Guess Who I Pulled Last Night? (29 page)

Kerry recalled when she was about twelve and had seen three
girls from school pinching an old lady’s handbag.  The next day the police
had come into the assembly to ask if anyone knew anything about it.  She
had been too scared to tell them what she knew; she didn’t want the girls to
find out and then face being bullied, or worse.  Kerry went to her dad; he
would know what she should do.  Malcolm listened intently to what his
daughter had to say and then spoke quietly.

“Wouldn’t it have been awful if that old lady had been
Nanna?”

He didn’t say anything else, but just walked out into the
garden, leaving Kerry alone and bewildered.  The next day, after school,
she went into the police and told them everything that she had seen.  They
thanked her and said that it was okay, but one of the girls had tried it again
earlier that day.  This time she had picked on someone stronger and once
arrested it wasn’t long before she had snitched on her mates.  As a silent
tear rolled down her cheek, Kerry knew that her dad would have definitely
sorted them out.

She continued to sit in the darkness, her bottom getting
colder, when she heard the gate leading into the pasture creak.  Kerry
looked across to see Owen appearing out of the darkness, as he got closer, she
could see that he was actually smiling.

“I thought that I could see someone moving around out
here.  I decided to check that it wasn’t a burglar.”  His soft Welsh
lilt echoed slightly in the silence of the night.

“No, only me, I just needed some fresh air.  To be
honest it's getting a little boring sat inside on my own every night.”

As soon as the words tumbled off her tongue Kerry could have
bitten it off; Owen didn’t react by offering his services for company.

“I suppose that it must be boring, same view every
night.  I know how I feel staring at Mam and Dad all the time.  At least,
I can have some sort of conversation with them, even if it is about big band
music and Glen Miller.”

Kerry smiled, reacting to the lightness into his voice; he
was in a good mood tonight, even attempting to crack jokes.

“I’m sure it must be riveting, anyway you could always go
out.  Surely, you must still have friends around here?”

Owen’s face clouded slightly.  “No, they are all
married off now.  None of their wives will let them go out boozing with a
young, free and single bachelor like myself,” he said, as he crouched down next
to Kerry. He pushed her along as he prized his denim clad bottom next to
hers.  “So you thought that you would come out here and sample that lovely
Welsh air then, did you?”

Kerry nodded in response to his question.  “Yeah, oh,
by the way, thanks for getting my wing mirror repaired,” she said looking down
at the ground under her feet.  She had gone on a walk one day and returned
to find that Owen had been as good as his word.

“No problem, I told you that I’d sort it out.”  He stared
at her as he spoke, not averting his eyes for even a second.

Kerry blushed in the darkness at the strength in his
gaze.  “So what have you been up to over the last few days, I’ve not
really seen you around that much?”

“Oh this and that, a bit of business you know,” he replied,
not expanding any further.

“Right.”  Kerry looked away, sensing that Owen was
staring at her again.  They sat in silence for a few moments.

Owen’s voice broke the stillness.  “Decided if, and
when, you are going home then?” he asked, now looking ahead.

“Err I don’t know. I've not really thought about it. 
Are you trying to get rid of me then?”  Although slightly perturbed by his
probing, Kerry’s tone was light, aware that his mood had a tendency to change
within seconds.

“No, just wondering.”  Owen’s voice trailed off.

Kerry turned to him, realising that he seemed to have lost
interest; he was rubbing his scar with his hand.  As she watched for a
couple of minutes, he continued to rub, his face contorted under the hardness
of his fingers.  Kerry took his hand away and kept hold of it in hers.

“Don’t do that, you’ll make it worse,” she coaxed, as she
dropped his hand.  It had surprised her how warm and safe it felt. 
“I’ve got some camomile lotion inside, wait here.”  She stood up and
disappeared inside the van.

A few moments later Kerry reappeared clutching a tube of
pink cream.  Sitting next to Owen, she squeezed a small amount on to the
tips of her fingers and gently rubbed it into the deep redness on his
face.  She felt strange touching someone other than Esme again, after all
this time, particularly a man.  Tenderly, she smoothed his skin with her
cold fingers, every touch sending an electric current through her body down to
her pelvis.  With the lightest of touches, she stroked his skin, until
there was no trace of the cream; finally, she rested her palm on his
cheek. 

They said nothing, as they looked deeply into each other’s
eyes, until eventually Kerry broke the spell.

“There you go, is that better?” she whispered, breathlessly.

“Yep,” he replied.  Owen nodded slowly and brought his
own calloused hand down over the top of Kerry’s.  “Much better, thank
you.”

