In The Name Of Love (4 page)

His knee knocked against her leg as he leaned over to give
her the card, but she did not pull it away and he saw no reaction on her face
as she said, "Thank you for the card, I will certainly call you if I hear of
anything."

Grant could feel the warmth of her leg against his, and he
looked more closely at her as she sipped her tea. It was difficult to judge her
age, but he guessed she was about mid-forties, and dressed extremely well. He
could see the curls of her hair below her hat were tight to her head and neck
and guessed they were the result of a recent perm, but they looked fresh and
bouncy.

Her makeup was immaculate, the lipstick on her wide mouth hardly
damaged from her tea and cakes. He looked at her gleaming white cotton blouse,
buttoned to the neck beneath her open jacket, and through a gap between two
buttons he saw the top of her large bosom rise and lower with each breath.

He dropped his hands to see if he could adjust his trousers
beneath his napkin as they were now bulging with an untimely erection, but
before he could sort the problem he heard his wife say in a polite but accusing
tone, "There you are, I couldn't find you."

Grant jumped to his feet, keeping the napkin before the
offending presence of his aroused nether regions, and said, "Hello love, how
are you? April, this is Joyce Worthington, a long-time friend and close
neighbour of my mother some years ago." Turning to Joyce he said, "Joyce, this
is my beautiful wife, April."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," said April, who looked
anything but pleased. She kept pushing her long blonde hair back over her
shoulders, then tossing her head and bringing it forward once more.

"Hello April, I'm so pleased to meet you. Grant has been
telling me how happy he is to be married. And just look at you, a real little
angel with that beautiful long hair. Come and sit down here beside me, and I'll
order some more tea," said Joyce, patting the chair to her right that was
opposite Grant's chair.

April put her shopping bags on the vacant chair, and sat
down with obvious reluctance, but Joyce gave no sign that she noticed. Smiling
at April, she said, "Did you have any luck finding a place today?"

"No, not a thing, and I've been travelling on buses and
trains, and now I'm quite worn out, so a cup of tea will be most welcome."

Grant said, "Joyce has lived in Stockport for many years,
and she's going to let us know if she hears of a nice place."

April gave her a little smile and said, "Thank you that
would be great."

"Well, I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best for
you. It sounds like you are keen to move away from Leeds."

"You've no idea how much," said April, with a long look
across at her husband, "I have been trying to get away from home for almost two
years."

"Aren't you happy there? It must be rotten, if you're
unhappy, even living with your family. I know I couldn't wait to leave home
myself, and married Cyril when I was only nineteen years old."

"It's not so much that I'm unhappy living with my mum, it's
just that I've lived there all my life, and it is time for a move before I go
mad."

Grant poured another cup of tea, and let the ladies take
over the conversation while he watched them both. He tried to keep his eyes off
Joyce's heaving bosom, which seemed larger by the minute, because he knew his
wife's eagle eyes didn't miss a trick. She'd give him hell on the way home, if
she thought he paid too much attention to another woman—even if it was on a
woman more than twice her own age.

Finally, he looked at his watch and nodded to his wife.
Turning to Joyce as he stood up, he said, "Thank you for the tea and cakes, it
will be our turn next time. I have to rush, because I've an appointment with a
company in Oldham, who are keen to start a pension."

Joyce didn't rise, but shook his hand, and then after
shaking hands with April, she held on to her hand and said, "I'll do my best to
find you a place, my dear, and I'll let you know the minute once comes on the
market. I will also talk to Cyril about it, because he knows everybody in
Stockport, and if there's a property on the market, he'll be the first to know."

"Thank you," said April, encouraged by the news and enthused
by her positive attitude. "It has been a pleasure to meet you. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," said Joyce, waving to them as they left the café.

"Well, she seems very nice," said April as they went down in
the lift.

"She's okay. My mother really liked her, I think."

"I hope she can find a place, because I'm at my wits end."

"Never mind, love, by tonight, I may have my first company
pension scheme in my briefcase!"

She'd heard this too many times to be excited about it, but
she summoned up an enthusiastic smile and held his arm as they walked to the
car through the many shoppers wending their way home.

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. They arrived home
very late, and his mother-in-law, Mrs. Edna Harrison had gone to bed, leaving a
note on the kitchen table explaining their dinner was in the oven, and most
likely spoiled.

The meeting in Oldham had dragged on for almost two hours,
and April was fuming by the time he returned. She would not listen to a word
about the meeting and simply said, "Grant, I'm very tired, bored, and cold, so
take me home without talking, or it will just start a row, with the mood I'm
in..."

He drove home as fast as he could in his old car, and was
disappointed with her attitude. He'd suggested she come into the offices and
wait in the reception area for the meeting to finish, but she did not like
meeting new people, especially at the end of the day when she was worn out and
disappointed.

The sat at the kitchen table eating warm shepherd's pie,
which was quite dry and hard around the edges, but nevertheless it was tasty
and filled their empty stomachs. There was no conversation during the meal, and
when she was finished, April stood up and said, "I'm going on up to bed. How
long will you be?"

"I want to write out my report on the meeting, so I can take
it to the office in the morning, and then I'll be right up."

"I didn't ask what you'll be doing, I asked, when will you
be coming upstairs," she snapped with a tired stare.

"Sorry love, I wasn't thinking. I will be about thirty
minutes, that's all."

With a sniff and a toss of her shoulder length blond hair
set with bouncy waves and curls, she left the room.

Grant stared at the closed door, wondering how much longer
he could put up with her moody attitude and harsh manner. She really was a
living doll to look at, with her perfectly proportioned petite figure, and the
porcelain features of her heart-shaped face with the cupid bow lips that she
kept glossy red.

