16 comments/ 12830 views/ 16 favorites Share Your Toys, Timothy! By: Spencerfiction Prologue Not only was the house in total darkness when he arrived, he found that none of the light switches worked, so the mains must've been shut off or fused at the box in the basement. Using the meagre light from his mobile phone he bounded up the stairs to the master bedroom. He found his wife's ravaged body lying spread-eagled on the bed. She felt cold to the touch as he tried to locate the carotid artery with trembling fingertips. Nothing, he could feel no discernible pulse. He keyed in 999 on his mobile phone and placed it on the bed. He lifted her chin to open up her airway, placed his interlocked hands on the centre of her breastbone and started to apply rhythmic pressure. The phone asked in answer to his call with a comfortingly efficient female voice, "Which service do you require?" "Ambulance and police, my wife has suffered a frenzied attack by a number of persons unknown within our home and is not breathing, no trace of pulse and she is cold to the touch. I am applying CPR. My name is Timothy Smith; address 191 Carson Drive, Halifax. Please hurry, she's seven and a half months' pregnant." The voice at the end of the line was calm and comforting; she continued to both ask questions and supply information, assuring him that the emergency services he'd requested were on their way. He answered all her questions automatically, keeping up the heart massage and occasionally checking unsatisfactorily for breathing and pulse. The voice droned on keeping their tenuous contact going. He could smell the overwhelming odours of sex, urine, blood and defecation, which filled the room until they were stifling to his senses. He could smell his own fear too; almost taste its metallic taint in his hot, dry mouth. In the dim light from the upturned mobile phone he could see that the bed was covered in stains and blood and was awash with the overwhelming pungency of urine. His poor wife's heavily pregnant body was covered in bruises and bite marks. His eyes were filling up with moisture and it was difficult for him to focus. His tears dripped off his cheeks and splashed onto the backs of his rhythmically working hands, pumping air in and out of her lungs and, hopefully, into her bloodstream, keeping her alive ... and their baby. While he worked methodically awaiting the ambulance he thought back to the call he received on his mobile only minutes earlier, the possibly disguised, certainly unrecognisable, voice urging him to get home to his bedroom, informing him his wife was in mortal danger. He had been on his way home from work anyway with the intention of collecting a Chinese takeaway and bag of chips from her favourite chippie for her, an Indian curry for him. Once he had received the call, he headed home directly, which was normally just five or six minutes away, he made it in less than three. He just hoped he was on time, she ... they, his wife and baby now ... were his whole life. ~~~ I could feel as if I was floating on foam, silently suspended, gently buoyed, cushioned. Otherwise I felt nothing, but at least I was warm rather than cold. I could hear nothing at first but, listening again carefully, I could make out something distant yet so close, like a song vibrating through my being. The foam around and beneath me had surged back and forth ferociously like waves threatening by the increase in choppiness to overwhelm me, a weight pressing down on my chest giving me waves of nausea and pain. I wanted to breath but was afraid of drowning. I had felt fear for the first time, a fear so tangible that I think I screamed. The song became louder but it was non-threatening, calming and comforting presence, penetrating though the foam waves that boiled around me. So I relaxed. The song spoke to me, not through language or words, but through the emotion of unrelenting generous love, binding me to the singer as if we were one and the same, and always would be. Whatever I was floating on became becalmed, like in a harbour, the motion of whatever threatened to engulf me was distant, held at bay by a force which was both all-consuming yet benign. I settled, relaxed, into the foam allowing only pleasant dreams of the gentle rocking rhythm of the song to invade my growing awareness. The singer encouraged me to embrace my feelings, though reassuring me that I was protected. I felt the singer was close, around me and encompassing yet also within me. Not a separate being at all, not an It, but a She, a Mother, my Mother. The sound of words formed in my head, Mother and Charlotte, Mummy and Charley, by preference, Mum or Lottie maybe later, at a pinch. She was Mummy and I was Charley, maybe I can live with that? Yes, on reflection, I can live with that and yes, I can live, I will live. It is all going to be all right, sang the voice of Mummy reassuringly. Daddy's here now, he's here for us and Daddy will always be here. Chapter 1 - Smith meets Jones Timothy Charles Smith's story, or the part that interests us, started about two and a half years earlier when his relationship with the Jones family began. Smith and Jones; yes, it sounds corny but that's simply the way things worked out. Tim was sitting in his sales office at Monroe's Motors on a slow Monday morning, where he had been catching up with the paperwork for the weekend vehicle sales, when he noticed this gorgeous woman climbing into one of the shiny new sporty Jaguar motorcars on the showroom floor. Mondays was always a quiet day at Monroe's, following the intensity of the weekend, so half the sales force were absent for the first two days of the week. Therefore he thought he had better get out there and deal with this potential customer, irrespective of how beautiful or otherwise she looked. As he walked across the showroom floor, she was just climbing out of the low, hard-top sports car, giving Tim a perfect view of her lovely long legs, the hem of her thin summer dress hitched halfway up her smooth shapely thighs. She was tall for a woman, a good three inches taller than Tim's five-foot-six, and slender, with wavy multi-shade blond hair flowing down to her shoulders. The height of tall women had never worried Tim; he had been surrounded by tall girls and women throughout his childhood and was extremely comfortable in such company. She had her back to him as she slowly ran a slender long-fingered hand over the sensuous lines of the sporty motorcar. She half-turned as she heard his crisp footsteps approach across the tiled floor of the showroom, showing off her hourglass figure and beautiful face, which opened up into a glorious smile in answer to Tim's own charmingly welcoming one. Tim guessed she was about his age or possibly a few years older; say late thirties to early forties? Stunning, barely began to do justice in describing the effect she gave him. "Good morning, madam," he opened, "I'm Timothy Smith, the sales manager. She's beautiful isn't she?" The lovely vision nodded in agreement with him and partly turned back towards the car and ran her hand along the smooth gleaming paintwork again. "Mmm, beautiful, yes," she turned back towards him, "Oh, I'm Jenny Jones by the way." Her voice was like liquid honey, a cultured but local soft middle class Yorkshire accent rather than haughty Home Counties. He held out a large hand towards her and she put her warm dry slender fingers in his momentarily and smiled once more. It was a smile that could have launched a thousand ships onto an Aegean sea, Tim thought, so he was not surprised at the effect it was having on him and the rigidity of his knee joints. She turned back away from him and stroked that gleaming car once more. Tim swore he had never been so jealous of any inanimate object before. "Were you particularly looking for a sports car?" he managed to say, his professional attitude kicking in being his saving grace, "This one is a hard-top but it can easily become a convertible with a soft-top kit." He didn't actually say it, of course, but he knew to a T that she would look better than simply good in that car with the soft-top down, hair blowing in the sunshine of a coastal road or cresting a hill in the nearby moors. She turned her attention back towards Tim and looked him over, appraising him, checking him out, actually making him feel a little uncomfortable and he was normally very confident about himself and his appearance. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he had left his flies undone, mentally checking back through his recent movements, his last visit to the men's room and steeling himself from physically checking the front of his trousers with tentative exploratory fingertips. However, she had clearly now completed her examination of him and was looking Tim in the eye; smiling as if she was enjoying a secret joke. This made him more rather than less nervous about the condition of his attire. She was a classical beauty. As well as being tall, slim and shapely, she was blessed with a long graceful neck, a narrow face, clear complexion and the brightest blue eyes that clearly demanded your complete attention. She was casually dressed in a light silk or cotton skirt and blouse; it was a hot summer day, ideal for going out shopping for an open-topped sports car. She looked cool, in every sense of the word, yet at the same time hot, oh yes, devilishly hot. Tim had donned his suit jacket as he walked out of his office and he felt hot and sticky and totally uncool in her impressive presence. "I'm looking for a car for my daughter, actually." "A sports car like this or something a little more sedate?" She laughed at that. It was a laugh that made the hairs on his arms stand on end, sending electrical pulses up and down his body. "She wants to stand out in a sports car ... while her father wants something safe and I ... well, I was ready to be persuaded either way or even go for something in between. In fact, since seeing you, Mr Smith, I am quite prepared to put myself completely in your hands." Her smile included those sparkling blue eyes and she looked enchanting. The double entendre of placing herself completely in his hands did not escape him, as she no doubt intended, which had the effect of making him even warmer under his tight collar. I will have to take off my jacket at the first opportunity, he said to himself. She referred to her daughter's father, which gave him food for thought; did she mean precisely that, as a hint to her current unattachment, or did she ambiguously mean her husband? His eyes were focused on her sparkling eyes, eyes that held his gaze in rapture and he had no wish to break that contact for the moment; so he made a mental note to check her ring finger when the opportunity eventually presented itself. That offhand expression "Milf" just didn't do this beautiful woman justice, she was Helen of Troy, the Virgin Mary and Cinderella, all rolled up into one honey-coated fairy-tale package. "Call me Tim, please. We are all on first names here, we really don't bite," he smiled as if he was totally at ease in her presence, although he was anything but. "I'm Jenny, in that case," the vision smiled sweetly, "But then I better warn you, I am known to bite!" She giggled as she delivered that line and Tim's palpitating knees felt even wobblier for an instance. "Well, this sports car would definitely fit the bill if your daughter wants to stand out from the crowd but there are a wide range of other possibilities available here," he said, trying his damned hardest to maintain his cool under fire, "We have a number of smaller cars on the lot that would be better suited for the young lady running about town, attending college or wanting something comfortable for touring. The insurance on a monster like this, though, would be crippling until she was over 25." "Yes, I believe so," she breathed, her secret smile and laughing, sparkling eyes much in evidence. "Also," Tim steeled himself to continue, "this thoroughbred would be quite a handful for a driver with, I presume, limited driving experience. Better to start with something smaller and less powerful for a couple or so, even as much as half a dozen years before considering anything as powerful as this." Tim tried to disarm or deflect his observations with a smile as he joined the lovely woman in stroking the gorgeous car. "I hope I'm not talking myself out of a sale...." She laughed again, it was a sound that could launch any red-blooded man into orbit, "I don't think you are talking yourself out of anything, I hear only good sense from you, Tim. I hope Abbey can get her head around the practicalities of owning such a motorcar. Ah, here she comes now." She looked up towards the entrance leading from the second-hand lot by the side of the showroom. Tim turned and followed Mrs Jones' gaze. The newcomer was almost a carbon copy of her mother, a little shorter by an inch perhaps, somewhat coltish, slightly flatter chested and a little less shapely with narrower hips, but similar coloured hair, worn long down her back a good half a metre longer. She possessed the same brilliant smile as her mother adorned, with the addition of the cutest of dimples in her cheeks. "Nothing at all I like out there, Mother," she said as she approached, her voice pitched slightly higher than her mother's honeyed tones but not gratingly so. Her voice was clearly a much more affected Home Counties to his ear, attuned as it was to the usual Yorkshire dialect of his hometown. Abbey's accent dripped with what he imagined would emanate from a leafy southern suburban finishing school. "Never mind, Abbey, we find ourselves in the good hands of Mr Timothy Smith here," her mother said brightly, "He's the sales manager and I'm sure he will sort out something for you that fits you like a glove." "Hello," he said, taking his cue from her mother, "Please call me Tim; may I call you Abbey?" "Of course, Tim," she replied with the sweetest flash of her dimpled cheeks as they briefly and lightly touched hands in greeting. "I just need to ask you a few questions so I can figure out the best way I can help you. OK?" She nodded her affirmation. "How long have you been driving for?" he asked, "and what car did you learn to drive in and have driven since?" "Oh, I passed my test last week, and I had most of my lessons in a Yaris, I think, yes a blue Yaris it was." Her dimples put in an appearance once again as she rested her index finger on her chin. "So this purchase is going to be your first car?" "Yes." "And what will you be using your car for, primarily?" "I need it to get to and from college." "And that is how far away?" "Newcastle." "Say about 100 miles. Will you be doing that every week or once or twice a term?" "Probably four or five times a term." "What about carrying capacity, because you