I sat at the table in the corner of the Red Lion. In front of me were two pints of Hobgoblin, one for Eric and one for me. I knew from the start that something was wrong. I often met Eric for a drink on a Friday and we would go over the business of the week. It was just over a year since I had opened up the second branch of Drive In Auto Services and put Eric in charge of the first one. He had shown himself to be more than up to the job and everything was ticking over nicely. Fridays were the nights when we slapped each other on the back and toasted our good fortune. Had it been a Friday I wouldn't be worried, but this was a Wednesday. For Eric to ring me on a Wednesday and suggest we met for a pint, something must be wrong.

Eric was more than an employee, he was a mate. He and his wife Janet had stood by me when everything went tits-up in my private life, in the five years between the divorce and me finding out that my wife Julie really was a deceitful tramp. It was Eric, Janet, my book-keeper Clare, and a couple of other friends who helped me through. Now I was back on top, with a new wife, Nicola, who was now six months pregnant, and a booming business. But, as any marine will tell you, mates are forever. They've watched your back so you can watch theirs.

I went through all the possibilities while I waited. If it was work related the only thing that couldn't wait until Friday was that he wanted to fire someone or, far worse, he wanted to quit. I couldn't see why he would want to leave--I paid him a damn good salary and I know he enjoyed the job. No, this had to be personal, in which case I might have some idea what it was all about. You see, my wife Nicola is a police woman in the traffic division and two nights previous she told me something I wished I didn't know. Something that had happened when she and her partner John Blackman (Chalkie to his marine buddies) were patrolling the motorway.

"I couldn't believe it," she said. "The car got slower and slower, while moving from lane to lane. The driver seemed completely unaware that we were behind them. I switched the video on for a couple of minutes while we followed them, then gave them a quick burst of the lights and sirens. That's when it all changed. We'd thought the driver was alone in the car, but as soon as the siren went off we saw there was a passenger. She must have had her head in the driver's lap and when she heard the siren she shot back up to the sitting position. John went back to talk to them. He doesn't allow me because of my condition, so I sat in the car watching in the mirror. Now, I know the mirror doesn't give you the best view, but the more I looked at the female passenger the more I thought I recognised her. Greg ... I think it was Janet, Eric's wife."

"Whoa, now just hold on a minute, Nicola. You were looking in the mirror and you were, what, ten metres away? I don't think you could say for certain."

"No, I didn't say I was certain. It just looked like her. You haven't heard about any problems have you?"

"No, but I can ask if you like?"

"No, don't. I could get into trouble for just telling you about it."

Eric walked in and sat down opposite me. I pointed to his beer and he picked it up and took a sip.

"What's the problem, then, Eric?" I asked.

"Who says there's a problem? Perhaps I just felt like a chat."

"Come on, we both know that normally you can't wait to get home to Janet on week days, so if you want to chat there has to be a reason for it."

"Yeah, you're right, I do have something gnawing away at me. You've been through it ... how do you know if your wife is having an affair?"

I started to laugh and then I looked at Eric and could see he was upset. "Sorry, but you've got to see it from my perspective. You're asking me, a man whose wife was having an affair with that arsehole Miles on and off for five years, but I didn't see it. Besides, this isn't Julie we're talking about, this is Janet, and we both know she worships the ground you walk on."

It was true--you only had to see them together. You never saw them out without them holding hands. At fifty-two Eric was a little over seven years older than me, and Janet was in her mid forties. They had been married almost twenty-five years and they still can't pass without touching each other.

"You know that we, Janet and I, thought you and Julie were a match made in heaven. We thought it was only your reaction to that video that kept you apart. Then we find out she was screwing arsehole Miles, even when you were still married. I thought, if it could happen to you two, it could happen to any of us."

"Whoa, don't go blaming me for your suspicions. You've got to have more than that."

"That's the problem, Greg, mate. All I've got is suspicions, but her recent behaviour has made me think. Only a few months back she became extremely horny. I couldn't keep up with her--she wanted sex any place and all the time. She even wanted to do it on my desk at work. I know a bloke ain't supposed to complain that his wife wants a lot of sex. I mean, I'm a man, right? I'm supposed to be the one who always wants sex. Anyway, about two weeks ago all the demands stopped and I was back in charge of our sex life."

