Warning:

No DD breasts. Nobody screams ‘I’m cumming’ in capital letters, with 5 M’s and 6 exclamation marks. If that’s what presses your buttons – better move on.

Friday

lunchtime. Enrico’s.

“We’re celebrating Barry. Like those people over there.”

There were five of them sitting in the window. The guessing game would start soon; it was something of a ritual.

Barry Hanford was top salesman at the BMW dealership, and Mac Forrester was his manager.

“Could it be I’m South West’s top salesman again?”

“More than that son. You’re the country’s top salesman! Remember back in April, we talked about body language? And in May, you got the highest commission ever? Tell me our talk had some influence.”

“Definitely. A guy walked in last week, and I let Ken have him.”

“You knew he was not a buyer?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Reading negative clues is as important as reading buying signals. What put you off?”

“The way he sauntered in, closed position with folded arms, gazing around like a tourist. And he had a Porsche leaflet, sticking out of his pocket. A brochure collector.”

“Well done son. Then it’s time to pass this body language info on to Ken and Phil. There’ll always be browsers, that’s the nature of our business. But if everyone knows how to maximise the great undecided, we stay ahead. Right. Game time. Tell me who’s who over in there.”

Barry was tall with a babyish face, and blond hair. Mac was thicker set, more like a rugby player. Barry took a long look at the party of five.

“They’re also in sales. Facing us is the boss. Prime position. Hands laced behind his head, observing his flock. But he’s not the CEO.”

“Why not?”

“His tie is loose and there’s sweat stains under his arms. He’s the sales manager. No offence! The attractive woman next to him, is formal, looks protective. His secretary and probably nominated driver as she’s only on orange juice.”

“Excellent. Are they having an affair?”

“Hmm, possibly. She’s certainly glamorous enough, and is very close to him. They appear quite comfortable with their thighs touching.”

“Go on.”

“On his right - top salesman, literally his right hand man. Jacket off, like the boss. The young skinny guy next to him, is new. Jacket on, unsure of himself. His first party.

The girl next to him has her back to me. But she’s hanging on every word salesman says, laughing at his jokes. Fancies him; short skirt and pointing her knees straight at him.”

“You’re getting better at this than me! Can’t fault your logic anywhere. So what do they sell?”

“Insurance.”

“Why?”

“Well, they’re not dressed formally enough to be reps on the road. And for the same reason, they are not dealing with walk-ins, like we do. So they work on the phone. Smart enough office wear, but not seen by customers. Insurance.”

Mac looked stunned.

“You know, I would never have spotted that. I need to know if you’re right. Now!”

He jumped to his feet and approached the window, taking his drink with him. Barry watched as Mac introduced himself. He didn’t need to make out any dialogue.

“Why don’t you join us” he muttered, mimicking the conversation. “Sorry, can’t stop. I’m with a colleague.” Mac nodded in Barry’s direction. “He’s my top salesman and I’m treating him to lunch. No really? You too?”

Mac returned and sat down, beaming.

“Spot on Barry. Their man is also top salesman. And they are inside, telesales. Advertising space in a newspaper. By the way, that young girl has the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen. You can almost see what she had for breakfast! She keeps trying to tug it down, but she’s actually attracting attention to it. Top guy has noticed it; he’s on a promise there. Knocking at an open door, as we say!”

Friday lunchtime. The Park.

“Are you up for the head’s job?” asked Tania.

“Well, I’ve applied of course.” replied Hayley. “It would look odd if the deputy head didn’t. But ours is a popular school, so there’ll be others after it. And often a head’s post gets filled externally. New broom and all that. The interviews are in two weeks – just as the holidays start!”

“Well good luck anyway. You’ll be going to the annual bash next week I take it.”

“Sure, oh I forgot, this is your first one. The board of governors treats us at the end of each school year. The last Friday before the summer holiday.”

“How long do the board usually serve?”

“Usually four years. The vicar has the job for life and ut parents can do more than one term of office. Clive Ingols has been there forever.”

“Is that young Charlie’s father?”

“That’s the one. Manager of McBails the chemist.”

“So what should I wear?”

“Fairly formal, classic little black dress gathering. Flirt a bit, and circulate.”

