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When It Snows Ch. 01

By: Spencerfiction



The sudden cold snap at the beginning of March caught everyone on the hop, even though the Met Office had been forecasting snow for a week and were very specific in the detail of their forecast just the night before the snow came. 

So I woke that morning to about two inches of very icy snow sitting on top of half an inch of solid ice from earlier rain falling onto frozen ground. It was very windy in sharp gusts and the tiny ice crystals of snow were blowing into drifts up to a foot deep. The Council had been sending gritting lorries up and down the Esplanade all night. I knew that for a fact, I saw them trundling by and spraying me with sharp rock crystals on my way home just after midnight from the Pizza Dreem shop in the High Street after an evening's casual temp work doing pizza deliveries for bang on the minimum wage.

I had to make my way back into the High Street again first thing in the morning to see if the Acme Placement Bureau could find me another couple of days' casual work this week, Harinder from the pizza shop had already said he didn't need me any more as his "sick dude was now okaydoky", as he put it. 

The monthly mortgage and ground rent on my place were both due on Friday and I was more or less an Isaac short. Also, I had to walk down to the Bureau that morning even though the pavements down the streets were like sheets of glass. 

My piece-of-shit 20-odd-year-old classic Jaguar XJ12 rust-bucket gas-gurgling excuse for a fucking motorcar packed up last week and I had no way of repairing it or of even getting it home from where I left it conked out miles away on the by-pass. I had asked my old mate Macleod to pick it up and take it to his shop a couple of days ago but he just laughed at me. One favour too many on my part I guess.

When I was a kid, fifty years ago now, my parents brought me, Barry Chamberlain, and my two older brothers and a sister down to this resort every single summer. There used to be a rather rundown holiday camp on the outskirts of the town and, although tacky as tuppence, it was perfect for young families who didn't have the resources for much else. Us kids were organised into various activities all day so we were knackered and slept like corpses by nightfall. There was entertainment and cheap booze laid on for the parents in the evening, with chalet patrols on hand to ensure the kids were safe asleep. We kids loved those visits to the seaside, our mums and dads loved it too, and the owners loved it most of all, so they could have their holidays in the Caribbean. 

When I had kids of my own, two boys from my first marriage, we brought them down here regularly. Even brought my second wife and kid down too for a while when Katherine was a small girl, Shirley and I both sharing similar memories of our parents bringing us here when we were kids, although we never actually met each other back then.

So there I was, six years ago at the age of 52, with no family around (Shirley, the second missus had fucked off after an affair with her boss, my daughter thereafter wanted fuck-all to do with me and, of my first family, one boy had gone gas drilling to Canada, the other to Australia for aquatic research, the first missus? Fuck-knows or cares where she went). 

Thus I decided to move to the resort that held such wonderful memories for me to live permanently. I didn't just go blind, I took out a 70% loan at stupid-fucking-percent interest for the 30-year lease of a small cafe with a two-bed apartment and a tiny studio flat above, pulled on a masculine pinnie and a chef's hat and thought I was set comfortably making all-day breakfasts and basic short order lunches for the rest of my natural fucking life.

Then shit happened. The recession meant that crowds of tourists stopped coming to the resort. My cafe was a bit off the beaten track so I stopped getting the overflow I used to get from the High Street and Esplanade trade. So subsequently I was forced to close up my lovely cafe and the larger of the two flats. I was still paying the swindling arsehole shyster bastards at the fucking bank for the exorbitant lease on the whole crap caboodle but at least I was able to sublease the shop and the main flat to a trader. He was a fucking great big guy called Donovan, selling customised printed tee-shirts on the Internet, so I was only left with the shithole studio flat which was almost impossibly squashed into the roof space. Still, I'll have the whole run of the place again at the end of the month when Donovan moves out to bigger premises. At least one company was thriving in the recession.

After about three months of absolutely fuck-all coming in after I closed the cafe, I was still having to pay the fucking bills, but I managed to get nearly two years of fractionally above minimum wage work in the packing department of a timber yard on the estuary next to the resort. Then, thanks to the downturn in the building industry, I got laid off by the six months ago, a full month before I automatically qualified for redundancy payment. The fucking cunts! Like I said, shit happens time after fucking time. 

Since then I had a total of four and a half days of work at minimum wage to my credit in six months. The debit side, which kept on happening, didn't bare fucking thinking about. At least I was able to bring home a spare pizza last night so I was able to have both supper and breakfast, which was a rarity of late. 

Even my bloody cat eats better than me, and he's not even my fucking cat. He came with the flat and when I moved out into the vacate studio in the attic above, which I had previously used for storage, he moved up there with me. I think he was intimidated by the big guy covered in tattoos and metal studs who moved into the shop and flat. I don't blame the cat, Donovan frightened the bejesus out of me too. It may have been the balance of the original 144 tins of tuna that was left in storage in the studio flat after the cafe went tits up that determined the cat's residential status. The fussy fucker wouldn't touch normal cat food, the first time I tried him on a tin of Whiskas, actually the very first day I moved in and became aware of my fauna inheritance, the fat bastard piddled in the corner of the sitting room, hence his rechristened name, Piddles. At least he didn't shit indoors, just every fucking inch of my fucking alleyway.

Anyway, Karen, the supercilious cunt down at the placement bureau, had fuck-all for me as was per fucking usual and then she dropped the bombshell that the pizza guy was unlikely to pay the bureau until the end of this week, so I wouldn't subsequently get paid until the end of fucking next week, which meant rent wise I was basically fucked.

I tripped grumpily down their narrow stairs. The bureau was situated in offices above an estate agents. As I came out of the doorway with my mind really concentrated elsewhere, I stepped onto the icy fucking pavement and went arse over tit and down like a sack of spuds dropped off a delivery truck. 

Oohff! I landed painfully on my thin bony arse and one of my not-so-funny-bone elbows, while my feet continued to describe a perfect arc and consequently the back of my head also struck the pavement with a resounding thud. I was carrying a haversack on one shoulder. It only carried my empty wallet, a much-used litre bottle refilled with tap water for refreshment and half a dozen fucking library books which I needed to return that very day to avoid the overdue fines that I couldn't afford to pay if I left them one more bloody day. 

That damn heavy bag swung around and, like a cunt, it landed right on the tip of my fucking nose. Bastard thing! I was lying there, me, an old guy pushing 60 and every able-bodied younger bugger walking by ignoring me, or worse, taking the fucking piss. I could hear them, although not see anything, all I could see were stars. Even if there had been real stars in the sky I wouldn't've been able to see 'em, though, because my stupid woolly hat with ear flaps had somehow got pushed over my eyes, which were watering like fuck anyway.

"Are you alright?" asked a kindly, gentle sweet woman's voice. 

I felt a warm hand grip one of mine comfortingly.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled as I tried to get back up, feet and knees ineffectively scrambling for traction on the ice until I could at least get on my knees and drag myself up by the crumbling brickwork between the doorway and display window of the estate agents. My threadbare sweatpants were very wet from the snow and ice.

When I finally got up, I pushed the hat off my milky grey eyes and was confronted by a pair of crystal clear brilliant blue eyes reminiscent of a Norwegian fjord bathed in mid-summer sunlight.

"You don't look too good, Baz," the lovely lady continued, an amused smile playing on the upturned edges of her full crimson lips.

"Oh fuck!" I said.

"Oh!" she briefly pouted, before returning to her amused smile, "Not quite the welcome I have become accustomed to receiving from younger men who have fallen prostrate at my delicate feet."

"I meant, 'Oh fuck!' meaning you were the last f-frigging person I expected to see here, Shirl," I muttered, trying to bite my tongue to avoid saying anything unredeemably offensive.

"Why so surprised to see me, honey? We both used to love coming here for days out and for our summer holidays," she said, "Remember? Back in the day?"

"Well that was a long fucking time ago." I had forgotten I was trying to moderate my frigging language.

"And I have regretted what happened to us everyday since we stopped coming here together," she reduced her voice to a whisper, "You know you were the only man I ever truly loved."

"Yeah, until you fucked me over by shagging your cheating fucking boss. He was the one who could afford to get you the kinda lawyers who took me to the fucking cleaners, while my own legal representative, who hadn't even started shaving yet, was happy to suck your brief's arse while selling me down the bastard river into white fucking slavery. They got out of me every fucking bit of shit I had, they were so thorough I can still smell that fucking enema."

"Honey, I was acting on legal advice," she said calmly and soothingly, "Henry was just making sure I got everything I was entitled to."

"Well I hope the pair of you are very fucking happy!" I bit off at that point, looking around for my wayward fucking haversack. 

As I picked it up, a stream of fucking tap water poured out of the bottom of the fucking thing and froze solid the moment it hit the fucking pavement.

"Fuck!!!"

I wrenched open the toggles and pulled out the four-fifths empty water bottle, the cap having gone completely fucking AWOL. Then I pulled out the first library book. It was like a bath sponge, water running out the bottom corner in a continuous stream of freezing saline water.

"Double fucking fuck!!!" 