Slowly, he lowered both their hands and moved his head
towards hers.  At first, Kerry shrank back, her heart pounding, her breath
shallow, but Owen reassuringly stroked her smooth blonde hair with his other
hand.  Slowly, he moved his hand to her neck and started to caress it with
his thumb, all the time moving closer.  The moment that their lips met
Kerry knew that it was a mistake, the build-up had been electrifying, but the
kiss made her stomach turn violently. 

After a few seconds of Owen’s thick, wet lips on hers, Kerry
tried to pull away.  He was insistent though, the hand on the back of her
head urging it forward.  Kerry pushed a hand against his chest to lever
herself away, but he was too strong.  Suddenly, his tongue was parting her
own dry lips, attempting to force it into her mouth.  With an almighty
heave, Kerry pushed him away from her.  Gasping for breath she looked to
one side and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry Owen. I shouldn’t have done that, it’s not
right,” she gasped.

Owen moved a hand on the back of her head, as if to start
again.  “Look, your marriage is over, don’t worry.”

Kerry shoved him hard this time.  “No Owen I mean
it.  I don’t want you to kiss me anymore. It should never have
happened.  I’m sorry, but I don’t think of you in that way.  I was
just feeling down. You're a very attractive man and everything, but I can’t I’m
sorry.”  She stood up and tried to get up the steps, but Owen didn’t move
to let her past.

“It’s not fair. You can’t just lead me on like that, rubbing
your bloody cream into my face, giving me all the come on signals.  You
wanted it as much as I did!” he spat at her, his face white with fury, the scar
red and angry against it.

“I know and I’m sorry.  I thought that it was what I
wanted, but it wasn’t.  Please Owen let me go in. I'm getting cold out
here.”  Her eyes were full of tears now.  She realised that she had
probably just made the biggest mistake ever.

“Go on then, get back inside to your loneliness.”

“I am sorry Owen, truly I am.”  Kerry made to put her
hand on his arm, but then changed her mind.

Practically hurdling the three steps
she got inside the caravan and collapsed against the door.  Tears were now
streaming down her cold cheeks.  Kerry heard Owen’s footsteps brush
through the grass, and then stop; she reached up and bolted the door.  She
sat back against it again, waiting for the knock.   It didn’t come,
but the footsteps resumed, until eventually she heard the house door slam shut.

Slowly, Kerry hauled herself up, all the time breathing
deeply as her hearted pounded underneath her coat and jumper.  She checked
all the windows and then poured herself a very large glass of wine, almost
knocking it back in one go.

“You really are a stupid cow at times Kerry,” she
admonished, pouring herself another glass of wine, frightened at what could
have happened tonight.

When Charlotte had left Niall’s house, she drove straight
round to Bets’ flat, only stopping on the way to buy the biggest bottle of wine
that she could find.

On opening the door Bets knew that she had been right to
stay in her pyjamas; they weren’t going anywhere tonight.  She took the
bottle from Charlotte and trailed into the kitchen, her friend following
closely behind.

“Well what’s happened then?” she asked, thrusting a large
glass into Charlotte’s hand.

“It was horrible, worse than I imagined that it would
be.  He looked gorgeous wearing just his jeans and obviously, no
underwear.”  They both flopped on the sofa as Charlotte took a huge gulp
of wine.  “And she was there, draped around him like poison ivy.  I
could kill Paul for making me go over there.”

“I must say that I’m surprised that he did.  Your
miserable face and moodiness over the last few weeks must have given him some
clue as to how upset you’ve been.”

“Have I been that bad?” Charlotte asked, as she brushed her
fringe from her eyes.

Bets nodded solemnly.  “’Fraid so.”

“God I’m sorry.  I didn’t realise, then again, I didn’t
realise that he’d had such an effect on me.  It really hurts Bets.”

Bets rubbed Charlotte’s arm gently.  “I know
sweetheart, but it will get better.  Anyway I think that he still has
feelings for you.”

Charlotte’s eyes opened wide as she shook her head
vigorously.  “Oh no, I don’t think so.  You didn’t see the look in
his eyes when he stared at me; he hates me.”

“He may not think he likes you very much at the moment, but
I don’t think that he hates you.  Ingrid obviously thinks that there is
something going on.”  Bets leaned forward and refilled Charlotte’s glass.

“What makes you say that, Bets?” Charlotte asked.  She
took a large sip from her wine, almost emptying the glass.

“Look, Niall won’t have told her what went on, yet she still
felt it necessary to protect her property when you called to the house
tonight.  She must have picked up from Niall himself how he feels about
you.”

“Maybe, but that was before.  I don’t think she has any
reason to worry now.  Anyway, I need the loo, be back in a jiffy.”

