Third Time Lucky

Joey oh Joey, she thought, why did you have to wallow in your unhappiness - and then the very thought made her feel angry with herself again.

Slowly, slowly she got over it. In the first months of her recovery there would be frequent relapses into self-reproach. There was a new employee at her job that had to be shown the works and she was chosen to do it. He really liked her a lot, and one day he asked her out; but she was under the spell of one of her blacker moods just then and she bit off his head in response. He flinched at her uncalled-for aggression; after a few more days he left the firm. She was really sorry about it and she didn't have an inkling why. She thought he had been rather attractive. Oh well; life sucked anyway, didn't it?

When she was more or less her old self again she went through her late husband's things and threw out almost everything that had no direct value for her. She didn't want to be reminded of the bad times they'd experienced in those final months, only those thing that carried the warmth of their early togetherness for her could stay. She did keep his name; that, she thought, was the least she could do.

It took her a few more years to feel she'd really overcome the blow, but gradually she began to look like her old self again. Roseanne was a big help. She had witnessed Joey's deterioration from close by, and she was the only one Caithleen could talk to. Her parents were too old to be constantly worried with her feelings of insufficiency, and her other friends were far too superficial for anything like this.

Eventually Roseanne managed to make Caithleen agree to go out with her and to try and have a good time again. "After all," she said, "it bloody wasn't your fault, girl. Come on, and smile at the bright side of life."

Caithleen actually enjoyed going out now and again. When she went it was usually with Roseanne, who had found a friend, James, who lived some eighty miles away. They met irregularly, and their respective jobs didn't allow them to meet more often. Roseanne didn't mind; they really loved each other and whenever they did meet she was happy as a lark.

They usually stayed at home at Roseanne's place but they sometimes went out with Caithleen, who liked James a lot. She felt a little jealous of Roseanne's good luck, but she enjoyed being with them nevertheless, and she didn't really look out for a new friend herself. Joey was still on her mind very often indeed, and oh well, she had enough interests not to get bored.

And then, out of the blue, Caithleen got courted by a strapping young man - at least ten years her junior - who felt just right to her. Joey had been dead for over seven years, and she suddenly looked upon this youngster with desire. He looked a little like Joey, although he was not quite as intelligent, and he was good fun. He was physically attractive as well; and he seemed to find her attractive, too.

She even wore dresses for him; he had frowned on her usual t-shirts and made a pointed remark about a well-dressed woman crossing the road in front of them, and she was eager to please. Anything not to make him think badly of me, she thought.

Fred took her out to the opera, and invited her to dinner at one of the top-end restaurants in town, and paid lip-service to her interests. He took things slowly and in the beginning their contacts were limited to once a week at most.

Caithleen loved the way he looked at her. She felt she was on her way to be getting old - "You're not, you idiot," Roseanne told her - and this young man seemed to be a hold on those lost years.

Roseanne tried to talk Caithleen out of it. She had seen Fred look at her a couple of times and she didn't like the fellow at all. When Caithleen asked her why she couldn't put her finger on it. "But I don't trust him a jot," she said.

Caithleen was completely under his spell, and when eventually he asked her round to his place after a night on the town she happily complied. They drove there in her car, and he complimented her on her driving - rather to her surprise, as it was nothing fancy.

They shed their clothes on the way to the bedroom. His physique reminded Caithleen of a line in Dahl's Landlady: I open the door and I see someone standing there who is just exactly right. He lifted her up and deposited her on the bed - he had a very large bed - and went for her pussy with his mouth, long and pressing, and after all those years she just came and came and came...

Then he took hold of her waist, turned her round and made her kneel on all fours. She turned her head his way to offer him her mouth, and he kissed her lips for just one moment. He slapped her buttocks, hard enough to be painful, but she attributed it to his passion for her. Then he entered her smoothly - she was very, very wet - and fucked her long and hard, telling her all the time what a good little cunt she had, and how tight she felt, and that he was going to make her come.

