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Click here'The wine damage? I'm no expert, but it looked bad to me.'
'I'd call it a write-off,' Parker observed smugly. 'And a total, at that.'
CHAPTER FOUR
(Saturday, 20th April 2002)
The teenager with the tic was nowhere to be seen when Parker escorted Heather out. Alex was there, though, alone in the waiting area, staring blankly at the wall. His face lit up when he saw her and, certain Stuffypants would not approve, Heather met him with a big, wet kiss.
'Have you been seen?' she asked.
'I certainly have.'
'Then let's get out of here.'
'Already gone,' he replied, grinning that grin of his.
They left the station holding hands, pausing on the pavement outside to take in deep breaths.
'My interview room reeked of pee,' she told him, pretending to waft away the smell.
'Lucky you. Someone must have thrown up in mine.' He laughed. 'Did it go okay?'
'Not here. Let's get a taxi back to Rita's.'
'Let's have a drink first. I'm gagged.'
Heather returned Alex's latest grin. 'I thought you didn't drink much.'
'That's your doing. Less than twenty-four hours and I've gone from teetotal to sot.' He let go of her hand and pointed down the street. 'There are a couple of boozers in that direction.'
Heather took hold of his hand again. 'In the eyes of the law we are lovers. Let's at least look the part.' On impulse, she gave him another kiss, hoping the policewoman was still watching and really going for it, heavy on the lower body contact. Feeling him immediately harden.
'I liked what you did in the shower,' she told him. 'You were very masterful.'
Alex looked embarrassed at that. Embarrassed but not entirely displeased.
They came to the first pub after about three hundred yards. Dismissing it as a "coppers' pub" she pressed on to a second, more traditional-looking establishment with gold letters spelling out its name. 'My shout,' she said, 'what are you having?'
'I don't know,' he said, clearly bemused by the selection of hand pumps. 'I suppose a glass of white wine would seem a bit . . .'
'Not in here,' said Heather, horrified. Then, when a barman greeted her by name: 'Two pints of Landlord, please. And two special roast beef sarnies.'
'Been here before then,' Alex said as they found a vacant table.'
'Just once or twice. It's the best pub in town.'
Their sandwiches arrived almost at once. Served on dinner plates with a handful of chips and some salad, there was infinitely more beef than bread. As always, the beef was hot from the oven and smelt out of this world. They devoured every last morsel then smiled at each other and clinked glasses.
'I take it we're celebrating,' said Alex.
'I don't know about you, but I feel as if I got off scot-free. I didn't even have to offer to take a drug test.'
'I'm out of the frame too. I was only in there half an hour. They'd already dismissed me as just another guest.'
That surprised Heather. 'At your own twenty-first?'
'Yeah,' he said. 'They just wanted a statement for . . .'
'Weight of evidence.'
'That's what they said.' Alex shrugged. 'Weight of evidence.'
'Who interviewed you? DI Fazakerley?'
'No, he just sat in for the last five minutes, while we did the statement.'
'Five minutes! How long was your statement?'
'A page and a bit.'
'Mine was nine pages.'
'That's just showing off.'
'You know what they say. If you've got it, you have to flaunt it.' Heather's glass was as good as empty. Already. 'Haven't you got calls to be making,' she said, heading off for the bar. Alex caught up with her before she could catch the barman's attention. 'I'm buying these,' he said firmly. 'And the next ones, to square up for the sandwiches.'
'Masterful again!' Heather made a face. 'I go all mushy when you're like this.'
Back at their table Alex frowned. 'Calls? What calls?'
'Rita, to tell her we're all in the clear. And Carrie, to find out if she's been asked to change her statement yet.'
'She's changed it this morning. Fazakerley told me so.'
'I thought they'd need to hear from me first.'
'Fazakerley said they'd noticed discrepancies in other statements. They rang her early doors and she went straight in.'
'He told you a lot, didn't he? He must fancy you. He hardly told me anything.' Heather laughed at Alex's dubious expression. 'An older man might do you the world of good.'
'Right then,' he said, 'I'll ring Rita . . .'
'Ring Carrie first.'
'Why should I?'
'To make sure her mind's at rest.' Heather smiled at Alex. 'And to tell her I'll shell out for her new dress.'
'I see. I'm doing your dirty work for you.'
'It'll sound better coming from you. You're the closest person to her in all the known universe. And she might be worried about you.'
