Smile

As soon as I got back to my flat I made a phone call. "Hi, Maggie, it's Annie. Would you like to come round to my place this evening for a coffee? I've got something that's right up your street. I'll explain when I see you..."

* * * * *

A week or so after seeing the jive photos, and armed with a bottle of wine and glasses, I picked Maggie up outside her workplace as arranged. There was another casually-dressed woman with her, a few years older than us, thin with greying hair, who Maggie introduced as Joyce Carroll. "Right, ladies," I said, "ready to fight the forces of evil?"

Maggie waved a 'forward' gesture with a hand. "Let's hit the trail!" she said. Loves a good Western, does Maggie. Thinking about it, they don't even have to be all that good.

Irene looked shocked when she opened her door and saw three of us standing there. "What's going on?"

"We're here to give you moral support," I told her, "Maggie you know and this is Joyce."

"Sorry, but you can't stay." She lowered her voice, speaking directly to me. "What're you up to, Annie? I told you he's due here tonight."

I put my hands on her shoulders. "Irene, will you trust me on this?"

She considered and pulled a face. "I guess..."

"Okay, then trust me. Let's get the stage set up." I pulled out the wine and poured a little into each of the four glasses, swilling them around so that they seemed to have been in use for some time. "These are for show right now, not for drinking," I said to Irene, "And no matter what you hear any of us say, don't act surprised, just go along with it. Have you got his money ready? Good, let's have a look at it."

Bewildered, Irene handed me a plain A5 envelope stuffed with banknotes. I passed it to Maggie who asked to use Irene's bathroom. She went in, taking the money with her, and closed the door. She came out again after a few minutes to hand the envelope back to Irene. "Whatever you do, don't touch the money," she instructed.

"Annie... Maggie... what's going on?"

"Trust us, Irene."

Small talk was desultory for about half-an-hour until we were interrupted by an impatient rapping on the door. Irene's face settled into an unhappy grimace. Gesturing her to stay where she was, I opened to door to admit Frank Wetherill and had my first really good in-the-flesh look at him. My feelings towards him were probably coloured by what I knew of him but the impression I got was of an offensive little weasel of a man, skinny with pebbly eyes, a pointed nose and a mean slash of a mouth under a toothbrush moustache. He looked as disagreeable as he had the night he'd nearly run me down. The man lurched through the doorway, balanced on his crutches, breathing heavily as if he'd just run a mile.

He glared around at us then turned to his daughter. "What're these slags doing here?"

I took his arm and led him gently to a chair. "I'm Annie, this is Maggie and over there is Joyce. I'm sure you didn't mean to be rude, Mr Wetherill, but I suppose you're in terrible pain with your disability."

"You're right! I'm in constant pain. Agony. But what're you doing here?"

"We're Irene's friends—" I started.

"Friends? Her?" he snarled with a contemptuous jerk of his thumb, "She hasn't got any bleeding friends! Unless you're a load of bloody lesbian perverts!"

"We're her friends," I continued as if he'd not spoken, "It's my birthday today and we're celebrating. As Irene couldn't come out because she was expecting you, we came round here." I pointed to the glasses on the table. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

Ignoring me, he held out a hand to Irene. "You got it?"

She passed him the envelope which he ripped open and, oblivious of we strangers, took out the money and counted it. "Good," he grunted, "Same time next month then." He reached for his crutches as if to climb to his feet.

"Before you go, Mr Wetherill, perhaps you'd like to see some photographs I have."

"Why should I want to see your bloody photos?"

"Oh, I think you'll find them very interesting." I passed him the sheaf of photographs my dad had taken at the dance competition. "Oh look, that must be your twin brother jiving there, and there he is again... and again... after all, you couldn't dance like that being on crutches."

"He hasn't got a brother, let alone a twin!" Irene hissed.

"He hasn't got a twin brother?" I said, feigning surprise, "Then that must be—"

Wetherill tore his horrified gaze away from the pictures. "Bitch!" he snarled and threw them at me as he jumped up from the chair and made a dash for the door. He wrenched it open to find his way blocked by Malcolm's bulk. Malcolm gave him an amiable smile, said: "Not leaving the party already, surely?" and shook his head as he gently turned the older man around. Maggie and I each took an arm and guided Wetherill back to the chair.

