An Extra Three Years

British English spelling and grammar.

Based on a true story.

***

An extra three years.

As RAF postings go, this one was boring; a basic nine to five stint. We lived on married quarters; that's me, Derek McPherson, my wife Lucy, and little Lily. I was into my twelfth and final year as a photographer, and already looking for a job in civvie street. I'd recently taken some shots for the couple across the road, who'd just had a baby. On Saturday, I took them the album I'd made up. They were delighted and paid cash.

"Do you have a new car?" Sally asked.

"No, Lucy has the Ford Fiesta. I go to work on my bike."

"I thought so. It's just that I keep seeing a silver Mercedes, outside your place."

"Oh, that'll be Lucy's boss."

"Earning a promotion is she?" said Alan.

We laughed.

"No. Each Wednesday, they have to check the accounts at some sub offices. Lucy can't claim travel expenses but her boss can, so he picks her up every Wednesday morning. They do the rounds; he buys her lunch, and drops her off, in time to pick Lily up from school. I could use the car that day, but can't be bothered."

"Of course." said Sally. "Now I think about it, it is always Wednesdays. I usually see the Merc arrive when I'm giving Justin his two o'clock feed."

That weekend I was Duty Photographer. Photo Flight had an aluminium case, packed with everything needed for an emergency. The duty ran from Friday afternoon for one week. As luck would have it, I got called out on Monday night. I grabbed the bag when the RAF police arrived to collect me. Then I had to take some boring photos of the door to the WRAF block. We'd heard during the day a woman had been assaulted here. They wanted to show what could, and could not, be seen, at eight thirty pm, by a witness claiming to be standing on the corner where I was.

As well as all the photo gear, the bag contained Photo Flight keys. We guys can get antsy about completing our own jobs, so I went in and processed the lot. It was late by the time I'd finished and repacked the bag. The motor pool had a driver standing by to take me home.

Next morning my boss was impressed that I'd stayed late and completed the task.

"You could have left the film in here, and done it today. It was hardly a rush job."

"Yeah, but you know how it is sarge. We like to finish what we started."

"Well, it will be reflected in your next assessment, and I've heard something on the grapevine. If you sign on for another three years, you'll probably get your corporal's tapes."

"That would go down well I must admit."

"Meanwhile, I know Duty Photo is a sleeping duty, but I'll give you some time off. Finish Friday lunchtime if you like. Chalkie's on after you, and he won't mind taking over the bag a few hours early."

"Can I ask a favour sarge? Could I have Wednesday afternoon off instead? It's personal."

"Sure, it's no skin off my nose. You'll still have to take the gear home with you though."

I skipped lunch on Wednesday, went straight home. After I'd stashed the case in Lily's room, I searched for clues. There were two. Mr Merc didn't pick her up till after I'd left, but the bedroom curtains were closed. I always open them. And, more incriminating, on the end of our bed, was a big beach towel. I could guess what that was for. I took the loaded camera, stood in the doorway, and pre-focussed on it. I might only get one shot. Then I made a cup of tea.

The Mercedes pulled up just after two, as Sally had said. Lucy had told me Stanhope, her boss, dropped her off around two fortyfive. Sometimes he stayed for a cup of tea. I watched through the net curtains. It occurred to me this was the first time I'd seen the man. I was shocked; average height and build, but bald. And he must be about thirty years older than us. Maybe I'd got this wrong? I retreated to Lily's room; camera in hand.

They came upstairs, and went into the bedroom. I gave them a couple of minutes, and then sneaked up to the half open door. I leaned round the gap, took the photo and leaned back. I did three exposures this way, without looking. At least I'd got something. Feeling bolder, I stepped into the gap. They were far too engrossed to notice me.

Lucy was naked, sitting on the end of the bed, and he was naked, standing in front of her, getting sucked off. She cupped his balls and seemed to making a pretty good job of it; making a good job of ending our marriage too. A couple of shots of them fucking and I retreated. No need to push my luck. I listened to them finish and go down to the kitchen. This would be for the cup of tea. Soon, he drove off and Lucy went to fetch Lily. I checked the bedroom and all was back in place. No soiled undies and no beach towel; that was in the wash by now. When Lucy came home she was shocked to see me back early, but recovered well.

Next day I signed on to extend my service to fifteen years. Saturday, Lily was away early, a classmate and her parents were taking her to the beach. When I showed Lucy the photos, she almost had a heart attack.

"Why are you so surprised?" I challenged her. "Stanhope openly leaves his car here around two o'clock; not two fortyfive. Sally across the road can't miss it. How could you not be found out?"

"It was only..."

"Shut it. I know what it was and I'm divorcing you; none of your bleating will change that. I couldn't give a shit about the sex; you're a lousy fuck anyway. There are two things about this that anger me. One: how terminally stupid you are. You close the curtains and leave the towel out to soak up your juices. Two: you don't notice my beret hanging in the hallway, and you don't notice the kettle's still warm."

She burst into tears.

"And why choose him? He's older than your father. And he can't get you a promotion in that company."

I pushed the phone at her.

"Call him now. Tell him he's been found out and you've seen the evidence. Tell him to get his arse round here in the next hour. Or I'll show this porn to his wife."

She did.

"He's on his way."

"Now listen carefully. When he gets here, go to the corner shop and buy some beer."

When he arrived, he looked shit-scared, especially when Lucy left. We got down to business.

"My wife has told me a lot about you. I know things that might come as a surprise."

He looked unconfortable.

