Chapter 4

Simon was less happy than he might have been, convinced that he had won the battle but not the war. Still, it was all a bit of excitement. He was sure that he had trounced the uptight, self-centred views of a couple of senior staff members who believed sexual feelings stopped when you achieved white hair (or no hair). He was equally sure that Verity Lamb would never come to his room again. ‘Ah well,’ he thought, ‘it was fun while it lasted. And when I get to those Pearly Gates – the ones I don’t believe exist – and St Peter says “what have you done”, I’ll be able to say “I gave a woman oral sex at seventy four and she loved it.” That must count for something – it does with me.’ He smiled ruefully and was a quieter man for a few days.

His friends were supportive. Everybody believed he had been having full sex with the siren Verity Lamb; for she was now seen as that by the men with lead in their pencils (as Travis Perkins was heard to say). To his credit, Simon denied that absolutely and yet refused to say what they had done, if anything. He was not of the generation that bragged about their sexual conquests, he explained, he was of the generation that regarded women as ladies and should be treated as such. Clare was walking past as he said that once and simply said “Cobblers.” Everybody laughed. She really was a breath of air.

He made a conscious effort not to look up porn on his laptop. This had been a present from one of his grandchildren. Roy (“Royston! Who calls their son that?” He had has asked his wife when he was born, and smiled at his newborn grandchild and called him Roy from day one, annoying the hell out of both parents) had just said it would enable him to stay in touch; and then was shocked to discover no internet for guests in the home. Roy had suggested a mobile phone “Wouldn’t know how to use it.” had been the response from the old man.

Roy had persisted, and Simon was glad he had. It had taken a little time, but now Simon could set up a mobile hotspot and dial out using the laptop. He had a reputation amongst the inmates as being a computer genius. “In the kingdom of the blind, the man with tunnel vision, glaucoma and macular degeneration is king.” had been his reply. Still, he had watched a film or two; ordered flowers for Mrs Bingley last Febuary 14th – which she was delighted at receiving ‘from her young man’; and then discovered porn. He had rapidly been shocked at the debased horrors that were available and the useless acting. “Just like when I was young.” he had said to Alan, one of the five escapees of yore, admitting that he had visited a Soho blue cinema with three friends when they turned seventeen (no-one checked their ages if they had the money to pay). “The acting was atrocious, it’s no better now.” Still they had watched a couple of clips. Then they had gone back to the pretty girls lying naked in pictures. The gynaecological detail was lost on them both, it wasn’t that erotic when it wasn’t real, thought Simon. That they were all shaved was a revelation. When he bedded Verity, he was relieved to see that not all females removed that delightful bush of curls; it was there for a reason, to excite the viewer of what was behind it. That’s what he thought, anyway. Same as sexy underwear and even outer clothing.

So he had tried not to look at pornography online in the week that had followed the contretemps. He had not altogether succeeded. Clare had come in to clean once and seen the image on the screen before he closed the laptop. “Oh! Simon, I’m shocked!” she had said laughingly. “You just don’t give up, I like that. You do know that search histories can be checked? I mean, if anybody else took the machine over.” She meant that when he died, he might not want others to see what he had been looking at. She showed him how to clear his history and how to use a non-judgmental browser that didn’t store everything and sell his data to the highest bidder. He smiled and let her show him, leaning over with a half-buttoned shirt. He didn’t mention that he had found the browser already. For her part, she was aware that he was looking at her young bosom as much as at the screen; she was laughing inside, and also wishing she had the bust that Mrs Lamb had. Still, Simon was of the opinion that he wouldn’t mind his family discovering some really raunchy porn sites on his laptop after he was gone.

So, when Verity arrived the following week, he was in the day room, attempting to do a jigsaw. A shadow appeared in front of him and he looked up. “Oh! Hello! I thought you would have had enough of me.”

“Did I not explain that I was a dedicated lady? Once I start visiting there is only one way to get rid of me ... OH! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...” For the first time she looked discomforted, the only way that she meant was, of course, death. Simon, and a couple of the others who heard and understood, were laughing. She recovered, picked up a piece of the jigsaw and put it in place. “Has any more been said? Perhaps you don’t wish to converse in private anymore?”

