Chapter 7

The day before, both Patrick and Alan, once again began to have butterflies. “What if we don’t measure up? What if we aren’t any good? What if -”

“What if the moon is made of green cheese?” replied Simon, which didn’t really cover anything much “I mean, what difference does it make?” What he was trying to say, without saying it, was that they were paying for the privilege; it wasn’t up to them to make a good impression. He knew he was talking bollocks. “Sorry, I’m talking bollocks. Of course you want to make a good impression. But you’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t the most awe-inspiring pep-talk. Marion Clandeboye could tell something was going on; she had heard about the young nieces who had arrived and left with Verity. She was rather sour, rather strict, and rather humourless; she wasn’t stupid. Simone had seen the young women, and checked the records. Since Alan had no brothers or sisters listed as next-of-kin, she was mostly of the opinion that these were ‘nieces’ rather than nieces. She made a point of not asking.

Clifford was blissfully unaware. He had heard about the nieces visit last week, and hadn’t picked up the verbal clue when Marion had emphasised the word, nor the smile that Simone had given. Clare had smiled when she heard, Angelique was surprised. She was a member of the Salvation Baptist Church Of Redemption. She felt that Verity was probably being kind to Simon, but buying female bodies was something that the Reverend had explained was casting God’s gifts in the mire. On the other hand, when she saw the young women, she was fairly sure that they weren’t forced into the life they were leading. Perhaps, she thought, they were doing something worthwhile too. She reserved judgement and applied the ‘judge not that ye be not judged’ rule from Reverend Josiah’s earlier sermon instead.

They arrived, the four of them, earlier than Verity; the two that had already been were able to walk up to their uncles and kiss them, then the other two smiled and chatted for a while before leaving. By the time Verity Lamb walked in for her assignation, Patrick was in his room with Rhonda. Alan was feeling shy. “Alan, the clock is ticking. Take her to show her your room. I’m going to find Simon.” in a funny way, she felt younger. She was above reproach, nearly, having not taken any money nor actually had full sex; but at the same time, she was here with two pretty girls, for the same reason. She was a femme fatale.

In his room, Patrick had been unsure what to do. Rhonda took control. “I’ll undress. Would you like me in my underwear or naked?” she asked, matter of factly. His mouth was dry, he couldn’t answer. So she took the decision herself, and pulled off her short skirt – in fact it was short enough to have already given a couple of others a glimpse of white thigh. That was all the excitement Mr Bigelow could take these days, but it was enough. She was quickly standing in bra and pants and aware that the man looking at her was breathing heavily already, and his trousers were pointing at her. “Why don’t you take off those? You’ll be more comfortable.” She could have been disgusted by the wrinkly, slightly shrunken body that slowly appeared, but she wasn’t, not really. She had slept with men who dwarfed her, men who had to have handjobs to get started, men who smelled of stale sweat, men with awful accents. Patrick had a lilting Irish brogue, he smelled good, and he was still able to be hugely aroused by a female body. Naked, she asked him to take off her bra and then he was able to take the lead. He knelt and pulled down her pants and kissed her shaved slit. If he needed the edge of the bed to pull himself upright again, she pretended not to notice. She reached into her bag to get a condom, and was smiling broadly when she saw he already had one in his hand. “That is so thoughtful. You are the first man who has ever come prepared without asking. Shall I put it on for you?” He was a Catholic, but he thought that a small rule broken was better than either being a father at his age, getting a disease (at his age) or her deciding to have an abortion (which he would have found very upsetting). She was, of course, on the pill; but he found that too difficult a question to ask. That first time, it took less than five minutes. But his broad smile said everything. She was content that she didn’t come too, this was a professional engagement. Not a party.