The Way Back Ch. 10

We were shown undressing each other and caressing more and more intimately, until I was clearly fingering her inside her knickers and she had my cock out and was pulling on it. The transitions were smooth and gradual. I became more and more wrapped up in the action. It was like watching a porn film, except that it was more making love than raw lustful sex alone.

When the bedroom scenes started, I was oblivious to everything else. On the TV screen we undressed each other, and then we began to make love. We kissed, caressed, fingered, masturbated. We licked and sucked and blew. I took her pussy and she took my cock in our mouths in a sixty-nine, and we both orgasmed whereupon she swallowed my offering and I licked all round my wet lips and face.

Then, unlike a porn film we cuddled up together, our limbs entwined, and said loving things to each other, clearly for the future for the benefit of the tape. Eventually the scene cut to us in a more aroused state and this time there was full on sex. Missionary first and then she begged to go on top, then wanted me behind her, while she fingered herself to an orgasm which was fully satisfying and I came inside her with similar satisfaction.

There was more. She had dressed in a little black dress and I was in a dress shirt and dinner suit. We undressed each other. She had the flimsiest purple bra and knickers set I had ever seen, with black lace top thigh high stockings, and she undressed me to show my erect penis to the camera which revealed that I had clearly enjoyed the view.

I showed the camera how slowly and lasciviously I could pull her panties down over her thighs and then her calves, whereupon she opened her legs wide and invited me in. Then we fucked again, though this time I pushed her legs over my shoulders and hammered her until she cried out her orgasm and I bellowed mine. The children were clearly not at home. Once again we cuddled and the tape finished.

I was exhausted. I wasn't sure what I had learned. The couple on the screen were clearly very much into each other, knew each other completely and loved each other. Was I turned on? You bet I was. My cock was hard, and though I had not played with it as I watched, I had had to adjust it.

"Hey, baby! Fancy doing it for real?"

It was Ann at the door. I had not noticed her going, but now she stood in the doorway wearing very little - a black lacy minimalist push-up bra, black lacy see-through boy-shorts showing all she had on offer, and black fishnet stockings with lacy tops. Her hair was down. She was a walking wet dream, and she was inviting me to have sex. What could I do?

I'll tell you what I could do. I could get intensely angry; I could get livid with rage, I could get disgusted with her manipulation of my feelings to get me into bed. For what? So she could get relief for her sexual itch. Did I do all that? Oh yes.

I got up, pushed past her quite roughly and made my stumbling 'run' for the front door. Once it was open I turned. She was standing in the hall looking totally at a loss.

"So that was it, was it?" I snarled, "A whole day to get me so worked up I would fall into your bed and you could use me to scratch your insatiable sexual itch? Nice try, but it won't work with me. I don't do sex with women I respect just for relief, theirs or mine. There has to be love. Go and get Derek inside you if you're that desperate! You look like a common whore!"

And I slammed the door. I started the car and turned it round, but she did not come out. I drove home to my flat, probably very dangerously.

I paced the floor, raging inside and talking to the room, or myself, I did not know or care which. I felt utterly betrayed and cheated. A whole day devoted to my seduction! The gradual orchestration of my emotions, to the point where I would give in and go to her bed; what casual manipulation! What selfishness!

The phone rang.

"Yes?" I snapped.

It was Ann and she launched into a tirade.

"How dare you say those things to me? How dare you accuse me of seducing you? When are you going to wake up to the fact you love me, Allan? That all this emotion and rage is to do with that? All right, the underwear was a misjudgement on my part. I'm sorry! I did everything today to try and help. Help you, not me. You were so wrapped up in the film of our lovemaking that I thought a little light relief was called for. Light relief, you stupid bastard! You could have laughed and told me to get dressed.

"But no. Oh no! You fly into a fucking rage. It proves one thing you stupid bugger, you want me. You're all chewed up. You need to find out why. You can't blame Trish or Jenny, or Clare or Viv any more. This is inside you.