wouldn't be able to carry much in a sports car?" Her mother jumped in then, "Her father and I will drive up there with everything she will need in his big Merc, and collect her stuff as and when required." She also smiled just as sweetly as her daughter, only missing the dimples. So, he thought, the father is still on the scene. Oh, well, the thought of possibilities had been good while it lasted. "What about availability of parking at campus, and getting around the town?" "Mostly I won't need the car too much in town. There is parking at the halls of residence." "Do you feel very strongly about environmental conservation? Have you considered a hybrid or electric car for instance?" "Not really, even an electric car uses power from an oil-powered power station, and the materials used for batteries is also wasting resources and polluting the atmosphere." "All right, final question, is there anything you've seen that you'd like to test drive?" "Well, we did look at Mac's first, Mum insisted, but there was nothing there, a horrible selection. No, I'd really rather go for this car." She pointed at the XK-R convertible. "It looks so cool." "OK Abbey, I'll do a deal with you. We'll take one of these cars out for a spin, but only if you will also let me take you out in a different car of my choice. Afterwards we can consider whether you want to purchase the one you feel most comfortable with out of the two. Agreed?" Abbey looked at her mother, who smiled back at her and suggested, "Two test drives for the price of one? Go for it, sweetie." "OK, then," Abbey smiled with both dimples blazing. Tim grinned and excused himself for a moment as he collected the keys from the rack behind the parts and service desk, having a quiet word with Alec the desk clerk, while he was there. They had a gleaming black test-drive model of the Jaguar they were interested in on the lot, that he pulled out of its parking bay for her to try. Tim went over all the controls with Abbey firstly while her mother squeezed herself into the back. It was a two-door coupé and there was very little comfort room for her lovely long legs in the relatively cramped rear seats. Abbey hesitatingly pulled the long powerful vehicle out of the garage and they drove around the Halifax ring road for a while. Soon she found she was becoming used to the car and after about twenty minutes she visibly relaxed. She was quite a competent sensible driver, Tim assessed, despite her lack of driving experience. This was too much car for her, though, in his quiet opinion. They drove back into the garage and Tim got her to reverse and park it safely in its parking spot using the assistance of the rear radar. She made a reasonable job of it despite the poor visibility from the rear window, especially with her mother's head in the way. With Jenny as a distraction Tim imagined that he couldn't have parked that car straight in a football field! "Right," he said grinning at the two ladies, once they had managed as elegantly as was possible in the circumstances, to extricate themselves from the car and stand beside the gleaming beast, "That is one serious motor car." Then he guided them to the front entrance of the showroom, where the smiling service desk clerk Alec stood, next to a blindingly shiny bright yellow Mini Countryman, a sporty four-door version of the relatively diminutive motorcar, holding out a set of keys for Tim. "On the other hand," Tim turned, handed the set of keys to Abbey and chuckled, "This is a fun motor car! Go on, Abbey, get in." Initially they travelled along the same route as the previous test run, then into some residential areas and it was almost an hour before they worked their way back to base. Abbey wore a huge grin on her face the whole way round. She even smiled as she parked the little car in a spare bay, this time without the aid of any radar. Then they were led into Tim's office and sat down with a cup of tea each before Tim hung up his jacket, sat down at the desk, got out his tablet and loaded up the purchase forms. "Right," he asked with a smile, "Do you want me to run through the prices, options and details of both those cars or just one?" He looked at Abbey, who briefly glanced over at Jenny before turning back to Tim; both girls were smiling broadly. "The yellow one, I loved it!" Abbey enthused, "I'd not seen a four-door Mini before." "That's the Countryman version." Tim explained as he started tapping into the tablet and bringing up images and data on the vehicle. "It's got a diesel engine, which gives excellent mileage both for urban and distance driving, the four doors make it easier for your girlfriends and your mother getting in and out, while maintaining their modesty and comfort. It's got full climate control, so you will always be as cool or as warm as you want throughout the year and the windows will never fog up, so you will always be able to see all around you. As you know, it's very easy to park and you should be able to spot that colour in any car park." Share Your Toys, Timothy! "I love the colour," Abbey said with a big grin. "Now, down to the details," Tim addressed the form on his tablet to start filling in the price figures. "It's not a new car, we are not a Mini dealer. This came in as a part-exchange this weekend for someone trading up to one of our Range Rovers. Nothing suspect about the sale, a couple just got married and traded in their two smaller cars and drove away with one family-size car." "How old is it?" Jenny asked. "Eleven months old and has just over 8000 miles on the clock, so it is only just broken in, guaranteed by the original warranty for another two years and should give three or four years absolutely trouble-free motoring and, if regularly serviced, should still be easily traded in at a reasonable price for your next car." "How much?" Jenny asked. He grinned, "It's about £70,000 cheaper than the Jag!" Jenny matched his smile with one guaranteed to make any man melt as he tore away his eyes and typed in the figures for the base price of the car and the extras and turned the tablet round for the girls to see the figures. He pointed to the breakdown figures with the tip of his pen. "That's the base price, plus the cost of twelve months' road tax, a full tank of petrol, service costs for the next two years and a set of rubber mats to put in and protect the carpets during the winter months." They could see the final price, which was very reasonable, broken into two figures, the deposit and balance payable. They looked at each other and Jenny nodded, almost imperceptibly, before Abbey turned back to him and squealed, "I'll take it!" giving him both devastating dimples. "Can I drive it home today?" "No," he said gently, with his own disarming smile, which had always worked well for him in the past, "We have a few formalities to go through first. The car only came into us this morning after a part-exchange sale arranged at the weekend, which is why it was in the workshop earlier and not out on the lot. I got the guys to give the outside a quick wash while we were out test-driving the Jag, but it needs a little more work and a proper polish. We need to give it a complete mechanical service and valet throughout, arrange for the transfer of ownership and purchase the road fund licence for the next year as there is less than a month left on the old one. Also you need to sort out your motor insurance, and we need