"You forgot your crutches, Mr Wetherill," Maggie chided, "But then, you didn't seem to need them. That was some turn of speed you put on." She turned to the rest of us. "I do believe we've just witnessed a modern miracle. Quite Biblical really. What is it? Something about '...the lame shall walk...' "

I saw Irene's fists clench and she started to move towards her father. "I'll fucking kill him!" she muttered.

I intervened, blocking her way. "No you won't. We've got a better way of handling this. Just trust me. " I looked at her father. "You've been extorting money from Irene for years, letting her believe she'd crippled you. Must run into thousands of pounds by now. You really are a vile little shit, aren't you?"

Wetherill reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the envelope full of money and threw it on the table. "There! Now I don't know anything about any money!"

"I'm afraid I've been a bit remiss," I said, "I didn't introduce Maggie properly. Meet Detective Sergeant Maggie Farnol of the City Police."

"That's right, Mr Wetherill," said Maggie, flashing her ID, "And that money has been treated with a luminescent chemical." She took a small spray-can in a plastic evidence bag from her pocket and showed it to him. "You can't see it now but under ultra-violet light you'll find your hands are heavily stained. Takes days to wear off no matter how often you wash. You won't be able to deny handling that cash. Oh, and I'm forgetting my manners too. This is Joyce Carroll. Joyce is an investigator for the Department of Works & Pensions."

"Yes, Mr Wetherill," Joyce added, also showing an ID card, "and you've been falsely claiming disability benefits for years, again amounting to many thousands of pounds. Defrauding the taxpayer is a very serious offence. We also have reason to believe that you've either forged your medical certificates or you are acting in collusion with a doctor."

Maggie placed a hand on his shoulder. "Frank Wetherill, I am arresting you on suspicion of extortion, forgery and conspiracy to commit fraud. You are not obliged to say anything..." She finished the standard caution before phoning for a police car and escort to take her prisoner in. "Sorry to break up the party, folks, but Joyce and I will have to leave you. We're about to have a fun-filled evening interviewing Mr Wetherill down at the nick. And Irene, I'm afraid we're going to take your money, it's evidence. I'll give you a receipt and you'll get it back in time."

"I'll bet that's the last dance competition you enter," I whispered sweetly to Frank Wetherill as he was taken away.

* * * * *

Maggie had left us, she and Joyce having taken Frank Wetherill to the Central Police Station for questioning. And that left me and Malcolm to have a glass or two of wine with Irene.

"I'm grateful to all of you," said Irene, "but why did you involve Malcolm?"

"Maggie figured your dad might try to do a runner so we reckoned the easiest way to prevent that would be having Malcolm guarding the door," I said, "Avoided a chase and perhaps a nasty brawl."

"And if you need another witness," Malcolm added, "I was hiding on an upper stair-well. I saw him running up the stairs, two at a time, like an Olympics candidate. He was carrying the crutches, didn't start using them until he reached your door."

Irene looked a little embarrassed. "Don't know what to say," she mumbled.

"Just accept that you've got real friends," I told her.

She surprised us both when we left. She squeezed Malcolm's arm and gave me a hug. Both gestures were brief but coming from Irene they meant one hell of a lot.

* * * * *

Between them, the police, a couple of government departments and the Crown Prosecution Service gathered enough evidence to throw the book at Frank Wetherill. Among other things, it was found out that throughout Irene's childhood he had been claiming child benefit for a non-existent younger daughter. Quite the con-artist was Frank.

My dad was called as a witness although all he could do was to confirm that his business had taken the photographs at the club's dance. The defence counsel tried to make out that I couldn't have seen his client clearly in the mist but I held my ground, stating firmly that he had been no more than twelve to eighteen inches away when he almost ran me down. Anyway, the photos and video of a supposedly disabled man dancing like an extra in Grease were damning enough.

I believe Irene's evidence was the most telling, including her total honesty about using her fighting skills against her father. Again, Frank's barrister tried to make a big issue of this but I think the jury accepted it as self-defence.

Frank Wetherill got six years. With some judges he might have got less if it had been Irene alone whom he had cheated—defraud the taxpayer (a euphemism for the Treasury and government), though, and you're in deep trouble. Unusually, the judge in this case was more scathing about the way in which Wetherill had treated his own daughter. The judge also ordered him to repay all of the money he'd defrauded; failure to do so would cost him an extra two years inside.