They did not eat in the school on Fridays, preferring sandwiches in the park. Hayley was five foot seven and slim. Tania was a little shorter and bigger in the bust; dark brown hair in a feathered bob.

“So, did you really get into wife-swapping?”

“Hey.” said Hayley. “I was drunk when I told you that!”

“Only asking. It’s just Ken and I are thinking of trying it. But we’re worried about attracting weirdos.”

“Can’t help you there. Barry and I stopped swapping when he came out of the RAF.”

“Oh come on. Just a couple of tips?”

“Well, Barry and I got married young. And soon found out he could not father children. I didn’t really want any, so it was not a problem, OK, so I’ve ended up teaching secondary school kids; make of that what you will.

After a couple of years we had a heart to heart. Missed opportunities, wild oats unsown. Swapping was prevalent in the Air Force, so we gave it a try.”

“But how did you make that initial contact?” Tania persisted. “Just go and ask people?”

“It was called wife-swapping in those days, for a reason. The men did all the groundwork. It comes naturally to military guys to openly discuss the sexual side of things.”

“Were there rules?”

“There had to be.” Hayley assured her. “It goes without saying, couples had to be adventurous. Different positions, blowjobs and so on. Anal sex was common, but some couples either didn’t indulge, or it was a special treat for husbands only. Do not ask!”

Tania laughed.

“I went on the pill of course, all the girls did. And there was none of this lucky dip with keys business. Someone always ends up with the same man three times in a row. We all had every guy on a rota basis.”

“What if you got someone awful?”

“Well you had to take the rough with the smooth. But there were six original members, and we got on really well. New couples heard about us on the grapevine and approached. But they had a trial period, and if any two members objected, they were told they couldn’t stay.”

“Did anyone’s marriage break up because of it?”

“No. It made marriages stronger. Sex with a stranger is always exciting. Nothing to do with how tall, or hairy, or well hung he is. It’s just that he’s different. Gave us the chance to experiment, without an affair.”

“Right. So how many different men did you have sex with? Or is that a question too far?”

“No, I’m not ashamed of what we did. I miss it if anything. Over a period of seven years, in three different countries, I had twelve different men. Some were fantastic!”

Friday night. The Malt Shovel.

“That was soon over, we thrashed them.” said Ken.

Barry Hanford and Ken Teakle shared a local, The Bunch of Grapes. But tonight they were in The Malt Shovel, for an away darts match.

Ken and Tania had been in the city less than a year. They still talked about the coincidence of husbands selling from the same showroom, and wives teaching at the same school. They were five years younger than Barry and Hayley.

“So, tell me again about your wife-swapping days.”

“Oh, not that again.” said Barry. “I wish I’d never mentioned it now. It was ages ago.”

“Come on mate, Tania and I are thinking about sowing a few wild oats before kids come along.”

“Those days are over for us now.”

“Did you have a bad experience? That’s what Tania and I are worried about.”

“No. I was just finishing a tour in Cyprus so we came back to England, and a fresh start. Called it a day.”

“Clive, come and join us.”

“Cheers lads, most of my lot have gone home to lick their wounds. You gave us a right pasting.”

“That’s what happens when your star player gets ill.”

said Ken. “You were the only one who got a result.”

The three of them did a post mortem on the darts game. Clive ran the chemist’s nearby. His son Charlie was in the third form at their wives’ school. The talk got round to the head’s retirement, and Hayley’s chances of promotion.

“Is it true Cartwright has the deciding vote?” asked Barry.

“Not as such. He’d carry the day if the votes were split, but probably not this time, with him retiring. Look,” he stared at Barry, “I’d like to chat longer but I’ve got to go. Barry, give me a bell, or pop round the shop, OK?”

“Oh.” said Barry, somewhat surprised. “OK.”

Clive finished his pint and left.

“What was that all about? asked Ken.

“No idea.”

“He definitely wants to speak to you mate.”

Friday night. Le Beaujolais.

“Come and sit with us Sue.” said Hayley. “You’re looking very glam! On the pull?”

Sue was wearing a short dress and high heels, showcasing her fabulous legs. Hayley and Tania shuffled along the sofa while she put her spritzer next to their G and T’s. Her dress rode even higher up her long legs,

“So, what are you girls talking about? Sex again?”

Tania laughed. “Hayley was wondering how many of the board she’ll have to screw to get the head’s job!”

