A Sentimental Education Ch. 02

Hindsight, it is said, gives you twenty:twenty vision. That's an illusion. It foreshortens perspectives, telescoping things together and smoothing out the messiness of real life into a series of lessons. If it helps you, fine, beat yourself up with it.

In its distorting light it can appear that as things began to go awry, we both knew it and chose to do nothing. At the time we never saw it. That is what hindsight supplies - a perspective lacking just when you needed it most.

"There's no choice, love, I am sorry," June said.

We had just had the news we had been dreading. Her beloved mother had taken a turn for the worse. "They" wanted to take her into a home. June's Mum did not want to do that, it would, she said, have killed her. She wanted to stay where she was. But she needed constant care, most especially of an evening and during the night. June, ever resourceful, worked out with Social Services and private agencies how to provide help during the working day, but the only way to do it after hours would be for June to do what she used to do - work at home and live with Mum.

"I know, darling," I said, my heart sinking. Hearts are versatile organs. Even as mine sank, it swelled in sympathy. Mum was all June had had before me. She meant the world to June, and June loved her as only June could love. That she would lose her mother so young was bad enough; that her mother suffered so was worse; that June would let her go into a home was impossible. June would rather have died first. She had my heartfelt support.

"I know it will be hard love, but you'll be here, and it will almost be like old times," she said, in an effort to cheer us both up. Yes, phone sex and catch-up sex were back on the agenda.

"I can pop round when Mum is being looked after on Saturday morning, and we can actually go to Tesco's," she laughed - that being our synonym for Saturday mornings spent in bed together.

It was meant to cheer me up, so I pretended to be cheered. She arranged a weekly delivery of groceries, so I never had to try to go to the supermarket. She was right. I had all I could want at home; I just did not have what I needed - June.

When you say, "it just happened," it really means that hindsight is talking. If that was the case, you'd have stopped it and corrected it; except you couldn't, because at the time you did not realise it was happening.

The last night we spent together was special. We both knew we'd be apart for some time, and we wanted each other with all the ardour of our wedding night. It was as though if we could just make love passionately enough, it would build up some sort of credit bank to tide us over until the next time.

I took the precaution of taking some painkillers so my wretched ankles would not get in our way. And as we got into our bedroom, I helped her get her top off, and unclasped her bra, letting those beautiful tits I adored so much go free - well, as free as my hands caressing and playing with them would allow.

Pushing June back on the bed, I found the time to lose everything except my knickers, and once on the bed, they went, as did June's.

"How do you want me?" She asked.

"With love," I said, as I laid her back and began kissing her. Her lips tasted sweeter than ever, and my hands slid, gently, down her body as we kissed.

"Want!" She gasped, breaking free for a second.

What she wanted she was going to get.

I kissed her neck, leaving little bites as she gripped my bottom, so I manoeuvred so that I was able to slip my leg between hers and slowly slide up until, with a great frisson, our wet and swollen lips met. I leaned in to suck her nipples. Then she pulled herself up, shifting position again so we could see each other.

"I love you June!"

"Good, because I love you more!"

"I know," I smiled.

I shifted slightly onto my side, which allowed her to grip my knee and adjust me so that our clits touched, which sent shivers through me. The room was filled with our scent.

I could see that her nipples were as hard as mine, and as we moved in time with each other, pressing harder, I could feel her wetness mingle with mine. We were one. And when we came, it was as one!

That moment of union was sacred. All the cares that had been weighing us both down were vanquished in that moment. Our hearts and souls were one. Making love was not about fucking, it was about making our love manifest in physical form. I felt her heart beating as I lay next to her that night. We were not parted.

The next morning we spent time together. We helped each other shower and dress.

"I'm not leaving you, darling," she said.

"I know," I said, feeling that she was, but knowing I could never say that. What sort of selfish bitch would do that to someone she loved? Circumstances dictated what we had to do, but it was our hearts which, even as they ached, meant we had to do it. It was "for the best."

June phoned from her Mum's. It occurred to me that I could have suggested I went with her, but then she'd have been dealing with two invalids; no, June needed to focus on work and her Mum. I'd be here waiting.

Waiting is rightly held in low esteem. It's easy to say that this is the result of our need for instant gratification, but in my case, I'd have settled for any gratification: some nights she missed calling; some nights I was asleep; some nights Mum would need her.

June has never been one for writing much, though when she pens a love note it shines with her light. I write. So why did I not write more? I did, at first. But in the absence of replies I hesitated. I could hear the strain in her voice. When I saw her on Saturdays, she seemed tired.

I was so proud of how far June's abilities had taken her. But I could hear, some nights, the toll it was taking on her. I longed to hold her and soothe her.

Then IT came.

I am not a great one for the news. There's enough to depress me when my health is poor, without adding the news to it. That "they" had voted for Brexit and Boris Johnson was enough to send me to Radio 3 and classical music all day. News? All bad.

