This story is for persons of eighteen years or over. All comments, good or bad, are welcome and all will be answered.
Part One
During the few days before Christmas, Oxford Street can be equated with a child's vision of the way it must be in Santa Claus' homeland. A blaze of coloured lights curling their way up lamp posts and criss-crossing the street to descend upon the other side. Many wove themselves into intricate patterns while some were pure advertisements. Atop each post was either Santa Claus in a sleigh or the most popular of Walt Disney's characters, such as Snow White with a couple of dwarfs.
The shops themselves were all ablaze with lights and scenes of winter wonderlands, grottoes or a few with scenes of the Nativity, still misrepresented with snow. It was the automatons that caught children's eyes and glued them to the large windows, noses pressed up tight to the glass, their breath misting the panes.
People moved at a slower pace than normal, pausing at various windows to appreciate the artistry of one, the beauty of another, appreciating the time and effort that some store employee had put in to make their display the best. If they were jostled or had toes trodden on, the apology was accepted without question and was usually followed by an offering of the season's greetings.
All were in general good humour, looking forward to the Christmas break, of the presents they give to children or loved ones, and of those that they would receive in return. The weather never deterred these people from filling the street be it rain, wind or snow, bustling up and down every year, in and out of the stores. Parcels were dropped, bags would split, and all would think it funny as they collected them up and tried to hail taxi's that were always occupied.
That is at Christmas time. The January sales are different. Though some of the lights are still on, the blown bulbs make a mockery of some of the advertising slogans. Snow White has slipped sideways so that it appears as if Happy is looking up her dress. No wonder he smiles, and Santa's sleigh appears to be making a nosedive down to the pavement. The windows of the stores are much of a muchness; all with large red printed banners announcing that there is a sale on. Twenty per cent off; special discounts; nought per cent finance; buy now and pay later. The banal advertising manager has taken over from the gifted window dresser and they must have all gone to the same Art College, because it was difficult to tell when one store finished and another began.
It was a bitter wind that made the pedestrians scurry along, muffled up to their ears, red tips peeking above collars and scarves. No thoughts of stopping to look at the meagre displays, but just to get inside the overheated stores and out of the wind. Then came the cloying, tongue tasting waft of mixed perfumes being sprayed on wrists that then flap about before being put to the nose. The crowds of people moving in all directions at once, bumping and boring their way through in the direction that they think will lead them directly to the counter they are seeking.
The crush is a swirling eddy that never seems to find an outlet till one is suddenly pushed out of the stream to find the walls moving back and downwards, realising that it's an escalator taking you up to another seething cauldron of humanity. It's a pickpocket's dream and the shoplifter's heaven of bodies pressed together so fingers are unfelt and many big coats have lots of small inside pockets.
Parcels, bags, baskets are constantly hitting the knees or thighs as they swing in the tight grip of the buyer clinging to the bargain of the year. Then into the fray of quickly trying to find the hanger on the rack with the right size for you. Of course not in any semblance of order, but seeming all to be either for midgets or women who, if they were there, wouldn't be able to get through the narrow spaces left between the racks.
But with a few things that might, or look as though they will fit, the struggle comes to find the queue that never moves at a paying counter. Wait forever while the assistants, harried and stressed, try to remove the stubborn anti shoplifting tag. They should really be trained by the professional shoplifter in this art, as they can remove them one handed while concealing them away at the same time. Then tapping into the computer the code for making up the final total, which then is paid for by credit card, which takes time to be verified before the machine agrees to let the slip of paper chunter out of its slot to be signed.
In this maelstrom of activity, four women are in these queues at different points in the store, waiting their turn, relishing the thought of sitting down for a few minutes with a cup of tea in the cafeteria on the fourth floor. Hoping against hope that there will be an empty seat so that shoes can be slipped off and the toes wiggled because they'd put on the wrong pair that morning at home.
The cafeteria, as expected, was crowded. The queue wasn't as long as Francis thought as she picked up her tray and joined the end of it. Francis Mann didn't mind the bustle of the city, coming from the small town of Malden in Essex. She had driven into Chelmsford with her husband, and they had travelled down by train that morning to London. Him to go to work while she went on this shopping expedition. Francis was just past her thirty ninth birthday, dreading the next one, but was happy that she could still pass for a late twenty year old. Her figure, not exactly hourglass, but was still trim in spite of giving birth to a daughter twenty years previously. Her bust was nice and matronly and her legs were still slender that finished down at size five shoes. Ash blonde hair that didn't seem to need brushing at any time, framed a face once described as beautiful but now called very pretty. The pencilled eyebrows above soft brown eyes that had only a hint of mascara so as not to be distractive, led down to a short, but straight nose above her soft lips.