It turned out that his medical certificates had been provided by a GP with a serious gambling problem and true to form, Frank Wetherill had bribed him with the minimum amount of money he could get away with. The doctor was prosecuted and given a two year suspended sentence. And he was struck off by the General Medical Council. Some price to pay for getting involved with a poisonous creep like Frank Wetherill.

It might be nasty of me but I couldn't help hoping that some twenty-five stone tattooed biker in prison would take a fancy to Frank's lissom form and install him as a new concubine. That would be poetic justice.

Not very likely, though—even twenty-five stone tattooed bikers must have their standards.

* * * * *

I couldn't hold off any longer. After about fifteen months of going out together, I knew I had fallen for Irene big time. I wasn't sure about how she felt but there was one way to find out. We'd been to one of the City Hall concerts, country and western this time, and as usual Irene had walked me home. I unlocked the door to the studio which led to my flat and then took the plunge. I cupped Irene's face in both hands and kissed her mouth—the moment of reckoning.

Irene pulled back, a look almost akin to shock on her face. Oh shit, Annie, I told myself, you've blown it! And then... and then her slim arms were thrown around my neck and warm lips crushed against mine. "Do you want to come up?" I asked.

She nodded and kissed me again. I think that at that point Irene was starting to believe she could trust me.

I closed the flat door behind us and turned to Irene, taking both her hands in mine. "You're absolutely sure about this?"

She nodded.

"Bed?"

"Yes please," Irene answered.

I took her to the bedroom where I slowly undressed her, planting tiny kisses on every bit of flesh I uncovered. Irene had the most delightful boobs, small with hard brown nipples which seemed to stiffen even more when exposed to the night air. I knelt to get rid of her jeans and underwear. She wore male-style boxer shorts under her jeans and I slid them down to reveal an abundant thatch of hair over her mound and pussy. Didn't bother me, I'm fairly hairy down below myself.

I sat back on my heels to admire the vision before me. Her body was lean and fit without a sign of fat, hard and yet not excessively muscled. The result, I guessed, of all the krag mava training. "You know something, Irene? You really are king-sized gorgeous. Or maybe economy-sized gorgeous. You are so beautiful."

"You mean that, Annie? Nobody's ever said that to me before."

"Not even—" I bit my tongue before I ruined the moment.

"Not even them." Irene didn't sound put out. She held my head close and I kissed all around her belly button. "Can I undress you now, Annie?"

I stood. "I'm all yours."

I had to crouch a little so that she could pull my t-shirt off before reaching behind me to unclasp my bra and release my breasts. They're not all that large, really, but I supposed compared to Irene's they looked big. She cupped them in her hands then took my long nipples between fingers and thumbs, pinching gently. "Oh God, Annie, they are so lovely." She gave each nipple a fairy kiss before undoing the zip at the side of my skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor.

Hand-in-hand we went to the bed and lay down. I think at that point both of us were feeling rather shy. I hadn't had sex for a long time and was feeling as randy as hell although at the same time I'd didn't want to rush into things but to take it nice and easy. I believe it was much the same for Irene. We lay there for what seemed to be ages, just looking at each other and exploring our bodies with gentle touches, slight strokes with our fingertips. Every once in a while our lips would meet, brushing together gently, sometimes with a little flick of the tongue, and we'd each stroke the other's hair and tangle our legs together.

At length we moved closer, arms around one another, so that our bodies were pressed tightly together. The crush of Irene's breasts against mine, the feel of those stiff little nipples pushing into me, thrilled me as did the pressure and warmth of her damp pubes at the top of my thigh.

Now our kissing became deeper, more serious, with tongue caressing sweet tongue. Irene was making small moaning noises which appeared to come from way down and her blunt fingernails raked my back. Little teeth nipped at my earlobe as she thrust her hips harder against my thigh. I could feel my own wetness and I took Irene's hand, guiding it to my pussy. A small finger slid up and down my oozing cleft before easing into me.