Hayley, also laughing, jabbed her in the ribs. Sue pretended to take it seriously.

“Well, there are six on the board. Three parents, difficult to predict. But Clive Ingols is one, and he fancies you.”

“Really? News to me. He’s a friend of Barry’s from way back, though they don’t socialise much.”

“Well he does. Adam Cartwright does too.”

Hayley and Tania started humming the theme tune to Bonanza. Their headmaster was saddled with the name of the Ponderosa’s eldest son.

“Yeah, we all know the head does.” agreed Hayley. “Dirty bugger fancies anything with a pulse.”

“Nevertheless,” continued Sue, “his opinion might carry some weight, and he’s gone against county guidelines before. As for the vicar - Kev Yeo’s a dirty bugger too, and usually throws his vote in with the head. That leaves the local councillor. I don’t know much about him.”

“Actually, I know him. We were at university together.” confessed Hayley.

Saturday morning. The showroom.

Hayley was still in bed as it was a Saturday. Barry fished the filter paper from the coffee machine and dropped it in the bin. Something glinted on the floor. He picked up a small sliver of foil. He was about throw that in the bin too, when he noticed something on one side. An equals sign. It stirred something in his memory but stayed out of reach, so he slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Phil, the trainee, was polishing an SUV, when the girl walked in. A rock chick, ripped jeans, pink hair, and leather jacket over a T-shirt. Barry shook hands and introduced himself, asking if she wanted any help.

A second person entered; short middle-aged lady with a lavender coloured cardigan. Phil stopped polishing and hovered near her.

“What do you think she’ll buy?” asked the girl.

“Just looking for the toilets.” answered Barry. “Trust me, I can read people!”

“Can you now? What am I interested in then?”

“Jacket, jeans, Doc Marten’s boots; I’d say you’re more of a biker. So if you want to move into the car market, you’ll be after a Two Series convertible.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Got any second hand?”

“How about this one here? Twenty sixteen, sports model, two litre, automatic, seventeen thousand nine ninety.”

She didn’t flinch at the price.

“I love this shade of blue. Any chance of a test drive?”

Barry drove it out onto the forecourt and checked her driving licence.

“So, are you peeking at my tits?”

“God no! Sorry! I was trying to see what’s printed on your shirt. I can only make out ‘S G, ELE, UTTO’.”

She pulled open her jacket - braless.

‘IT’S GOT AN ELEVEN BUTTON’

“It’s a quote from Spinal Tap.”

“Spinal Tap. That’s going back a bit.”

“Classic though.” she said, as she started the car.

Barry fished the silver circle out of his pocket and looked at it again. Now he recognised what it was.

Back from the test drive, there was a quick debrief.

“Bastards!” said Ken. “I go to the toilet and two walk in!”

“Well, my heavy metal girl just got an inheritance. She’s seeing her solicitor about releasing eighteen grand next week, so I think we’re nearly there. How did you get on with your librarian mate? I imagine she’d need a ladder to get her into the X7!”

Phil’s face broke into a huge grin.

“She’s buying it! Asked could she have a discount for cash? Also asked if BMW do a cushion, but seemed happy enough when I showed her the seat height adjustment.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t having you on?”

“Could have been I suppose. But she did give me this!”

He plonked a wad of fifty pound notes on the table.

“Twentyfive thousand pounds deposit. Says she’ll bring the rest round on Monday ... What? What did I say?”

“Nothing!” said Barry, laughing. “This reading customers is all very well, but it doesn’t always work. Congratulations mate - best sale this week!”

“Bastards!” repeated Ken.

Barry made a quick phone call to Clive.

“Is it convenient to pop round and see you now, mate?”

“Of course, come any time.”

“Hold the fort Ken, would you? I have to nip out.”

Saturday. McBails Pharmacy.

Clive’s pharmacy was called McBails. And generally accepted wisdom was he was very lucky to be next door to Colombia - the city’s best coffee shop. Many customers took their prescriptions in, and had a coffee next door while Clive filled them.

He motioned Barry through to the rear office. It was deceptively spacious, looked like a mad scientist’s laboratory, but smelled like the coffee shop next door.

“Want one? I live on the stuff.”

“Love one. Thanks.”