"Get real and start realising who loves you, worships you, longs for you every hour of every day. What I did at the door was what any wife would do for her husband when he got horny watching porn, and don't say we're not married, you know damn well we are, even if the government doesn't think so.

"I'm sorry! It was a mistake, it was a joke. OK? Fuck, Allan, what do I have to do?"

And she rang off.

I sat down heavily. All my anger had dissipated. Once again that anger had risen in me. Once again I had gone off at the deep end and if I did it much more it would drown what relationship we had. Now I recalled the photo's and the videos. All that love. Was that why I got so angry? That it had all been taken away, ruined? What did she say?

'This is inside you. I did what any wife would do. What do I have to do?'

She was right. I recognised suddenly how much she was trying to win me back. How much she loved me. Every time she did it I knocked her back. How stupid! I did love her but this god-forsaken anger would keep rising every time we got close.

I rang her back and when she answered I burst into tears and between the heaving and the sobbing, apologised over and over and babbled on and on about my troubles and this wild and untamed anger which I could not seem to be able to control. What else I said I can't remember, but it can't have been coherent. After some time, I ground to a halt.

She said, "OK, but you need professional help," and rang off. It was all I deserved but it hurt all the same.

------

FORTY-EIGHT

Monday morning. Another working week. But I woke very early with the events of the day before etched in my mind and no thought of work at all.

I did not lie abed, but rose and spent half an hour on the rowing machine, which I had been rather neglecting. Then a shower and only then did I allow myself the first mug of tea that day. I allowed myself half a grapefruit and some muesli as well. It was still only six, and the sun was shining, and already warm.

I thought about Ann, and there came a flash of understanding, the sort that makes you wonder why you couldn't see it so clearly before. With that revelation came the why of it as well.

Ann had been steadfastly working to get me back to her, ever since that meeting in the pub just before the marriage that didn't happen. She had weathered all the temper tantrums, the pettiness, the moods that I displayed so forcefully. I had made her suffer, and she had suffered with every rejection I had shown her. But she had carried on. I had been unfair, unfeeling and at times vindictive.

And the why of it? I had been completely wrapped in my own agenda and my own resentment at my position. I had been in reality looking for someone upon whom to take some sort of revenge, and the person most closely connected with my likely assailants that I could get at, had been Ann.

It had dominated everything I had done and thought. It had been part of a self-centred drive to emotionally reverse the calamity that had befallen me. That reversal could never happen. So much was I bound up in myself and my self-pity that I couldn't see the suffering of the one person who had consistently loved me since first we became intimate all those years ago, long before my 'accident'.

Of course, at first when I came back, I did not know her. But now I did and I was loading all my misfortunes onto her. I wondered if my subconscious already knew that she was the love of my life and the one to help me carry my burden. Of course, consciously all I could see was Derek and her and my jealously was all I could feel. He had stolen her.

It was enlightenment and my world was different. I had not realised how deeply I had sunk into a sort of self-obsession and it was certainly narrow selfishness in my personal life. I needed to look outward and forward.

I made a decision. I dressed, collected what I would need for work and set off for our house. I had to see Ann.

I arrived at seven fifteen.

It says a lot for my state of mind that it never dawned on me that everyone would be getting ready for school and work. The place would be a madhouse. However, it did not take long for me to be appraised of the real situation. I let myself in and shouted a greeting. Ann came out of the kitchen.

"Allan! What the hell are you doing? It's a working day, or don't you do those any more?" It was a sarcastic remark and reminded me that she was still livid with me.

"I need to see you briefly before you go to work." I replied, quite meekly I thought. "I'll help."

The children took my presence in their stride, too busy to question the timing of it.

So I busied myself with the 'packing children off to school' routine, which I now knew well. Ann took in my activity and went to get her make-up on. I did the rest, packing lunches, finding kit, and for Stefan a shoe and for Greta her bus pass for her journey to Peter's place for her work experience.

Ann came down the stairs ready for work and reviewed the troops. Finding all was well she dismissed them and they hugged her and then me before departing. It left Ann and me facing each other in the hallway. Her hands were by her sides and her stare was unfathomable.