No way those fucking library books were going back today or any day soon with no heating at the flat since the gas was cut off by the fuckers at the gas company. I felt feint all of a sudden. My wet fingers were freezing cold from the wind chill factor. I hadn't been eating much lately, just the slice of pizza this morning and a couple of slices late last night. The day before that, me and Piddles shared a can of tuna, which pissed him off no end. He definitely had sharing issues, especially where I was concerned. I guess I had the same sharing issues with Shirley, six years previously.

I felt a drip of moisture on the end of my nose. Just this last couple of winters I had noticed that my nose just ran like a bastard all the time when it was cold, another sign of old age, I guess. I always remember my old grandfather continually putting a soiled damp checkered hanky to his nose when he walked me to church on a winter Sunday morning. With the state of my laundry I didn't have the luxury of a neatly-folded handkerchief, so I wiped the back of my hand along my nose and noticed it was blood that was flowing, not runny snot. I must've started a fucking nose bleed when I banged my fucking nose with my fucking bag. Sweet fuck!

I think Shirley must've thought I was going to fall over again. I wasn't conscious of swaying but in hindsight I guess I must've been. She tucked her arm around me and pulled me onto the middle of the pavement where the estate agency had thoughtfully tossed down some welcome grit and my worn-out trainer soles miraculously found some modicum of grip.

"Come on, hon," Shirley urged, "Let's get you back to your car and get you home and cleaned up. I'll even put a cold compress on that swan's egg that's popped up on the back of your head for you, and clean up your poor nose. Where's your car, honey?"

"On the sodding bypass," I said without thinking, "Piece of shit folded on me last week and I had to leave the bastard behind," I looked her fully in the eye, snarling, "Shit things like something I consider an important part of my life, just giving up on me, happens all the soddin' time, you know."

"Honey," she looked at me with those big baby blues and even I had to look away again, ashamed at the level of my bitter vindictiveness. I was still in pain and it had nothing to do with my head, nose or the stabbing pain in my sore arse cheeks. I was feeling agonising pains in my heart and soul. 

An ex-wife can do that to you, even after six years.

"My car's in the estate agents' car park," Shirley said, pulling me to the covered alleyway between the estate agents and the boarded-up shop that used to be "George's Greengrocers", well it was until the new convenience store two blocks up took away all his trade. As Shirley guided me through the alleyway, mercifully clear of snow, she fumbled in her handbag and extracted her car keys. We emerged into the low spring sunlight, she clicked the button and the lights on a brand-new Mercedes convertible flashed its "welcome home, honey" signal.

'Fucking shit bollocks!' was the thought instantly groaning through my foggy head. 

This shit was not at all supposed to be how this should have happened. I had dreamt of this scene hundreds of times, ever since Shirley fucking-well dumped me six years ago. In my fantasy it was her new fancy fucker husband who was the one who was supposed to be on his uppers, as all his investments went down the shitter with the economy; while she was supposed to be the poor fucking hard-done-by waif and stray that I picked up from her cardboard box alleyway home in my smart Mercedes or Jag or Aston DB-what-fucking-ever, apologetic that I could only drop her off at the Seaman's Mission or the Salvation Army centre because my new squeeze, a Russian/Swedish/French/Californian model currently on photo-shoot assignment in the Caribbean for next year's Pirelli Calendar, might hear of my good deed and get completely the wrong idea. 

That was the dream, I had rehearsed it over and over, night after fucking night. This wasn't a dream, it was a fucking nightmare.

"Which way, hon?" she asked at the car park exit.

"Left .... Right ... Left again at the bottom, third shop along ... Yeah this is it ... 'to-a-T-Shirts.com', this is my stop. Just drop me off, you can leave me here. Goodbye, Shirley, nice seein' you again, have a nice life." 

I was remembering how cold the flat was, the gas had been turned off by the gas company armed with a court order last week. I didn't know how long the electric would last, I was also three months behind on that, so it was only a matter of time. It was working OK when I warmed up the pizza in the microwave for breakfast but that was a couple of hours ago. It could be off already. 

Then there was also the smell. I ran out of kitty litter, ooh, I guess a month ago and had to break up a few lumps and rake over a corner of that disgusting dirt box with a fork for Piddles this morning. He gave me a dirty look before fussing around to do his usual business. That cat fucking hates me, but so what, the feeling's fucking mutual. 

I did have half a dozen pairs of rinsed out underpants hanging up in the tiny bathroom, I hadn't had any loose change for the launderette in the parade for the last couple of weeks, not did I have any soap powder or even a bar of soap. Last night when I looked they were stiff, frozen solid, but this morning at least one pair felt almost dry. It was very stained but at least it smelt more of Head'n'Shoulders than my arse, which was a vast improvement. 

I know I've got a hairy arse, but at least lately it's been flake-free.

Then there was the matter of the galley kitchen sink, it was full of every single plate and spoon I possessed. I even had to wash up a plate this morning for my pizza; had to use the shampoo for that too, no more fairy liquid. In fact, I hardly ever buy fairy fucking liquid, I can't afford that shit.

"I want to look at that head of yours, sweetheart," said Shirley. "Don't worry, I expect your place is a tip," Shirley chuckled good-naturally, "You guys!"

I took a few sneaky looks at her while we walked up the stairs. 

I was 58 and she was two years older than me, but there was no way in hell she looked 60. In anyone's currency she was 45 tops. She always looked after herself, down the gym a couple of times a week, running at weekends. Damn, I even used to run with her back in the day when I gave a fuck. 

I remembered we used to shower together afterwards and make sweet love in the afterglow of the exercise. A long time ago it was now. 

Shirley always dressed nice too, like the beautifully-tailored blue jacket and skirt and white blouse under her warm woollen top coat and scarf that adorned her adorable body now. She had her hair coiffured regularly, always made herself up to look effortlessly pretty glamorous. Well, she didn't have do it from a standing start like other women, she was already way prettier than average to begin with. 

She worked as a personal assistant to a high-profile businessman so she always needed to look the part. How she ended up married to a deadbeat like me is a mystery, both to me and everyone of my acquaintance. 

Even my own two near-teenage boys gave me high fives with a chorus of "Way to go, Dad", the first time I brought them over from their Mum's to meet and greet my then intended, a quarter of a century ago now. 

I just don't understand woman at all. I know Henry had money and power and all that fucking crap, but at the end of the day he was a short, bald, fat old guy with nothing appealing about him that I could see, other than enormous personal wealth and power, a nice car and able to take his girlfriends to really fucking nice places. 

I wondered where the fuck Henry was right now? Probably having a nice warm lie-in in the penthouse suite at the Grand Hotel, while his current missus, my fucking ex-, was helping me get my poor broken body up my rickety old iron outside staircase, covered in shitty seagull droppings, leading up to my own personal attic hideaway from hell.

Inside, I swear that little fucking flat is fully five degrees lower than it is on the outside, except in summer when it is at least ten degrees higher indoors under that stifling roof space. We entered the single room, straight from the front door, the combined stench of cat shit, cat urine and general damp, neglect and mildew hit me like a solid noxious wall, offending the senses like I imagine a Turkish urinal would, and I was fucking-well used to the fucking smell, so what Shirley must think ...

"Oh, you've got a pussy cat!" she said and, before I could stop her, she gathered the flea-infested bundle of sinew, teeth and deadly fucking claw in her arms. 

I cringed, waiting for the the fur and skin to fly, the screams, the blood, the mayhem, and eventual swingeing lawsuits, inevitable consequences once Henry got the fucking plastic surgery bills. 


When It Snows Ch. 01



No, that fucking cat only went and rolled over on its fucking back like a baby cradled in her arms, closing its eyes for Shirley to tickle its tummy and ... it fucking purred. That fucking cat never fucking purred for me. I fed the fucking thing prime fucking tuna and all it fucking did for me was scratch, bite and piddle or shit in the fucking corner of my flat when it needed to point out to me my particular shortcomings as a fucking pet owner, when I was never even a fucking pet owner in the first fucking place.

It must've been an automatic reaction, I dunno what made me do it, I just reached out with a tentative digit to tickle his furry lickle tummy with my finger. But then Piddles opened one eye, just the one, like the ever-watchful predator that he was, tempting the patience of a tasty vulture. Piddles glared at me, daring me to tickle him for the first time ever in our tempestuous acquaintance, we both knowing full well that he would lacerate my hand into lean red mincemeat the very second I was within claw-reach. I nodded to him, I could see it in his narrowed eye that he recognised the submissive gesture on my part as I moved my hand up, nowhere near ad seamlessly as I would like to project, to remove my furry fucking hat from my head instead.

Having tickled Piddles until he was purring louder than her blessed Merc had on the drive over, Shirley dropped him gently on one end of my saggy sofa and urged to me that I sit myself down at the other end. Shirley took off her coat and scarf, momentarily looking around for somewhere to put them, before draping them carefully over the back of the sofa, which was covered in fucking cat hairs. With a hand on each of my knees she lowered her slim athletic body onto her own knees right in front of me.

Before I could stop her she picked up a tissue from where it rested on the arm of the sofa and lifted it to those delicious red lips. She licked the end languorously, maintaining eye contact with me all the while, knowing she could turn a statue to mush and certain parts of a mush into solid rock. 

Then she stopped, recognising some remotely recalled taste from her memory banks, sniffed tentatively at that used tissue, before smiling knowingly at me. 

I groaned. I know what I did in that fucking tissue. She knew what I had done in that fucking tissue. More importantly she knew I fucking knew she knew. Shit!