"Oh, for gods sake, Eric. Janet's at an age where her hormones are all over the place. Menopausal women frequently have swings in their sexual appetite. Think yourself lucky--many women go off sex altogether."

"I know all that, but there's more. Around the time the sex drive declined again, a face from the past came back to town."

"Okay, you've got me interested. Tell me about this face from the past."

"His name's Gerry Rawlings. He was Janet's boyfriend before she met me. Believe me, he is every bit as big an arsehole as Miles. I first met Janet when she was on the rebound from that bastard. He had taken her to a club and got her drunk. He spent the night flirting with another woman. On the way home with Janet he'd pulled into a lay by and fucked her. He took her virginity then took her home. After that she never heard from him again. She was really in love with him but she was just a piece of arse as far as he was concerned. Apparently he went back to the club for the other woman. He left town that night and moved in with the other woman. Janet was devastated. When I started to take her out it was months before I even got to first base. When we eventually slept together she fully expected me to dump her, as if I could ever do that. Anyway, a friend of mine ran into Gerry the other day. I said it was a pity he wasn't driving a truck at the time--when he ran into Gerry, that is. So Gerry told my mate that when he got back to town he was able to pick up exactly where he left off. Well, you see, he left town with the other woman that night. Where he left off was fucking my Janet."

"Okay, just what do you want from me?"

"Well, your Nicola's a police woman ... I thought perhaps she could help me find out what's going on, or at least help me find that bastard Rawlings so I can warn him off."

"Right, stop right there. There's no way we're involving Nicola in this. She loves her job and she's not putting that at risk."

Eric looked down at the floor and sat there shaking his head. "I know you're right, but I've got to do something--I can't lose her." He was now on the verge of tears.

"Okay, I didn't say I wouldn't help. I know people who know people. Before we start, if your suspicions are correct, what do you intend to do?"

"I don't know, what are the options?"

"Well, would you want to divorce Janet? What about Rawlings? Do you want him to disappear?"

"You can do that, make people disappear?"

"Not me personally, Eric, but I know people who can. For as little as a thousand pounds no one will ever hear of him again."

Eric's shudder was visible. "I'm not sure I want to go that far. Can't we just find out what's going on and decide what to do about it afterwards?"

"Tell you what, why don't you leave it with me and let me see what I can find out. Give me a couple of weeks."

We agreed to leave it at that and I finished my pint and went home. Over the next few days the problem laid heavy on my mind. I regarded both Eric and Janet as friends and if Eric's suspicions were right, and it looked to me like they were, both of them were going to get hurt.

Sunday found me in a London hotel room with Nicola, getting ready for the march to the Cenotaph for the annual Remembrance Sunday service. This year it was the turn of the Royal Marines to lead the veterans march. I had been invited and Chalkie Blackman, with the help of Nicola, had persuaded me to go.

"You know, we'll have to stop doing this soon," Nicola said as she moved her pussy up and down on my prick.

"Yeah, I know, but not just yet, eh." She had her knees either side of my waist and I was able to look at her gorgeous body as it rose and fell. I reached up to gently squeeze her enlarged breasts. "I hope these are staying after the baby is born."

"Well, I'm sure they'll stay for a while, but who knows how long? Oh, Greg, that's it, right there, yes."

She started to tilt her pelvis forward as she came down, with her pussy tightening on my dick. As I squeezed her left breast I teased the nipple with my thumb. With my left hand I stroked her very prominent bump. Her pace increased and she started to gasp. I felt my buttocks start to clench and everything below the waist seemed to want to push into her. Her pussy gripped my cock as she moved up and down.

"Ah ... Greg, darling ... ah, you've got me, ah. Ah. Ah. Give it to me. Oh god, yes! Arghh! Aaargh!"

As she came, I felt everything go. I went rigid, pushing myself up into her, my hips lifted off the bed and it felt like all of my body wanted to inject itself into her.

Slowly, she came down as I softened inside her. "You know I'm really going to miss this. That twelve weeks is going to feel like twelve months."

"I'll do the best I can, babe. I can still use my hands and mouth."

She grinned down at me. "So can I, lover, so can I."

We cleaned up and went down for breakfast, then returned to get ready for the march.

"You'll need these," she said, passing me the boxes I had brought with me. "It does say medals must be worn."

