New Beginnings Conclude

My heart dropped inside me. Somebody had suddenly cut the lift cable.

'My, look at you!' said Dave. 'Deer in the headlights or what! I bet you've never considered motherhood before, have you?'

'No,' I gasped. 'Not even when I thought I was straight.'

'So how do you feel considering it now?'

'Weird,' I confessed.

'Are you totally against?'

'No, I'm just . . . stunned.'

Dave sniggered. 'I knew you would be,' she said. 'I knew you'd react like this.'

'And what do you mean by that, precisely?'

'You're scared and defensive. Not qualities I'd normally associate with you.' Dave sniggered again. 'Aren't you going to ask who gets to be "Mummy"?'

'I'm not sure if I dare,' I said, truthfully.

'I'll let you dwell on it a while. You, me or both. All options are open.'

I finished my first pint and gobbled down a few house fries. 'I hope there's no urgency in this urge of yours.'

'None whatsoever. I'm happy to wait until we're in our thirties. When our biological clocks start to run down.'

'Thank God for that.' I crossed myself, even though I'm not Catholic and not at all religious. Then, wanting to change the subject, I said, 'I take it Katrina's not the mothering kind.'

'No she isn't. And I'd never pick her as that sort of a partner. She's not stable enough. In fact she's rootless, like tumbleweed. The first sight of a bump and she'd be off for Ulan Bator.'

'And I'm not?'

'No. There's a dependable person inside you, waiting to make her mark.' This time Dave took hold of my hand and squeezed.

And then I made my big mistake. Big mistake? Okay, it was HUGE. But I'd been lulled into a false sense of security. Everything had been sweetness and light, remember? We'd chatted just like old times, communicating on countless levels. Dave's mentions of "Kat" had all been at least mildly disparaging. And I was Princess Charming on her white charger . . .

'Do you think Katrina's really trying to find a place of her own?' I asked. 'I mean I don't doubt she's been out and about looking, it's just that . . . well, when we spoke yesterday she didn't seem keen.'

'Yesterday?' Dave's brow scrunched up but I missed the warning sign.

'Yes,' I said blithely, 'she collared me in the pub.'

'Kat didn't go to the pub yesterday,' said Dave. 'Don't you mean Saturday?'

'No,' I replied. 'I mean yesterday. She was quite rude to me. But don't worry,' I added hastily, 'I'm a big girl, I can take it.'

Dave's face was a picture. Grossly misreading her emotions, I thought I'd dropped Katrina in it. Oh dear. How sad. What a pity. Never mind.

'She got me in the ladies',' I enlarged, thickening the stew . . . or so I hoped. 'Made it sound as if she has no intention of moving out . . .'

'Yesterday,' Dave said flatly. Then, completely surprising me: 'What the fuck were you doing in the pub yesterday?'

'Me?' I clapped a hand to my chest then totally dried. My mouth simply wouldn't work. Me, the once-upon-a-time barmaid with an answer for anything. Flummoxed.

'You slept with her,' Dave continued with barely concealed fury. 'You slept with Joyce, Queen of all Hippies. After all you said about me and Kat! You two-faced, two-timing . . .'

She dried up at that in her own turn. But not for long. 'I hate you,' she said, slowly removing her napkin and tossing it onto the tabletop. 'I thought I could trust you but, obviously, I was wrong.'

'Dave,' I finally managed. 'Davina . . .'

Too late. She was on her feet and in the process of leaving.

'Kat's given me every opportunity,' she snarled. 'She keeps offering herself on a plate. But I kept turning her down. Because I believed you and I had something. Silly me! What an idiot!!'

'Dave . . .'

It was a waste of a word. She was gone.

'Please, please,' said the waiter, appearing out of nowhere. 'Please tell me it wasn't one of the dips.'

Somehow I held myself together. I mumbled some trash about "a lover's tiff". He responded by saying thank God it wasn't the guacamole with raspberry.

Left alone once more, I reflected on life and love and everything. I decided I definitely was . . . and always will be . . . a lesbian and proud of it. And I also decided I would forever be in love with Dave. Dave was so different from everyone else I'd ever known.

I also decided I was the most unworthy whore on the planet. I won't burden you with details on that score (not when you know them already). Let's just say my recent behaviour set its own standards. And, of course, that I could not have possibly behaved worse.

What a slut!

I morosely finished my burger and our two, previously untouched "second" pints. Then, not fancying Dave's half-chewed bun and leaving most of our house fries, I went back to work.