In turn I reached between Irene's legs, cupping her vulva so that my palm was coated with her thick juices. Bringing my hand back to my mouth I started to lick it clean and Irene's tongue flicked out to join me. She took her finger from my pussy and held it so that we could both lick that too. For me, we both tasted delicious. Reaching down again, we slowly finger-fucked our tight vaginas. Both made soft wet noises as our inner walls clamped down. I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoyed hearing those squishy sounds, they really turned me on. Barbara had always been vaguely embarrassed by them. I could never understand why—to me it was all part of the pleasures of sex.

Pulling away slightly from Irene, I reached into my bedside cabinet drawer and took out my small vibrator. Setting it to its lowest frequency I caressed Irene's body with it, starting at her shoulders and unhurriedly working my way downwards. As I rubbed it around her areolas and nipples they seemed to grow even harder and I took one into my mouth, lapping hard and enjoying the taste of her breast. As I sucked I continued to move the vibrator down, circling her belly and allowing it to rest against her mound as I increased the frequency. Irene gasped aloud and her hips jerked.

I moved down the bed until I was between her legs where, with finger and thumb of my free hand, I eased her lips apart. Her inner lips shone with lubricant and an enchanting tiny clit stood out from its hood. Several droplets of milky-coloured fluid seeped from her vagina and trickled down to her perineum as I slowly eased the vibrator into her.

Irene's hips twitched again, and then again, more strongly. "Oh God, yes, yes!"

I turned the vibrator to its highest frequency and brought my mouth to her so that I could lick her clit. "Christ!" Irene yelled out as she came, clutching me close and panting heavily. "Oh Annie! Annie! My God, Annie, that was the best one I've ever had!"

I withdrew the vibrator and started to lick it clean but Irene snatched it from me. I guess she was in a hurry to make me come for there was little finesse. She entered me with two fingers and stroked my clit with the vibrator. The toy was still on full power and I thought I was going to hit the ceiling when I came. As it was, I felt as if I'd passed through the gates of Paradise and it took several minutes for me float back down.

Irene reached out to cuddle me and I responded, taking her into my arms. "Oh, Annie..." she said simply, "Please just hold me now? I feel so good."

"Yes, I'll hold you," I replied. Within minutes she was asleep and I added in a whisper: "I love you. I'll not let you go..."

* * * * *

But I did. Inadvertently of course, because I was still asleep. I woke up in the morning, stretched lazily, and turned to put my arm around Irene but she wasn't there. At first I thought maybe she'd gone to the toilet or into the kitchen but the flat was quiet and her clothes were gone from where we'd left them. I sat up and called out. No reply. I got out of bed, put on a robe and after using the lavatory I went to the sitting room and then the kitchen. Nobody.

I put a fresh kettle on then noticed the scrap of paper with writing on the kitchen table. The unsigned message was brief: Sorry, Annie. I need to think.

I tried her phone a number of times but no joy and there was no answer when I called at her flat. I enquired at the supermarket and her manager told me Irene had called in sick. I phoned the club in the evening and Malcolm told me much the same thing. I looked for her in all the usual places in vain.

Then after a few days of silence, Irene texted me. It was abrupt: Café 7.30. Okay? I replied, saying that I'd be there.

The trouble was that Irene wasn't there, not at seven-thirty anyway. I asked Charlie if she'd been around but he hadn't seen her. Come eight o'clock she still hadn't arrived but I wasn't about to walk out. If Irene did turn up, then I wanted her to see that there was someone she could rely on. Her past life may have been a load of crap but I wasn't going to add to it. Anyway, I'd fallen for her and wasn't going to let her go that easily.

It was close to nine when Irene walked into the coffee shop. She looked unhappy and distracted, shaking her head when Charlie mimed a drink. She flopped into the booth opposite me, not meeting my eyes. "Thought you'd be long gone," she muttered. The unspoken implication seemed to be: Thought you'd let me down like others have.

"No, I said I'd be here and I am." I reached out to cover a hand with mine but she snatched her hand away. "Where have you been?" I asked, "I couldn't find you anywhere."

"Hid out at my father's house. I've still got my key and he's too tight to have had the locks changed. I almost changed my mind, almost didn't come here tonight." Irene still wouldn't look at me. "I was scared." Scared? Irene?

"I thought maybe you'd forgotten," I said, "Or perhaps something more important had cropped up."

"Got to tell you something." She made a number of false starts, hesitating and mumbling. "God, can't even hold my shit together. Don't know where to start."