She dropped the tissue on the floor, next to a couple or maybe seven other crumpled evidences of my lonely depravity. The opened DVD box entitled "Mature Lesbos in Furry Handcuffs" that I had plugged into the player two nights ago screamed "Fucking Pervert!" to any guest, whether they were invited or otherwise into my extremely humble and embarrassingly shitty abode.

"For fuck's sake, Shirl," I groaned once more, "It's agony, just seeing you, having you here like this as well is, well, torture."

She spotted the box of tissues tucked on the floor by the end of the sofa and tugged out a fresh tissue or two. Still smiling, she dabbed them on the tantalisingly moist tip of her hot wet tongue and wiped my nose for me like a snotty kid who had fallen off the swings yet again, the clumsy sod.

"Like 'mature lesbians', then, do we honey?" she enquired softly, moving her head nearer as she examined my face for any blood stains that had escaped her initial ministrations with the dampened tissue. "Or do the 'furry handcuffs' do it for you?"

"No, I, er, oh sh-sugar!" I said, "If you must know, I delivered some pizza to a bunch of hard-up students the other night and they gave me that thing in lieu of a proper tip."

"Any good?" she glanced around the floor, unconsciously totting-up. Yes, seven tissues in one sitting. I could imagine her wondering, did that rate a porn flick as two stars or three?

"No, it was absolute sh-crap," I stuttered, "Bugger all else to watch on the box, as I don't have cable any more."

"Well at least you can still get it ... up," she whispered, moving her lovely head and delicious lips even closer, so close I was becoming aware of her subtle scent, like a meadow full of summer wild blooms, a freshness which eclipsed even the stench of my humble hermit's hovel.

To be continued.



When It Snows Ch. 02



What the fuck? How did this happen? She was my bitch of an ex-wife, I didn't hate her but I didn't like her much either. OK, that wasn't quite true. But there is no denying that she had taken me to the fucking cleaners and wiped me from her life like a j-cloth of flash cleaner burnishing out a grimy tidemark on her enamel bath. What the fuck's going on here?

Before we knew what was going down, we were sucking each others tongues like a pair of demented intertwined cyclonic Dysons, tearing off our clothes like desperate teenagers with the folks gone up the shops for maybe ten minutes tops. 

I swear I must've popped a couple of buttons off her lacy blouse. I hitched her dress up and she pulled down my dishevelled sweatpants, my erection sprang up like a steel girder. I yanked the gusset of her delicate lace knickers to one side and she climbed up on the sofa and plunged down on me until our pelvic bones mashed together like two HGVs crossing the dividing line and hitting head on, both of us explosively expelling the air from our lungs.

Piddles jumped off his end of the sofa in shock at such goings on and hid under the bed. Shirley and I fucked each other like frantic may bugs. We were all over the place, completely out of sync with one another, each urgently trying to catch up with the other and failing, but failing wonderfully. 

I pushed up like a submerged mariner desperately fighting for air, she ground down on me like she needed to scratch an itch that she couldn't quite reach no matter how hard she tried. Our bodies steamed in that freezing flat like we were in a Swedish sauna, the sweat poured off us in streams like the flood running from my fucking library books. We came, not together like we used to when we were regular practised lovers, but untidily, spasming to our separate conclusions. 

I guess she beat me by a short head.

"What the fuck just happened, Shirl?" I puffed, the blood rushing back to my brain and logical thought belatedly trying to re-establish authority over my automatic bodily actions.

"Love, honey, love," grinned Shirley, still panting, as she continued to slowly grind our pelvises together, making little squealing noises as she did so. I had started to soften after coming but, still embedded in her slick velvet heaven, my response appeared to be stiffening once more under her minuscule movements.

"What about ... Henry?" I hated even mentioning his fucking bastard name, but I remembered how much pain I had felt when some other greedy randy male organ had trespassed into pussy territory that I felt I had exclusive drilling rights on.

"He died," she said undramatically, without passion, her eyes closed as she continued rocking to and fro on my lap, sending scintillating tingles up my spine, while I involuntarily started little thrusting actions upwards again. She continued after some thought, "November ... 14 it was. Oh that's great honey, harder!"

"But ..." I said, stopping my movements in shock at the news of my old adversary's untimely demise, "What the fuck?"

Shirley stopped too, opened her eyes and said matter-of-factly, "He had a heart attack, Barry. He is no longer an issue between us. I fucked him, I lived with him, I never loved him. Now, where the fuck were we, darling?"

She started her familiar little gyrations again, then changed them slightly, into tight little heavenly figures of eight.

"So, are you single again ... or are you ...?" I stuttered, I never seemed to be able to string words together when I was with this woman.

"Single. You?"

"Very single," I muttered, "Not done this in ... years."

"Nor me," she said, eyes shut again.

"Wha'?"

"He was fucking his Secretary, ok? I suppose you find that funny? Just desserts, or something?"

"No," I lied, trying hard to stop smiling, thanking whoever was concerned that her eyes were still closed as I said it.

She opened her eyes and almost caught me smiling, I was trying to keep a poker face even though I was back poking her again. All right, I only held my straight face for a second and I couldn't help grinning again and then she grinned back at me too. 

It's impossible to keep a straight face when you're nuts-deep in the woman you love. 

Fuck it! I just thought the fucking L word. Good job I never said it out loud.

"I thought he had just slowed down his libido over the last couple of years and finally given up on sex altogether about eighteen months ago. He was seventy-three then after all, so I was resigned to take out my urges in the home-gym and ... you know, I used up a lot of batteries. Then he had a heart attack while he was fucking his twenty-eight-year-old fucking secretary and died almost instantly with them both stuck together on the office desk."

"It's a hell of a way to go," I suggested, seeing a vivid image in my head that looked perversely cartoon-like.

She giggled.

"Only sweet Miss Shorthand couldn't get my fat husband off her and she had to call for help from the paramedics."

"No shit?"

"No shit." She laughed, such a delightful sound, that this shitty flat hadn't heard since it was built, when the Queen before the current Queen ruled OK. Shirley continued, "The facts all came out in the inquest. She had to reach down to pull up his trousers in order to get at the phone in his pocket before she could ring for the emergency services. They had to wheel them through the office still joined together to the ambulance. Something about vacuum suction apparently, I didn't quite understand the medical terminology but it happens more frequently that would appear, apparently. I don't have much sympathy for either of them quite frankly. In fact, I hope she still has bloody nightmares about it. He was a massive 24 stone at the end, it was a wonder the poor girl could breath with the dead weight of that deadbeat fucker on and in her."

We continued making love, slowly, beautifully. That first time, only minutes ago, was just a fuck, thoughtless, uncomplicated and simple. Just two frustrated near-strangers getting off after a wilderness of pent-up sexual and life-sapping frustration. Now we were actually a couple of lovers making love. Not quite like old times, to be honest, probably better, if I'm being honest. Then, we were often too busy, working to pay for our shit, bringing up my two nearly grown-up boys and our baby daughter. We were too busy surviving life to appreciate actually living our lives. 

Maybe we took each other for granted after eighteen years together, maybe I failed to live up to her expectations. I was probably crap in the bedroom, that had to be part of it. 

But, what we were doing right now was nice, no it wasn't just nice, it was absolutely fucking fantastic.

Shirley still had her bra on. It was a flimsy, white lacie thing and her small but firm-looking breasts were jiggling up and down delightfully. I moved my hands from her hips up her back to find the clasp. She opened her eyes and smiled so sweetly at my fumbling efforts.

"The clasp's in the front, dummy!" she laughed, "You must be so out of practice, hon."

"I am," I admitted.

"You've never lost it, though, honey, really you haven't," she said, leaning forward and sucking my tongue once more into her warm moist mouth before beaming at me again with her beautiful face.

"I lost you, though, six years ago," I said as we broke off the kiss. There was a bitterness in my voice, even though our pelvises continued to grind against one another like an inexorable tide coming in to overwhelm us.

"No, I lost you," she panted, close to sobbing, "I selfishly threw you away. My fault, my own stupid fault." 

I thought she was about to cry so I ground myself harder into her succulent groin.

We were still fucking. Strange that we were sort of arguing about the past and fucking in the here and now, at the same time. I thought I'd expose her tits while the going was good. Oh yes, I thought as they peeped out at me. They were better even than I remembered them, I had dreamed continually about them, ever since I had last seen their utter perfection so many years ago. They were still firm yet soft, her hard nipples blushed with blood and passion under my eager thumbs.

I was still infused with anger though and consequently thrust my hips harder, higher, quicker. Not wanting to hurt her but not really caring too much if I did. Maybe she deserved to be hurt but I just couldn't bring myself to go that far. I grunted and she lifted herself higher, supported by my shoulders and bounced down just as hard as she could. 

Her earlier delighted squeals of pleasure evolved into grunts every bit as porcine as mine, embellishing each vibrating thrust with an exhalation as forceful as any women's tennis pro delivering a two-handed backhand to the baseline.

"We ... only ... fucked ... twice. The ... first time ... was ... ex ... citing. ... Henry ... wore me ... down ... over ... time ... and ... we did ... it. ... I felt ... guilty, hon ... really guilty ... but it felt ... so good."