The problem was her increasing tendency for shrewish
comments, and her constant nagging at him when he failed to produce the sales
and income he promised. She was very ambitious and when she first met Grant, he
was a newly appointed manager with the insurance company and their future
success seemed assured.

As the months dragged on into years, she became more
demanding and less happy with everything, and Grant knew that unless he could
turn their finances around in the next few months, their relationship was
doomed to turn into a nightmare.

He had been facing her cold back in bed for almost six
months now, while she denied him his conjugal rights, because of the immodest
attention she said he was paying towards her mother. As he sat at the table,
looking at his blank report while sucking on his pen, he thought how her
attitude, especially in bed, was only making things worse. This was because the
colder April became towards him, the warmer and more eager and attentive her
mother, Edna seemed.

Edna was a buxom, 42-year old working class Yorkshire woman,
who didn't hesitate in calling a spade a spade. When she came into the kitchen
one evening a few months ago, he was having a row with April about her stopping
their sexual activities, and she understood at once what was going on and
jumped right in by saying, "You better shape up, young girl, because you've got
a handsome young man as your husband, and if you carry on like that it can only
end up in tears."

"Oh shut up, mother, you just don't understand," April had
snapped.

"I understand alright, and if you don't want him in your
bed, there are plenty of women who'll welcome him into theirs."

"Starting with you, I suppose," snapped April, putting her
hand up to her mouth in shock the moment her words were out, and wishing she
could recall them.

"I'd have him in split-second, but we both know that's not
going to happen, so stop your stupid rambling. You don't know what you're
saying, or the damage your words can cause."

Instead of apologising to her mother, April rushed out the
room, saying over her shoulder, "You can have him, then, I don't want him."

Grant followed her upstairs with just a shrug towards Edna;
and it was a long cold night with no reprieve, because April kept her back to
him and refused to speak at all. Since that day, Edna seemed to go out of her
way to annoy April and lead her on by paying too much attention to him. She
would give him the best portions at meal times; sit on the sofa next to him
during the evenings, even holding his hand on occasion.

 Then she started with the morning kisses, which Grant
thought were just to annoy April. And maybe they were at first. But this last
week or two, she'd become more amorous than before; even to the extent of
pressing her scantily clad body into his during the clinches.

It was becoming
embarrassing, because with the lack of sexual activity his early morning
erections were harder than he'd known and lasted much longer. Edna seemed to be
aware of this, and used every opportunity to take advantage of his condition.

He was most hopeful of getting the order from the company in
Oldham, and perhaps this would turn everything in his favour. If they could
also find a nice place to live and move away from Leeds, that would be the
icing on the cake. He picked up his pen once again, and set about completing
his report.

When he climbed into bed some twenty minutes later, he could
tell from her breathing that April was asleep, so he lay on his back thinking…

The next morning Joyce was up early as usual, cooking a
large breakfast for Cyril, who insisted on going to work with a full stomach.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning newspaper and had very
little to say.

She slipped a plate filled with sausage, eggs and bacon
before him and pushed the laden toast rack closer, before pouring herself a cup
of tea and sitting down opposite him. Sipping on the tea, she watched him eat
his meal with the occasional nod and grunt of appreciation, and she couldn't
help smiling.

Life was good for them, apart from the occasional upset
caused by her nemesis, Beryl Bainbridge, and she didn't want things to change.
Despite his moaning, Cyril earned a good salary with excellent annual bonuses,
and neither of them was extravagant with money, so she was sure there was a
good little nest egg in his bank account.

She wasn't sure how much, because he
was old fashioned about domestic finances, but he gave her an excellent monthly
allowance, which she never managed to completely spend.

If only she could find some way to stop his wandering hands
at the office.

Once he'd left for work, giving her the standard perfunctory
peck on the cheek, she slipped on her coat and walked down the avenue. It was
only a short walk around the block to the cottage that was to let, and she was
pleased to note the sign was still in place. After making a note of the Estate
Agency name and phone number, she went home.

An hour later she called the agents and learned that it was
still available, so without wasting another second, she called Grant's home
number.

"Hello, Grant. I'm sorry to call you so early, but I wanted
to let you and April know the cottage near my home is still available."

"Oh, that is good news, thanks for letting me know."

"What I suggest is that you and April come by for lunch this
morning, and I can arrange an early afternoon viewing for you. What do you
think?"

"That is most helpful, Joyce. Remind me of your address
again…"

"Now then, Grant, how many times did you visit as a
teenager? You know where I live, you've been here often enough."

"Yes, of course. Alright then, we'll see you about 12:30
today. Is that okay?"

"That's fine. I look forward to meeting you again. Bye!"

-o-

Grant sat back in his chair, drinking his coffee after
enjoying an excellent light lunch. Across the dining room table he watched
Joyce and April chatting away like old friends, with his wife checking the time
on her watch every five or ten minutes, to make sure they weren't late for
their viewing appointment.

April was some ten-inches shorter than Joyce and
less than half her age, but these differences didn't seem to concern either
woman. He was pleased to see them so comfortable with each other, because it
kept the pressure off him, but knowing Joyce he was not so sure of her motives.
"Perhaps she's just being kind and helpful for old time's sake; after all,
she was quite a good friend to my mother…"

His thoughts drifted about, until at last Joyce stood up and
said, "Come along, then, let's go and look at this cottage."

April was out of her chair like a racing greyhound and into
the hall, slipping on her coat before Grant could move. He smiled and hoped the
house was going to be suitable.

He walked behind the two women, walking arm in arm like
mother and daughter, and setting a good pace. In a few minutes they were at the
cottage. It was a pre-war bungalow set in large grounds, with the front lawn
freshly cut and the flower beds newly dug. When he approached the building,
however, he could see the woodwork was shabby with peeling paint and bare wood
showing in places.