"You and your wife are Roman Catholics, and if I show her these photos she's unlikely to give you an easy divorce. So, what will your life will be like if she won't let you go?"

"Miserable." he agreed.

"Lucy also says you've been salting money away to buy a cottage by the sea for when you retire, right?"

"I have."

"It's a surprise for your wife and you've saved about twenty thousand pounds."

"I may have exaggerated."

"I'll take eighteen."

"What?"

"Eighteen thousand pounds; you'll just have to start saving again. Or your wife finds out what you've been getting up to; and your bosses. You lose your job, pension, everything."

"OK."

Like any negotiation, you wonder if you could have done better. But eighteen thousand would do nicely. In the early seventies, that was enough to buy a small house.

"Meet me at Midland bank in the High Street, twelve thirty, Monday. I'll open a new account -- with your money."

"I'll be there."

"And do not mention this to Lucy. If I find out you have, the photos make their appearance."

He left before she got home.

I stopped having sex with her - no great hardship - and a month later I got promoted to corporal. That would lead to a new posting anyway. I got lucky; three years in Singapore. Even under happier circumstances, Lucy would not have come with me. She had a good job, and Lily was doing well at school. And, as long as I didn't apply for a married quarter in Changi, Lucy could keep this one. Her parents were loaded and would have to help her out with accommodation when my service was over.

For Lily's sake we stayed married during that last three years. I got home for two long Christmas and New Year breaks. And they came out to Singapore for two summer holidays. The second occasion Lily was eleven and flew on her own; a supervised flight of course. Her life was much the same as thousands of other military kids.

I had no idea if Lucy continued her affair, it wasn't important. I had a fantastic time, and learned a lot. I found slim girls, with brown eyes and black hair, were more attractive than the buxom blondes I'd fancied in my youth. I learned tai chi. I reacquainted myself with the guitar, and was soon making extra cash, playing and singing in pubs and clubs. I did glamour photos and advertising posters for local businesses, and the private jobs became a flood.

At the end of my tour, I didn't want to go home. I'd kept a lot of contacts in case I was able to return. My final UK posting - just five months - was about a hundred miles from my old married quarter. I had a month's leave and took Lily away on holiday. She'd won a place at an excellent girls' grammar school by then, and her favourite subject was French. It was her autumn holiday so we toured the south of France. I explained I would be looking for work when I came out of the RAF. I think she understood the situation with me and her mum, but said nothing.

We spent that last few days at home. Lucy and I slept in the same bed, but there was no action. We agreed I'd go into single men's barracks at the new base, so she could keep this married quarter. But she'd have to find her own place next spring. She wanted to stay in this area and in the same job. Stanhope had left to work for a rival company. She'd told her parents about us and they'd agreed to help find a place; her mother recommended counselling.

"What do you need counselling for?"

"It's for my fixation with older men."

"Then try it."

"I can't; I know where it stems from. I was interfered with by my dad when I was younger. He stopped doing it after a year, when mum nearly caught us. I knew it was wrong, because we kept it a secret. But the fact is I love him!"

"Jesus!"

"I know; it's awful. But it hasn't left me mentally screwed up or anything. I have no feelings for him now. I just have this thing for older men."

"Do you have anyone on the scene?"

"Yes. Stanhope was pissed off when I dumped him. Now I've met a widower. He's fifty and his daughter recently got married and moved to Scotland. He dotes on Lily."

"Does he now?"

"There's nothing to worry about Derek. She calls him Uncle Tim and he's a family friend. We only see him a couple of times a month. Lily understands he once had a small daughter, and knows he's lonely. We're very discreet and won't take it any further until Lily finishes school. You can meet him if you like, I'm sure you'd get on."

"No thanks."

I was due to report to my new posting on Monday. On the Friday, I went to check a few details at my second bank. As I was approaching, I was suddenly grabbed by two men and bundled in to an alley.

"We've been waiting for you mate. Good holiday was it?"

I didn't answer. One was behind me, holding me in a fierce bear hug. The other was in front, nose to nose.

"A friend of ours has a message for you."

Assuming his 'friend' was Stanhope; I wondered how such a weedy little fart had got to know such obvious thugs. One of them punched me in the face.

"That's the first part of the message. The second is an instruction. You're to go to the bank and withdraw eighteen thousand pounds in cash. Give it to me and I'll make sure my friend gets it; well, most of it anyway."

"Where did you get that black eye?" asked Lucy when I returned.

"It's a long story. Got any ice?"

She fetched a bag of frozen peas.

"Tell me, have you had any contact with your ex boss recently?"

"Not the way you think. But a couple of months ago, he did invite me to Franco's for a coffee."

"And what did you talk about?"

"Christ! Is he responsible for that? I can't believe it!"

My eye was purple, but the nosebleed had stopped. The story came out. He'd apologised to her for causing the marriage break up. He'd got an annulment after all, and had mended his ways. And so on and so on. Lucy admitted he'd asked when I was due back, and a few other questions about me. I believed her part in this was innocent. She had not noticed anyone keeping an eye on the house.

"But why would he beat you up? You did nothing to him."

So, she still didn't know about my secret bank account.

"Can you still contact him?"

"I have his office number, but why would I want to?"

"I'd like you to, on Monday morning."

"OK, I'll do it."

"Tell him your husband learned a lot during the extra three years in Singapore; including kung fu and kick boxing. There are some friends he's expecting money from. Tell him they're in City General Hospital Intensive Care Unit."