As Charlotte disappeared, Bets thought of her situation with
Niall.  Bets would put money on the fact that he still cared for
her.  The man was willing to give up his fiancée, who also happened to be
his boss, for her.  Bets thought that Charlotte was definitely a lot more
than a quick fling as far as Niall was concerned.

Charlotte reappeared, and flung herself next to Bets.  “Grant
says that they’ve booked the wedding you know.” 

“Yeah right.”

“No, really I believe him.  I know when he’s lying,
remember.

“It may not have been Niall’s idea,” replied Bets, trying to
sound upbeat.

“Maybe, he did say that she liked to get her own way. 
Oh well there’s nothing that I can do about it now.  Once again, I’ve
fallen for the wrong person.  We should give up on men Bets, let’s face
it. They either die or marry someone else; we’re just not very good at it are
we?”  She drained her glass once more and held it out for Bets to fill it
up.  “Life just isn’t fair.”

Bets sighed heavily.  “No, Charlotte your right, life
isn’t fair.  If it was lawnmowers would come equipped with vibrators.”

Bets spent all day on Saturday nursing Charlotte’s
hangover.  She rubbed her back while she was being sick and made her drink
lots of glasses of water.  Charlotte finally felt fit enough to go home at
around 5 p.m.  Because Charlotte had taken all her time and attention,
poor old Alfred had been rather neglected.  This was the reason that Bets
was now taking him for a long walk in the local woods.  So armed with a
flask of tea and biscuits for herself, and a ball and dog chew for Alfred, Bets
was determined to wear him out.

As she wandered through the woods, Bets began to think about
where she was in her life and what, if anything, she had achieved.  Yes,
she had a nice car and flat and had her own business; however, they were only
material things.  They weren’t what she truly wanted out of life; what she
actually wanted was a good man who loved her.  She had always fought
against a serious relationship, mainly because she was frightened of being
abandoned.  Lately, though she had begun to realise that being hurt was
all part of life, it helped to make you the person you were.  Probably,
why, Bets realised, that she was usually so bad at being around those that were
upset.  She couldn’t handle it and never knew what to say.  Bets knew
that she had supported Charlotte over the last couple of weeks, but somehow
that had been easy, she’d known what Charlotte needed, with anyone else she was
hopeless.

When her dad had died, Bets hadn’t known how to cope with
her grieving mother, she’d had her own feelings to deal with.  Hence they
had hardly communicated for six months.  Friends and neighbours were there
to help her mum through the bad times, but not Bets.  At least, they had
become close again before her mum had died, although when she did pass away
Bets hated her for a short time; she’d left her all alone.

For years, right from being a teenager, Bets had acted hard
and controlled, but that was wearing a little thin now.  What she really
wanted was someone around who would love and cherish her, open doors for her,
someone who would rub her aching back and tell her how beautiful she was but
also tell her when she was wrong.  Bets was tired of being strong and
feisty with only Alfred to care about.  Maybe Stuart was the one to fulfil
all those things, but look how that turned out.  She hoped that he wasn’t,
otherwise all she had to look forward to being years of spinsterhood.

She carried on through the woods, occasionally throwing
Alfred the ball, until it started to go chilly.  Whistling to Alfred, she
made her way back along the path to her car, deciding that tonight was going to
be an early night with a book.  Sod the fact that it was Saturday, and she
should be out on the town like all the other girls.  It wouldn’t do any
harm to practice being a lonely old spinster for once.

As she approached the apartments, Bets noticed a huge lorry
parked outside on the car park, blocking her entry.  Bets pulled up on the
other side to the road and walked across to see what was happening.  As
she could have guessed Mrs Blair was there talking with the driver.

“Hello dear, as you can see we have a problem.  This
young man tried to turn his truck around in our car park and has now broken
down.  He’s on the telephone to his boss right now trying to get a
mechanic out.”  Mrs Blair volunteered the information quite freely, without
any prompting.

“Okay,” Bets sighed.  “I’ll park over the road for the
time being.”  Bets walked back across the busy road to her car.  She
could see Alfred whining at the window, obviously desperate for the toilet.

“Alright Alfred, come on then,” she said as she unlocked the
door.

Grabbing hold on his collar, she took him across the
pavement to the park, but then suddenly remembered that she had left the
plastic bags for his mess in the car. 

“Stay Alfred!” she commanded, pointing at the spot where Alfred
was now stooping, and she walked back to retrieve the bags.

Leaning into the boot she heard a very loud wolf
whistle.  Used to such things she ignored it at first, but then it
shrilled again.  She looked around to see Tom standing across the road,
wearing a tracksuit with a holdall slung over his shoulder.