Behind her in the queue stood Penelope Swithers, though she always preferred to be known as Penny. She was only out that day because she was bored at home. Home being a house in Knightsbridge, so she hadn't travelled very far to be in the store. Penny was thirty years old and looked like a model in her trim suit having the figure that you would never see on a catwalk. Top heavy was her own description of herself, but from there down, perfect. She too was blonde, but tending more to the brunette colour than that of Francis before her in the queue. Her face was long but balanced by the wide blue eyes and generous mouth separated by her nose that on a round faced person would have been large, but suited her perfectly.
Francis reached the till and paid for her tea, pastry and small chocolate bar, and moved off. Penny paid for her coffee, a slice of cake and a peach, and followed on through the crowded tables and nearly lost the lot when Francis suddenly stopped to turn round.
Oh sorry,' said Francis, seeing the tray Penny was carrying, nearly tilt the contents off. I didn't realise anyone was behind me. This place is so full I can't see an empty seat.'
`There's an empty table over there,' Penny said, indicating with her chin across the shoulder of Francis.
Oh you're right,' she replied after looking round, let's grab it quick before anyone else.'
They moved quickly between the other full tables, neatly swerving around crooked elbows and side stepping the bags and parcels that were in every little aisle. The table was in a corner and had just been vacated, but was still littered with trays and used crockery and other debris.
Here, hold my tray a moment,' Penny said, handing her tray to Francis as they reached the table. I'll clear this off for us.'
Francis stood with both trays in her hands while Penny scooped it all onto two of the trays and looking round, but not finding anywhere they could go, gave a grin to Francis and pushed them between the two long flower troughs that bordered the eating area.
`Let them pick those up later,' she smiled, taking her tray back and sat down. Francis pulled out a chair and setting her tray on the table, sat down opposite.
Two other women saw the table being cleared and both made a beeline for the two vacant seats that were there. The first was Anne Seymour, and apart from her hair being a soft brown, could have been the bookend for Penny. Her figure being almost the same. Big breasted above a trim waist and long slim legs with well rounded calves, and like Penny, was only thirty years old.
`May I join you?' She asked of Francis and Penny, standing by the table.
`By all means,' Francis replied with a slight wave of the hand, and Anne put her tray down and sat next to her.
`Can I too?' asked Jane, eyeing the last seat and having heard Anne ask the question.
`Certainly,' said Penny, removing her handbag from the last chair and letting Jane, who with a sigh, gratefully sank down on the chair.
Hi! I'm so glad to get off my feet. My name's Jane. Short for Jane,' she said with a little laugh, yours?' was the query left in the air.
`Anne.'
`Francis.'
`Penny.'
`Well it's nice to meet you. I've just had a bellyful of this place. Worse than Epsom on Derby day. Bet you've never seen a crowd like this before in here?' Jane was married to a book-maker, hence her manner of speech and outgoing personality. London born and bred, she oozed the very spirit of a person raised within the sounds of Bow Bells. Short sharp pithy words and quick head movements like a pigeon constantly looking out for signs of danger. Shorter than the others, but not by much.
Again, thirty years old, but with her round face framed by her black hair at shoulder length, looked younger, except for the little lines at the corner of the eyes that only another woman would see to guess her age correctly. Her figure was slimmer than the other's and not quite in proportion having smaller breasts, thicker waist and fuller hips. Too much eating in restaurants or from hot dog stands at racetracks was not a healthy way to eat.
It is a trifle crowded,' Anne admitted, sipping her tea, I only came to get out of the house for awhile.'
`Me too. All day cooped up, never seeing anyone gets you really depressed,' replied Penny.
`I can spend all day in the garden and still not see a soul go past,' chipped in Francis.
`Where do you live then?' asked Penny.
`Just outside the village of Malden, in Essex,' she replied.
`An Essex girl!' sniggered Jane.
Not at all,' Francis replied indignantly, I was born in Sussex. My husband was born in Essex though.'
`Do the old jokes apply to them too?' enquired Penny with a straight face, but a hint of a smile at her lips.
I think so,' was the laughing reply, boring, and as much sex appeal as a lamppost,' nibbling on her pastry.