to go through the payment terms. You can pick it up first thing the day after tomorrow if you can bring in an insurance certificate tomorrow by lunchtime." Tim looked at Jenny, "How do you want to pay? I need a small deposit now and the balance when you collect the car. Do you need finance arranged?" He thought it was an unnecessary question, but he had to ask. Jenny shook her head, "Credit card OK?" Tim nodded, "That'll do nicely." They all smiled. "Right, I'll print out all these papers, we'll go and look over the car again for any knocks or scrapes that need correcting and then we can sign the paperwork and relieve you of your deposit." "I'll call your father," Jenny said to Abbey, as the three walked towards the door, "He wanted to see what you ended up with." She turned to Tim as she pressed the speed dial on her phone and put it up to her ear, "It won't affect your sale, Tim, he will arrange the insurance and simply wanted to see it before - Oh, hi Hon ... Yes ... a Mini ... Nice ... Safe, bright yellow, very bright ... Mmmm ... Yes ... Now? OK." She hung up. "He's coming down now, in five to ten minutes." By this time they'd reached the car again and Abbey wanted to check out how roomy or otherwise it was for her friends in the back. As she ducked inside, Jenny pulled him to one side with a hand on his arm. "How much commission did you lose, persuading her to take the Mini rather than the Jag?" she still held his upper arm, he really didn't want her to let go, ever, if he was honest. "I'm the sales manager, so I'm not on commission; it's Monday and most of the salesmen have today and Tuesday off," he smiled. "OK, then how much would the commission have been if you were the salesman?" she enquired. "Not as much as you'd think, our salesmen are on a good basic salary, the cars almost sell themselves so they do not have to be as pushy or tempted to offer poor choices to our customers as some other car salesmen." "You avoided my question neatly, Tim, but not neatly enough. Now, how much?" she persisted, reinforced with her disarming smile. "A thousand or so," he shrugged. "And how much discount did you knock off the list price of the Mini before putting in the base price?" Jenny was a smart cookie, there was an entry for discount on the form he'd filled in on the tablet, which he'd intentionally left blank. "A thousand or so," he shrugged. Jenny grinned, showing a perfect set of white teeth. "Thought so ... You don't remember me at all, do you, Timothy Smith?" Tim looked at her more closely; unfortunately she had just released her grip on his upper arm. As he had noted to himself before, she was tall, blond, very nice figure, with a beautiful face. Very attractive for early to mid-40s he re-assessed, definitely beautiful and way, way out of his class. Anyway, Jenny was married, so she was definitely off-limits as far as he was concerned. Tim valued his integrity; he had no need to step outside the parameters he had established for himself long ago. If she had been single, though, there was no doubt he would have been very, very interested. "I am mortified," he said apologetically, "I may need to book an appointment with my resident consultant brain surgeon, I am certain that if I had met you before I would never ever have forgotten you." "Well, I have never ever forgotten you," she grinned. "Damn! I feel even worse now," he said, "As soon as I get back in the office I'll call for a gurney fitted with restraining straps and an emergency nurse with a cold compress!" She laughed. "You wouldn't remember me, Tim, honestly you wouldn't. I was about 23 when you last saw me and you sold me my second ever motorcar, which turned out to be my most important purchase, ever." "No, I can't believe it, I am sure I still had all my faculties completely intact just, ooh, eight or ten years ago." Jenny punched him lightly on the arm, "It was 22 or 23 years ago, you bullshitter, as you very well know!" She was beautiful when she smiled. "I wore my hair cut quite short and a shade or two darker back then. Also, I had thick-rimmed glasses and probably still had braces on my teeth. I had just finished college and didn't dress anywhere near as well as I do now, so I'm not surprised you didn't recognise me." "Well, Jenny, if you don't mind me saying so, you must have turned from a duckling into a beautiful swan. I must've only been about 15 or 16 some 22 or 23 years ago. What car did I sell you?" "It was a classic powder-blue MGB sports car." "I think I remember that car," Tim said. "It must've been a Saturday, when I still worked part-time at Mac's scrap yard and car sales, mostly cleaning and polishing. I only helped out with customers when Mac or the other salesmen were too busy. You never came back to return it, so how was that MGB?" "I loved that car, it was my absolute pride and joy. It was eight years old when I bought it and I drove it for another eight years until it became too expensive to get through the MOT." "It was the perfect car for you at the time," Tim remembered, or at least partly remembered, thinking he may actually have been only 15 and still at school while only working at Mac's on Saturday mornings. "I was looking at a much bigger sports car, which would have been too powerful and too expensive to run and you approached me to see if I needed help, before guiding me to look at that MGB and sold it to me for £300." "It must've been the right car for you if you kept it for eight years." "It was. In fact, it's still going strong, over 30-odd years old, an MGB enthusiast bought it from me and restored it, displays it regularly at sports car shows and we've kept in touch ever since." "Wow! I'd love to see that car again!" "I'll give you Wayne's number. Just three careful owners and he's restored the car until it looks absolutely immaculate. In fact, without that car I would never have met my husband. Maybe, I owe you my whole wonderful life." She squeezed Tim's hand. Abbey got out of the car then and Tim showed her the boot and the engine and all the little cubbyholes where she could store stuff; where the diesel, oil, coolant and washer liquids went. Tim especially warned her to be careful about the diesel fuel, as petrol wouldn't work at all. Abbey was so excited, this was her very first car and it was, Tim had to admit, a beauty. It was perfect for her in her current circumstances. While they were still with the car, her father turned up in a large and immaculate midnight blue Mercedes. Jenny tucked her arm in Tim's as her husband stepped out of his car and strode towards his wife and daughter. He was tall and distinguished, dressed like a powerful executive in a very nice grey pinstriped suit. He had a full head of brown and grey hair and a grey-tinted dark brown moustache. He had a huge smile on his face as he saw his daughter so excited. Tim could see from his smile where Abbey inherited her dimples. "Daddy!" she shrieked, when she realised he had arrived, "Come and look at my new car!" "Wow! That's a bright yellow! I thought you wanted a sports car?" he chuckled, stroking her back affectionately. He had a very cultured Southern English accent. "Oh, this is so much better!" enthused Abbey. "It's so me!" "It is, sweetheart," he grinned affectionately, "It so is." He turned and smiled at Jenny, he didn't seem anywhere near as perturbed, that Jenny had familiarly linked her right arm with his left arm, as