcove for hanging clothes. It was, however, warm and comfortable, and above all cheap.

“What’s the plan for the weekend?” I asked as we sat side by side on the edge of the bed.

“Simple,” she replied, “nothing complicated at all. First, we fuck, then we eat. After that we fuck, then we meet a couple of the girls from school on Oxford Road, then we fuck. Then we sleep. Tomorrow morning we fuck, then we have breakfast, then fuck. If the weather’s good, we meet the gang at Heaton park, if it’s not we meet at the Museum of Science. We have lunch there, and when we’ve had enough of either the park or the museum, we come back here and fuck. Then we get dressed and go to school for a concert, then back here and fuck. On Sunday, we do the same as Saturday, First fuck, then breakfast, then we stay here and fuck until it’s time for you to catch your train back.”

“So basically, we’re going to be having sex all weekend,” I said.

“Well,” she replied, “I hope at least some of it would be making love, but basically, that’s the plan.”

I started to unfasten her blouse.

“Well, then,” I said archly, “let battle commence.”

Within a couple of minutes, clothes were strewn all over the floor of the room and we were in a tangle on the bed, kissing passionately.

Forty minutes and a combined total of six orgasms later, we stepped into the shower and started the process of washing off the sweat, the scent of sex and in Cal’s case, the rapidly drying semen from her breasts. The last time, she’d asked, no, commanded me.

“Come on my tits,” was what she demanded, and on her tits I came. Not copiously, it was my second coming.

Dressed again, we headed across the road to the Printworks, where we ate at Eden. I had the pan-fried Salmon fillet, she chose the LA chopped salad.

“No meat?” I asked.

“I’m trying to cut down on meat,” she replied, “not for any ethical reason, just because I don’t want to get fat.”

The food wasn’t bad, certainly better than we’d have got at the Frankie and Benny’s or Chiquitos next door, and I was flattered when the waitress recognised me and asked for a selfie with me, and my autograph.

“You enjoy that don’t you?” she asked as the waitress went back to the kitchen to pick up another order.

“Enjoy what?”

“The adoring female fans,” she replied, “being recognised.”

“I like fans,” I said, “let’s face it, ultimately it’s the fans buying tickets to films that mean I can take you out for dinner like this. I can buy you nice presents.”

“I know,” she said, “but I still get a little bit jealous.”

“There’s no need,” I said, “I’m yours, and nobody else’s.”

“Except Charlie,” she said.

“No, not except Charlie,” I replied, “Charlie and I ended when I got you back.”

“No,” she said, David, “you have carte blanche with Charlie. Whatever you want, whenever you want. Even both of us at the same time.”

“What?” I exclaimed, thinking I’d misheard.

“It’s every teenage boy’s ultimate fantasy isn’t it?” she asked, “two hot, wet and willing girls at the same time.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, “but what brought that on?”

“Well, some of the girls were talking in the common room the other night,” she explained, “and somebody mentioned threesomes, and then everybody started talking about who they’d like as the other two in a threesome.”

“So, who did you go for?” I asked, “John Sollberger and who else.”

“Silly,” she said, slapping my shoulder, “for that I’m not telling.”

“Oh, you will,” I said, “you’ll confess all. All your deepest darkest secrets.”

“I haven’t got any,” she said.

“Yes, you have,” I replied, “everybody has, except me, I’m a completely open book.”

“Yes,” she said, “and if you believe that, I have a bridge in London I can sell you cheap.”

“Cal, are you trying to tell me that you would like to try a threesome?” I asked.

She blushed a charming shade of pink then lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Well,” I said, “as they say in America, that came out of left field. Were you thinking you me and another guy, or another girl?”

“Girl,” she mumbled, “I’m not interested in any other man inside me but you.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said, “because I’m not interested in doing anything whatsoever that involves another male. Not, I hasten to add, that I have any particular interest in any other girl. And I take it that, since we’re having this conversation, you already have a candidate lined up?”

“Well, Charlie obviously,” she replied, “but there is a girl in school, who I think might be interested.”

“And you just happen to have arranged to meet her,” I said, “here?”

“No,” she said, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what have you arranged?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied, “I just told her that I’d discuss it with you and let her know.”

“And have you and her done anything together?” I asked.

“No,” she answered, “no, I wouldn’t, not without you.”

“And if I don’t agree?” I asked.

“Then I never will,” she responded.

Still, I’d be dishonest if I said the idea didn’t interest me.

“Then you’ll at least meet her?” she asked.

“Cal,” I said, “I’ll meet any and all of your friends, anytime. And if they want photos or autographs, I’ll let them have them. Whether I’d do anything else with them, that depends.”

“On what?” she asked.

“On what they wanted, what you wanted and what I felt about them,” I said.

“But you’d do it?” she asked.

“I think we should discuss this in a less public place,” I replied, I was beginning to get the idea that this was something that Cal hadn’t really thought through. That it was another case of she had this, as she saw it, brilliant idea and was just blasting ahead with it.

We finished our meal, just exchanging chit chat about what had happened at school, what our friends were up to and, after eating, I paid the bill and we left to walk up to Oxford Road. Which took about ten minutes, during which we just held hands and enjoyed being together.

Once we reached Oxford Road, we walked down the couple of hundred yards to Oxford Road station, and there, walked into the Java bar Espresso coffee shop. It wasn’t very busy, just a few scattered couples, and one scruffy old man sat reading a newspaper. Well, those, and four very attractive looking teenage girls over in the back corner.

They looked up as we walked in, and one of them waved at us. Cal dragged me over to where they were sitting.

You’d think that they hadn’t seen each other in months the way they greeted each other, rather than having been in school together a few hours earlier.

“So this is him,” a blue-eyed, very pretty, blonde said, “the famous boyfriend.”

“This is David,” Cal confirmed, “David, going round the table clockwise, meet Diana.”

“Hi David,” Diana greeted me with a twiddle of her fingers, “Call me Di.”

“Hi Diana,” I replied, “sorry but my Mum always tells me, ‘never say die’.”

The one next to her was a blonde, this time with hazel eyes, I thought perhaps the hair colour may have been out of a bottle.

“This is Bernie,” Cal introduced, “or Bernadette if you’re being formal.”

“Hi, Bernie,” I said.

She smiled back at me.

The third one was Ella, a redhead, with green eyes and freckles.

“And this,” Cal said of the final girl, the blonde who had waved at her as we came in, “is

Mandy or Amanda. Ladies, meet my boyfriend, David James Barker.”

“Nice to meet you, David,” Mandy said, extending her hand to shake, “I don’t mind what you call me, but call me, please.”

“If that’s what you want, Please, then that’s what I’ll call you,” I said, shaking her hand.

The girls thought that was hilarious, Mandy didn’t.

“So, are you really him?” Ella asked, “you look smaller than he does.”

“Am I really Cal’s boyfriend?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “HIM! Greg Paradise.”

“Well I did once play somebody of that name in a film, and, rumour has it, I’m going to be doing that again next summer,” I said, “but no, I’m not actually Greg Paradise. I’m just an actor.”

I anticipated the next question by taking out my wallet, retrieving my Screen Actors Guild membership card and placing it in the middle of the table.

“There you go ladies,” I said, less than softly, “does that satisfy you?”

They all nodded silently.

“Well, then,” I said, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you all, I hope we’ll see you again.”

“Oh,” Bernie said, surprised, “aren’t you coming to the disco?”

“Disco?” I queried.

“Every Friday night school has a senior students’ disco, for those who are not going home,” Cal replied.