"Better ... than ... me?" 

I fucked her harder, I had a fucking point to fucking make, the sofa springs were in danger of giving out before I would yield.

"No ... yeah ... fuck yeah ... that first time. ... Then you ... didn't know ... or it didn't ... affect us. ... So I did it ... again." 

The sweat ran off the tip of her nose, her eyes closed, she seemed so absorbed, enjoying the moment. 

"Then ... second time ... it was ... hopeless ... no thrill ... I was never ... going to ... do it again, ... but then you ... showed up. ... Caught us ... caught me ... your faith ... less whore." Shirley sobbed.

Then Shirley shuddered. "So ... fucking close ... harder Baz, fuck ... me ... fuck ... me ... harder!"

We were rutting like wild hogs now, I was clenching my buttocks trying to hold off my conclusion and failing wholesale. She was screwing down on me with her hips, her nails were gouging lumps out of my shoulders. 

I looked up, her face contorted into a grimace. Her lower lip was sucked into her mouth and she was chewing it as hard as any gunslinger who had Doc Holiday digging a slug out of a flesh wound without anaesthetic, using a rusty knife warmed over a sooty candle.

"Fuuuuuck!!" we chorused in harmony, although it was debatable who sustained the higher-pitched note. I think I may have set the dogs off barking three streets away. Shirley collapsed on my bleeding shoulder. We were both breathing heavily like we had photo-finished over the National course at Aintree and couldn't give a fuck about the deciding Polaroid, just wanting a welcome rub-down from Ginger McCain, a bucket of water and a bag of oats.

She leaned against me for a few minutes while we desperately tried to get our breath back. I continued stroking her wonderful breasts and delightfully insinuating nipples. Then Shirley lifted her head off my shoulder and pressed her forehead to mine, kissing the wet tip of my nose.

"Well, what do you think?" she breathed seductively.

"Oh, absolutely beautiful, perfection," I said dreamily, still weighing those glorious orbs in each hand, gently rubbing her nipples, occasionally twisting them between finger and thumb, playing with them in reverential delight, to the exclusion of any other thoughts.

"They feel better than I remember them, even better than I dreamed of, and all the time I think about them."

"Them?" she asked, knowing the answer almost as she asked. "Damn! Tits! Is that all you men ever think about?"

"Well, they are ..." I chuckled even as the thought materialised, "They are outstanding tits, Shirl."

"They are very tiny tits, Baz."

"Your tits are just the right size, Shirl, why would anyone want them bigger than a palmful? I only have two hands you know," I laughed.

"I don't know, anyway," she said, looking at me earnestly, "They are not my tits, honey. I want you to consider them your tits, yours whenever, forever, Baz."

"Shirl ..." I started to say, not sure how to express in words how to continue, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Alright, I forgive you your misinterpretation of what I was asking you this time, honey," she grinned, "What I meant was, what do you think about us? Would you ever consider giving us, well me, basically, another chance?"

"I dunno, Shirl," I protested in vain, realising how hard it is to be any way negative about the condition of our relationship when you still have your rapidly-shrinking willy jammed as far into the sweetest pussy you've ever known. 

The same fucking pussy, though, that she gave away, apparently for nothing, to some greedy un-a-fucking-appreciating arsehole, while not wishing to speak ill of the fucking dead, of course. 

"You killed me, Shirl, you and Henry hanged, drew and quartered me until I lost everything I had, even my sense of self-worth. If I went back to you or took you in now after six years in the wilderness, I would just hate myself, I know I would."

She started crying then, oh fuck, no, please don't do this to me! 

My sofa was going nowhere except possibly the recycling dump where it was long overdue, but today that sofa was masquerading as a fucking roller coaster to my emotions. We had hit the heights, oh boy, had we hit the bloody heights! And now we were going through the fucking water splash. 

I reluctantly left her wonderful tits alone and folded my arms around her and pulled her shaking sobbing body into me, rubbing her back through her jacket, blouse and bra strap still in place, feeling her warm salty tears on my cheek.

"Shirley, I don't hate you, I really don't. I only hate myself and my failings which must have lead to you wanting more than I could possibly give you." 

That much was true, absolutely true on every single fucking count. 

"But ... I just don't love you anymore." I continued.

That was a downright fucking cynical lie on my part, but it didn't affect how I felt about us being together for just these last two fucks. I now had enough in the wank bank to keep me warm at night for quite a while, at least I could ditch that stupid fucking DVD! OK, I'd put it away in a drawer just in case I ever needed it again.

"What am I going to do?" Shirley continued to wail. 

What the fuck was she asking me for? I don't have any answers. 

I only had questions, ones that never got asked or answered the first time around. It all happened so damned quick, those six long aching years ago. She'd been working late for a couple of nights, putting together some takeover bid for some struggling firm that Henry had his greedy beady eyes on. So, being the caring loving husband that I thought I was, I took over a late afternoon packed lunch-cum-supper for her and found my lovely wife bent over Henry's desk with Henry's fat pale white arse trying to screw my Shirley into the fucking mahogany, spurred on by her damningly evident vocal encouragement.

Why did she have that affair? Why did she fuck that sonofabitch? I never found out the reason or reasons. 

Another mystery that I never figured out, even though my attorney Perry-fucking-Mason-fucking-Junior tried his best to fucking explain it to me in legal terms that only he could fucking comprehend, was why I had to pay Henry's inflated fucking dental bills! OK, I admit, I had tried to push his molars down into his stomach with my clenched fist. On the other hand, he didn't have to give me a fucking penny for doing his darndest to stuff his own blunt fucking instrument of choice into my wife's fucking uterus. 

Fucking divorce solicitors, fuck 'em all, every last one of them, I say.

"... I may be putting a bold face on things ..." Shirley said, as she continued weeping. 

Actually I might have missed quite a bit of what she had said then, while I was occupied with my own thoughts. I expected I may have missed something important or profound, and didn't know how to respond coherently, which would definitely piss her off. On the other hand I didn't want to go as far as replying "Whatever", like some petulant teenager and really upset her. After all, if she got the upper hand and murdered me in my own pathetic garret, there were no witnesses and I was certain that she'd fucking-well get away with it. I wasn't going to give her the fucking pleasure. 

Oh shit, she's still rabbiting on while I'm busy thinking and not paying attention and I'm missing most of it again.

"... But I don't want to live without you, Baz, you are my whole life, hon," she sobbed, "I made a silly mistake, on just two occasions and I want to make it up to you. Can we? Pleeeeeaze?"

Oh fuck, what do I do now? 

I am going to be wrong whatever I do, this is a lose-lose situation for me. If I go with her I will be a fucking hen-pecked wimp who will apparently swallow anything for a bit of token pussy while waiting with absolute fucking certainty for her to fuck up again and replace me with her next preferred fucking stud. 

On the other hand if I kick her out on her shapely arse right here, right now, I'm branded a fucking insensitive arsehole who doesn't deserve the fucking princess that we both know she fucking-well is. I'm sure she said something else while I was thinking this last bit, and I've fucking missed it entirely, again. 

Stupid fucking woman knows I can't multitask and yet she's still asking more stupid fucking questions, when I haven't even answered the first fucker yet.

"... Besides, Baz," she looked at me with tears still dressing her cheeks but a smile appearing on her lips, "maybe the third time might be a charm."

How in the fuck did we get to this point? I haven't said a fucking word in the past ten minutes and she's now considering giving me a third fuck?!

"Yeah, OK." I said.

Fuck! I can't believe my own fucking mouth sometimes. I didn't even think about it. There was no decision-making process, I just jumped in with both feet. I'm fucking silly putty in her hands, it's like the last six years apart have been erased from our collective memories.

Shirley looked happier than I have ever seen her. She screamed on hearing my capitulation and then she squeezed me, tucking her head into my neck and kissed my sensitive throat with dozens of little wet kisses. I just buried my head in her sweet-smelling hair and tried not to cry. 

For the last six years I felt I had been fucked over.

Now I know, though, Shirley was on top in every sense of the word, which means that as an independent entity I was totally fucked.

We couldn't stay at the flat, that was clear. It was far too cold and, just to emphasis the probity of that unspoken decision, as we started to dress ourselves ready to venture out into the elements, the fucking electric lights went off as the power company chopped my overdue account off at source. 

I stuffed Piddles into a cardboard box, managing to retain most of the skin on my hands. I threw half a dozen tins of tuna in a carrier bag, plus the one decent pair of trousers and collared shirt that I only wear for interviews, plus a couple of pairs of the dodgy stiff underpants that I prudently double-wrapped in a bin liner for security.

We went off in her car to, well I never, it would be the Fucking Grand Hotel, wouldn't it? And it would be the penthouse suite, naturally, just to fucking-well rub it in. 

Shirley signed me in at the desk, to make my presence among the unaccustomed opulence official and got me issued with one of those plastic keys that allowed the lift to climb that extra floor to the top and enable me to gain entry into the suite. I felt decidedly underdressed and shabby in my sweats, threadbare wind cheater and poor excuse for trainers. Shirley was a lady, radiating class to her fingertips and very kindly didn't mention how unbelievably disheveled I looked.