*****

I composed emails in my head as I walked. Apologetic, grovelling emails. Emails which made me seem repentant and sincere. No, emails which irrevocably proved I was both repentant and sincere. By the time I arrived at my workstation I was sure my written words would do the trick. All I had to do was . . .

Be beaten to the punch.

My heart did its crazy elevator thing again as I looked at my inbox. Along with all the everyday stuff there was one from Dave and yet another from Katrina. I opened Dave's first, my fingers trembling.

"Hi. I'm sorry I said I hate you, but not as sorry as I am for trusting you to begin with. Please don't ever contact me again. What we had is over. Full stop."

Oh fuck, I thought. It doesn't get much more final than that!

'Are you okay?'

I glanced at my next-desk neighbour. 'I'm fine, Rupes. Never better.'

'Forgive me if I say you seem upset. Can I get you a coffee?'

I nodded and did my best to smile at him. More concerned than ever, he went to fetch us hot drinks. Out of idle curiosity I opened Katrina's latest message.

"Hello again, my darling Mikela. My, my, what have you been doing to Dave? She set off for lunch all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and she's come back all woebegone. Please don't tell me the big romance has hit the skids. Love, hugs and kisses, Kat."

I hovered over the delete button, willing myself not to reply. Fortunately, willpower prevailed. I say "fortunately" because, right then, any reply would have breached a few company policies by including foul and abusive language.

Somehow I got through the afternoon without upsetting too many colleagues and customers. I couldn't face going straight home, though, so I embarked on a one-woman pub crawl . . . or should I say yet another one-woman pub crawl. And that was my most miserable yet. Believe me, I didn't particularly enjoy it and was full of regrets the morning after.

Tuesday morning then. Bleary-eyed and dehydrated, I went for the caffeine cure, downing more cups of finest Colombian than I should have, both at home and in the office. Feeling flushed and irritable, answering the telephone like an automaton, I must have drawn a dozen curious glances from my workmates.

The email landed during my second visit to the loo (or maybe during my third). Katrina again. I cursed under my breath, wondering what she had left to prove. As if I couldn't have guessed! The witchy bitch was having a good, old-fashioned gloat. Given a modicum of sense I'd have deleted her message unread. Given a still-raging hangover, I made the mistake of opening it.

"Good morning, my darling Mikela. Dave hasn't revealed all (not emotionally, anyway!!) but I now know you've had a bust-up. Poor Dave. She needed a lot of consoling last night. Thank goodness I was there to see to her needs!! Love, hugs and kisses, Kat."

I replied to sender without pausing for thought.

"Haven't you been seeing to her needs ten hours a day ever since you got back?"

Two minutes later she replied to my reply.

"I might have exaggerated on Sunday, but it was easily ten hours last night. I'm yawning even as I type this."

I shook my head as I moved the email into my Katrina file. Then, for the sake of completeness I went into my deleted items and moved Monday's second message. Don't ask me why I did so, it just seemed important to record our exchanges. Not that anyone would ever get to see how two-faced she was. Not now Dave had excommunicated me.

The morning crawled by in an exceptionally dull manner. The only highlight was when Toni spilt a mug of chunky beef and vegetable soup over her keyboard. And, when I say "over", I mean right over it. Her call for technical support was merely a reflex reaction. You didn't have to be a techie to know that piece of kit was totalled.

Guess which real-life techie was sent to inspect the damage? Yep, got it in one. Luckily Dave arrived just as I was heading off for the canteen. I smiled at her as I went past Toni's desk, getting a stone-faced nod in response.

Oh well, I thought as I went, at least she didn't scream or yell at me.

Becky was on serving duty, as per usual. She had no problem in returning my smile. 'Friday night,' she said to me, sotto voce. 'Am I out with the girls again, or have you a better offer to make?'

I managed not to wince. Spending Friday evening travelling up to the Lakes was presumably no longer on the cards. 'My idea of a night out is probably very similar to the girls',' I said. 'But if you want to go out as a couple, I'm up for it.'

Joyce intercepted me on my way back to my workstation. 'Is everything all right, Mikki?'

My wobbly attempt at a grin was obviously answer enough. Joyce pointed towards our small "internal meeting room" and I obediently accompanied her inside.

'Dave knows about us,' I blurted as soon as the door was closed. 'She knows and she can't hack it.'

Joyce pulled a face. 'You didn't tell her, did you?'

'No. She found out I was still in the village on Sunday and put two and two together.'

'Didn't you deny it?'