Tim certainly felt. Whilst still holding onto Tim's arm, Jenny leaned across and kissed her husband lightly on the lips and said "Roger, this is Tim Smith, the sales manager and ... this is my husband, Roger Jones." Roger stretched out his hand and shook Tim's spare hand, smiling slightly as they shook and exchanged the usual polite felicitations, each in a business-like manner, Tim said "Mr Jones" and Roger said "Mr Smith". Jenny continued speaking as they shook, "Roger, you may be interested to know that it was Tim here who, all those years ago, sold me my MGB!" The two men were still politely touching hands at that point, when Roger suddenly enveloped Tim's hand with both his hands and started pumping that hand furiously, his opening rather enigmatic smile turning into a broad and genuine toothy grin and he began to laugh in a deep warm baritone. "Well, this is indeed a pleasure, Tim," he said as he chuckled, "I love that car almost as much as Jen does. Did she tell you she still goes out of her way to see it at summer rallies at least once a year?" "She did, sir." "Tim, please call me Roger, if it wasn't for that car you sold her I probably wouldn't be the happy man I am today. Jen was a computer programmer in my company at the time we first met and it seemed that every lunchtime she was bent over that car polishing it. I just had to go over and speak to her about it and one thing led to another. I swear that car deservedly has its own entry in our Christmas card list!" He released Tim's hand and put his arms round his daughter Abbey, saying "Well, sweetheart, you came to a Jaguar garage to look at sports cars, so how come you ended up with this little saloon?" "I test drove one of those first, Daddy," Abbey said, pointing to the XK-R coupe in pride of place in the window of the showroom, "But Tim insisted that I drive this one as well and I absolutely love this car!" "Thank you Tim, I think you've saved me a few tens of thousands," he said as he turned back to the sales manager. Jenny, still holding onto Tim's arm, whispered "About seventy, dear." "I am very impressed," he said, nodding at Tim, "But from what Jen has often said of you down the years, though, it is exactly what I should have expected." Tim's eyebrows shot up at that. If he was honest, he couldn't remember Jenny at all from all those years ago. As she said herself, she was not confident enough then to look as attractive as she is now, but then Tim was a schoolboy at the time. He wondered why she would remember him so favourably and had involved him apparently regularly since in her family conversations? "I can't believe she would have remembered me, Roger, I was just a kid at the time and I guess we must have only spoken together for 20 or 30 minutes at most." "Integrity, my dear boy," Roger said, almost as if he understood exactly what Tim was thinking, "It means so much more than appearances." He put his hand on Tim's shoulder. "When I get fed up with the Merc, I'll have you show me some of your Jags." ~~~~~ When Jenny paid the balance, by gold credit card, the next day, bringing with her the insurance cover note, she invited Tim to a family luncheon barbecue they were holding in a couple of weeks. It was on a Saturday and she informed him with a smile that the famous MGB and his owner Wayne were due to be there. Tim had to decline, unfortunately. He explained that Saturday was his busiest day, particularly at this time of the year when the registration numbers were updated; he usually didn't finish work until very late in the afternoon, even early evening catching up with the paperwork. Jenny had extended the original invitation to include Tim's wife or girlfriend, but he said no, he didn't have either one - he was still waiting to find the special person to fill those roles. When she joked that he must have a string of girls to choose a date from, he replied that the bachelor life really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Tim admitted that he just socialised with a couple of mates for one or two drinks and that was his usual Saturday night; sad really but that was his life now. When Jenny left, Tim thought about the invitation. His impression was that Jenny could have been considering an affair with him. That was the last thing Tim that was looking for, so he had made up the excuse of pressure of work on the spot to avoid acceptance. Later, while working out at Jim's Boxing Gym, on his usual Tuesday night session, Tim thought about Jenny's conversation again. He wondered if he had misinterpreted the signals. Jenny had not only confirmed that the MGB would be there on the day of the barbecue but, after he declined and made his excuses, she had smiled with a look of regret and passed on Wayne's website address and contact mobile number so that he could check out that old car for himself. Maybe her intentions were honourable and that his imagination wasn't. Oh well, it was too late to go back now. Tim often did his thinking during workouts. He cast his mind back to his time at Mac's. When he was about 14 years old Tim had pestered Old Mac McKnight, who owned a scrap yard on the edge of the nearby common, to give him a Saturday morning job. Next to that yard Mac had a garage of pretty suspect second-hand cars plus an auto shop selling spare parts salvaged from the yard. At first Tim simply washed, polished and valeted these sorry old bangers and later learned to perform simple servicing tasks in their tiny workshop and scour the scrap yard for usable spare parts. Eventually, almost by default, Tim got involved in car sales and discovered to his and everybody else's surprise that he was extremely good at it. When he left school at 16, Old Mac gladly took Tim on as a full-time salesman. Tim wanted to be the best vehicle seller around so he took evening classes and correspondence courses for salesmanship, marketing, contract law, hire purchase and credit agreements. In his late teens he took business management courses and passed his national diploma. Later on, when he found he had spare time on his hands, he graduated at degree level through a number of correspondence courses. Used-car salesmen have a reputation for being rogues and scoundrels and in many cases those disparaging epithets are fully justified. Tim was determined to be different. He wanted the highest degree of professional integrity in his work that he could realistically manage. Mac's cars were basically old bangers; Mac bought them up from car auctions or took in worn-out cars as part exchange, replacing defects with salvaged parts from the scrap yard wherever possible. Some of the cars were insurance write-offs that were tarted up for resale and would often fall apart shortly after the short-term guarantees that Mac supplied ran out. Tim was always honest with Mac's customers. He would make it abundantly clear that they were buying cheap, why else were they coming to Mac's scrap yard in the first place? He would point out that they were buying a stopgap vehicle, to use for a couple of years at most before they fell apart. For a large number of Mac's regular clientele, this was acceptable practice and particularly suited those on a low income. Tim found he had the gift of the gab and could be very persuasive, soon becoming confident and comfortable dealing with clients. He was cheerfully honest and got a lot of repeat business, especially as these cars