That's the trouble with my husband. Too much sex appeal. I never see the bastard much these days,' said Penny gloomily, looking down into her empty cup. I wish one of his popsie's would take him off my hands. The divorce settlement would suit me down to the ground.'
`Well I see mine too much. I'm dragged from racecourse to racecourse. But then, when I don't go, I hear he has some tart with him. Yes, a divorce settlement would sort me out too!' Jane put in.
Humph,' snorted Anne, if my husband saw another woman, he wouldn't know what to do. He wouldn't have the time anyway. You can set your watch by his habits. Divorce would be no good to me, he's worth more with his life insurance.'
Pushing her empty plate a little and dabbing at her lips with a tissue, Francis said, `I'm in the same boat there, though I'm worth more dead to him than he is to me. Must sort that out one day, then maybe it would be worthwhile having him bumped off!' She gave a little hiccup,' Oh do excuse me,' she said with a little laugh.
`I wish someone would do that for me,' Penny said wistfully.
`Kill him you mean?' asked Jane asked.
`Why not? He might just as well be dead for what I see of him, besides, I wouldn't waste money like he does.'
`I don't get any money, well not much to speak of. For this shopping trip I have to use a credit card with a limit given me by my husband!' said Anne.
That is the limit,' declared Jane, and then in a musing tone, I could take over the bookmaking and keep all the money myself. Or take in a partner. Perhaps you Penny. Instead of his slogan, A pound for a Pound', we could make it In for a Penny, in for a Pound.' She laughed gaily, and the others did too.
`What about you Anne? No credit card limit. The sky would be the limit.' Penny said.
I don't know,' she said, absently stirring her spoon round in an empty cup before realising what she was doing, letting the spoon drop clattering into the saucer. It would be foolish to try. You'd be the first suspect after taking out a hefty insurance and then he's popped off. Well, you know what I mean.'
`Not if you were somewhere else and had a cast iron alibi. I mean if it looked like he died as a result of an accident.' Jane said.
`I wouldn't mind if somebody else did it,' Anne popped in.
Jane gave a little flutter of her hands, indicating for the others to lean forward closer. The heads of all four moved closer to the centre of the table as she whispered, What if we got together and did it ourselves. Knock them off at different times, different places, and all that?' Then they all leaned back and gave serious looks to each other, the silence around the table very deafening within the café's hubbub. Jane leaned forward again. Let's not say anymore on this now. What I suggest is that if we are interested, let's meet again in about a month's time, say at the wine bar next door for lunch, and then talk? Say about one o'clock?'
She looked at Penny who nodded straight away. Francis, after a slight hesitation, then at Anne, who flushed with the three pairs of eyes on her, and dropping her own eyes, slowly nodded, and so an agreed date and time was set.
Well,' Penny said. As I live here in London, shall I book a table for then?'
`Good idea,' Jane replied.
My God, is that the time!' Anne exclaimed. I've got to get home. He has to have his dinner on the table at exactly six fifteen,' grabbing at her handbag and carrier bag. Jane caught hold of her wrist.
Think what it would be like if you didn't have to rush, ever again,' she whispered softly, slowly letting go. See you next month?'
Maybe you will,' she replied, maybe I will see you all. Bye for now.' Then with a flurry of coat and bag, left the table and made her way out of the café.
I'd better make a move too,' said Jane, maybe I'll catch the bastard in bed with one of his tart's and do the job myself.'
`Without the insurance?' Penny asked.
You're right! See you next month then, and, oh,' she gave a throaty chuckle, I forgot. There's horse in the three forty five tomorrow. Put your shirt on it. It's hot at twenty to one.' She picked up her things and was just leaving the table.
`What's the name?' queried Francis.
``Blood Money,'' Jane laughed as she left.
`Well if that horse comes in I'll see it as an omen and be here next month,' Francis said, putting out her hand. Penny took it and said softly,
`See you next month.'
Ironically, the horse did win.
Anne hurried down the escalators till she reached the ground floor, and ignoring the looks she got from the people she knocked aside, made her way out of the store. The cold wind was like a knife slicing through her open coat. She had to stop to button up the coat, then with bags in hand, scurried to Oxford Street station. She had to make her connections or her husband Robert would be home before her and then there would be hell to pay.