'Fat chance of that.' Alex sighed. 'But I'll do it in the interests of universal harmony. You ring Rita, though. Tell her to get a cab and come and help us celebrate.'
'Deal.' Heather still had the number in her address book from days of yore. She dialled and the call was picked up almost at once.
'Hev . . . is it good news?'
'It certainly is. We're in the old Ye Olde, starting the celebrations. Get a taxi and join us.'
'I would, but I'm in Manchester.'
'Manchester?' Heather suddenly realized that, although the connection was good, there was a lot of background noise. 'Whereabouts are you? Standing in the middle of Deansgate?'
'No, I'm in King Street, doing a bit of retail therapy.'
'When will you be back? We can wait for you in here.'
'You'd better not. I'm catching the quarter to six train. That doesn't get in until nearly seven. Alex would be well pickled by then.'
Heather checked her watch. Not quite half past two. 'So would I,' she said. 'We'd better find some other way to celebrate.'
'Yes, you better had.' Rita chuckled. 'Alex has got a key. Feel free to drink my wine and fuck my boyfriend. But don't get stains on my best settee, whatever you do. And don't completely wear him out. There's a busy night ahead of us.'
'Rita . . .'
'I'll get takeaways on my way home. See you.'
'Rita . . .'
Too late. The strawberry blonde had both rung off and switched off.
'Two hundred quid,' Alex said, wincing, his mobile still on. 'But it was a designer one-off. She'll never find an exact match.'
'For that dress? Who did she buy it from? Zandra Rhodes in person?'
'Probably, knowing her.'
It was at times like this when Heather was grateful for the Bank of Dad. Well, the Bank of Me and Dad, really. 'Tell her to go up to two fifty and I'll stand it. Assuming she stuck to our story, that is.'
'She did,' he assured her before finishing his call. 'Is Rita on her way?'
'Rita's in Manchester, doing retail therapy.'
'She does that in times of stress.'
Heather shrugged. 'She didn't seem stressed to me.'
'She never does. I only find out when she rings me from Piccadilly.'
'She's in King Street right now.'
'Oho,' said Alex, 'that means major retail therapy.'
'Apparently you've got a key to her place. And I'm under strict instructions to keep you sober.'
'Really?'
'Yes, really. Drink up, it's time to go watch Soccer Saturday.'
*****
The university wasn't a particularly large one, but it still had over ten thousand students, and they were coming and going all the time. Even after three years Alex had only met a fraction of his peers. It was too easy to socialise in the same small circles. And, of course, he wasn't renowned for anything. Unlike Heather.
Although he'd never set eyes on Heather Hunter before yesterday, he'd heard a lot about her. She had shot to fame a while ago, when she'd made a citizen's arrest in a newspaper shop. Talking about newspapers, the local press had lauded her for weeks. Initially their focus had been on the arrest. Heather had been in the shop buying chocolate and Lucozade to get her through the day's lectures. As she queued to pay a thug ran up to the counter, brandishing a knife and demanding money from the till. Heather had thrown him over a rack of magazines and confiscated the knife, breaking his arm and dislocating his elbow in the process. Not that anyone expressed any sympathy for the lout. He was twice Heather's size and drugged to the eyeballs, yelling racist insults as he attempted to rob. The story of comeuppance overjoyed all nearby journalists. Big would-be mugger thoroughly humiliated by a relative slip of a girl. What was there not to like?
At the time Alex had got the impression that Heather didn't enjoy all the attention. He couldn't remember ever seeing a photo of her or reading anything approaching a quote. But that didn't stop the scribblers. When they'd exhausted the actual event they homed in on the girl herself. She was a seriously good student, they reported. An all-round athlete who played hockey and golf at inter-university level. And, unluckily for would-be robbers, she had drawers full of black belts won in every martial art imaginable. God knew where they got it all from. Perhaps they'd sent spies out asking questions on campus. Or perhaps they'd seen the daily uni newsletters. Normally of interest only to folk seeking lifts to London, the newsletter had found a new, feel-good topic and cheerfully flogged it to death.
Heather's more recent claim to fame was probably one she enjoyed even less. The infamous rugby bath. According to some gossips, she'd had sex with all the first team, all the reserves and most of the coaches. According to someone who'd actually been there, she was the last of seven girls who took the plunge. The bath hadn't had the whole first XV in it, never mind all the first XV plus dozens of hangers-on. And the action had come in the form of relatively brief sex acts rather than full sex up to ejaculation. Most of it, anyway.
