Live the Dream. Josephine Cox

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      He settled himself into the seat, closed his eyes and yawned. ‘One thing’s for sure, she’s up to no good.’ He thought about the man who had paid for her cab. ‘Some women don’t know when they’re well off!’ he muttered. ‘That fella seemed a decent sort, but if he’s not careful, he’ll find himself hooked up to a bad lot, an’ no mistake!’

      Georgina followed the man into the sitting room.

      ‘I didn’t expect you tonight, Helen. What you doing ’ere at this late hour anyway?’ A rough-looking fellow, but well-endowed, clad only in underpants he made a fetching sight to her eager eyes.

      ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ A flush of disappointment coloured her face, but she pouted seductively and slowly slipped her coat off, her eyes full of suggestion.

      He gave a wily grin. ‘Depends, don’t it?’ Looking her up and down he licked his lips. ‘It’s been a while since we got together.’

      ‘I was on my way home and thought I’d come and pay a visit,’ she purred.

      His blue eyes coveting her, he smiled. ‘If I knew where you lived, I might be able to repay the favour now and then.’

      Shaking her head, she took a step forward. ‘I’ll never tell you where I live.’

      ‘Hmm! Sometimes I wonder if your name really is Helen.’ He gave her a wry little smile. ‘Is it?’

      She laughed. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’

      ‘You’re a secretive bugger and no mistake.’ Now, as he moved towards her, the light from the flickering gas-mantle played shadows on his unshaven face. ‘And why is that, I wonder?’

      Stroking her hands through his tousled brown hair, she murmured, ‘Because I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone, but I especially don’t trust men.’

      Through hostile, narrowed eyes he studied her. ‘All the same, it would make things easier if I knew a bit more about you. After all, you know my name, and you know where I live.’

      Staring him out, she answered emphatically, ‘Only because I had to bring you home when you were drunk out of your mind. You couldn’t stop talking.’

      They had met in the town one afternoon when Georgina’s high heel had become caught between paving stones and he’d freed her. Each had liked the look of the other. He admired her bold manner and her expensive perfume, and she had always secretly lusted after rough-looking men. Good manners, she found, so often took the excitement out of sex. Sylvia must have found the same, Georgina thought. Why else had she had an affair with Arnold Stratton?

      Neither had anything better to do so they’d found a hotel bar; then, when they’d drunk a fair amount, gone on to a pub he knew. There he’d become ridiculously drunk and she’d had to take him home in a taxi. She’d stayed the night and their affair had started when his hangover abated.

      ‘And besides, you don’t need to know my real name and address,’ she now added.

      ‘Oh, but you’re wrong. As a rule I know all about my women after the first meeting.’

      ‘I’m not one of “your women”.’

      ‘So, what are you doing here?’ Leering into her face, he laughed. ‘Can’t resist me, is that it?’

      She batted her eyelashes. ‘I get lonely sometimes,’ she answered. ‘Is that so hard to understand?’

      He took a long, slow breath. ‘It is, yeah. You’re an attractive woman … not short of a bob or two, by the looks of it, and here you are, slumming through the back streets to see an old lag like me.’

      Smiling, she observed his muscular figure, with the first signs of a rounded stomach, and that unkempt face with its peculiar, rough appeal and, stepping forward, she stroked his bare arm. ‘You’re not an “old lag”,’ she murmured.

      ‘Oh, but I am.’ He was deliberately taunting her. ‘When a man’s been in prison, what else would you call him, but an old lag? I’m a bad man, Helen.’ His eyes were hard like two bright marbles. ‘Some of us are locked up because we deserve to be.’

      She touched him tenderly, her fingers curling round the hairs on his broad chest. ‘If you’d rather I left …’ her voice was like silk in his ear, ‘I’ll go now … if that’s what you really want?’

      ‘O’ course it’s not what I want.’ His features softened. ‘You don’t know how glad I am that you took me home that night,’ he said gratefully. ‘I were in a bad state – drunker than I’ve ever been in my life.’

      She gave a soft, knowing laugh. ‘You were in need of help.’

      With a wicked look in his eye, he asked meaningfully, ‘And are you in need of help?’

      ‘You know I am. Why else would I be here?’

      Grabbing her to him, he kissed her hard on the mouth, one hand undoing her dress, the other snaking round her waist.

      There was little foreplay and even less tenderness. It wasn’t long before they were naked and locked together, writhing on the floor in ecstasy. The coupling was fast and furious, leaving them collapsed into each other, gasping and breathless.

      A short time later, the cabbie almost leaped out of his skin when she banged on the window. ‘Open the door, dammit!’ In the streetlight, with her face pressed to the window, she made a frightening sight to a poor wakening man.

      Scrambling across the seat, he opened the door. ‘What time is it?’

      She was smiling like a cat who’d got the cream. ‘It’s time to take me home,’ she said.

      And because his every instinct told him she was trouble, he lost no time in taking her home as fast as he could.

      Edna hurried home to Peter Street.

      ‘I’ve kept the kettle on to boil.’ A small, round figure with balding head and pot belly, Harry had been wed to Edna these past forty years, and he loved her now as much as he had ever done. ‘Sit yerself down, lass.’ Scrambling out of the chair, he began his way to the kitchen. ‘I’ll mek yer a brew.’

      When the tea was made, the two of them sat before the fire, comfortable in each other’s company, and as always, the low-burning fire making them drowsy. ‘Everything all right when you got back there, lass?’

      ‘Aye, in the end,’ she replied.

      ‘Don’t let that woman upset you, lass. She’s not worth losing a minute’s sleep over.’ Sliding down in the chair he closed his eyes.

      Seemingly unaware that her husband was ready for his bed, Edna remarked on what she had overheard. ‘That devil were calling me names again.’

      Looking up, Harry scratched his head. ‘What’s that you say, lass?’

      Edna tutted. ‘Sylvia’s awful sister. She were calling me names to Mr Hammond.’

      He shook his head in disgust. СКАЧАТЬ