“I love our chats. I think I am getting the hang of the conversation now. Should we, perhaps... ?”

“Yes, perhaps it is best, this week.” So, tacitly, they agreed that this week they would do the jigsaw, talk loudly so their voices could be heard over Homes Under The Hammer, and drink the disgusting tea that was brought round. After, she sat with Celia and smiled through the same story; with one difference. For the first time, she heard the first name of the supposed husband to be – Derek. She resolved to see if she could find out who the man was, if he existed.

On the way out, Hilda and Lottie caught her in the lobby. “At our age, sex is a memory. We are empty vessels, our need to procreate has ended and the need to engage in the acts to procreate diminishes. We still crave friendship and affection, but not the physical side so much. Men are different, they have an inbuilt need to spread their genes, and even when that possibility has receded, an inbuilt need to prove they can. Men are very insecure and needy. I’m sure you know that.” said Lottie. Hilda wasn’t quite as convinced that she wouldn’t accept the occasional romp in the hay, but she held her peace.

“The thing is, if he gives you pleasure, don’t stop because some puritan disapproves, you’ll lose the interest soon enough. And if he wants to, why should you stop? It doesn’t bother us. We’ve checked some of the others – those that aren’t in cloud cuckoo land. We agree.” Added Hilda. “By the way. Celia’s wedding, is it all made up, or do you think it was real?”

“I’m going to see if I can find out; and I’ll think on what you said.” was all Verity replied.

As she left, Simone smiled at her, the shifts had changed around. Simone had been told the whole story by Marion during one handover. Marion Clandeboye had expected her fellow supervisor to be as shocked as she was, but Simone just laughed and laughed. “What a randy old devil! Well, as long as it doesn’t frighten the horses.” which made absolutely no sense to Marion at all.

Clifford chose the route of least resistance. He offered Marion a permanent switch of shifts, which she was pleased to accept since it allowed her to plan her childcare more easily. Simon didn’t realise that he had won the battle and the war, until the following week. Verity arrived, she smiled at the staff, took a deep breath, took his hand and led him slowly to his room. By the time he got there, his smile was a thing to behold. Mr Mulliner smiled at him and thought ‘some people get all the luck’. Not only did the man get a woman, but, more importantly, he got a fried breakfast too. Whether Simon felt that he was lucky was something that was still probably open to doubt, but in the microcosm of the home, at least, he was clearly one of the luckier ones.

His room now had a key in the lock all the time. It had been a tacit, unsaid action, accepting that those people with the awareness to choose could, in theory at least, establish privacy when they wanted too. It was a risk. If someone had an attack of any kind the home could be seen to be at fault. There was another form that would come round soon, a form accepting the Mountain View was not responsible if you locked the door (there was always a master key, anyway).

Inside, Verity took another deep breath and said “Your turn today.” Simon began to disagree, he actually liked having his opportunity to give a beautiful woman (she smiled. Her husband forgot to say such things now), an orgasm. But he didn’t get to the end of his sentence. “No, you’ve been very patient. We agreed. Come on. What? Oh, you want me naked too? Oh, you Casanova!” she did like being told that a man enjoyed seeing her nude. Actually, she wasn’t too fussed at seeing his body, but the idea of simply unzipping him and getting down to business seemed tawdry, base, crude.

Yet, when he had undressed, it was clear he wasn’t too bad to look at. He had kept fit with his exercises. His body slumped rather, but not as much as some younger than he was. The thought of what was to come, coupled with the sight of her body, gave him an impressive erection. He wasn’t sure that mounting a woman, and all of the exercise that entailed, was in his remit any more; but he could sit and watch a woman on her knees before him with her head moving up and down on the tautest piece of flesh he still had. That’s what he did. He took a little longer than he would have done twenty or thirty years ago. That was a small consolation for age. When he was younger, having a woman sucking him off for the first time would have made him explode almost immediately; but now his body was slower. He liked that, he got to savour the moment longer.