'No,' I admitted. 'I was speechless. And she could tell why. Denying it wouldn't have done any good.'

'A firm denial never went amiss. Think of all the things Margaret Thatcher used to deny being responsible for.' Joyce laughed humourlessly. 'Of course you're far too young to remember her.' Then, her expression one of pure concern: 'Do you want me to have a word with Dave?'

'I can't see it helping,' I said after brief consideration. 'She'd probably be despicably nasty to you, and you don't deserve that.'

'I'm not Maggie Thatcher,' she said firmly. 'I never avoid responsibility.'

'Thanks, but please don't bother. I'll do my best to forget about her and live the rest of my life.'

There was no pub crawl on Tuesday evening and I managed to abstain from the vino . . . that is to say, I had two glasses, which is next to nothing, isn't it? Then, determined to catch upon lost sleep, I had an early night. Which is my ultra-polite way of saying I went to bed and spent a couple of hours engaged in self-abuse.

Confession time once more. Before I retired I went online and ordered twelve red roses to be delivered to Dave. As my accompanying message I entered: "Thank you for everything. Even though it's all over, I'll never forget. xxLM." And then I deliberately cut her out of my thoughts.

Two hours of solitary sex. I know it sounds sad and lonely, but I classed it as therapeutic. In fact I might even have been right.

Wednesday morning brought another email from Katrina. Expecting more of her gloating, I opened it and wasn't disappointed.

"Good morning again, my darling Mikela. My word, wasn't Davina up for it last night! She's always been a randy little beast, but now she's taking it to new heights. I'm assuming that's because of her time with you, so thanks are in order. Thanks very, very much. Sent with the usual love, hugs and kisses, Kat."

Once more I responded without pause for thought.

"Glad to hear you're over your bed death."

The witchy bitch obviously needed to chew that one over a while. I was beginning to think she had no comeback when her reply finally landed.

"That is slanderous and untrue. I've a good mind to put you over my knee for suggesting that. But I suspect you'd only enjoy a good smacking."

Hmmm, I thought. Uncharted territory or what?

"I probably would," I retorted impulsively. "But not nearly as much as I'd enjoy spanking you."

Another lengthy interval ensued. Then Katrina couldn't resist having the final word.

"Naughty, naughty, Mikela. You've made me as wet as the river Nile."

I saved the latest exchange, the germ of an idea lodged in the back of my mind. Now, please don't misunderstand me. At that stage I'd given up Dave as lost forever. I had no hope that the roses and my somewhat soppy message would change anything. No hope at all. I had ordered them as my way of ruling a line. But accepting defeat didn't mean I no longer cared. Dave still needed rescuing. I was still Princess Charming, ready to ride to save her.

The rest of Wednesday resembled Tuesday, except I drank a whole bottle of wine after eating my evening meal. And I got an email from Dave, sent to my home address.

"Thanx for the flowers. They are lovely and I suppose they're not strictly a form of "contact". I won't ever forget either. xxLD."

Was there a hint of reconciliation in there, somewhere? Although I decided there wasn't it was tricky keeping Dave out of my thoughts that night. I did my utmost to think about all sorts of other females while I masturbated . . .

Believe me, I tried and I tried, but she kept on barging in. There I was, fantasizing about me in a threesome with Christina Aguilera and Tess Daly and up she'd step, wanting to join in. And switching fantasies didn't stop her. Even my long-running icon, Beyoncé couldn't compete for long.

Thursday morning. Apart from another email from Katrina, I didn't know what to expect from the day. Sure enough, her opening salvo arrived before eight o'clock.

"Hiya Mikela. It's me once more. I never had you down as a roses type. And I must admit, the delivery made an impression. Dave went all "Davina" on me. This is probably far too much in the way of information, but she was exceptionally demanding last night. I'm usually more of a taker than a giver, but last night! Well wow!! Love, hugs and kisses, Kat."

"How's the flat-hunting going?" I sent in reply.

There was hardly any delay in her response.

"Not at all. I've iced it. And what's it to you anymore, anyway? Don't say you want me to find somewhere so we can tan each other's asses?"

'Fuck,' I said. Then, feeling my neighbour's eyes on me: 'Sorry, Rupes. I just got good news.'

Rupen snorted. 'Cleared something out of your over four months column, have you?'

'Something like that, yeah.' I waited until he'd gone back to his screen before writing back to my nemesis.

"In your dreams. Find somewhere and I'll tan your ass until you beg for mercy. Then, if you're very lucky, you can kiss mine."