weren't expected to last very long! Tim discovered he could be quite persuasive to steer clients away from making a bad choice in their selection and he tried to be as flexible in the drive-away price as Mac would allow. On the other hand if the customer acted as an arrogant prick that ignored his freely given advice, then he'd let them go with their own choice and cheerfully charge them top dollar for the privilege. Tim was basically a nice guy, but no mug; he was a realist, too. ~~~~~ "Hi Mickey, you're looking beautiful, sweetheart," Roger said, rising as his eldest daughter approached his restaurant table for lunch. "Hardly, Dad," Michelle replied, trying hard to keep the twin-dimpled smile of pleasure he felt at the unwarranted compliment off her lips and failing almost completely, "This is the first lunchtime I've had off since starting back at school the week before last. The Year 7 curriculum has changed yet again, I've lost my holiday tan and really feeling frazzled." "And Year 7 is?" "Eleven to twelve year olds, Dad." He kissed and hugged her and they sat down at the table. "Your mother and I are worrying about you, Mickey," he said gently. "You could do with someone to share your load." "I don't need anyone, Daddy, really, I'm happier on my own. With just myself to look after it takes a lot of the pressure off," she smiled, "Anyway, I'm an old maid, I've missed the boat long ago." "You're only 29, Mickey," he said gently, "I married your mother in my mid-30s." "And Mum was only in her early 20s! I remember that Geoff and I were so excited when you first brought her to Grannie's to introduce us, " she said, laughing, "Anyway, speaking of her, where is Mum?" "Shopping expedition with Abbey," he said rolling his eyes, "Some final do-dads she apparently must have for college. Sometimes I think we spoil that girl rotten." "Abbey is not spoilt, Dad," Michelle squeezed his hand across the table, "She's a very bright and well-balanced young woman and I'm sure she really needs what they are shopping for." She did have the good grace to smile sheepishly at the remark. Roger grinned back. "She's got a nearly new car that she's picking up tomorrow," Roger admitted as he took a menu from the waiter. "Nearly new, huh?" laughed his daughter as she glanced down to make her own selection, "What's she gone for?" "A Mini, quite a sedate and economical diesel with four doors," Roger told her, "In a very bright yellow that you can't miss, come rain or shine." Share Your Toys, Timothy! "Sounds like she'll have the safest car on the road, Dad." Roger laughed, "There is that.... It's certainly better than the jet-black Jag convertible she was looking at initially." "Was that also second hand?" "No, it was brand new." "See, I told you that she was sensible." "It wasn't Abbey that decided to go for her final choice, the car salesman talked her out of the Jag and persuaded her to get the sensible Mini instead." His daughter laughed, "That sounds like a salesman from a different mould to the norm!" "Yes, I suppose he is." Roger sounded very quiet. His smile had evaporated. "What's wrong, Dad?" she asked, swiftly picking up his abrupt change of mood. "I ... I think, well, Jenny hasn't said as much but I think the salesman's one of Mum's old boyfriends." "That would've been a long time ago, Dad, 22 years plus," Mickey patted his arm, "You can't be worried about her now. This is Mum we are talking about." "I know, Mickey, but I can't help it," he looked his daughter in the eye, "I'm not getting any younger and this guy is her age and ... well he looks pretty fit ... you'd call him 'buff'. There was a pretty big photo of him hanging up in the car showroom, posing in front of one of the Jags wearing boxing gloves and stripped to the waist." "Daddy, you've nothing to worry about, you are Mum's one and only soul mate. She loves you and she is all about family." "Talking about family, we now have an empty nest, and you hear so many stories about this time in a woman's life. I don't want to bring the subject up with Jenny, though, it's ... well, awkward." Michelle laughed to relieve the tension at the table, "Yes, it is rather awkward! Mum would absolutely explode at the very thought of what you're thinking." "I know," Roger pursed his lips, "I am in a quandary...." There was a long pause. "Why don't you see this salesman guy and have it out with him. Nothing too obvious, Dad. Rather than confront him on his territory, take him out for a game of golf at your club on a one on one basis. If he won't play ball you can always hit him with your driver and bury him in one of the bunkers on the back nine!" "Thanks, Mickey, you are so collected, honey. I think I will." Chapter 2 - Lounge Lizards Busted Tim had told Jenny he wasn't able to attend the Jones' barbecue he had been invited to because he was initially worried about her flirting with him. He was less worried about fending her off, if that was the case, than the temptation to break one of his golden rules. Whether it was toys or women, he simply wouldn't share. So it was to Tim's surprise that a couple of Saturday nights later he saw Abbey Jones again. Tim went into the Crystal's lounge bar and night club about 9.30pm, to meet his friends Pete and Simon, he noticed Abbey sitting at a table with a bunch of her friends. He'd not seen her in there before, he was certain of it. She didn't see Tim at first. The place was starting to fill up and most of the tables and booths were taken, although the bar area was free. Crystal's doesn't have bar stools as they like to discourage patrons from gathering round the bar, it probably made serving drinks easier. Pete and Simon prefer drinking standing up to sitting down, so they usually hung around the bar at least for their first few drinks and then stand at one of the circular counters around the columns holding the roof up. Tim knew the owner of the lounge club, and his girlfriend who ran the place, so certain regulars were tolerated at the bar until the place got too busy. Tim's two friends were in their early- to mid-30s, each respectively six to three years younger than him, and both scarred by previous failed marriages. Pete had been twice bitten, and both were currently regarding themselves as confirmed bachelors. Both would mellow out with a couple of drinks and some stimulating male conversation before moving onto the dance floor in search of potential female company later. They were more often successful than not. That change of objective by his friends was usually Tim's cue to head on home, his days of hunting females in their twenties no longer had the appeal it once had. He would head for home between midnight and one o'clock. Then get up fairly early Sunday and, after an invigorating jog or workout in his home gym, work on cleaning and polishing his classic E-type Jaguar in his garage for a couple of hours. More often than not, he'd go to his favourite sister's place for lunch and play with his adored niece Tina in the afternoon. Tim never drank much alcohol, this bar served tea and coffee at all hours, so he usually chilled out with a couple of beers, followed by a couple of shots of espresso, then perhaps another beer before heading home. This particular evening Tim kept an eagle eye on Abbey's table, wondering if she had driven down to the club. He hadn't noticed her distinctive yellow car in the car park when he had arrived. He