"I won't keep you," I said, looking her in the eye, "But this has to be said. I'm very sorry for all the suffering I've put you through since I came back from the dead. You've shown me nothing but love and I've repaid that with tantrums, temper and sarcasm. So I'm asking your forgiveness, and I promise to try to keep my emotions under control for the future.

"There, that's what I wanted to tell you, and I wanted to do it face to face as soon as possible. I've done some thinking and it's time I told you everything. I'm asking you for a meeting, no conditions, any time or place you want. Please?"

Her face softened, and she smiled bleakly.

"Allan, my darling," she said, "I need to apologise to you. You phoned me in distress yesterday and I was horrible to you. It made me think. You say you've made me suffer. I can't imagine how great your suffering has been since you came back. One thing after another, and all of them bad."

I thought getting to know the children was pretty good, but I said nothing and she was continuing in any case.

"I realised how distressing it must have been to see me with another man so soon, as if you had never existed.

Then there's the aftermath of your injuries. Even though I saw your body on Saturday, I don't think I realised until last night how awful that must be, what a toll it took on your emotions, how much pain you are still suffering, that someone did that to you in order to kill you; that someone wanted you dead! I know now how much you need to know who did this. Would you come for tea tonight and talk with me afterwards?"

"Love to," I said. I remembered suddenly very vividly, if that is the right word, her capacity for forgiveness and compassion those many years past. How easy she always made it look and how much it must have cost her.

She took a step to me and kissed me. It was not the peck that we usually exchanged but a full-blown passionate kiss with soft lips and with her arms around my neck. I kissed her back just as passionately, pulling her to me, and when we parted she had tears in her eyes and I had tears in mine.

"Tonight!" she said and picked up her briefcase.

"I'll lock up," I said. She nodded, looking more relaxed than I had ever seen her, and then she left on the run. She would be late but I reckoned she couldn't care less.

I would be late as well. I cleaned the kitchen after the breakfast carnage and then passed through the living room, in case there was anything that might need washing up. It shone a revelation into my mind.

On the coffee table, lay one DVD disc, one VCR tape, and the photograph albums we had looked at the day before. The realisation was so intense I had to sit down. It was the photo's.

I could almost hear the words in my head.

"You don't communicate with him any more?" I'd said to Stephanie Fanshaw.

"No way! Any communication goes through my lawyers. There have been none."

I could recall the viciousness of the response.

And later:

"I bet getting those photo's of you and that woman in York was a god-send to him, helped push her into marriage and push the settlement up?"

The curl of her lip, and the tone of satisfaction.

If there had been no communication, how did she know about the photo's? The PI had phoned Ann, not the other way round; was he in the pay of someone else? The PI kept back two photo's. Derek was despondent because he didn't know what was happening; he was puzzled and frightened, I thought Ann had said. Had someone else told the PI to keep back the photo's? Stephanie hated Derek, and there was a bitterness and coldness about her. Could she have tried to frame him for my murder? To do that she would have to organise my demise, but that seemed extreme!

It all came together. Derek was exactly what Ann said he was, a good friend trying to act in her best interests. Of course he wanted his business to survive, but he really did love Ann, and was in love with her.

Now I knew I was jumping to conclusions, following intuition, but I was sure in my guts that Derek was innocent and that Stephanie was insanely vengeful.

I phoned work. Jenny answered, and assured me that she could cope. Damn it, that girl could more than cope.

I got in the car and I drove to Derek's mansion. I was about to do something totally impulsive and illogical and I was eagerly looking forward to it.

The gate was shut but unlocked so I left the car on the road and walked up to the house. Up till then I had not thought that he might not be at home and that I should have phoned.

'Too late now,' I thought. I rang the bell and after a short while, just before I was to ring it for the second time, Derek opened the door. Yes. He was surprised.

He looked bad. Dishevelled hair, two days' growth on his face and a dressing gown that clearly needed a wash.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, more puzzled than aggravated

"Derek," I said, "I need to talk to you. It's important. A matter of life and death. Can I come in?"