"Get real," she countered. "You want it as much as I do."

I was extremely excited as I composed my next retort. Smacking had never played any part in my sex life. Nor had out-and-out aggression. And, of course, I hated Katrina. I wanted to bring her down more than anything. But, if I could demean her in the process . . .

"Maybe I do. And maybe I'm not all mouth."

This time her answer was simply a request for my home email address. That came as a bit of a relief, actually. I'd been vaguely worried about blind copies of our previous exchanges, even though I'd been mostly the "innocent party". I sent it to her without hesitation.

Here's my excuse for visiting the pub on my way home: missing out two days in a row wasn't just virtuous, it put me in the running for canonization.

What's that I hear? You have to be dead to be canonized? Same for beatification? Okay then, I was in the running for head cheerleader. And I deserved an hour or two in a public bar. For once forsaking the train I caught a bus to Bingley, alighting by the parish church and walking uphill to The Potting Shed.

Result! My nameless barmaid was on duty, greeting me with a grin.

'Well hello,' she said. 'You look a bit more cheery today. What can I get you? Whatever's the strongest?'

'I'm all the better for seeing you,' I said, shamelessly staring at her, drinking in her incredible bone structure, tattoos and skilfully shaven hair.

'What's it to be, then?'

I went for a pint of Moorhouse's and, because it was early and not yet too busy, lingered at the bar.

'I'm Mikki, by the way.'

The barmaid flashed me a smile. 'I'm Anna Marie,' she said, before moving off to serve some new arrivals.

I took in her very feminine body while she pulled pints and laughed with her customers. Yes, I concluded, a fellow people person. Momentarily customer-less, she drifted back to my patch of bar top.

'So, Mikki, why the long face last time you were in? Relationship gone astray?'

'I'd just split with my girlfriend. And it's turned out to be permanent.'

'I thought you were on some sort of rebound.' Anna Marie lowered her voice. 'That's why I let you go without giving me your number.'

'As obvious as that, am I?' I chuckled as she thrust one of her lesbian tats under my nose.

'Not as obvious as me,' she said. 'Tell me you're over her.'

'I'm over her,' I said, aware of the tiniest wrench inside. 'And I've already rebounded once or twice since. Tell me what time you finish.'

'Tonight? Not until late.'

'I keep late hours myself.'

'You won't mind me ringing you then. So we can chat properly.'

I gave her my number without further ado.

*****

And so to Friday, gateway to the weekend. I have my personal emails accessible on laptop and mobile so, before I showered and dressed, I knew there was one from Katrina. It had arrived in the wee hours, presumably sent while Dave was asleep. Perversely, I decided to wait and read it on my laptop.

"Hello Mikki. Let's cut the crap. You want to fuck me and I'm definitely going to fuck you. I'm also going to give you the spanking of your life. By the time I'm ready to tongue you, your cunt really will be flowing like the Nile. If I have to be your bitch afterwards, then so be it. I'm a grown woman, capable of taking everything the likes of you can throw my way. Trust me, it's going to happen. The only question is when. Fingers, tongues and dildos, Kat."

The grin nearly split off the top of my head. Smoking gun or what? Okay, it was quite tame compared to my midnight phone conversation with Anna Marie . . .

Tame? Well, it contained more expletives and had a nasty edge to it, but Anna Marie had been very descriptive. Without swearing once she'd left me in no doubt about the things she wanted us to do to each other. And in no doubt they were soon going to be done, come to that. Katrina's bedtime scenario was total fabrication in comparison. And that scenario was only ever going to happen in her dreams.

Or was I going to have to physically go through the motions with the witchy bitch? Were a few emails really enough to blow her off her broomstick?

Hmmm.

I decided to progress matters in a slow, antagonizing way.

"You're almost right about the sequence of events, Katrina, but you are going to be my bitch first. That's not open to negotiation."

She must have been standing by her mobile because her response came back by return.

"When?"

"When I'm good and ready," I replied. "Meaning when I'm as wet as you. You're starting to get to me, but so far no cigar. Must try harder in future."

"Tight cunt."

"Takes one to know one."

*****

I'd arranged to meet Becky in The Star, which is a bit off the beaten track as far as Bingley's pubs are concerned. It is also very much at the top of town, comfortably away from the start of her friends' latest binge.

'I'm not ashamed or anything,' she assured me. 'And I'm certainly not on my own in swinging both ways. It's just that they'll haul us along if we bump into them early on. And I want a night out with you, not the same old faces.'