She had only once been late with his dinner, and remembered it well. It had been on a Thursday during the summer and she had been having afternoon tea with the vicar and his wife at the Vicarage. A phone call came from a farm outside of the village from a Mrs Watkins. She was hysterical but managed to get out that her husband had been in an accident on the farm and would he go out to see him. The doctor was already on his way, but the farmer was asking for him. Anne asked if she could go along to help and the vicar welcomed the offer and took her in his car.
She sat and comforted the farmer's wife and got the tea for the children when they came home from the village school, while the vicar was in with the doctor.
The vicar thanked her for her help with the family as he drove back and dropped her off at her cottage, and only then did she realise the time. It was half past six, but Robert would understand she thought, when he knew she was only late due to a mission of mercy. He was sitting there, patiently at the table, waiting for his dinner. Anne told him what had happened and why she was late as she moved about the kitchen fixing his dinner.
She managed his meal inside forty five minutes without him saying a word, just sitting there, waiting. Placing the plate in front of him, she sat down with hers opposite him. His eyes were hard as he looked at her across the table, and then, instead of picking up his knife and fork, he picked up the plate. Stood up and then strode over to the waste bin, threw his dinner, plate as well, into the container, and still not saying a word, left the house and went to the pub up the road.
He never said a word to her for a whole month. He sat down for his breakfast at seven forty five every morning, weekdays that was, and would leave a note by the side of his plate before leaving the table. This would only be instructions as to what he wanted for dinner that evening. Sex was withheld for three months, though this was not a hardship. They would only have nervous fumblings under the sheets once a month at the best of times. She would lie there for many a long hour after these few brief minutes and wondered if this was what love was supposed to mean.
This past reverie was brought to a halt for her to then race up the stairs to the main line station to catch the train for Bishop's Stortford. She was just in time and with help from a porter, managed to get into a carriage and him shut the door behind her.
Out of breath but still with her bags, fell into a seat to catch her breath. She didn't travel that often into London by train, and on the journey there, she had been glued to the window for the whole short journey. Watching the fields flow past like undulating green seas and was mesmerised by the continuous up and down motion of the telephone lines interspersed by the poles that held them up. The clickety clack of the train speeding its way to London, slowing down so that she could see the narrow gardens of the tenements that backed onto the railway line.
But on this return journey she saw nothing but her own reflection in the window. The falling darkness, with the carriage light shining from above, showed her face almost as clearly as a mirror. It shimmered for a moment, and she saw herself as she was twelve years ago for it was that amount of time when she got married. How proud she had felt, walking down the aisle in her wedding gown, and there, waiting for her before the altar was Robert. She had started working in the same bank as him when she was sixteen and being a naïve young girl had fallen for the man who had taken her under his wing to teach her the workings of the bank. He was six years older than she was, but that didn't matter because she was in love.
They'd honeymooned in Brighton where he took away her virginity as she had been brought up that it was only right for her husband to be the first to change her from girl to a woman. But the romance novels told of transportation to heights of rapture, to feel as though one could reach out and touch the very stars in the sky. To come alive as with the breaking of the dawn and the rising of the sun. To be covered in that warm glow as it rose, (she never did catch the analogy), and filled with its heat. But truth is not stranger than fiction. Truth is reality, and it is not found in fiction.
He had taken her virginity, but left nothing behind but his seed that never took root. He rolled off and had promptly fallen asleep, leaving her with a sense of longing. Of what, she did not know? Just that she was missing something apart from frustration. Over the years she tried to find this missing feeling, but never found it.
He was made head clerk not long after their marriage and three years later was made Assistant Manager at the branch where he now worked. There were no other vacancies in the same bank, so it was decided that his wages were now enough for them to be able to take out a mortgage. They found the cottage they now lived in, and ever since then, which she was now becoming to realise was nothing but a gilded cage. With him having the exalted title of the Assistant Manager, he became very punctilious in all that he did. Everything he did was regulated by the clock, even when they took their holidays in Brighton every year, meals, bedtime etc, were by the clock.
She jumped up startled, as the train jerked its way to a stop at her station. The bus was on time for its usual run round to the villages and knew that she had three quarters of an hour before Robert came home. Deposited at the stop by the pub, she hurried the few minutes it took to reach her cottage. Bags thrown to one side, they could be dealt with later, rushed to the kitchen and started to prepare his dinner.
