As Time Goes By Ch. 02

"Didn't your Mam ever tell you—it's rude to talk with your mouth full," she said and we started laughing all over again. When I had brought Meg to a couple of orgasms and we were cuddling once more, she told me that it felt weird having me laughing into her pussy "...but nice weird..."

Afterwards we slept, or at least I did. Early in the morning I was vaguely aware of Meg moving around and then of soft lips kissing my forehead. "Goodbye, my sweet Fran." I awoke properly a couple of hours later and found a short, handwritten note on the pillow beside me.

"Fran, It does get easier, I promise.

Love, Meg x"

There was no address or phone number so I guessed it was a matter of ships in the night. But I will always be grateful to Meg for her tender loving care.

That wasn't the end of it. From home I sent Lainy and Caro flowers to thank them for their kindness. They replied and over time a friendship grew between us. I'd take the odd day off and go up to London to have lunch with one or both of them and occasionally they would visit me for a day or a weekend. When you're bereaved, having good friends is important, and if anybody could understand my deepest feelings it was Lainy. Meg would have understood too but I never saw her again.

* * * * *

For several months after the fiasco at Radclyffe's and my night with Meg, I trundled along, existing and working my guts out so as not to think too much. As far as my living situation went, I had no problems. Dot had paid off her renovations loan on the property years before and save for some small legacies to her family, she had left everything to me. As her legal civil partner I was exempt inheritance tax which was a great relief.

But while I was fine with my produce and egg business, there remained the problem of what to do with the carpentry shop. It wasn't much good to me. I couldn't tell one end of a screwdriver from the other and everything was just lying there, unused. I had advertised the place several times in the local newspapers but nobody had shown any interest. So it had become a burden and it looked as if I might have to sell the tools, lathe, work-benches and so on off to some dealer.

From our early days together, Dot had shown me how to maintain her tools in top condition if necessary, how to oil and clean them, and I had carried on doing this since her death. Dot had told me that they were all of the very highest quality and worth a lot of money but I guessed I'd get no more than a fraction of their true value from a dealer. I'd covered unfinished pieces of work with dust-sheets, half-hoping that perhaps one day somebody could complete them. I was holding off putting it all on the market but knew that I'd have to do something sooner or later.

A suggested solution came from an unexpected source. One weekend I went to visit Emma and Sam and have lots of cuddles with my lovely little god-daughter. After supper Saturday evening we were sitting round just talking general matters. I had my usual small beer, Sam a glass of wine and Emma, being near her time, a mineral water. I don't remember exactly how it came up, but I told them about my dilemma over the carpentry shop and Dot's tools.

Emma and Sam looked at each other, smiled and chorused: "Louise Duncan!" They laughed, sounding almost excited.

"Louise is the daughter of one of our clients, Roger Duncan," Emma explained, "Roger's a master-carpenter with his own cabinet-making business, quite successful in a small way..."

"...and Louise works for her father," Sam butted in, "He says that she's the best of his whole work force..."

"...been doing woodwork since she was about three or four," continued Emma, "Wouldn't have a thing to do with dolls or other girly toys..."

"...anyway, she's about twenty-something now and wants to go into business for herself..." said Sam.

"...so she might be ideal to take on Dot's work," concluded Emma, "And fully equipped premises already there—that's heaven-sent for someone starting out in business. The flat above the shop is a bonus."

"Sounds good..." I mused, "But how's she likely to feel being away from home. I don't want to be stuck with someone young who's likely to get homesick and up sticks within a few days."

"I don't think that Louise is that type," said Emma, "She's rather a shy girl but when she puts her mind to something, she sticks to it. And it's only about fifty-odd miles away. She can always visit home weekends."

So it was arranged that my details would be passed on to the Duncans and they could let me know if Louise was interested in the proposition.

A few days later I had a phone call from a gruff-sounding Roger Duncan. I explained my circumstances and why I was seeking someone to run the carpentry side of the business. He was mainly interested in the workshop and equipment. "Like any good carpenter, Louise has got her own set of tools," he told me, "What can you offer her there?"

While admitting that I knew little about tools, I told him of a large workshop with flat above and I was able to reel off the brand names of some of the equipment. "Hmm, sounds like all top-grade stuff," he commented, "If it's okay then, I'll get Louise to come and have a look. I'll be sorry to lose her, as an employer as well as her father, but I can understand her wanting to go it alone. That's just what I did at her age."

We made arrangements for Louise to come and see me and on the appointed day I went into the carpentry shop to remove the dust sheets so that she was able to see the equipment and the unfinished works which had been in progress.

While I was in the shop I heard a car approaching and glanced out through the doorway. An old dark-green VW Beetle was pulling up in the yard. The sun was reflecting off the windscreen and I couldn't see the driver so I finished folding the last of the dust sheets. I heard the car door slam shut and a woman's voice called out: "Miss Roberts?"

"In here," I replied. Somebody walked into the shop and I turned with a smile of greeting, saying: "Louise...?"

And then I stopped and we both stared before exclaiming simultaneously: "You!"

It was Dusty...

The story concludes in Chapter 3

[Author's note: the word "cariad" which appears in this chapter is the Welsh language word for "sweetheart".]