He certainly did, even thought she felt a little embarrassed by his words. When she had reached her orgasm he pulled out of her and came on her back, and he rubbed his come all over her.

She got up and turned around, and kissed Fred on the mouth. "Thank you very much," she said.

He gave her a smug grin. "You liked that, didn't you? Let's have a drink and I'll fuck you some more."

He disappeared and returned with two glasses, and a packet of cigarettes. They sat on the edge of the bed, and he lit a fag. Caithleen tried not to breathe in too much of the smoke, but Fred blew his smoke her way. She started to cough; it didn't make him change his behaviour.

"Come," he said as he stubbed out his cigarette. "I want you to make me hard again"

He stood up before her and put his hands on his hips, his half-hard cock dangling in front of her face. She touched it, wrapped her hand around him and moved it back and forth, and it grew hard again quickly.

"No, no, with your mouth, of course," he said. He pushed her hand off his cock and rubbed the tip on her cheeks, then he put it against her lips. "Suck me - that's what you came here for. Come on; don't act as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. None of my other girlfriends object, and you're too old for scruples! You're lucky to get me, and you know it."

Caithleen felt a strong nausea overcome her. She tried to get up but he held her hair and pushed a thumb in the corner of her mouth, and when her jaws parted he pushed his cock into her mouth.

"Suck me," he said. "You love it."

Caithleen hated it. He roughly pushed in and out of her mouth and he held her head and pushed in so deep she gagged. He didn't pay any attention to what she might feel, and when he had had enough of her mouth he grabbed her wrists hard and turned her around again.

Then he bent her over, pushed her face into the mattress and fucked her ass. It hurt so much the tears ran down her face, and he kept pouring out what he thought were encouragements - she felt utterly filthy and contaminated. To cap her humiliation he eventually came over her face.

"I'll bring a friend next time," he said when he had released her. "Then you can have us together. You're a good little fuck."

Caithleen was flabbergasted. Fred apparently thought she had enjoyed the experience. The bloody insensitive bastard. She got up.

"The toilet's downstairs?" she asked.

He nodded and lit another cigarette. "Don't be too long," he said. "I'm not done with you yet."

Caithleen hurried downstairs, collecting her clothes on the way. She used her handkerchief to wipe her face, dressed quickly and stole out of the house. Then she ran to her car and drove home.

She took a long soak in the bath and brushed her teeth for at least five minutes. How could you have been so stupid, she thought. His other girlfriends - if only she hadn't contracted HIV...

She saw her GP first thing in the morning. Doctor Stewart was an old friend of her father's, and she had known him visit them at home ever since she could walk. She briefly explained her predicament, and he listened and nodded. Then he sent her to the hospital for a series of blood tests; when the results were known she was relieved to hear that she wasn't HIV positive; she had contracted Chlamydia, though.

"I will prescribe a course of antibiotics," doctor Stewart said. "My dear young lady, do watch out, please."

She blushed deeply. If only she'd listened to Roseanne - but she had felt so good because of his looks and his youth...

She told nobody apart from Roseanne, who shook her head but was sensitive enough not to tell her she'd told her so... They discussed men for a long time. The experience had served to make Caithleen remember vividly how fantastic the good years with Joey had been, and she felt deeply miserable, not so much because of Fred - he had proved a nonentity and a mistake she was happy to forget - but because all the sadness and the feeling of inadequacy that she had harboured for so long, and that had almost seemed overcome, came back with a vengeance.

Life had seemed so great at one stage. She had been so happy - and Joey had been so happy, or so she'd thought. There must have been some nagging voice at the back of his mind even then?

Roseanne upbraided her for thinking that way. She had liked Joey, too, and she felt certain that the happiness she had seen in those sunny days long ago had been unadulterated.

"This way you're taking away the gloss from your own happy days; I don't think that's fair to either of you. I, for one, often envied you. I don't think I ever felt that kind of happiness. You really should count your blessings and not ruin you good memories."

Caithleen sighed. "You're right, of course. But it's bloody hard anyway."

"Besides, you're not forty yet. Life's still in front of you."