It was only after he had finished his hot chocolate drink that night in bed, given her a peck on the cheek and fallen asleep, did she give thought to the meeting in the café of the department store with the other three women. She thought of this for many nights, and it wasn't until his monthly ritual of obliging her with his sexual favours that she made her decision. It wasn't taken lightly, because she had been thinking of nothing else since that meeting, but lying there in the dark, her body crying out for a release she didn't know how to bring about and then not quite sure what it was or what it would feel like, but maybe she would have a chance later.
Jane left the cafeteria with her purchases and unlike Anne, took her time to wend her way through the people milling about, still trying to find their own particular bargain. It was only when she reached the outside did she quicken her step because of the cold wind and was grateful to feel that warm gush of air as she reached the steps to the underground. The main line station was awash with people milling around the departure boards high above their heads, babbling amongst themselves about the cancelled trains.
Without hesitation, Jane wheeled round and made for the exit and joined the queue for a taxi. It was not a long wait for they were coming in, taking passengers aboard and then whisking out of the station yard. So she was soon in the back seat of her black cab being taken to Bagshot.
`'Ave ter pay extra luv, it being that far out,' he said in his cabby jargon.
`No problem, no lip, shut up and drive,' she said in as broad a cockney accent as she could.
`Well I never,' he replied, but slid the little glass window shut and did as he was told.
The journey took just on two hours, but worth it Jane thought. It had given her time to sit back and relive that half an hour at the table. Would they or wouldn't they. Living with a bookmaker for the past ten years had given her a good insight into the way people gamble and how to calculate the odds in nearly all situations. Now this was a new one for her, and she sat and hugged herself in trying now to assess each of the women and take bets with herself at which way they would jump. But first, she had to concentrate on herself. Off the cuff, she said, silently, what are the odds on you going through with the idea.
For the first time in her life, the answer didn't pop up as it would with most questions that had been thrown at her in the past. Michael, her `Pound for a Pound' husband would make a joke that his wife could give odds that were ninety nine times right out of a hundred, and he did listen when she made these predictions. The only times he didn't listen was when she spoke about his taking up with tarts when she wasn't around.
So she settled herself back into the softness of the taxi and reviewed herself so that she could come up with the answer to her own question. She'd been round the block more than once before she first met Michael Pound, the local bookmaker, well not really a bookmaker then. It was a few years before it was legal off course, but took bets in the pub and took their money and paid out the winners, expecting, and getting a drink from the winnings.
He was flashy in those pubs, not only in his clothes, but also with his friends, and taking a fancy to Jane, swept her into his circle. It didn't take long for him to get inside her pants and she enjoyed it. Not so much the sex side of it, but the constant excitement that horse racing engendered not only in the punters but in herself as she watched him take the money in, shouting for the horse the mugs backed, but secretly waiting for it to fall. He would commiserate with the losers and then slap a winner on the back and ask for a drink to celebrate his win. Two drinks, one of them being for Jane.
Working in the Greasy Spoon café didn't produce many tips, so seeing this much money keep passing through his hands was like a magnet to a lump of iron. She hung like a limpet and coaxed him to make their association legal. He eventually agreed, after being denied what he wanted, and was used to getting on a regular basis.
That was ten years ago. Now he could have what he wanted, whenever he wanted, but also took what he could get outside of the marital home; and there wasn't a shortage of that either. But then came the worry! What if he picked up something from those sluts, then came home to her!
She shuddered at the thought and had made him wear a condom ever since. This had annoyed him greatly, shouting at her that he was a bareback rider and always would be. That was the beginning of their rift between them that had slowly grown to a chasm that was getting more difficult to cross. So she tossed the mental dice and they came up as sevens.
`I don't know Bagshot lady. Tell me where to go,' the taxi driver broke into her thoughts. Go to hell, was the first thought that came to mind, but she gave him the directions, and when they stopped, he told her the fare, and she gave him an extra fiver and told him to give his wife a treat. It was with shouted thanks that he drove away and left her looking at the house that was home to her and Michael. But not for long you prick, she said to herself as she went down the drive and then inside.
After shaking hands, Francis and Penny left the store together and hailed a taxi and they both travelled to Knightsbridge where Penny got out and gave the taxi driver a twenty pound note and told him what station to go to. She waved as it pulled out from the kerb, and turning, made her way up to the front door. Penny didn't expect Bill to be home and she wasn't disappointed. She called him Bill because it annoyed him. William he had always insisted that he be called, but when she was upset or angry, or just wanted to rile him, she called him Bill.