"I knew I shouldn't have come. I really don't want to do this."

"Oh, Greg, you must wear your medals. They show how proud your country is of you."

"How proud would they be, if they knew what I did to get some of them?"

She held one up for me to look at. "I know what you did to get this one--John told me. That's why he won't have a word said against you."

"Okay. I'll wear them, but not those two."

She pinned the medals to my chest and stood back and looked at me. "There, now go down there and let me be proud of you. It's a pity that bitch Julie wouldn't let your girls come."

"It's her turn to have them and, if I know Annabel and Grace, they'll insist on watching it on TV."

"Come on, hero. You've got a parade to go to."

Downstairs we met John Blackman and I went with him to the muster point. We all lined up and waited to be sent on our way. As we stood there, I noticed a face I recognised--Captain James Wentworth. As I saw him, he noticed me and came over.

"Sar'nt Maitland, how are you, man?"

"Just fine, sir. How about you?"

"Oh, you know, sergeant--the usual life of a career soldier. I was quite surprised you never signed up for another tour of duty. You were always a damn fine soldier."

"It was just my time to go, sir."

Jim Wentworth looked at the medals on my chest. "Aren't there a couple of gongs missing here, sergeant?"

"And what gongs would they be, sir?"

"I distinctly remember putting you up for two, for the last operation we were on together. I know they were awarded, but I don't see them here."

"Would that be the operation the high command denied all knowledge of, sir? The operation that never was? Well, sir, if there was no operation, I couldn't have got any medals for it, could I?"

"A lot of good men are still alive because of that operation, sergeant."

"Yes, sir, and a lot of civilians--innocent men, women and children--are dead because of it."

"History will forgive us, sergeant."

"You may be right, sir, but what if I can't?"

He gave up and walked away. John Blackman looked puzzled. "When did you serve with him?"

"It was when you were in the hospital. I got drafted into a special unit he was running."

"I just knew that, when I got back to the unit, you'd been transferred."

"Can we talk about something else, John? Do you remember stopping a car because the driver was getting a blowjob while he was driving down the motorway?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I remember--they played the video of that in the station canteen for a week."

"Did you file a report?"

"I certainly did. He should be charged with driving without due care and attention."

"So you'll have name and address, etcetera."

"Yeah, but what do you want with him?"

"The woman concerned may be the wife of a friend. I just need to find out if it's true."

"You're not planning to do him any harm are you? 'Cos if you do, and it gets out that I gave you his details, my life won't be worth living."

"I promise you, John, no matter what happens, I won't lay a finger on him."

"Okay. I'll text it to you tomorrow."

We started our march from Trafalgar Square and down Whitehall, paying our respects to fallen comrades as we passed the Cenotaph. Most of the dignitaries had left by then and the monument was covered in poppy wreaths. At the end of Whitehall we stopped and disbanded. I went back to find Nicola and we went home on the train. I couldn't pretend to be sorry to leave such a circus. I needed no special day to remind me of fallen comrades--I remembered them almost every day. I also remembered the ones who returned physically intact, but were never the same again. Everyday I woke up and was thankful for the life I had. I looked across at Nicola with her prominent bump. I know life hadn't been a bed of roses since I left the service, but on the whole I was a very lucky man. Let the politicians and military commanders have their little services if it eased their consciences--I'll be content to live in the here and now.

John Blackman was true to his word. On Monday morning I received a text with the name and address of the driver, along with the make, model and registration number of his car. In the last sentence John indicated his concern. "Remember--not a hair on his head."

I sent one back. "Thanks John. Not a hair on his head, guaranteed."

I called Eric and told him that my friends would need some idea of what Janet's movements were likely to be.

Janet Porter left work on Tuesday afternoon and walked across the car park to her little white Mini. She was an attractive woman, carrying a little extra weight, maybe, but it looked good on her. Her brown hair danced on her shoulders as she walked and the trim waist and nicely curved arse moved in time. The sway of her hips was exaggerated by the high heels she wore today. In fact, most things about her appearance were a little different today. She wore slightly more make up, which drew attention to her sparkling green eyes. No trousers--today it was a tightly fitting skirt which stopped just above the knee, treating the observer to the sight of her legs, which were covered in stockings with a seam running up the back of her legs. Her white cotton blouse was tailored to pull in at the waist, showing off her ample bosom. It was easy to see what had attracted Eric all those years ago.