Caithleen sniffed a little indignantly. "Yes, time enough to become an old maid."

"Caithleen! Do pull yourself together - third time lucky!"

"Third time miserable, more likely. Forget it, I'm fed up with everything. Joey's gone and I'll never get him back; and I don't want any more Freds."

Roseanne shrugged. There wasn't anything she could do now. Hopefully this mood would wear off some time or other...

It didn't really. Caithleen fell into a routine of hard work and early nights. She read a lot, but usually stuck to whodunits and nineteenth century classis, for modern novels too often reminded her sharply of all she'd lost. She thought of picking up her bass guitar again but decided against it as it would remind her too much of her days with Joey; instead she bought an alto recorder and a book of instructions and taught herself to play.

Apart from Roseanne she hardly saw anyone, until her parents fell ill, one after the other. Her father was the first to start ailing, and she finally felt there was something to get involved in again. She arranged all necessary care for them, and went to her parent's house every weekend and half of her evenings as well.

Her parents were very happy to have her around. Eventually they became completely dependent on her. The downward path continued for nearly three years and it was with a sad heart that Caithleen saw the deterioration in the people that were so dear to her.

One morning in August she got a call from her father. He was completely devastated: her mother had gone to the toilet that morning, and on her way back she'd fallen in the hall. He had called 112 immediately but when they arrived all they could do was pronounce her dead.

Caithleen dropped everything on hand. She packed a bag of clothes and necessaries and went to her parents' house at once. She competently dealt with everything. First she sorted out her dad, who felt completely lost without his wife; then she contacted the undertaker's.

In the evenings the two of them tried to find the right music to play at the ceremony. It was a very companionable and even pleasant time, notwithstanding the sadness that had occasioned it, and they felt very close. Caithleen did feel a bit worried; sometimes it seemed as though her words didn't reach her father at all, and he looked even more fragile than usual.

It took them some time, but at last they felt they had the right programme. They'd both written a speech, and read them to each other, and they were really happy with their preparations. It was only one more day till Friday when the burial would take place.

On Friday morning Caithleen rose early. She showered and dressed. She went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast and then she went and knocked on her father's door. There was no reply. She knocked again, and when there was no reaction again she opened the door and went in.

Her father lay in bed, on his side; she couldn't see any motion in his chest at all. This couldn't be true, she thought. But it was.

It seemed as though all thoughts had fled from her mind. She blundered back into the kitchen and made herself a pot of strong coffee; when she had had a large mug of the bitter liquid she called Roseanne on her cell phone.

Roseanne, who had been a little worried about her friend, came at once.

"Alright," she said. "What have you done so far?"

Caithleen looked at her and shook her head. Then she started to cry, for her mother, her father, Joey, herself... Roseanne held her in her arms and made soothing noises, and when Caithleen had calmed down a little she called the doctor and the undertaker's.

At the ceremony both speeches were read by Roseanne; Caithleen was too dazed to be of much use. She experienced the period until her father's burial as a prolonged underwater affair, stifling and unreal, and if it hadn't been for Roseanne she would not even have managed to attend the burial.

Roseanne was worried about her no end. The day after the burial she drove Caithleen to the doctor and asked him to sort her out. He talked to her for a long time, and prescribed an antidepressant. "But," he said, "I'd rather have you go away on holiday and get out of here for some time. Do something different, see something different - find something of interest!"

It took Caithleen some time before she allowed herself to act on his advice. But eventually she booked a trip to Russia; she would fly to Moscow, spend three nights there, take the train to St Petersburg for another three nights and fly back. She got a visa and made all other necessary arrangements, and received lots of papers from the travel agency she'd booked with.

There was a list of participants; most people came in pairs. One pair consisted of two men; there was only one other single, a man called Leonard Carr. She didn't know any of them, and she wasn't really interested.

One Saturday in the middle of October Roseanne drove her to the airport.

"Have a good time, girl," she said.

"I'll try to," Caithleen said. She was not particularly looking forward to her trip, but it was worth giving it a try.