They sat and Barry passed him the silver foil.

“Can you tell me what this is?”

Clive glanced at it.

“Part of the packaging for a birth control pill.”

“Thought so. And this would be the pill a woman takes on day eleven of her cycle, right?”

“Yes.”

“So last night, why did you think I might want to chat to you? Hayley’s promotion prospects? This? Both?”

“You once told me you can’t father children Barry.”

“OK. You know she’s been playing away from home and been hoping I’d find out for myself.”

“Good guess.”

“And the interviews for the head’s job have brought it all to the surface. Did you prescribe Hayley the pill?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Then why am I here?”

Clive took a swig of his coffee.

“Do you recall that chemistry lesson we had, just before O’ levels?”

“The one where you chucked a rusty nail into the sulphuric acid, and it exploded? How could I forget?”

“Well bear that in mind. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

“Go on.”

“Holroyd, our chemistry teacher, went apeshit and blamed you for that little incident. And you took it like a trooper. You failed Chem, and I passed, but it could have been the other way round. You started your apprenticeship and then joined the RAF. I stayed on two years, took A’ levels and majored in chemistry at Bristol uni. That explosion stimulated my curiosity on the subject.

At uni, I took a year out and went to a research lab in California. From there, I did six weeks in the field in Colombia. And that’s where it all started.

I graduated, got a job, married, divorced, and my life is what you see today. Actually a lot more than you see today. And I owe much of it to you, for taking the rap.”

“Wow! You’ve been carrying that baggage around all these years? Well it’s OK. I was never going to pass Chemistry anyway, and I’m doing all right.”

“I know you are, but I’d still feel more comfortable if I paid that debt. But there’s the patient confidentiality thing. I shouldn’t really tell you. So, here’s the plan. Come round tomorrow and knock at Number Two, just round the corner. Next to the double doors, also numbered with a Two. It’s not my Sunday to open, so I won’t feel like a pharmacist. And Charlie is away with his mum for the weekend.”

“And, as the solicitors would have it, ‘I may learn something to my advantage.’ Is that it?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you everything you want know.”

Sunday morning. Number Two.

“Come on up.” said Clive. He indicated the stairs.

“Didn’t know this door was part of your empire. And I don’t think I’ve been to your ‘flat over the shop’.”

“You haven’t. Only half a dozen people ever have.”

At the top of the stairs he opened another door.

“Wow!”

It was massive. It looked like some millionaire’s apartment in Kensington, or possibly Dubai.

“Let me show you round.” Clive offered proudly.

And the secrets of the ‘flat over the shop’ were revealed. A master bedroom with an en suite. Two further bedrooms with shower rooms, a fourth bedroom and separate bath. There was also a study and a formal dining room. But dominating it all was a huge open-plan lounge and kitchen.

“There’s a utility style laundry room off the kitchen, which leads to the back stairs.”

“You’ve got back stairs?”

“Sure. They go from the utility to the yard.

“But this is bigger than your pharmacy.”

“Well spotted. This living space extends over the coffee shop. That’s mine too.”

They crossed the dining room to the large rear window.

“We don’t eat in here. It’s for Charlie’s homework.”

The yard was bigger than Barry’s entire house. Two green patches, one with shrubs and one with vegetables. In the centre was a pub-style round table with a parasol, additional seating, and a small fountain.

“What are those four doors across the back? With the built-in barbeque in the centre?”

“They’re the back doors to four large garages, which front Tapper’s Lane. On the left is my everyday car. Next to it is my secret fun car - a TVR. And the two on the right are for Bentleys. They belong to a car hire company, mostly posh weddings, and VIP airport pick-ups. My hire company.”

“What did you do - win the lottery?”

“Better. Sit down mate, and all will be revealed.”

“Coffee? No prizes for guessing where it comes from. Or I can offer you a choice of single malts.”

“Coffee thanks.”

They sat on a huge leather sofa and Clive launched into his tale.

On his foray into Colombia, he had come across a drug called scopolamine.

“It occurs naturally there, where it’s usually used to assist rape, emptying victims’ banks, or both. Most drugs originate from plants and I dedicated years of research into recreating scopolamine chemically. Eventually, it paid off and I’ve made it in tiny tablet form.