So it was June who alerted me to something called COVID. She was worried by the early reports of people dying. We both worried about her Mum. Then it came with a suddenness - the lockdown. It was the strangest of times. No traffic. No one in the streets. Food was hard to find, toilet paper harder - even the hard stuff.

I could not listen to the news at all. Suddenly June had time. The restaurant was furloughing staff, and the business side followed suite. But June was isolated with Mum. I was isolated with me.

Kind neighbours, knowing I had trouble walking, offered to do some shopping for me. It reminded me that amidst the troubles, people could show their best sides, as well as their worst. The Church closed. That hurt. Eventually, like just about everything else, it found its way online. But those first scary months were unreal.

The TS helped. I focussed on praying and reading. I invented recipes which did not demand too much food.

But there was one uncovenanted benefit; I had time with June. Phone sex was back. We could chat for ages, and when the mood was on us, play together. Amid the isolation, oddly, I felt less isolated than before. We had time. It got both of us through.

The end of the first lockdown did not change much.

June's Mum and I were vulnerable people. She was terminally ill and had she caught COVID all would have been over. I had a tendency to blood clotting and had been on blood-thinners for years; had I caught it, it might have cancelled the effects of the tablets, and that would have been that. Perhaps, though, the TS was a blessing. Not being good at picking up emotional reactions deadened me from the impact of the pandemic.

Once June could come out again, she did. I was one of her small group.

I had not seen her since March. Her hair had grown longer, but she looked less tired. I fell into her arms.

"Oh Pix, I have so missed you!"

I told her the same.

My arms went around her neck, I jumped, gripping her waist, Her hands gripped my bum under my dress. She carried me to the sofa, pulling my panties down. Somehow, I undid her bra, and before we knew it, we were kissing passionately, half naked, on the sofa. Her kisses felt like an oasis in the desert.

I opened my lips and sucked on her tongue, thrilling as I felt her so close after so long. Then she moved to my neck, kissing, and sucking, as my hands found their way to her bum, gripping her tight. Giggling, we fell onto the carpet, but that did not stop us from our reunion.

Lying on top of me, June looked into my eyes.

"I missed you so much darling," a sentiment I reciprocated, as I brushed her hair back and let our lips do the talking. I felt her firm breasts engulf mine, our nipples rubbing as she pressed against me. Instinctively I adjusted my position so she could slip her leg between my thighs. As she gripped my bum, I was overwhelmed by the urge for her to grind her wetness into mine. When she did, I almost came in record time.

The longing burst forth. I leaned in to kiss her nipples as she pulled me to her, scissoring, pressing, her desire for me matching mine for her. I sucked on her hard nipple. I felt her press harder, her lips and mine dripping with our essence. My brain was fogged with desire. I wanted nothing more than to be one with her.

We pressed, we rocked, we scissored, our wetness mingling, the tensions rising through us both; I could feel her tensing even as I was, and then it happened - we came together in a frenzy. It is not often that I realise why the French call an orgasm la petite mort," but this was one of those occasions when I passed from consciousness into a world filled with nothing but June and our love for each other.

"Did you pass out on me?" It was June's voice. My vision cleared. She was grinning at me. "Geeze, Pix, that is quite the compliment!"

I grinned back: "You're the best. And it was a long time. Oh and I have something important to say."

June tensed.

"I love you."

"You little tease you!"

"But you love me?"

"You better believe it."

And she proved it again, and again.

Thus, while our world still shivered on the edge of disaster, a little light entered into my life.

Oddly, that summer mimicked our life before COVID and before my retirement. June had time to phone, to visit, and to show how much she loved me. I felt wanted, valued, and alive again. I even got a date for the operation on my ankles. Then the world closed down again with a second lockdown.

I missed the physical contact, but the world had adjusted. I could go to church online. It was easier to get groceries, and that face that I had to self-isolate did not matter that much. What the heck else was a woman who could hardly walk any more to do?

It was a strange Christmas. Presents via online delivery. Sex via online delivery. Love via online delivery. I was beginning to feel I was a character in a video game. The good things were that Fate spared the three of us. June did not catch IT, neither did Mum or me. She was worried for us, and June was typically thorough in following the rules.

Then came the vaccinations. Mum and I were too vulnerable to be vaccinated. June had the vax, and with typical robustness reported none of the adverse side-effects reported by some.

Then the world opened up - a bit. "Eat out to help out!" said the slogan. So the restaurant opened. The business opened. June's ability to get things done was invaluable. Mum took a turn for the worse. There was still no sign of that operation.

I understood why June could not be there. I understood why the phone calls were brief and became sporadic. I understood why she looked so tired. June was bearing a burden which would have broken a lesser woman. A lesser woman would have cried for help. My June was not a lesser woman; that was why I loved her. But my June also seemed to vanish into the ether. I seemed to vanish. I would occasionally look in the mirror to see if I was still there.