He stood back mutely, and I passed him.

"Kitchen?" I asked. He nodded, and while he disappeared upstairs I scouted round and made coffee. It seemed he didn't drink tea but I forgave that character defect.

He took some time to re-emerge, because he had showered, shaved, dressed and combed his hair and looked much better. I pushed the mug of coffee towards him.

"So?" he asked. Boy, the man was depressed!

"So," I repeated. "Derek, you may not realise it or believe it but I've tried to keep an open mind about who did this to me. So while Colin and Keith have closed the case, sure of your guilt, I couldn't help thinking there was something wrong with the whole business.

"You can thank Ann for that, she's never believed you anything but innocent and at first in view of the evidence I couldn't understand her attitude. But I realise now that it was this certainty of hers that made me uneasy, even though I did think then that you were the guilty party."

"But not now?" he asked, suddenly coming to life, light coming into his eyes.

"Let's go over it," I said. "Three of your workmen try to kill me and obliterate my face. O'Malley works for you and leads me to them. The money used to pay them comes from your business account, and there's no attempt to cover the tracks. The payment to fictitious people is clumsy to say the least. So that more or less sews it up. You're guilty!"

"But--"

"Wait Derek," I interrupted his interruption, "It has struck me that the victim in all that evidence is not me, but you."

"What? You mean I've been--"

"Yes," I said. "I think you've been framed. You always said you'd been framed, but you thought I did it.

"Let's look at it.

"There are things that don't fit. The person who paid off the lads was a very tall man but I know that the police went through all your acquaintances, family and friends and couldn't find him.

"The PI from York phoned you. That's weird. He had photo evidence but didn't give you all of it. Now that could have been you ensuring that the story of me going off with someone else held up, but you would have chosen a PI to help you to engineer that; he would not have chosen you. Finally, O'Malley couldn't make a direct connection between you and himself regarding the affair either."

Derek sat in thought. I drew breath and ploughed on.

"If I asked you, Derek, does anyone hate you enough to put you inside for fifteen years? Would anyone come to mind? Don't tell me, just think."

Derek's face showed a dawning realisation. "That question of yours about passwords. I didn't understand it then but now... I think I do!"

"Right," I said. "Now listen. I went to see Stephanie, you know that. Well, she said two things which I've only just connected. The first was that you were incompetent at accounting and the cash side of your business."

I was surprised that he nodded morosely.

"That's right," he said. "She did all the accounts until we parted."

"You've made the connection about the passwords. She still has access to your accounts, and she knows you won't understand if she, let's say, fiddles a little with them. That was the first thing.

"Second thing. She said you had never spoken to her since the divorce started. Right?"

"Right," he said. He was sitting upright now. There was hope sparkling in his eyes.

"But then she said that she thought the photo's from York made it easier for you to get into Ann's knickers."

"That's not true--"

"Derek, think!" I shouted at him. "If you didn't tell her about the photo's, how did she know about them?"

The light dawned fully, the sun rose in his mind. All was clear.

"The tall man," he said, out of the blue. "Six feet five. Well built. Her cousin Graham. Why didn't I think of him before?"

"You've been divorced a long time." I said.

There was a silence. I broke it.

"Derek, to begin with I thought you were the man who did this. I thought you wanted my wife for yourself and had me killed to get her, and of course money for your business which is collapsing, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"Everything fitted," I continued. "Except that Ann consistently refused to believe it. I gave her short shrift again and again, but she was obdurate. I assure you, Derek, that though I believed you were guilty, I have never publicly said to anyone that you were the culprit. Nor did Colin or Keith or David. We just searched for evidence, and we did quite well."

"So what now?" he asked.

"I'll talk to Colin," I said. "I'll put this information before the police. Your defence lawyers need to know that there is another explanation. I don't think there's a jury could convict you with this alternative in view."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, puzzled.

"You cared for Ann. You love her. You spent hours while I was away supporting her. You're a good man Derek. I owe you a lot, and talking of owing, I want to talk business with you."