When we let Piddles out of his box in the sitting room of Shirley's beautiful suite, he dashed through the bedroom door and dived under the bed. I just hoped the sneaky bastard wouldn't shit or piss under there.




When It Snows Ch. 02



"We need to get a dirt box and kitty litter," I said, meaning she needed to get them as I was completely boracic.

"We'll go out shopping once my other guests arrive," Shirley said with a beaming smile adorning her face as she put her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek, "But first I need to change this blouse."

There were a couple of buttons missing and the delicate silk weave was torn, too. It looked expensive and was completely ruined. She had kept her jacket tightly buttoned up while we sorted out my registration at the reception.

"Shirl, I'm so sorry about your blouse, guess I got carried away."

She pressed her semi-naked body to me and kissed me long and hard on the lips. She felt so warm to my fingers which hadn't quite acclimatised to the hothouse environment of that suite.

"Don't worry, hon, I think we both did for a while there," she breathed in my ear.

As she walked into the bedroom, her words sunk in. I'm sure I used to be quite bright at one time, old age must be creeping up on me.

"Other guests?"

"Wait and see," came her disembodied voice from the other room.

What do I do now? I'm standing in the sitting room like a stuffed lemon, holding a conversation with my ex-wife standing in her bedroom. I know we have just been intimate very recently, extremely fucking intimate, extremely fucking recently, but we were a long time not married to one another and I have actually only seen her even partially naked for a few minutes after six years apart. With her married to some other fucker. I can't just walk into her boudoir uninvited, now can I? 

And what the hell does she mean by other guests? Who are they? Where the fuck does that leave me? We haven't really discussed what I'm even doing here, for crying out loud. Shirley hinted at perhaps making love a third time. Yeah, I would remember that, wouldn't I? We seem to just be taking this thing one step at a time but I thought I had already made it clear that I didn't want to get back together with her. However, as only women can do, she appears to have just ignored what I want and is doing exactly what she wants to do. So are we going to have a quickie before her other guests arrive? What are our sleeping arrangements tonight, am I in her bedroom, on the couch, or out the door? 

And why the fuck did she insist on Piddles coming along, anyway? I know I missed half of what Shirley was saying back at the flat as well as on the way here, I think I was still in a state of shock, but when did I agree to all this? 

I looked at the plastic room key in my hand and shook my head. She was still rabbiting on at me from the other room. Again I had completely lost track of what she was saying. I think over the last couple of years I had been so much on my own that I seem to have lost any social interacting skills I may once have enjoyed. 

I thought fuck propriety, I'm just going to walk in her bedroom, put my fucking foot down and find out what the fuck is going on and where the fuck I stand. I am going in there now. Right fucking now. I am standing up and I am about to go in. What's she saying now? Fuck, I'm just going in there right now!

I'm in her bedroom. Fuck!

There she was, sitting prettily on the biggest fucking bed I had ever seen in my entire life, putting on a new pair of sheer stockings. Man, those legs are to die for. It occurred to me that I must have ruined the other pair of stockings along with her blouse, which she had also changed. This blouse was a pale and subtle shade of pink. She looked a million dollars just sitting there. 

Standing on the bed next to her, arching his back and rubbing his side affectionately up against her back, was Piddles, miraculously transformed from a homicidal feral wildcat to a lap-loving fluffy pussycat ... except where I am concerned, of course, the old animosities endured.

One good thing from this incident, I thought. It does look like I've finally managed to offload that fucking cat. I had thought I was stuck with the fucker for life, well, my life rather than his, he must have six or seven left to my one. I was intending to leave him all my worldly goods, although not now that the bastard clearly knew when he was onto a good thing. That set me thinking was I on a good thing here or not? 

Then I realised that I had missed what Shirley was saying to me, yet again. Damn!

"Sorry, Shirl," I said by way of explanation of my utter denseness, "I think I must be in a state of shock and finding it almost impossible to concentrate. You must think I am a complete ignoramus. I have been on my own for so long that I seem to have lost both sides of the art of conversation, both listening and making coherent sentences."

Shirley laughed her delicious laugh and, as soon as she smacked her second elasticated stocking top against her firm thigh, a simple action that will probably fill my obsessive dreams for weeks to come, she rose and put her arms around me and pulled me into another toe-curling kiss.

"I think you standing there, looking all bashful and a little unsure of yourself is both sweet and extremely endearing, sweetheart," she breathed, having tenderised my tongue for fully two minutes, until all my nerve-endings were on fire and I thanked my lucky stars that my sweatpants were really really fucking loose, if they had fit me properly I might have had some serious circulation problems to deal with. "I am so hot for you right now I would jump your bones again if I thought we had anywhere near enough time."

I thought Piddles might have been jealous of me right at that very moment, but a glance in his direction confirmed that he was unconcernedly licking his arse, again. Clearly he didn't consider me much of a rival for his new mistress's affections.

I really thought about licking Shirley's arse for a few seconds there, but then came a voice from the direction of the sitting room to curtail any lascivious thoughts emerging from the primordial swamp of my mind.

"Hi Mum, we're home!" called a female voice from the other room.

Shirley smiled at me.

"Come on, honey," she said, "This is going to be such fun!"

Shirley led me through to the sitting room. There I could see my daughter Katherine, six years older, filled out a little but very recognisable, still with her coat on hunched over a number of shopping bags.

"We have a guest with us, Kat," Shirley said.

Katherine looked up and blinked, suddenly recognising me and her mouth dropped open.

"Dad!" she screamed and ran over to me, throwing herself into my arms, "What are you doing here?"

She held me so tightly, fit to bursting. I felt wetness on my cheek again, this was really becoming a habit today. Before this morning I thought I was the only one in my family who had anything to cry about.

"Where did you spring from? We have missed you so much, Dad."

Over her shoulder I saw a small blond-haired child emerge from the doorway at the other end of the room, no doubt curious about his mother's outcry. His outdoor coat was undone and hanging off his shoulders, although he still had thick gloves on which seemed to be preventing the coat from falling to the floor. His shoes were off and he stood in his stockinged feet. 

He looked more than a little bewildered at what was going on. Join the club pal, I thought, me too.

It suddenly occurred to me that I could be a Granddad. I hadn't expected that. There appeared to be no other explanation for the presence of the little person in the suite. I had to confirm it, though, somehow.

"So, who's this little fellow?" I said, as casually as I could manage, giving my poker face another airing. They say practice makes perfect. I wasn't confident it was working all that well.

Katherine looked at me with a huge grin on her face.

"This, Dad," she said, "Is Alex Junior, your Grandson!"

She didn't say "Da-daaaa!" like a circus ringmaster exactly but the way she said "Grandson" was just as theatrical. My god, I was a grandad, and had been for a couple of years at least, apparently.

"Hello, Alex," I said, letting go of Katherine and getting down on my haunches, "I am your Granddad. How old are you?"

"I'm 3," he said with a cute smile, "Are you really my Granddad?"

"I am, do you want to come and say hello?"

He stood there a little uncertainly.

"Go on," Katherine urged him, "Give your Granddad a big hug, he's been waiting a long time to see you."

"OK," he said jauntily and without hesitation came up to me holding out his arms and I hugged him and squeezed him, then I tickled him with a single finger in each hand and he sat down and rolled on his back on the thick-carpeted floor, giggling and laughing, shouting out,

"No, Granddad, no tickle me, no!"

I carried on tickling him, though, I was braver with little boys than I was with my own furry pussy cat. His giggling was infectious and soon all of us were laughing our heads off. Alex went very red and got very hot in all the excitement, so I thought he'd probably had enough. He still had his coat and gloves on, and his Grandmother, or "Nanny" as he called her, picked him up and carried him through to his Mum's bedroom to change him.

"He's absolutely lovely, Kat," I said, holding my daughter's hands in mine, "You must be so proud of him."

"We are." Katherine paused for a while before continuing, "I am so sorry we didn't invite you to the wedding, Alex and I, but at that time I wasn't aware of the circumstances of the divorce and I ... I blamed you for the break-up. It was only recently that Mum sat me down and explained what happened and took all the blame. By then I had no idea where you were."

I smiled at her and kissed her hand. We were sitting on the settee by then, and could hear Alex and his Nanny chattering away merrily in the other room. I heard the word Granddad mentioned a couple of times in the exchanges.

"Tell me about his father," I asked Katherine.

"Alex Brownlow, he's 30, eight years older than me. He's a captain in the Royal Marines and currently based out in Afghanistan on his third tour there, due back home in late June or early July. We are based in Plymouth barracks officer quarters, but since Alex has been away I have preferred to stay with Mum. It's good company for both of us, and good for Alex to have both of us sharing the child-rearing. Both Alex's parents have passed on."

"So what are you doing here on the coast?"

"Mum wanted to move out of Henry's house, you know, bad memories, fresh start and all that. Plymouth would have been a logical starting place to look but Alex needs to decide in two years' time whether to sign on again for another tour, with perhaps an opportunity for promotion to Major or Lieutenant-Colonel rank in the offering or to take retirement. There are some good deals for taking early retirement that are worth considering. 

"Mum had fond memories of coming here to the old resort. She says you both even considered a holiday home here if you could ever afford it, so here we are, staying for a week and planning on trawling around the estate agents to see if anything suitable for Mum turns up. Why are you here?"