Meeting Heather had been a revelation. Arriving fashionably late, not knowing who she was, he'd wondered how Rita had got to cosily chat with such an astounding creature. Okay, Rita always looked good herself, but even so . . .
And that dress! He'd wondered how it held itself together. In spite of her warm welcome and easy conversation he'd secretly wished a strap or two would malfunction. By the time they got to the hotel he'd been more than slightly smitten by "Hev". Her bisexuality had surprised him a bit but was, after all, no big deal. As for larking about in a rugby bath . . . well, she was twenty-one and single. Why shouldn't she lark about? What right had anyone to criticize?
Not me, he'd thought. I only wish my balls were as big as hers.
Last night's party had been just a ghastly as Alex had expected. At one stage, trying to cheer him up, Rita had had a word in his ear. 'Methinks Heather's blind date is not going well. Shall I invite her back to my place?'
'On her own?'
'Her and you and me.'
'Isn't three supposed to be a crowd?'
'Not for the games I've got in mind.'
Alex had kept telling himself that Rita was wishfully thinking but, of course, Heather's date had gone spectacularly wrong. And sure enough, after a bit of sweet-talking from Rita, the three of them had ended up back at her place. And, eventually, they'd ended up in Rita's bed, playing some of her games, taking turns to be Lucky Pierre.
Then suddenly it was morning. He must have dropped off at some stage, although he couldn't answer for the girls. They were sixty-nine-ing last he remembered and still at it when he woke. They might have slept . . . and then again, they might not.
And they'd been keen to pick up where he'd left off . . .
Showering together had been Rita's idea. 'You're running out of time,' she'd said. 'You two go for it while I make tea and toast.'
'I was going to shower at home,' Heather demurred.
'While Alex waits in the taxi, meter running? Get yourselves in there right now.'
They were both already naked so in a matter of moments they were under hot, jetting water. He, doing his best to be a man of the world, tried to be casual and not get an erection. Mother Nature had had other ideas, however. He shouldn't have wasted the effort.
'Shampoo my hair for me,' Heather had commanded.
Not exactly sure what to do, he dolloped some of Rita's Organic Coconut into his palm. 'Is that enough?'
'You'll need a lot more than that.'
He dolloped out more then started to lather Heather's long, wet hair. She said it felt "so nice", then sighed and arched her back, pressing her tits into him. Her nipples were hard and so too was he . . . harder than ever.
'Rinse it out,' she said. 'And pass me the bottle.'
'What?'
'Rinse out my hair. And pass me the shampoo bottle.'
While he rinsed Heather had filled her palm with Organic Coconut and took hold of his cock, thickly coating it with suds. Not teasing but rousing him before quickly rinsing.
'Hurry up,' she said, 'we're running out of time.' Turning away from him she leant against a tile wall and waggled her bum. 'Is the height about right?' she asked saucily.
Alex turned her back around and, gripping her buttocks, lifted her bodily. Her hand shot back to his cock, guiding it. Then he was in her and she'd wrapped her legs around him. 'Hard and fast, Alex. That's what this situation demands.'
Conscious the floor was slippery he foot-slid across it until Heather was backed into a corner. And then he went at her, hard and fast.
'Oh yes,' she moaned. 'I'm going to cum.'
So, amazingly, was he. Already! Last night's marathon didn't seem to count when it came to lack of staying power. Not then anyway.
'Cum in me,' Heather whispered.
He'd managed half a dozen more thrusts, felt her teeth clamp into his shoulder and erupted. And she'd erupted too. It was the happiest of happy endings.
Except now Heather was treating it more like a beginning. Kissing him both inside and outside the police station. Holding his hand in the street. And touching him repeatedly. She probably didn't even know she was doing it, but there had been regular pats on his arm and knee.
Surely she didn't expect anything more . . .
*****
Alex nominated himself as host in Rita's absence. Offering wine was, obviously, his first duty. While he busied himself in the kitchen Heather made herself at home. By the time he came into the lounge, bearing outsize glasses of Pinot, she was keeping up with the football scores, albeit with the sound muted. She'd ditched her trainers and hoodie and sprawled out on the best settee, deliberately taking up most of the space.
'I like listening to them ribbing each other,' she explained. 'But I don't want to get distracted. And we might want to talk afterwards.'
'Afterwards?' The trademark grin was less self-confident than usual. 'Afterwards after what?'
'Park those glasses on that coffee table and I'll tell you.'