Mine is colourless, odourless, and tasteless. Undetectable, even in water. Enters the bloodstream in ten minutes; more like five if taken with alcohol. And leaves, without trace, three hours later. All you do, once the recipient is under, is make sure you’re the first one to speak to them. Start with a gentle suggestion, and they’ll respond to anything you tell them; pure hypnotism. And don’t believe that stuff about people not doing things against their nature. It’s crap.”

“And by hypnotising people, got you all this?”

“Yes. I call the drug McBail. First I just used it for sex which was fun. Then I started acquiring all this.”

“Forgive me for asking. But why McBail? Did you develop the whole thing downstairs?”

“Yes, but it’s also a joke. McBails is an anagram of ‘lab’, and MSci - my masters’ degree. Everyone thinks there’s a McBail company which owns the pharmacy. But I bought this place outright, including Colombia and more of this street. Let’s say I had influence over the sellers. And the beauty of it is – they’re all ridiculously happy!”

“Clever.”

“The drug also ensures my place on the school board, where I have more influence. I’ve got other tame contacts all over the city. Those who still prove useful, I meet up with periodically and check my post hypnotic suggestions are still holding up.”

“Ever had anyone famous?”

He went to a drawer under the tv and took out a folder.

“Aren’t you worried Charlie might spot these?” asked Barry, taking the folder.

“Not a chance. Charlie will never go in that drawer. Ever. Same reason he always does his homework, and doesn’t brag to his mates about this apartment, and doesn’t hear any noises if I have a woman back here.”

“Got it. A dose of McBails!”

“Correct. Just a mild one of course.”

“Do you recall the national tv breakfast show hostess, who was in the pantomime at The Old Vic, last Christmas?”

“You mean Jessica Gorman? Her with the long legs and the Mariella Frostrup voice?”

“The very same. I’ve got some great photos of her. Look!”

Barry looked at the photos. “Jesus, what a dirty bitch!”

“I can do those things and have the woman forget. But I don’t.”

“Why?”

“The brain is complicated. Something, in the future, may trigger her to remember. For what it’s worth, Jessica remembers every detail of what we did, and knows about these photos. She wants to come for a dirty weekend when the studio gives her a break. Seems she’s always wanted to try two blokes, one up the front, and one up the back. So maybe you can join us!”

“Do you mean she really... ?”

“I mean she has exceptionally filthy fantasies. She should have; I planted them! Anyway, we’re supposed to be discussing you and Hayley.”

Clive picked up a remote control and the tv sprung into life. There was a video clip taken from the pharmacy. Hayley was the customer. The camera zoomed in and her purchase was three months’ supply of birth control pills.

“Who zoomed in for the payment?”

“Automatic. Does it for every transaction. Pharmacists have a code of ethics. But I guess I’ve broken that now.”

“Please tell me everything then. Start with when you prescribed her the pill.”

“Over three months ago.”

“Three months! The job wasn’t even on offer then!”

“I know. Prior to that, can’t be sure exactly when, I sold her the morning after pill.”

“Jesus! Any idea why? I mean who? Wait! Before you tell me any more, I’ll take you up on that whisky offer.”

Clive brought a bottle of The Macallan over to the table, with two glasses.

“I assume you’ll take it straight. It’s a crime to add anything - even ice.”

“Sure.” Barry agreed.

“Hayley came in for a private chat. We don’t dish out morning afters willy nilly. She may not have known that I was aware you’re infertile, of course. I assured her of my discretion and she needed the morning after pill because she’d just had sex with some bloke from her past.

Later, she needed regular birth control; didn’t admit she was planning an affair, but it didn’t take much working out. She thinks you and I have an unpleasant past. That, and my assurances, led her to trust me.”

“But you couldn’t tell me any of this at the time?”

“She might not have gone ahead with it. And I’ve hardly spoken to her since. But recently she came in for a repeat prescription, and that promotion is coming up.”

Barry nodded his understanding. A plan was forming.

“So, if I gave her one of your pills, she would tell me all about her fling, or flings, in the past?”

“Yes, and probably a few things you don’t want to know.”

“So, you’re going to let me have some of these pills?”

“Tell you what. Now you’ve got the picture, go and think about a plan of action and come back and tell me when you’re ready. If I’m satisfied you aren’t going to do anything stupid, then I’ll let you have one.”