I had finished, somehow, one of the two articles I had promised an editor, but the second refused to flow. My days merged into one, even Sundays were not what they were, although as church reopened, I could have gone, masked, but I was too vulnerable; my ankles were not working. The painkillers killed the pain; they killed my libido too. The online sex dwindled to nothing. The phone calls were shorter, less frequent, almost formulaic. I even found myself longing for another lockdown so June would have time for me.

Then, finally, came the news for which I had waited. I could have the operation. I told June, who was excited and wanted to know when.

June made time to come to see me after I came round. Even with the morphine drip, I was in agony. Having titanium plates inserted into your ankles to keep you together is a necessary thing for me; that did nothing to make it, or the pain, bearable.

"How are you love?" She said, looking worried.

"Don't know, can't tell, too much pain. How's you, how's Mum?"

"Mum's in another ward, in for a bit of chemo. I should take up residence here."

June was facing an impossible choice. Mum would soon go home, but needed June to be there. I would not go home for a while, and there was a place in a rehab facility I could go to. It was, as they say, a no-brainer. Which was how I found myself in rehab and in a wheelchair.

It was hard to phone June as often as I'd have liked to. Oddly, we managed to see each other in the hospital when I was there for physio and Mum for her check-ups. A kind nurse, knowing we were married, offered to wheel me down to see the two of them.

Annie, the nurse, had taken a kindly interest in me and liked to help. As we came out of the lift and went to where Mum was being treated, I saw June. She was laughing, her partner in laugher was a rather pretty doctor, they were touching each other. I saw her squeeze June's hand. I asked Annie to take me back. I felt sick.

Back to hindsight. What had I expected? June's burdens were unimaginably huge, of course she needed help to bear them, and what earthly use was I? The doctor was younger, a lot prettier, and could clearly be of help with Mum. I felt sad.

Annie came to visit me at the rehab centre that night.

"If I am intruding, Pixie, tell me and I shall fuck off, but you seemed so sad - what was wrong?"

I thanked her for coming, but told her I did not want to talk about it, so we talked about other things instead. It felt nice to chat and for someone to be interested in me.

I should have said something to June about what I'd seen, but though physically immobile, I was perfectly brilliant and jumping - to my own conclusions.

June and I talked that night, in was what was becoming the usual brief exchange of news.

"How is Mum?" I asked.

"Much the same. The doctor says that it is surprising that she seems to have levelled out."

"Oh, I am pleased," I said, desperately wanting to know more about the doctor; but that was not forthcoming. I told her I was "Okay," and that they were hoping to start physio on my ankles after week eight of my recovery.

"I must come over to see you, Pix, it's just that I still have not got a time for my driving test, and I am so run off my feet."

"I understand," I said. I always "understood." I had been brought up to be a "good girl," and to keep a "stiff upper lip." Anyway, what sort of selfish bitch would I be to object to June getting a bit of relaxation when, and where she could?

Did I say that to her? No. That would have defeated the object of the exercise. I would be "big and brave," as Mama had always urged me to be.

The days blurred for me. Once the physio began, I had definite aims to achieve, and I liked that. X-rays showed that the plates were in place, and that there had been no bone damage. I would need a full body scan to see how my system was coping with the strains. "They" were worried that my immobility might lead to further complications with my blood-clotting disorder.

Annie was there when I was taken in by ambulance in my wheelchair.

"How's the cutest wheelchair racer in town?" She asked, smiling at me.

"No idea," I giggled, "but I am okay."

"What are you like, you know it's you. Let me push you around a bit."

There was an innuendo there, I suddenly realised. Turner's makes for poor interaction with others. You don't pick up the signals that others do. TS girls are notoriously gaffe-prone and likely to pick up sticks by the wrong end; as a well-brought up young lady, I had channelled that into always being polite. It still meant I could seldom spot if someone was flirting. But the look in Annie's eyes...."

"If you want," I giggled.

After the scan was over, Annie offered to buy me lunch.

"It's my break, why don't you let me treat you?"

"I have not had lunch out since before COVID," I said, adding that I'd be delighted to.

We got to the hospital café and ordered. I scanned the room as I tend to. My heart fell. Over in the corner I saw June - with that doctor. They were having lunch, I told myself, so it was perfectly natural that she should have been holding June's hand and making eyes at her. June was so beautiful; how could the doctor not want to flirt with her.

"Annie," I said, "could we take lunch outside, it's a bit warm in here."

Annie shot me an odd look, but agreed, wheeling me to the terrace and bringing our lunch afterwards.

From there I could see the exit from the hospital. As I tried to eat my cheese toastie my appetite, already limited, vanished. I saw June and the doctor kiss each other.

"What's wrong, Pixie," said Annie, taking my hand.