Heather's heart was thumping as Alex put the wine safely out of harm's way. As a trio they'd had sex last night . . . lots and lots of sex . . . but for some reason this afternoon felt like new. And she famously got off on new. Her fresh thong was soaked already. She really was going to have to start carrying spares.
'Okay,' said Alex, sitting opposite her, on the battered leather settee. 'What . . .'
'Not over there. Over here.' Heather adjusted her position a bit and patted the cushion beside her. 'That's better,' she said, wrapping a friendly arm around him once he'd obeyed. 'Now let me thank you properly.'
'What for?'
'For accompanying me to the cop shop. For promising to protect me from Ross. For all sorts, I suppose. Oh, and I need to compensate you for Gill, too.'
Their opening kiss was, by Heather's standards, cool and delicious. Keeping it that way didn't happen. Cool rarely did happen when she was involved. When Alex tried to break for air she immediately grabbed him, mashing their mouths back together, passionately duelling with his tongue. Sucking on it, fellating it, dropping unsubtle hints about pleasures yet to come. A rush of adrenalin raced through her veins. Increasingly aroused, she drew his hand up to her boob then, satisfied he knew what he was doing, she had a feel of his groin. Rock hard. Yippee! He had gone for smart/casual again. His thin trousers were already straining under pressure from within. When she fumbled for his zip she found it had partway opened itself. Still not breaking the kiss, she yanked at it and then undid the button at the top.
Then Alex did stop kissing. 'No,' he said, 'We can't . . .'
'Yes we flipping-well can. Rita gave me the green light.'
He just looked at her, probably doubting her word.
'She did. When I spoke to her in King Street.'
'Oh,' said Alex.
'She told me to "feel free to drink my wine and fuck my boyfriend". That's a direct quote. The way she said it was more like an order than an invitation.'
'Oh,' Alex said again, echoing himself.
'Come on,' Heather continued enticingly, edging onto the endmost cushion. 'Legs up here and head on the armrest.'
Grin gone altogether, Alex complied. Heather swiftly removed his shoes before tossing them carelessly onto the carpet. 'Now lift your bum.'
He did and she pulled his trousers and boxers down to his knees. His willy, she was delighted to note, didn't so much slip out as spring out. 'Aha,' she murmured. 'Alone and at my mercy.'
'Hev, we can't . . . not on this settee.'
'That's not what a child of the revolution should be saying. And it's definitely not what Rebby Baby's saying to me. We think you should be begging me to below you.'
'To below me?'
One of Heather earliest sexual acts had been what she correctly called a "below job", perhaps six months before she'd broken her duck with girls. For a first-timer she'd done very well. She had a lot of natural talent. Okay, it annoyed her that everyone else used the abbreviated "blow job", but that was just her against the world. Whatever they called it, accurately or not, when it came down to actually doing it, she ranked herself among the best. Not that now was the time for in-detail explanations. She smiled at Alex then moved in, taking hold of his rigid willy.
'Alone and at my mercy,' she repeated.
Alex gasped and didn't resist.
Heather smiled again then licked him, running the flat of her tongue over his velvety helmet and under its prominent rim.
'Jesus Christ, Hev, if we get stains . . .'
'Shush,' she countered. Then, remembering Carrie's party frock: 'I'll swallow every last drop. So relax and try not to think about anything that might go wrong.'
Alex didn't reply. Maybe he'd realized she was winding him up. Or maybe he was already in a state of rapture. Either way it didn't take him long to cum. Familiar with all the signs, Heather took him in deep at the very last moment, holding his semen in her mouth a while, savouring the taste.
'Rita was right, wasn't she?' she said. 'You did jack in the bath last night. I had you down as Mr Everlasting before this morning. But that was even quicker than you were in the shower.'
Alex flushed and avoided her eye. 'Sorry if I let you down.'
Heather laughed. She still had hold of his willy and it was still rock hard. 'Nothing wrong with a bit of proper planning and preparation,' she said. 'I jilled in the shower last night, to make sure I didn't go off prematurely. In fact I nearly always jill in the shower, just in case the opportunity to go off arises later. So stop worrying. You're not the only one with guilty secrets. And there isn't a stain to be seen.' She glanced at the TV. The anchorman was noticeably happy about something. Sure enough, as she saw from the graphics below his smiling face, Hartlepool had scored.
Alex didn't seem to be interested in football scores. He seemed short of conversation too. Not that conversation was needed just then.
Time to move things along, Heather decided.
'I'll go more slowly for this next one,' she said out loud.