Last Friday in June. Barry’s home.

“What do you think? Does it still fit?”

Hayley did a twirl and struck a pose, hand on hips.

“Wow! You haven’t worn that since our RAF days!”

Hayley laughed. She was wearing a pale grey, knee-length dress of clinging jersey wool. There was a thin black leather belt round her waist, pulled tight to accentuating her curves. The ends of the belt hung over her right hip, and matched her shoes; as did the black choker.

“Are you wearing a bra?”

“Kind of. I’m not sure if this is called a no-bra bra. It’s flesh-coloured individual cups that stick on.”

“Very sexy. No lines.”

Barry also noticed there were no lines around her buttocks either. Was she going to the party with no panties on?

They set off to the hotel.

Friday night. The Excelsior.

“I know you don’t care for these events,” said Hayley. “so have a few glasses of wine. I’ll circulate, oil the wheels.”

Barry spotted Clive talking to an attractive woman, and Ken and Tania were dep in conversation with another couple. Barry wondered if they were potential swappers. Usually he’d have been in his element, people-watching, but now and he was only interested in his wife.

He tucked himself into a corner with a glass of red and a paper plate buried under slices of quiche; lost in thought. He’d had his vasectomy years ago, yet Hayley was secretly back on the pill. Not as secretly as she imagined though.

He watched her walk from group to group, flirting and smiling. Then, spotting one man on his own, she made a beeline for him. He was wearing an expensive grey suit of soft fabric, like mohair, and a pale blue shirt. And grey suede boots. Who on earth wears suede boots?

Barry slips into observation mode. Her approach is subtly different. Shoulders back, chest forward, rolling hips. He’s watching for a couple of the half dozen attraction signals. They start talking with no preamble or handshake, so they know each other.

The first positive sign isn’t long coming - she runs her fingers through her hair. If a woman smiles and touches herself then, in crude terms, she’d like you to touch her there as well. She stands closer. But we can’t count that one, the room’s getting crowded.

Now Mr Mohair is asking her a question. She thinks about it, raises her eyebrows, and touches her lips. That’s two. Now another question; this one is obvious: ‘Would you like another drink?’ She takes his glass and drinks from it. Very intimate. ‘Oooh that’s delicious, I’ll have what you’re having!’ Three.

As he turns for the bar, she dives into her handbag. Compact out, lipstick freshened, compact back. Just enough time to tug her dress, pulling it tight across her breasts.

He returns and hands her a fresh glass of wine. Barry cannot read her lips; it’s only small talk anyway. But her body language is clear.

‘You’ll be getting me drunk you naughty man!’

Her right hand takes the glass and her left goes to her throat, playing with the choker. Then it drops further and brushes her left breast. A definite four.

They’re standing up against a wall now, and he puts his hand on it, next to her face. Trapping gesture. This guy understands the signals he’s receiving, and sending his own, even if he doesn’t know it. She leans in towards him.

‘What are you going to do, now you’ve trapped me?’

He puts a hand on one of her hips and points out someone across the room. Their heads tip towards each other. Barry doesn’t follow the pointed finger, he focusses on the other hand. It slides around Hayley’s hip. More buttock than hip. And suddenly she’s in overdrive. Increased blink rate, puckered lips, stroking the stem of her glass. Finally, one hand goes to a breast again and squeezes it slightly. She smiles at him. Jesus, she’s going to have him now!

“I could do with more of a handful, personally.”

“What? Oh, hi Ken. Sorry I was miles away.”

“I mean I’d prefer a pint. When Tania said there’d be an open bar, I was expecting beer.”

“I know what you mean. Wine makes me thirsty.”

“I see Hayley’s collared the new councillor.”

Barry makes a show of looking around the room for her.

“Oh, is that who he is? Never met him.”

“Tania says they were at uni together.”

Barry looks again. They’ve put down their wines and are looking at their watches. Time for a quickie? She twists her wedding ring and he knows she’s on the point of looking in his direction. He quickly turns back to Ken.

“No. Never seen him before.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he’s aware of Hayley leaving the room. He’s fading Ken out. Then the councillor drains his glass and casually heads for the same door.

“Are you listening?” says Ken.

“Sorry again mate. Taken short, gotta pee.”