Tartan Blanket

"Christ. I hope...I hope it was my sister Eve and not my mother or father."

With a smile on her face that would probably still be there the next day, they shared a kiss and in the blink of an eye Eileen was gone.

The tension at the breakfast table was unbearable.

There didn't appear to be any suspicious signs coming from his mother or father and Eve was her usual buoyant self, talking too fast, laughing too loud as she fluttered around the kitchen, absorbing all the energy inside the room.

The suspense of not knowing who was at the living room door had left him with a cold sweat and a feeling of nausea. It didn't seem to bother Eileen. She carried on a deep conversation with his mother, smiling and talking as if nothing had happened.

His mother's voice broke his anxiety.

"You need something to eat before you go," she said, an unexpected smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

"Yes," his father chirped in. "You need to keep your strength up," he winked.

'Christ' he thought. 'Do they both know, or is it just his paranoid mind playing with innocent words.

It was a surprise to everyone when Frank walked into the house reading a newspaper and sporting a black eye. And there was another surprise when he announced that he intended to come along for the ride to Bishop Auckland.

"You been in trouble again?" his father asked, pointing a finger at his bruised eye.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Frank replied, without looking up from his newspaper.

With the build of a middleweight boxer Frank Brand was no stranger to the occasional brawl. By the time he was twenty he was streetwise and mature well-beyond his years.

But at times he was impulsive and if he was ever pushed into a corner he could be reckless and violent. And because of his contempt for authority and discipline it surprised everyone when Frank announced that he was joining the Army.

Eddie and Malcolm carried the stale smell of cigarettes and alcohol to the car. Frank carried his black eye and newspaper. Mark carried Eileen's small case and a look of disappointment. Eileen carried her smile and the cleaned-of-all-mischief tartan blanket.

Any thoughts he might have had about a repeat performance in the back seat of the car were quickly eroded when Frank sat in the front passenger seat and Malcolm ended up in the back with him and Eileen.

Under a claustrophobic cloud of cigarette smoke and the smell of stale alcohol and perspiration, Eddie turned the key in the ignition and after a couple of spluttered protests from the engine and a familiar curse from the driver, the engine roared into life.

They headed back to Bishop Auckland.

Frank had acquired the ability of being able to talk to his father and read the newspaper at the same time. But if the truth were known he was probably preparing himself for the inevitable stories of their childhood.

With the skill of a magician, Malcolm removed a half-bottle of whisky from the inside of his jacket pocket. After too many gulps of the golden liquid he fell asleep against the door.

She sighed in disgust, moving away from the odium, shuffling across the seat and spreading the tartan blanket over their legs, snuggling up close and resting her head against his arm.

The comforting warmth of her body pressing against his, the delightful fragrance of perfume teasing his nostrils and her tits brushing against his arm was enough to wake the sleeping monster inside his pants.

But even without the benefit that darkness always brings and with Malcolm sleeping next to Eileen, they both knew there would be no opportunities for mischief.

They hadn't travelled very far when he felt her fingers creeping slowly over his thigh...