always parked in a far corner away from the crowded rows and usually noticed any interesting vehicles as he walked through to the entrance of the bar. She had clearly been drinking for a time and was quite animated in her movements, waving her arms about and chattering away cheerfully to her companions. Tim had no idea how long she had been there but he presumed it was shortly after her parents' afternoon barbecue had finished. There were six people at her table, a couple sitting opposite her, who sat close together and occasionally kissing each other, then sat Abbey, the guy sitting next to her plying her with the drinks, and a couple of other guys sitting the other side of him who seemed to Tim to be concentrating on looking at Abbey all the time. The scene set a few alarm bells jangling in Tim's head. The two girls got up together and walked off to the toilets. Abbey's date for the night came up to the bar next to Tim's standing group and ordered two more drinks. Tim guessed they were all students and not into buying rounds for the whole table. The lighter-coloured drink for Abbey was, Tim heard, a treble vodka and tonic, while the youth ordered a plain coke for himself. Tim watched him closely all the way back to the table, where one of the two other guys sitting together took a small sachet out of his inside pocket and handed it to Abbey's date. He in turn extracted one tablet from that packet and dropped it into her drink, before handing the packet back. That was it. Tim spoken briefly to Pete and Simon about what had transpired and they agreed, as he fully expected, they were more than prepared to cover his back. The trio approached the table and Tim sat down in the bench seat next to Abbey's date. There wasn't really enough room for Tim's broad butt on the bench seat in the booth, so his bum landed on the guy's left thigh and squeezed him over. The youth gave Tim a dirty look and said, "Who? -" Tim interrupted him with, "I'm a friend of the Jones family and I want to know what you think you're up to?" "Nothin'!" he replied quickly, rather too quickly. "Then you don't mind if I watch you while you drink down Abbey's drink in one go then, do you?" "Wha'd'ya mean?" "I mean that I saw you put a tablet in Abbey's drink. If that tablet was harmless, then you won't object to drinking it, will you? Don't worry, I'll get Abbey a replacement drink when she gets back, if she still wants one." "What tablet?" he said. Tim leaned into him until their faces almost touched each other, the youth backed off a little. Tim reached across him and slammed his left fist into the lad's face sitting next to him, knocking him out cold. Then Tim reached across and fished out the little bag of pills from the unconscious kid's inside jacket pocket and waved them in front of Abbey's date's face. "This tablet. Now drink that glassful, but if you spill a single drop I'll make sure you swallow your front two teeth as well, before I stuff the rest of these pills down your neck all in one swallow. Now, what'll it be Sunshine, drink, teeth, or what?" The boy hesitated for a moment as Tim clenched his left fist again in front of his nose. The youth picked up Abbey's glass and sank the contents in one go, spluttering at the end. "What's going on, Toby?" came an agitated female voice. Tim turned, taking in what he expected to see, that Pete and Simon were stood behind the other two players with hands resting lightly but positively on their shoulders. Then he saw Abbey, with a tense face and hands on her hips. She turned her head towards his face as he looked up and, when she saw that Tim was smiling, recognised him and returned his smile. "Hi Tim," she said, much more calmly now, "What are you doing here?" "Hi Abbey," he smiled back at her, then answering a question with a question, "How's your car going?" "It's brilliant, I absolutely love that car," Abbey grinned, "But then you knew all along that I would." "Brought it with you tonight?" "No, Sarah and I are having a final drinking night out before going to Uni next week," Abbey smiled sweetly, "Toby's my designated driver." "I am afraid Toby might have to leave his car here tonight." "Why's that, Tim?" "Well, Rip van Winkle here," he indicated the youth slumped in the seat next to Toby, "Passed this," he waved the sachet of pills in front of the now heavy-lidded Toby, "To your friend Toby here, who slipped one of these pills into your drink. So I asked him very nicely to consume your drink for you, just to check that it was perfectly safe." They all looked at Toby, who was fast losing consciousness, his eyelids already at half-mast. "You bastard!" Abbey cried, reached over the table and smacked Toby round the face. He hardly felt the blow; he just slumped back against the rear cushion of the bench seat, completely out of it, his head resting on the shoulder of his unconscious pal with the busted nose. Abbey said, "These tossers have ruined our evening." "Hey!" popped up the lad sitting opposite Toby, the one who had earlier been kissing the girl Tim now knew as Sarah, "I had nothin' to do with this!" "Only you just sat there watching Toby put the Mickey in Abbey's drink and you said absolutely nothing," Tim pointed out. This time it was Sarah who smacked him around the ears. He got out of his seat and stood next to Sarah, looking somewhat embarrassed. "What do we do now?" Abbey asked Tim, "We came out for a good time, have a few drinks, a meal and a lot of dances. Might be our last chance to let our hair down for a few months." "Well, I can offer you a couple of reasonable alternatives," Tim said, "My good mates Pete and Simon here may be a bit long in the tooth for you young things, but they can dance up a storm, well, a lot better than me anyway, and we will happily keep you supplied with enough drinks to give you a nice warm buzz without losing control, while I hang around as your designated driver. Mind you, I think we could all do with some food first. Or, alternatively, if you don't think we can keep you entertained I can drive you both home now." Abbey and Sarah looked at each other, both of them 19 or 20, a couple of beautiful baby-faced girls, deciding on whether to have an early night or a possibly less-than-exciting night on the town with a couple of tough-looking 30-somethings and a near 40-year-old chaperone. They both whispered to each other before turning to Tim and grinning, saying "OK!" in unison. Abbey added, "We're hungry, thirsty and bursting to get in some dancing, but that's as far as we had planned on doing tonight." "Hey," said Sarah's boyfriend, "What about me? I done nothin'." "Push off Stewie," said Sarah, "You're an arsehole and I don't want to see you ever again!" "But you prom-" started Stewie, until Pete pulled him up by his coat collar and hissed "Scram! And take your buddy with you!" Simon pulled the silent fourth boy up from his chair and pushed him away. They made themselves scarce, leaving their unconscious mates slumped together. Tim stood up and went to the bar to talk to Melanie, the head bar-girl, actually a corking 40-year-old. She was the owner's girlfriend, both long-time pals of his. "Mel, in the booth over there are a couple of unconscious guys that need medical attention, one I flattened with a left hook, the other has taken one of these rooffies, you might want to pass them on to the paramedics so they know what he has taken. We're just off