It was an old Victorian building that was okay in the days of gaslight and servants, but not really practical in this modern day. The rooms were too large, not just in width and length, but in height. Chandeliers had to be used to bring the illumination down lower into the room, but, the reflected prismatic patterns made upon the ceilings compensated and actually enhanced the character in its ambience.
But it was an empty house, a lonely house, inhabited only by the ghosts past and present. Penny could feel them all around her as she went through each room, surveying the contents, trying to find an elusive tangible element that would say that this was hers, hers and hers alone. But there was nothing, only pieces of outdated furniture that had been left by the last owners that were not even Victorian, but just large cumbersome monstrosities that they couldn't be bothered to carry away.
She went through to the kitchen and idly opened the fridge, but what little there was in there, didn't appeal to her at all. So she pulled a bottle of wine from the rack and uncorked it. When she poured out the first glass, she only then noticed that it was a white wine. She grimaced, but drank it all the same. She was really a red wine drinker, but the bottle was open so she sat by herself in the huge kitchen at the large scrubbed refectory table and finished the bottle. Opening another bottle, this time red, and with a fresh glass, went upstairs to her bedroom. She called it hers, because he, her husband, wasn't there that often to share it. His usual excuse was the clinic, and that he had to stay over for the night because of a seriously ill patient.
Her patience had worn out long ago and was delighted to have met some women who had similar feelings towards their own husbands. She went through to the bathroom, and even this was too big. When the house had been built, they didn't put in such things as bathrooms or toilets. This was just another room that had been converted, and plumbing installed in the early twenties. The bath was big, enamelled cast iron on four claw like feet with large taps and shower attachment. The water system was good though, and soon she was filling it up with hot water. Undressing in the bedroom, the clothes she had worn were thrown into the washing basket to be sorted out later, and went back into the bathroom with the wine bottle and glass. Sprinkling in some bath oils, she stepped into the bath and eased her body down into its warm embrace. With the bottle within reach, glass full, she relaxed and thought over the meeting with the other three.
Would they go for it, she mused. Jane seemed as if she was as was Francis. Anne seemed the doubtful one, scurrying off like that. Under the thumb, but maybe the worm will turn. For herself she wanted it. She'd been married to William for eleven years now and was sick and tired of nearly always being on her own. When he did come home, she could smell the perfume of another woman on his clothes. She knew that it was these women who provide the money for this house and style of living, but was it really living? Sex with him was intermittent and no children had come from these odd joinings together.
Didn't he realise that she needed sex just as much as he did? She'd had two one night stands over the last four years, but they were not enough and were unsatisfactory at that. She wanted to pick the time and place, and more importantly, the man.
The bottle was nearly empty and the water was cooling, so she washed and then dried herself, and without putting on nightclothes, got into bed. She snuggled under the covers and put a pillow to hug between her legs, and mused over what it would be like to kill a man? Would it be like sex? Sex! She fell asleep dreaming about it.
Francis got to her station a little while later after dropping off Penny and caught the train for Malden. Others on the train had been doing much the same thing as her, bags from various London stores filled seats and overhead racks. Could she go through with it? She no longer loved Stephen, though they'd been married for twenty two years and had a daughter, Sylvia, now married and living in the States.
Their sex life now was based on him watching the late night adult channel on t.v. and then wanting what he had just seen. This could be at one or two o'clock in the morning he'd wake her up and violently enter her, then, when he was satisfied, roll off and go to sleep. Sometimes she just lie there, feeling his semen slowly ooze out of her and stickily slide down her inner thigh and she would silently cry.
There was no love there for her. She was just a hole for him to stick his thing in whenever he felt like it, but expected her to do everything else for him. Wash his clothes, cook his food, clean the house and just open her legs when he wanted it. Not when she wanted it, the tender kiss, the soft words of love like were said for the first couple of years.
Her hand was wet and she suddenly realised that she was crying. No sounds, but just the silent rivulets of tears coursing down her cheeks. She blinked her eyes but couldn't see for the water that filled them. Groping for her handbag, she pulled out some tissues and wiped her eyes and cheeks before blowing her nose. It's come to this she thought, sitting in a train crying for the love she had lost. Well it was not too late to find another, to recapture that bliss. She was nearly forty, but her need for love still burned deep within her and she still had lots to give herself.
So she would definitely go to meet the others next month.
After a few days mulling things over, Penny went ahead and booked a table at the wine bar for lunch for four for the day that she hoped, they would all turn up. The three and a half weeks dragged by, her stomach churning nearly every day of that time.