“Dirty pig!” she called across the traffic.  “Anyway,
what are you doing here?”

“Duh, I’ve just been out to dinner.  Where do you think
I’ve been?”

“The gym around the corner perhaps, but that doesn’t explain
what you are doing outside my flat.”

“Car park was full so used yours, but am beginning to wish I
hadn’t,” he laughed, nodding towards the broken-down truck. 

“I suppose you’d better come in for a cuppa then,” shouted
Bets.  “Unless of course, you’ve got a hot date and need a lift home.”

“Nah, not tonight she’s washing her hair…” Suddenly a look
of horror passed over Tom’s face.  Afterwards, it was the only thing that
Bets could remember, because everything else became a blur.

“ALFRED, NO STAY!”  Tom shouted.

He held out his hand, hoping that it would signal to the dog
to stay on the other side of the road.  However, Alfred thought that his
friend wanted to play and dashed out in front of the speeding vehicle.

Bets had tried to grab hold of his collar, but he was too
quick for her, and she seemed to be moving in slow motion.  The sickening
thud and screech of tyres resounded in her ears.  She bolted out to the
middle of the road, only to be pulled back by Tom, who had also rushed across
to the scene.

“Bets no, stay there let me look.”  Tom’s face was
ashen as, he bent down to look at Alfred.

“I’m so sorry; it just ran out in front of me.  Is it
okay?”  The driver of the mini was the same colour as Tom.  He was grabbing
Bet’s arm, pleading in his eyes that she accepted his apology.

“He’s not an ‘it’. He's called Alfred!” she screamed at
him.  “Tom, is he all right, please tell me he’s fine."  Tears
careered down her face.  Ringing her hands together, she felt desolate and
helpless for her scruffy little dog.

“Quick Bets, open the car.  He’s still breathing; we’ll
take him to the vets.”  Tom took his sweat top off and wrapped it around
the bleeding Alfred.  Bets simply stood frozen to the spot.  “Bets,
move it now!” Tom bellowed.

Bets quickly came around, pure adrenalin spurring her
on.  She unlocked the car and Tom carefully laid Alfred on the back seat.

“Get in the back with him and give me the keys.  I’ll
drive,” shouted Tom, desperately trying to get the words into Bet’s head.

Bets allowed herself to be pushed inside the car, unaware of
the crowd gathered on both sides of the road, including Mrs Blair, the truck
now forgotten.

They made the fifteen minute journey in five, passing
through two red lights on the way.  Tom was grateful that there was no
police or oncoming traffic.  He screeched to a halt outside the vet’s
surgery, leaving the car across three parking spaces.  Gently, but
quickly, he took Alfred from the back seat and rushed inside, hoping that Bets
was following.  She slowly lagged behind, almost hysterical now; not
wanting to go in order to be told her dear little dog was dead.  When she
got to the reception, Alfred had already gone into the vet, and Tom was pacing
up and down.  As she edged her way across the cold, tiled floor Tom moved
towards her, placing a protective arm around her shoulder.

“Come on sit down.”  He manoeuvred her towards a hard
wooden chair.

They sat with their heads close together, Tom clasping Bets'
hands tightly to stop them shaking.  After a silent twenty minutes, a
veterinary nurse approached them.

“Hello, I’m Becky.  Mr Braithwaite, the vet, has asked
me to let you know what the situation is.  Your dog is quite poorly, but
we’re not sure just yet how much damage has been done to his internal
organs.  So because of that, he’s going to operate straight away. 
The good thing is most of the blood was superficial, from the grazing on his
side” Tom felt Bets wince, at the memory of Alfred skidding across the
road.  “So, we’ll let you know when we have more details.  Now, can I
get you both a warm drink?”

Bets shook her head, but Tom nodded.  “Please.”

As the nurse disappeared, Bets turned to Tom her eyes
brimming with tears.  “It’s my fault.  I should have put him on his
lead, but we’d been to the woods, and I didn’t take it with me.  What if
he dies Tom, he’s my little baby, I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to
him,” she sobbed into Tom’s shoulder.

“Ssh, listen to me; it’s not your fault.  I feel as
guilty as you, he was running to me don’t forget.  He thought that I was
there to play.”  Tom’s voice faltered as he tried to calm her down. 
“Anyway, if anyone is to blame it’s the car drive.  He was going way too
fast for that road.”

At that moment, the nurse reappeared, holding two steaming
mugs of tea.  She passed one to Tom and then very carefully placed one in
Bets' hand, folding her fingers around it.  Happy that Bets had a grip of
the mug, she bent down and whispered in Tom’s ear.