"Same reason as your Mum, really," I said, "Always had fond memories of this place. Once the family home was sold and I was at a loose end, I invested everything I had in a cafe here, which has since failed. Then I worked in a timber yard for a little while and been out of work virtually all winter."

"Well, you two seem to be talking to one another ... or better ..." she grinned wickedly, "Having seen you both come out of Mum's bedroom with guilty looks on your faces. Any chance of us being a family again, Dad?"

"I honestly don't know, Kat, honey," I answered, shaking my head, "I haven't heard from either of you in six years and I am still trying to get a handle on these new circumstances. I want you and I to be as close as possible from now on, of course. As for your Mum and me? Well, there's something still there between us all right but to make it work it's down to trust more than anything and we are going to have to tread very carefully."

"Mum loves you," she said quietly, "When we sat down a couple of months ago after Henry died, to clear up any misunderstandings about you and her, she admitted that what Henry just did to Mum was more or less the same as what Mum did to you. I didn't know at the time, it had all been left unsaid and I made the wrong assumptions. I thought it was always the man who was unfaithful, but of course there's always got to be both a man and a woman at the centre of it. Whatever happens between you and Mum, though, I want you involved in our lives, in Alex Junior's life and to meet my Alex just as soon as he gets home."

"Honey, of course I want to be in your lives," I said, putting my arms around her again and kissing her on the forehead. "Your Mum and I may still have issues, but we will sort them out quietly between us, Kat. Even if your Mum and I end up living apart, we both want to remain on speaking terms as well as taking full part in family activities together."

"I love you Dad."

"You too, precious."

Grandma and grandson came back into the sitting room again and left just as quickly as Alex ran into the other bedroom calling out, "Pussycat, pussycat!"

"Sorry Baz, I don't know your cat's name." puffed Shirley as she tried to catch up with the little bundle of energy.

"Piddles," I yelled to Shirley's shapely behind as it disappeared from view.

She turned back almost immediately.

"We can't call him Piddles!" she protested, "Whatever made you call him that?"

"He used to piddle in the corner of the flat when I tried to feed him anything other than tinned tuna, the bloody thing is spoiled rotten."

"Hush, Dad," Katherine said, "You can't say bloody either around here."

"I've called that cat much-flippin' worse."

"It's not the cat I'm worried about, Alex picks up all the bad words if you give him half a chance."

"Sorry, I was forgetting. I will try, though, honest, Kat."

"Fair enough."

I listened to hear if any screams were emanating from Shirley's bedroom, but it seemed peaceful, too bloody peaceful for my liking. I got up from that comfy sofa, walked up to and cautiously through the bedroom doorway.

There was Piddles, flat on his back on the bed, being tickled by both Shirley and Alex and I could swear that bloody cat had a smile of its face, throatily purring like a Maserati ticking over before the big race. Perhaps it was only me the bastard used to bite and tear to shreds. I decided not to move any closer, it was almost certainly monitoring my position by its sense of smell.

Katherine and I went back and exchanged small talk on the settee for a while before Shirley decided it was time to go to lunch.

"Have I got time for a quick shower and change?" I asked.

"Sure," Shirley replied with a warm smile, "There's an en suite in our bedroom, honey. Want me to scrub your back, sweetheart?"

"Not if you want lunch rather than supper," I retorted, not failing to miss her subtle reference to "our bedroom".

"OK, you win, this time," as she feigned disappointment.

Katherine just laughed, "You guys, honestly, I'd tell you to get a room, but you've already got one and I'm as hungry as hell."



When It Snows Ch. 03



I grabbed my bag and showered quickly using the rare luxury of real soap. I realised that I hadn't shaved for a couple of days and my grey stubble made me look like a tramp. I opened the bathroom door an inch and asked Shirley if I could use the pink disposable razor I saw on the shelf. She said OK, so I soaped up and made myself look as clean cut as I was ever going to get. I changed into the nearly-fresh underpants from the extra carrier bag, they weren't stiff any more, but were still on the damp side. The shirt and trousers were crumpled but clean and not too badly threadbare. Good job I remembered a pair of court shoes, although they weren't very well polished. I hoped no-one would notice.

We trooped down the hallway, lifts and ground floor hall, with little Alex happily hanging onto my hand. I was in seventh heaven, walking through the hotel and then the pathways through the car park, holding onto my three-year-old grandson.

Katherine had her car with her, a Peugeot saloon, already fitted with a car seat in the back for Alex. Katherine adroitly belted him safely in, I sat next to him and he carried on chatting away as if he had known me all his life. He mentioned all sorts of characters from children's television series, and no doubt popular culture, that I was completely unaware of. Still, I played the fool and compounded and confused my acquired knowledge of these characters to keep Alex amused until we reached our destination, a fast food restaurant that served Alex's favourite meal. 

I raised my eyebrows concernedly when I heard what Alex ordered for himself, but Shirley tucked her arm in mine and whispered that it was a rare treat and it was promised to him the day before when they passed the place on their way into town. The rest of us ordered, with difficulty, what appeared to be the least-toxic items on the menu.

We popped into the shops later and picked up what we needed from the pet store for Piddles. Alex insisted on getting him a novelty ball that you could put cat treats in.

Bath-time was fun. I soon remembered what it was like when my boys and Katherine were little. The poor mite was all tuckered out by the time I tucked him up in one of the two beds in Katherine's bedroom. Alex chuckled throughout the bedtime story I made up for him and said what I think had rapidly become his favourite saying, "You are silly, Granddad!" It was becoming my favourite, too.

I closed the bedroom door and Katherine was in my arms and hugging me tight.

"Please don't ever leave us, Dad," she sobbed and smiled at the same time, a combination that was heartrending, "This afternoon has been one of my best ever, I love you so much, Dad."

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart," I was crying myself, too.

Katherine ate her evening meal in the sitting room, having something sent up from the restaurant. Shirley and I ate in the restaurant, who kindly provided me with a jacket and tie from a rack they maintained. It was a very nice meal and an even more pleasant evening. 

The three of us curled up on the suite's sofa to watch a bit of telly and talk about what we had been doing the last few years in more detail. Katherine retired to bed early, leaving Shirley and me to shower together and then fall into bed and make beautiful love slowly for what seemed most of the night.

Nothing was said between us about the past or the future during our lovemaking, we were only concerned with the now. Only in the afterglow of our passion, when we held each other on the edge of exhausted pleasurable sleep did our history and hopes for the future nudge us into concentrating our thoughts.

"It has been a wonderful day for me, Baz," she whispered, her head comfortably tucked into my shoulder where it seemed to belong once more, "I don't want this new-found familiarity to end, but I don't want to put any undue pressure on you for commitment to anything, hon." She sighed.

I had to smile. I did have a happy glow and for just a few hours I forgot how deep I was in shit street. Here I was, lying in a big comfortable bed with a woman who looked beautiful and felt absolutely wonderful to touch, who was presumably comfortably wealthy and had professed her love for me. Me, a broken man, skinny and wrinkly with near malnutrition, financially bankrupt and unwanted by anyone of late. In the other room there was a daughter and grandchild that also loved me and wanted me in their lives. 

I could so easily just give in to my reservations of trust and become Shirley's fucking toy-boy, but every time I thought that, I remembered that burned-in image of Henry's fat white arse oscillating between my wife's buttocks. 

With that reoccurring thought pounding through my brain I realise I'm totally fucked, I can't do what Shirley wants but I can't not do it either. 

A summary of my current existence is one of a chasm opening up under me. I was barely holding on, and my fingers were going numb. I had 34 more monthly mortgage payments on a 30-year lease that I was committed to, another 24 years of ground rent and service charges to pay. I was in arrears on gas and electric supply and had both utilities already cut off. I had the business rates on the building due in three weeks that I had absolutely no chance of paying, especially as Donovan was quitting the shop and flat this week and had already paid his rent a month in advance. 

I couldn't even afford to put an advert in the paper or newsagent window about the flat or shop to rent, although I had left a postcard pinned to the noticeboard of the local library, as we don't have a college in this tiny town. My classic car was buggered and probably already dragged off from where I abandoned it on the by-pass by some enterprising passer-by for its scrap metal value. I had no permanent job, no temporary work and no pay coming in for another week and that would be just three half-days' pay after deductions. If I left this hotel and went home, I would go back to no power or heating and empty larder cupboards. I was definitely fucked.

We slept eventually that night but not for long. The bundle of energy we recognised as Alex woke us up jumping on the bed. Shirley's lovely tits were already out on show. Alex seemed completely oblivious to that fact as Shirley scrambled to pull up the thin sheet that covered our nakedness. I chuckled at the thought that Alex's attention to such matters would no doubt refocus in a dozen years or so! But then the thought occurred to me that he was probably used to those tits as his grandma was very similar in build to his mother. Then I tried to backpedal from the thought of my daughter's tits, which just an agonising tad short of respectable. I needed to get up, so I pleaded with Alex to let us get dressed and then I'd undertake to accompany him down to breakfast.

It was early, barely 7 in the morning. I got up and dressed quickly, kissing Shirley on the forehead and told her to lie-in for another hour or so. Alex was waiting for me in the sitting room. I poked my head around the door and whispered to Katherine that I was taking Alex for a walk first and then an early breakfast. She slurred a reply that sounded close to an affirmation that that was all right, turned over and went to sleep again.