Then the day arrived. Butterflies were there as she entered the bar and after giving her name, was escorted to the reserved table. She ordered a glass of red wine and then sipped at it waiting and hoping that they would all come. There was still a few minutes to go to the appointed time because she had deliberately arrived early because of the table booking. People were entering and leaving all the time, and Penny looked up each time only to be disappointed.
Then her heart leapt up to her throat and pounded away as she recognised Francis coming through the door. She gave a little wave as Francis's head turned, surveying the tables, and her face lit up when she saw Penny waving to her. Penny stood up and they both brushed cheeks as a greeting and Francis took off her coat and sat down at the table.
Ooh I am pleased that you came,' Penny said, I've been sitting here on tenterhooks that I would be here all on my own.' A waiter hovered at the table and Francis looked at Penny's glass and ordered the same. Penny put her hand out and touched that of Francis. `I'm glad that you came.'
`I nearly didn't this morning. I had such butterflies in my stomach that I threw up.'
I felt the same.' interrupted Penny, but you're here now.'
Do you think the others will come,' Francis asked, looking at her wristwatch, it's just gone one o'clock?'
`I don't know, but somehow I knew you would, and I thought Jane... Well speak of...here she is now.'
Jane had entered the bar and seen them straight away, and was making her way to the table.
Hello you two. Well I won my bet.' Both had stood up and there was the brushing of cheeks again, and Jane made herself comfortable at the table. White, no. Make it a large gin and tonic please,' she said to the waiter.
`What bet?' queried Francis.
`I made a bet with myself that you two would here when I arrived. So where's Anne?'
`Well not here obviously. I had some doubts about her anyway, but, let's wait a little while, she may have been held up,' Penny said.
I had my doubts too,' Francis chipped in, but not now. She's just come in.' They all turned to the door and saw Anne smile in recognition.
`I nearly didn't come,' she said breathlessly as she sat down.
`Me too,' said Francis.
`I lost that bet,' Jane said.
I'm very glad that you did,' said Penny, patting Anne's hand, what do you want to drink?' She gave her order to the waiter and then they all accepted the menus from another to study what the establishment had to offer. They placed their orders and handed back the menus.
`I suggest we eat first and talk afterwards. It shouldn't take long because there's not a lot that we can discuss in such a public place,' Jane had said. The others nodded their agreement and then asked each other about their journey into town and the like till lunch was served.
With lunch over and all had coffee before them, Jane spoke.
`We all know why we're here and it's basically to say yes to what was mentioned last month. I take it that we are in agreement? Francis?'
`Yes.'
`Penny?'
`Definitely,'
`Anne?'
`Yes please.' They all laughed at this reply.
`This is like that Hitchcock film, you know, ``Strangers on a Train'',' Penny said.
`And they didn't get away with it,' Anne said gloomily.
`And why?' put in Jane.
`The young one backed out from doing it,' Francis said.
That's because he was on his own is why he couldn't go through with it,' Jane stated, but we will be three. That's the difference. Each backs the other two up. But we're jumping the gun here. Let's see if it's feasible when we draw up a plan. The first thing we have to do is meet again with as much detail about you know who. Photos, home, work place, drinking habits, leisure pursuits and any other small detail that you think may be of help in the planning. All clear on that?'
With nods and yes's, Jane continued. `Shall we say next month then? Is that enough time?' Again the answer was in the affirmative.
`Where, if we can't talk here.' Anne asked.
My place?' Penny suggested. Seeing as I live here it would be better. I can lay on a snack lunch and some drinks and we'll be able to say everything then. Any problems there?' No was the collective answer.
`Here's my address,' Penny wrote it down on a napkin and it was passed round the other three.
Don't write it down,' Jane said. Just remember it. When you write your notes, keep one copy to bring and make sure you destroy any others that you might have made. Now the date; same as today next month?'
Agreement all round.
`Time. I suggest between ten and eleven in the morning, or shall we say not any later than eleven? Is that alright with you Penny?' who nodded and again they agreed.
`So that's about as far as we can go at this stage. I say again, thanks for coming and I'll look forward to seeing you at Penny's house this time next month. Shall we say the meeting is closed? Or are there any questions?'
There weren't, so calling over the waiter, each settled their own checks, and then, with goodbyes being said, they all took their leave.
As each journeyed home, they cast their minds back over the lunch-time talk, and gave thought to what they should write down about their husbands.