to get some food." "Sure thing, Tim," she grinned as she took the package, as if this kind of thing happened in her bar all the time. "You coming back later? You know you're always welcome." "Yeah," he grinned back, "Give us an hour to settle the dust, have a bite to eat and we'll be back." "I'll keep some seats nice and warm for you, Tim." By the time they all got their coats on and were stood outside, the ambulance was already parked out front. Billy, one of the two bouncers, saw the three old guys with the two young girls and asked, hooking his thumb towards the ambulance, "Your handiwork, Tim?" with a grin on his face. "I'm not admitting to anything, Billy," he said, "We're just going to get something to eat and we'll be back later." "If there's a queue when you get back, come to the front and we'll let you in." "Thanks Billy." It was Pete who asked the girls what they wanted to eat, offering, "Burger, Pizza, Chinese, Indian, Italian or Steak?" Tim's first choice would have been between Italian and Steak, but the girls both said Chinese, so they headed to Chang's, just a short walk away and the best of the Chinese Restaurants in the town. Tim was quite well known in there and knew they would get a table easily, even though it was getting quite late. The meal gave the three men a chance to get to know the girls better and vice versa. Tim asked Abbey how the barbecue had gone earlier. Sarah replied first, saying that it was boring, while Abby conceded that it was because it was mostly Mum and Dad's friends there. Then she brightened and said, "Mum's friend Wayne brought her old MGB with him and Mum had said how disappointed she was that you couldn't be there to see it." Tim agreed with the sentiment, he would have liked that. "Oh," she added, "Mum passed on your Monroe's business card to Wayne so he could contact you and arrange to bring it over to the showroom. Mum loves that old car. It looks so tiny and ... old!" Tim realised then that his fears about Jenny's motives were unfounded; she was probably just one of those people that liked to touch and tease without realising it could be interpreted as flirting. Sarah seemed a bright girl, so what she had seen in the now-rejected low-life Stewie, Tim really didn't know. She seemed to latch onto Simon, who was a nice guy and probably the better looking of Tim's two friends. He had married when he was far too young; probably about Sarah's age and they had a baby girl before he was 21. Young Sammy Bailey was 10 and a cute kid, still living with her mum, who had remarried following the relatively non-acrimonious divorce. Simon was manager of one of the smaller but very busy supermarkets in the high street and Sammy stayed with him every other weekend. This was one of his free Saturday nights when he could go out and let his hair down. He had become a bit of a pussy hound admittedly, since his divorce three years previously, but he knew when to behave himself and he wasn't about to cross Tim, especially after his friend had already punched one person's lights out tonight. Also, while the girls went off to the toilets at the restaurant Tim had made it very clear to the two guys that tonight's expenses were on him and that they were to be on their very best behaviour throughout. They both agreed readily, saying that they knew as soon as he'd pointed out the date drug that they were going to be white knights for the evening and show the girls a good, albeit innocent time. As Pete said, they were only kids. As Simon and Sarah seemed to be getting on all right together, Pete and Abbey gravitated towards one another once the group returned to the Crystal's lounge and the dance floor. Tim stayed drinking alternate hot coffees and iced water, while the other guys happily got a nice buzz on with beer and shots at his expense. The boys certainly drank more than they were used to, but never allowed their behaviour to stray from the rigid guidelines he had held them to. Mel waved away Tim's credit card but she kept a tab behind the bar for him and he eventually settled up when he called in mid-week. The total made his eyes water a little, but he could afford it; he had no one else to spend his money on and he found he was left with a nice warm self-righteous glow about his role in the evening's proceedings. Pete was a very good mechanic at the Jaguar garage, originally working with Tim at Mac's. He wasn't as good a dancer as Simon showed himself to be, or as fit as he should have been and soon cried off to sit a few dances out. Abbey was up for more dancing and had already turned down a couple of advances from youths of her own age, so Tim felt more than a little obligated to dance with her. But before he asked her, she had already decided to drag him up to the floor anyway, rather than wait all night for him to ask. Tim wasn't too bad at dancing, as he was quite light on his feet, but he naturally tended to avoid the activity by choice. Tim still went to his boxing gym once a week and did a lot of skipping and roadwork. It was just that he felt very self-conscious on the dance floor and Abbey certainly had all the moves. He'd been watching her for the last hour or so, her sinuous movements reminding him so much of her mother. It was no wonder that Pete had to sit out the last couple of dances. Tim and Abbey started dancing a couple of slow numbers, as the night was drawing towards an end, which Tim thought went OK. Then a couple of fast ones challenged him a little and Abbey was killing herself laughing as he tried to mirror her moves and failed miserably. He didn't mind though, she had her fun and he was pleased that he had something to do with preventing her from having what almost certainly could have been a nightmare experience for the young girl. Tim was angry with her boyfriend Toby and felt he had got off rather lightly in the circumstances. It was that immature youth's own loss that he wasn't prepared to take the time and trouble to woo this girl who turned out to be an absolute delight to be with. When she showed off her rhythmic athleticism, while they danced, it was a show Tim felt was just for him. Not that he had any designs at all in her direction, he was twice her age after all, but the display still did wonders for his dormant ego. It was much to Tim's regret that he had pretty well been untouched by love. He chatted up a lot of ladies and loved them all a little at least, or quite a lot in some cases, but never loved any woman quite enough to commit the rest of his life to. He enjoyed socialising and had led an admittedly playboy existence for most of his adult life until comparatively recently. He worked hard and long hours so he felt he had earned the right to play hard out of hours. He had money to spend, so he had given his women friends a good time. The only thing he had been unable to give them was his eternal love. A couple of years or so back he found he had passed his mid-thirties without a personal lasting relationship to show for it. Now he was 38 and to him it seemed like he was fast approaching the milestone of 40. He had lots of casual girlfriends but had no special partner to share his life with. Family surrounded him. He had any number of nieces and nephews, most of whom he couldn't stand. The exception was niece Tina, who really grew on him as her lovely and charming personality developed, and Tim began to desire a family of his very own.