She got in the car and drove to the supermarket. She went inside without bothering to collect a trolley. Fifteen minutes later she came out, hand-in-hand with a man. They walked to his car, got in, and drove away. A cunning plan indeed--anyone seeing her car would assume she was shopping.

Gerry Rawlings had run into Janet quite by accident. He'd walked into the insurance office where she worked, trying to arrange insurance on his car. She hadn't recognised him at first, but he had recognised her. It wasn't until she'd read his name on the proposal form that bells started to ring and she'd looked at him again. The years had been good to him--with his slim build and salt-and-pepper hair he cut quite a dash. Janet remembered the last time she had seen him. The look on her face was decidedly frosty.

"Janet. Janet Ashley, is it really you? My, what a beauty you've turned into."

"It's Mrs Porter now, thank you." Janet had said, coldly.

"Of course, I should have known. No man with any sense would have left you on the shelf for long. You know it's really great to see you looking so good after all those years. Do you think we could share a coffee sometime and talk about the old days?"

Janet's stance had softened. She'd remembered that he'd always had a way with words.

"I really don't think we have anything to talk about and I don't think my husband would appreciate me talking to you."

"Oh, but we do, Janet. There hasn't been a day go by when I haven't regretted what I did to you. Please, let's go somewhere more private and I can apologise properly."

"But my husband--"

"Will understand, if he trusts you. It's only a cup of coffee after all."

He's right, what harm could it do just to have a coffee and let him seek my forgiveness? These were the thoughts going through her head as Janet had accepted his invitation.

He had started off telling her how sorry he was for the way he had treated her all those years ago and how, despite everything that had happened in his life, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Janet had lapped it up. She was just starting the menopause and it had made her horny as hell. It also made her question whether she was still attractive. Eric kept telling her she was beautiful, but he would, he loved her. Gerry was something else--he had cast her off and was now regretting it. She had listened as the compliments came thick and fast. Gradually she had started to open up to Gerry, telling him about how wonderful Eric was, about how the family had now left home and how lonely she felt during the day. After a couple of meetings he'd told her of his sexless marriage and how his wife had gone off sex almost as soon as their daughter was born some eighteen years ago. Janet had been very sympathetic and agreed that partners didn't realise just how important sex was in a relationship.

Not once during the time they were meeting did Janet mention Gerry to Eric. She knew what Eric's opinion of him was, and perhaps that was true once upon a time, but he had changed. Now he was pleasant, caring and sympathetic. He really cared about her problems and wanted to help her, even when she opened up about her constant desire for sex and Eric's inability to keep up. He would suggest things she could try, websites she could visit with porn clips to help her get herself off. He had even bought her a vibrator as a present. If Eric could see him now he would see how much Gerry had changed, but no, once Eric made up his mind about someone, there was no changing it.

Their rendezvous had changed to the supermarket car park, where they would leave Janet's Mini and head out to the pub by the river. With the alcohol, Janet's talk got looser and it hadn't been long before they were talking about sexual fantasies and things they wanted to try, but hadn't got around to. Janet had told Gerry how she wanted to be tied up, to be totally powerless, while she was used by her partner.

"Have you asked Eric to do that?"

"What, dear dull old Eric? He wouldn't even consider something like that."

She had heard herself say it and couldn't believe it. Eric wasn't dull, he was kind and caring and loved her like there was no tomorrow. Eric would do anything she wanted, except hurt her. Had she not been so closely involved, she may have realised that Gerry was slowly and systematically driving a wedge between Janet and her husband.

"Then Eric's a damn fool. If you were mine I'd give it to you whatever way you wanted."

Janet had been plied with just enough wine to wreck her judgement, and let that one pass.

They had been on their way back to the supermarket when Gerry had started to talk about it being eighteen years since he'd had a blow job.

"Eighteen years ... that's terrible. My Eric gets them all the time, it's part of our lovemaking. You mean, she hasn't satisfied you in any way in all that time?"

"Not even a hand job."

"Oh, you poor man, you must be really desperate."

"I am, Janet--you don't know how desperate. All this talking about your problems have made it worse, somehow. I don't suppose you could ... give me some relief?"