I picked up my mobile phone and noticed I had switched it off yesterday to save battery power. I didn't have a watch so I needed it on to keep track of time. It powered up while I helped Alex get his impossibly small and cute shoes on, ones that flashed at us as he walked along. Amazing, I had never seen anything like that before.

The mobile phone flashed a number of "Missed calls". One was from my old mate Bev Macleod, timed at yesterday afternoon. I thought I'd call him back later, it was too early now, even for a motor mechanic. 

The second and third were from Donovan. I wondered if the power being shut off in my studio had affected his shop or the first floor flat. They should all be separate bills, unconnected circuits, but with my luck he may have had a problem. If so, I didn't really want to speak to him, I had enough of my own problems to worry about to concern myself with anyone else's.

Alex and I ran down the corridors, him full of beans and me shushing him because people were still asleep. Then I held his tiny warm hand in mine as we crossed the empty road, up the steps to the esplanade and the shingle beach beyond. We climbed up onto the shingle and could see that the tide was out all the way. Of course Alex was off like a shot, with me chasing him down the shingle onto the flat wet sand, still shaped into a fascinating pattern of ripples and ridges by the retreating tide. We carried on down to the foaming water's edge, seeing trapped pools of water everywhere. The smell of ozone was overpowering in the early dawn, as was the delight evident in the youngster's face and in his excited voice. We happily played for half an hour or so until I could persuade him to come back to the hotel and have some breakfast.

We sat down in the restaurant and ordered what we fancied, all charged to the suite. I wondered then if Shirley's mobile number was the same as it always was. Don't ask me why her number is on my phone, even through I had changed my phone three times since the divorce, it just was and we will leave the subject at that and never raise it again. She answered on the second ring. Yes, she said, with joy and laughter in her voice, order for them both, the same as I was having and they would be down in five, no ten minutes. I ordered and they told me it would take 10 to 15 minutes anyway, which was perfect.

While I had the phone in my hand I called Macleod. 

"Hi Mac," I cheerfully replied to Mac's tired "Macleod's Motors?"

"You tried to call me yesterday, have you changed your mind about picking up my pile of rust and bolts from the by-pass?"

"Ha Ha!" Mac laughed, "I tried to leave a message but your cheapo phone wouldn't take one. I got some news for you about your crap car."

"Go on, give me your worst."

"OK. Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Mac laughed.

"I only ever get bad news, some good would be a novelty."

"Bad news first then?"

"Uh huh, OK!"

"Well the bad news is that I picked up your piece-of-shit excuse for a classic car a few days ago and some mug looking for old parts came in and saw it in the shop yesterday morning and tried to offer me a couple of grand for it."

"What the f-?" I said, conscious of Alex sitting next to me, playing with his fork and spoon which he waited for his breakfast, and therefore moderating my language accordingly.

"What's bad about that news? A couple of grand would be all I need to put me back on my feet."

"The bad news is that the dude offered that as immediate cash in hand to me and it's not my bloody car, it's yours!" 

That Max was laughing so loud that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. He's got one of those voices that would frighten a fog-bound oil tanker into hard-a-starboard.

"So?" I asked, "Very amusing I don't think! What's the bl- the er good news, Mac?"

"Well, I turned him down flat-"

"What the fu-"

"Hold on, the dude was too bloody eager-"

"Tell me all about eager," I muttered.

"-So I turned him down and he came straight back with an offer for three thousand." The bugger was still laughing at me at the other end of the line.

"And?"

"I turned him down again."

"So help me Mac-"

"OK, I'll put you out of your misery ... I have in my hand ..." he paused, tantalisingly. 

I wanted to call him a bastard and every other name under the sun, but I was with Alex. So I bit my tongue, Mac was going to tell me eventually, anyway, hopefully before the runny egg I had ordered was cooked to buggery and set solid.

"Damn, you have suddenly become very patient, Buddy," Mac relented, "I've never known you so mellow in the five years I've known you. Remind me not to play poker with you any more."

Another pregnant pause from Mac. I could see Shirley and Katherine arrive at the entrance of the restaurant, looking for me. I stood and waved. They smiled and started walking to us. Alex had his back to them and had't noticed them yet.

"OK cool guy," Mac relented while I focused on the girls, "In my hand I happen to have a banker's draft that this flash dude handed over to me late yesterday afternoon ... It is for the princely sum ... of ... wait for it ... six thousand quid. You are flush at last my friend."

"Mac, old buddy, you are a life-saver. How much do I owe you for the tow and commission?"

"Hell, man, I guess if you invite me round and treat me to one of your famous all-day breakfasts, I'll consider us quits."

"Mac, you've got it, just name the day. In fact I'll give you a whole week of breakfasts, now that I can get the gas and electric back on. I'll be over later this morning and collect that draft."

"Fine, I'll make a space in my diary next week, it'll give me a chance to build up a nice healthy appetite."

He's a big lad, that Beverley Macloud. He objects to his given name so most guys who like to keep a full set of teeth call him Mac. I'm fond of my winning smile so I go along with the rest of the herd.

Just as I hung up the phone, the girls arrived and gave their pair of menfolk welcome "good morning" hugs and kisses. Me? Even without such embraces I was all smiles, but with them I was almost delirious. 

Six thousand pounds was a fortune for me, I could restore the power at the flat, pay the mortgage, buy groceries and desperately-needed personal hygiene products. I could buy a reasonable used motor car. I could buy a few clothes so I looked less like a tramp. 

I could hold my head up with Shirley for at least a couple of months. It meant that I didn't need to make an immediate decision about my or our future, we had time to see how our relationship could develop. I realised how liberating an injection of even a tiny bit of cash was, to my outlook on life.

"You're looking cheerful, this morning honey," commented Shirley, holding my hand and sitting next to me having already made a fuss of Alex and leaving him for Katherine to get him bibbed up ready for the food to arrive.

"And can you blame me?" I replied, grinning from ear to ear, "When I have just spent the best part of an hour teaching my grandson how to skim stones on the surf and then to be able to sit down in the company of my two favourite girls, I am deliriously happy!"

"Oh honey!" she exclaimed, then she jumped into my lap and kissed me deep and hard on the mouth for a couple of minutes, until Katherine warned us that our breakfasts were approaching.

"We have appointments to see several houses today, honey, would you like to come with us?" Shirley asked.

"Sure," I smiled, "Can we go via the by-pass, though? I need to drop into a garage on the way."

"OK," she said simply, smiling beautifully.

After breakfast we went back to the suite and I showered and changed out of my sweats into my almost decent shirt and trousers, with Shirley looking at me, sitting right on the edge of the bed.

"You are far too thin," she observed, adding quietly, "If you can't look after yourself ... you know, you really need someone to look after you."

She looked at me with those doe eyes of hers. I walked over and wrapped my arms around her.

"Barry, you know I've loved you since the day we met, don't you?" she continued.

"I know."

"And that I still love you, perhaps more than I ever have."

"I realise that also."

"If you ever ask me for anything, or asked me ... to do anything," she said as I squeezed her tightly and kissed the top of her head, "I would say ... yes to anything, in a heartbeat."

"I know, Shirl," I gently gripped her shoulders, holding her at arm's length so I could look into her moist blue eyes, a single tear from each eye escaped and tricked down each rounded cheek. "I intend asking you to carefully consider a number of requests today and tomorrow, and I find I am ready to ask the first one now, OK?"

"OK," she smiled, "Should I get my hopes up?"

"Sweetheart," I kissed her lightly on the lips, wiping my thumbs like squeegees over her wet cheeks, "This time yesterday, for just a few moments I think hope finally left me. I had never been so low. I had lost everything, my family, my livelihood, my car, I had no power, heating or food. I had just a couple of hundred in the bank but was still a good fifty short of my mortgage. I was down and out, literally on the floor, I couldn't get any lower. I was drowning without a lifeline, but there you were, out of the blue. You helped me, you loved me, you brought me back in the world, back into your life."

I paused before continuing, 

"I lied yesterday when I said I didn't love you."

"I know you did."

We kissed again, long and slow.

"No more lies, hon?" Shirley asked.

"No more lies. I just sold my car for six grand and for me that makes me flush. I just need to find out - not if I can live in your life or you in mine but how we can live our lives. When we separated I had nothing but questions and no answers, I lost everything including my sense of self-worth. Give me time, one whole day, to talk to you and listen and think things put for myself. I swear to you, by the end of today, or tomorrow at the latest, we will sit down alone together and commit to our futures one way or the other. By then I hope we will both know what we both really want. Would you agree to that?"

"Of course, dearest, of course."

Katherine knocked and poked her head round the corner, saying "We're goin' to be lay-ate!" in a sing-song voice, then seeing us holding each other both close to crying, she added "What's up, you guys?"

We both gestured her to come to us and we had a three-way cuddle. 

"Alex!" I shouted, "Come here please."

Alex appeared at the doorway, stopping there, looking at us.

"Why are you all crying?" he asked uncertainly, all three of us had tears running down our cheeks.

"Because we are so happy, darling," said Katherine, holding one arm out to her son, "Come here, sweetheart."

He looked a little hesitant. I held out both arms and hunched down.