There were various people on the plane that could be possible fellow travellers, but she couldn't be sure. I'll see, she thought, and then she sat back and opened her book.

After a quiet flight it took the group a long time to reach their hotel. They were booked into hotel Cosmos, a huge building with a statue of Charles de Gaulle in front, and they had arrived so late that they had to take their luggage to their rooms straight away and find something to eat in one of the restaurants there.

While Caithleen was wondering where to go she was accosted by a man who looked at her with a smile and said, "Would you mind if I join you? I'm Leonard Carr, and we seem to be the only loners in the group."

She looked at him. He didn't seem too awful so she shook her head and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said. "I'm Caithleen Ayers."

They had pizza with some Russian beer. Leonard told her he had heard from friends that the trip was interesting, and so he had come to find out for himself.

Caithleen nodded. She didn't talk too much about herself; it wouldn't do to think about her plight and fall into another of her black moods. But she felt she enjoyed listening to Leonard. He was intelligent and unassuming, and he managed to make her smile a couple of times.

The next day they visited the Red Square. They marvelled at St. Basil's Cathedral and the Kremlin Wall with Lenin's mausoleum, and they had lunch at GUM.

Caithleen wandered around the building for some time - she had been told the restaurants were on the upper floor, but she found it difficult to decide where to go - until she came across Leonard who was standing on one of the bridges spanning the aisles, admiring the view.

"Hello," he said. "It's beautiful, isn't it? What a wonderful vault." He pointed at the glass roof.

She nodded; it was. Leonard took a couple of photographs and then he said, "Have you had lunch yet?"

Caithleen shook her head.

"Let's find some place then," he said.

They found a restaurant pretending to serve workers' fare; it was nice and not too expensive, and Caithleen found Leonard really entertaining. He lived near Nanpantan, and worked in Loughborough, and he was a bachelor by accident rather than inclination. He grinned a little when he said so and shook his head. Caithleen didn't ask him to elaborate on that; after all, they didn't really know each other and she had not come on the trip to get involved in other people's problems.

She did tell him a little about her past few months. He listened carefully, and didn't offer any solutions; instead he told her how he'd experienced his own parents' deaths.

"My brother and I were of little help to each other," he said. "I think you're very fortunate to have a friend like Roseanne."

He sat thinking for some minutes. Then he nodded. "Yes," he said. "I really think you are. Friends like that are hard to come by. Shall we go and join the throng?"

On the third evening they fell together again; they had had dinner and Leonard told her he would go and see the Red Square by night. Did she feel like coming?

She did, and they went to the centre by underground. They entered the square under the arches. It was even more impressive than in the daytime. There had been some sleet that morning, but the weather had cleared during the afternoon, and the sky was bright. The buildings were lit. They walked past Kazan Cathedral - rather small but attractive - and looked at GUM with its outlines demarcated in lights, and at St Basil's floodlit domes.

"Gosh," Leonard said, "this is even better than I'd expected."

They walked the length of the square and then they went into GUM for a cup of coffee. The vaults were full of lights as well, and Leonard tried to take some pictures of it.

"One or two will be ok, I hope," he said. "This is a good trip."

They went to St Petersburg on a high-speed train; because they were the only single travellers they had been seated next to each other. Caithleen sat at the window, and she watched the rather dull landscape go past. She wished Leonard didn't live in the Midlands. If she could make him change places with Fred...

She must have pulled a face at the thought, for Leonard asked her if she was feeling uncomfortable.

"No," she said. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking..."

"It can't have been something nice," Leonard said. "It wasn't your parents' deaths?"

"No," she said. "No, it wasn't. I couldn't possibly tell you, I'm afraid."

He nodded. "That's alright. I hope you won't let it spoil your day."

She looked outside again. Leonard must have been looking at her, or he wouldn't have noticed.

She turned to him again. "Don't you have any recesses in your mind where you rather wouldn't want to be but can't help but going sometimes?"

"I suppose everyone has," he said. "When you're lucky someone will go there with you. You might ask Roseanne - you probably have."