“I put a few sugars in your wife’s, for the shock you know.”

Tom smiled kindly at her and nodded.  As she left he
turned to face Bets.  “She thinks that we’re married,” he giggled, as he
nudged Bets, gently with his elbow, bringing a weak smile to her face.

“God, she must think that I’m a cradle snatcher,” she tried
to joke.

“Yeah well you don’t look like your age.”

They sat in silence again, taking gulps of their tea as they
waited for news on Alfred.  Tom shivered, glad for the warmth from the mug
of tea; he was dressed just in a T-shirt, and tracksuit bottoms.

“God I bet you’re freezing aren’t you?” Bets asked, looking
at him from over the top of her mug.  “I’ll buy you a new sweatshirt to
replace your other one.”

“Ah don’t worry about it, it was a good cause.”

And after that they were silent again, waiting and waiting
for someone to come and tell them that there was nothing that they could do;
two hours later the vet appeared.

Still in his gown, Mr Braithwaite pulled up a chair opposite
Bets; she immediately let out a gasping sob.

“Hey come on,” he soothed, rubbing her arm gently. 
“I’m not that ugly am I?  Okay, don’t answer that one.”  He smiled
warmly as Bets wiped her nose and gave a watery one in return.  “Well he’s
a lucky little dog.  He’s very scarred on his left-hand side, which is why
there was so much blood, but internally everything seems to be fine.  He
did have a slight perforation of his bowel, but I’ve managed to repair
that.  He’s very strong so should make a full recovery after a couple of
days in here for observation.”

Bets face broke into a huge smile as she leaned across to
hug Mr Braithwaite tightly.  “Thank you so much, I can’t believe he’s
going to be okay.  I really thought that… ” Bets started to cry again,
this time more with relief than fear.

“I know, sometimes things look worse than they actually
are.  You and your husband should at least get some sleep now.”

Bets nodded solemnly, and Tom opened his mouth to add that
they weren’t married, but somehow it didn’t really matter.

“Can I see him before we go?” Bets asked, getting to her
feet.

“I’d leave it tonight; he’s still asleep and doesn’t look
very pretty where he’s been shaved.  Come back tomorrow, someone will be
here between eleven and three.”

Tom now stood up too and held out his hand to Alfred’s
saviour.  “Thank you again, we really appreciate it.”

“No problem, I’ll see you out.”

Tom drove more sedately back to Bet’s flat.  The relief
was immense for both, but exhausted they travelled in silence.  As he
approached the building, Tom noticed that the truck had now disappeared. 
The street was deserted and quiet with no indication of the previous
trauma.  He pulled into the car park and turned the engine off; sitting
back in his seat Tom heaved a sigh of relief.

“Do you fancy a cuppa?”  Bets asked, staring
unblinkingly at the spot where Alfred was injured.

“What time is it?” Tom asked, glancing down at the clock in
the dashboard.  “Nine o’clock; yeah okay why not.  I’ve missed my
date anyway.”

“I thought you said that she was washing her hair?” 
Bets turned sharply towards him.

Tom grinned back at her.  “She probably is now.”

Opening the front door it was strange not to have Alfred
jumping up in delight.  Bets instantly felt the emptiness in the flat and
shuddered as coldness enveloped her.  She flicked on the lamp, and bent
down to turn the gas fire on.  She turned to Tom, realising that he too
must be frozen.

“Come and sit here next to the fire and get warmed up. 
You must be perished in just a T-shirt.  Do you want to borrow a sweater?
I've got a man’s jumper somewhere in my wardrobe.”

Tom smiled weakly.  “Who did it belong to; it wasn’t
Stuart’s was it?”

Bets shook her head in disgust.  “No, and what if it
was?  You’re not going to drop dead just because you wear his jumper you
know.”  She disappeared to her room to retrieve the thick woolly
jumper.  “Here,” she said, throwing it at him.  “It was my dad’s if
you must know.”

Tom realising that he couldn’t really refuse the proffered
garment shuddered as he pulled it over his head.  “Thanks,” was his
muffled call.

Bets was about to go into the kitchen, when the doorbell
rang.  She went to answer it to be greeted by Charlie.  He was
carrying Tom’s sport bag that had been rescued from the pavement by Mrs Blair.

“Come in Charlie,” said Bets, smiling weakly at the little
man.

“Oh Elizabeth, how is he?  I’ve been frantic waiting
for you to come back.”

Bets relayed everything to Charlie, watching him physically
relax with every word.

“Oh thank goodness,” he gasped, patting his chest.  “We
can rest easy now.  Well take care and give him a cuddle from me.” 
He moved toward the door, eager to tell his wife the news.