"Group hug, Alex," I said and he ran into my arms, I picked him up and we all huddled together, kissing each other both in turn and at random. Even Piddles got up from his new sleeping basket next to the radiator and brushed up against the girls' legs. Not mine, of course.

"You better get used to these cuddles, sunshine," I told Alex, "We are going to be doing a lot of these from now on."

"Yuk! Grandad! Do we hafta?"

*** 

Macleod is a giant, he must be 6ft 5ins tall, with the build to match. He passed retirement age long ago but loves messing with cars. He has long thick grey steel wool for hair, worn in a ponytail. I love him. He was one of my stalwart regulars when I had the cafe and he always had the double full English breakfast piled up on a single huge plate, smothered in brown sauce. I shudder to think of the cholesterol! Good job most of it was grilled rather than fried. We greeted each other with open arms at his garage and he handed me the very welcome banker's draft. 

I introduced him to my family and the big soft giant threw Alex around so much I stepped back a touch thinking he'd lose his breakfast any moment.

We saw one house mid-morning and a second before lunch. Both nice houses, each costing in the region of just under or over a million. I raised my eyebrows when the agent who showed us around mentioned the cost. When we hung back a little on the guided tour, Shirley whispered that the house-purchase budget was up to two million, which would include any improvements needed, although the agent was actually told the range she was searching for was between one and one-point-five. 

Apparently, Henry did very well for himself and didn't have any children to take care of or divvy up the balance with. Shirley assured me that when we sat down quietly together she would lay everything financial on the line. I wasn't all that interested in Henry's inheritance. 




When It Snows Ch. 03



I popped into the bank then and deposited the draft and took out a little spending money, I had never been so flush in years.

After a quick lunch we met a different estate agent and were shown around a seafront cottage, built in Edwardian times but in the arts and crafts movement style of a bygone age, which was full of antique features like inglenook fireplaces and looked utterly charming, although it was only three bedrooms. It was cosy but much less grand than the first two properties. Then the agent escorted us down a pea-gravel driveway next to the cottage, around a corner of high yew hedges, to reveal a colonnaded mansion set in several acres of lawn. It was immaculate and a snip at one and a half mill for the pair!

After seeing the mansion, Katherine and Alex went back to the hotel for an afternoon sleep, while Shirley and I went clothes shopping for me, which was actually fun. That was a definite first for me, my life was changing exponentially.

While we were in the changing rooms, trying on a couple of pairs of smart but comfortable strides, my mobile phone went off. I noticed when I powered it up that I had several missed calls once again. 

"Hello?"

"Hi, is that Barry?"

"Yeah."

"It's Karen from the bureau, I've been trying to ring you all day."

"Sorry, Karen," I apologised, "I've been busy house hunting. You got anything for me?"

"I have," she chuckled, "Had a call from The Grand Hotel, they need a temp short order chef for two weeks, starting on Monday, 11.00 to 22.00 four days a week, with a two-hour break in the late afternoon."

"Tell them I'll start on Monday," I said.

"I already said you would," Karen laughed, "And, when I mentioned your experience running Barry's Cafe in Green Street, the manager actually said he knew of you and if you wanted a permanent position as breakfast chef it was yours immediately after this temp appointment."

"What hours?"

"Four hours a day, five days a week from 05.30 to 09.30, £16 per hour. I accepted on your behalf, hope that was alright?"

"Perfectly, thanks, Karen."

"You're welcome, sir!" she said, "Pop in and see us when you can."

"Looks like I've got a job starting on Monday," I said to Shirley, who was folding up the trousers for me.

"Congratulations, hon, I'm proud of you. What are you doing?"

I told her, we had a good laugh about how far I'd have to walk to work.

We paid for the clothes with my debit card, at least I now had some money in the account. Then, after we had gone back to the suite, I decided to check on the rest of my missed calls. I deleted the ones I knew about from Karen and was left with three from Donovan. I bit the bullet and called him.

"Hi Donovan, it's Barry," I said when he answered as 'To a T', "Sorry I missed you earlier, but I've been busy."

"No problem Barry, man," he drawled, "I need to make an apology to ya, I opened one of ya letters by mistake yesterday morning. It came mixed in with all the other junk stuff and it weren't until I read it that I realised it was for you not me."

"That's no problem, leave it on the side an' I'll collect it later." I then remembered he was moving out and into his new shop that day. "Even better, can you pop it in my letter box with the keys when you get a chance?"

"Sure, but ya really want to pick this letter up, now."

"Why? what is it about?"

"It's three pages of legal gobbledygook, from lawyers representing your landlords ..." then he paused.

"And?"

"What it boils down to is a developer has offered to buy the whole block of properties to build luxury holiday flats and they are offering ya £98 grand to give up the balance of ya lease."

Bugger me! Yesterday I was on my uppers and ever since I got back with Shirley, everything in my world has turned the corner. 

I told Shirley about the windfall and she was delighted. I told her we had to go out shopping again. She asked where, as it was getting late in the afternoon and we were all hoping to go to the swimming pool with Alex before tea.

I told her we might need to go to the jewellers, second, after picking up and properly reading this letter at Donovan's shop first. 

Then I got down on one knee and asked Shirley to marry me again. 

That brought more screams from Shirley, then Katherine and Alex came in to hear what was going on and once they heard the news we had another one of our now firmly-established group cuddles. Even Piddles got in on the act, threatening to trip us all. 

We managed to get up to the jewellers before they closed, Shirley chose something that was surprisingly tasteful without breaking my increasingly healthy bank account and we still got back in time for Alex to have some enjoyable pool time before tea. Shirley and Katherine both looked stunning in their swimwear, I determined that I needed to hit the hotel gym over the next few weeks and tone up the muscles under my loose skin before we moved into whichever new house we ended up with.

We had a great family evening, during which Shirley got a call from the estate agents, her offer for the cottage and mansion that we all liked had been accepted. Later it turned into a great night, in my eyes my fiancé had never been lovelier.

Next morning, Alex and I were up earlier than everyone else and we crunched our way down to the beach, skimming stones, investigating rock pools, climbing up and over seaweed and barnacle-encrusted groins, having an enormously enjoyable time, we newly-acquainted granddad and grandson. Best friends.

We climbed up the beach on firm wet sand, and then up those exhausting pebbles. It was too much emotional excitement and physical effort so early in the morning for a little three-year-old, so I picked him up and carried him for a while. Alex put his arms around me and said,

"I love you Granddad."

"I love you too, Alex," I said, kissing him on the forehead and ruffling his blond locks.

A pair of old ladies walked by us on the pavement, smiling at us and nodding to me. I nodded back, feeling a warm glow inside, holding on to my newly-acquired grandson and thinking of my blossoming relationships, with my daughter and ex-wife-cum-fiancé.

Then I looked up to see that I was standing outside the Public Library and had a sudden thought which had the effect of a total dampener on my euphoria.

"Oh fucking shit!" I exclaimed without thinking.

Sharp as a tack, Alex came back like a shot.

"Ofickinshit!" he copied, with a big grin on his face. 

He is so bright, he loves learning new words.

Bugger! I thought to myself. 

I sat us down on a wooden bench seat next to a fragrant raised flowerbed full of winter pansies and bright primroses, in front of the library.

"Now Alex, listen to me carefully, when you get a situation that you need to express frustration or let off steam, sometimes you need a word or a number of special words to say, something which fits that moment perfectly, OK?"

"OK?" he replied a little doubtfully, perhaps reluctant to un-remember a word which had seemed so admirably expressive.

"The word to remember is ..." I slowly and deliberately looked up the street in both directions and then I put my head close to his and whispered quietly in his shell-like ear, 

"Doodlebugs." I whispered.

Then I looked at him, nodding my head, tapping my index finger on the side of my nose.

"Doodlebugs?" he said, with wide open eyes. 

"Doodlebugs." I confirmed our secret swearword to him, nodding sagely, he matched my nod conspiratorially, as only truly bonded males could.

Holding hands, we stood up and walked back to the hotel, looking forward to my breakfast and even more important to me, the rest of my wonderfully happy life.

Now everything was perfect. I could hold my head up as an independent individual, not forced to hang onto my lover's coat-tails if the need ever arose. I was deeply in love and believed I was loved totally without reservation in return. 

I had a simple wedding ceremony to look forward to, perhaps giving me an opportunity to renew my relationship with my two middle-aged sons. 

I was wearing fresh clean new underwear and smart casual clothing for the first time in a long while. My new shoes fit like gloves (oh, you know what I mean!)

I was staying in a penthouse suite in the swankiest hotel in town and could look forward very soon to living in a nice house in wonderful company. 

I was once more gainfully employed doing a job I loved doing more than anything and was suddenly financially extremely secure. I was no longer encumbered with the responsibility of a weighty lease around my neck, or any debts. 

Nor did I have to endure the inconvenience of an unreliable rust heap of a car. I could take my time and choose my pick of the new or quality used vehicles available. 

Even my, now our, cat was happy, purring away even when I was in the same room as him.

In short my life that was absolutely awful two days ago was now blissfully perfect.

The only patch of thick rain cloud darkening my horizon, one that had completely slipped my mind, were those half a dozen soaking wet, doodle-fucking-bug library books!

THE END