The Cosy Cottage was a warm and welcome sight on a damp and grey Irish day as I hunted for a place to hide from the world. It was a day for hunkering down with the latest Deirdre Purcell and a warm scone washed down with a couple of Americanos.
“Cream or jam?” the lady said at the side of my table in the back left corner of the room.
“Just butter, please,” I replied, smiling as best I could.
“Are you here to escape?” she said, looking at my book.
“Maybe.”
“Then would you mind using the sofa in the back, please? I need these tables for breakfast customers.”
To keep her happy, I relocated to the big pink sofa at the back of the shop and put everything down on a large, low-level table sitting in front of it. Even though it was at the back near the toilets, I had a clear view of the door and the greater part of the café itself. She came back with my coffee and scone and smiled as she placed it on the table in front of me.
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s no bother, really,” I said, happy enough to have a little bit of a privacy where I could escape from the world for a time.
I’d worn the wrong clothes for the weather. When I left my house, about five miles from Gorey, the weather was beautiful and sunny. Typically, and appropriately for me, the clouds were a deeper grey, and the persistent misty rain was beginning as I parked my little Honda outside the church, a short, walk of five minutes away from my destination.
I’d worn my black boots, gleaned from a charity shop, that covered my legs to the knee, but that was the only correct choice I had made. A short linen jacket, light yellow round neck sweater and white linen skirt to match the jacket, soon showed the uselessness of certain clothes when it rains. I hung my jacket near a radiator on the back of a chair, hoping it would dry quicker. My skirt was a different proposition and all I could do was to grin and bear it in the hope it would dry naturally and as quickly as possible. Luckily, I was wearing sensible knickers, avoiding the need to constantly dig a piece of string out of the crack of my arse every ten minutes.
I settled in with Deirdre’s book and sipped my coffee whilst nibbling delicately on the scone, the raisins sometimes catching in my teeth and occupying my mind on a different level completely.
I put my book down and wrapped my, still cold, hands around the outsized coffee mug, praying that the radiated heat would allow the blood to flow through my fingers a little faster. My mind drifted as I held the drink to my lips, not feeling or seeing anything specific before me.
Before I knew it I realised my coffee was cold. I asked for another in a smaller cup, thinking the large one was the cause of the brew cooling too quickly. The shop was filling up with breakfast and brunch customers and there was a nice little buzz building in the air. The crowd was mostly made up of females chatting happily about whatever little nonsensical irrelevances that were invading their lives. They were of all ages, shapes, and sizes as the business of ordering food, paying for it, and consuming it was professionally tended to.
Just inside the entrance, to the left of the door, was a round table at which three younger girls sat and chatted. They were telling the waitress what they wanted, and it was interesting to watch the interaction and facial expressions of the quartet as they engaged with the staff. The girl off to the side nearest the door appeared to switch off and leave the conversation as she dusted something from the inside of her bare knee. She unselfconsciously slid her hand under the hem of her skirt and lifted herself slightly as she appeared to pull her panties from where they must have rode up into the crack of her arse.
As she settled back down she glanced in my direction, sending me an embarrassed grin, before turning her attention back to the business of her friends. I smiled and sipped my coffee before returning to my book. The crash of a tray behind the counter caused me to jerk my head up and I caught her eyes just before she looked away. I watched her for a short few moments before resuming the page that was open before me.
She was quite a pretty girl. She had short, cropped hair that had been bleached blonde, a leather jacket with a ruffled blouse underneath and a tight tartan skirt that left nothing of her legs to the imagination. I guessed she was in her late twenties and, judging by her seated posture, I felt she wasn’t much taller or shorter than me.
She caught me staring as I tried to decipher the design of the tattoo on the back of her hand. I smiled in embarrassment, and she smiled back. She offered a wave in the form of a slight upward movement of her wrist, and I inclined my head in return, her foot tapping continuously under the table.
I returned to my book, becoming engrossed in the words, and zoning out a little as I put the thoughts that consumed me out of my head. I sensed her standing up and beginning to walk towards me, peeking out from under the fringe that fell above my eyes to determine her path and her gait.
She had a confident stride and held the sleeve of her jacket in the grip of her hand as she strolled towards me. She held her head high, looking at a point on the wall that was almost above my head. Her eyes dipped to meet mine as she neared my seat and she smiled at me as she strode past on her way to the bathrooms behind me. I distractedly fiddled with the corner of the page I was trying to read when a shadow fell over me. It was an older gentleman with a kind face, and he had asked me a question that I didn’t quite hear.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said.
“Would you mind if I sat here? It’s the only place left to sit.”
“Not at all, please go ahead,” I said quickly.
He took off his jacket and placed it beside me on the arm of the sofa as he seated himself with an elderly groan.
“Terrible weather,” he said.
“It is,” I said, “I’m trying to dry my jacket on the radiator.”
“That’s linen, it should dry quickly but it’ll wrinkle.”
“Oh do you know a lot about fabric?”
“Yes, I once worked in a tailor’s shop,” he said.
“Did you? That must have been interesting.”
“Yes, it was a nice place, but the job didn’t suit me,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
“Whyever not?”
“Sorry, that was a little tailor shop humour there.”
“Oh yes. Sorry I’m not with it today. Very funny.”
“I’m Gareth, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand in greeting.
“Elise, lovely to meet you, Gareth.”
“Will you allow me to get you another coffee for so rudely disturbing you?”
“Why, yes, thank you.”
He waved the waitress over and ordered a coffee and a pot of tea with a bacon sandwich. “I don’t get to cook a lot these days,” he said, “everything they sell in the supermarkets comes in packs of ten or twenty.”
“I know,” I said, “and most of it goes in the bin at the end of the week.”
“It’s fine if you have a young family, kids will eat any old rubbish if you put ketchup over it.”
I laughed at the truism.
“Do you have children, Gareth?”
“I have three,” he said. “One of each, all grown up and gone.”
“One of each …., ” I began, until I saw him smile. “Another of your jokes,” I said.
“Apologies,” he said, “I couldn’t resist that.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes, I lost my wife several years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Yes, it was in Tesco. She was there one minute and gone the next. I haven’t seen her since, she could be dead now for all I know.”
I pushed him in fun as we laughed. His upper arm muscles were quite sturdy for an older gentleman.
“Do you have children, Elise?”
“No.”
“That sounds very final.”
“Oh, it’s a long story,” I said.
“It’s early yet, if you want a willing ear.”
“No, I’m in a good place at the moment and I don’t wish to drag down my mood.”
“I know exactly what you mean. Are you married?”
“No, I live with my partner. His name is Barry.”
“That’s a very modern arrangement,” he said.
“I don’t know about that.”
“How long are you together?”
“Twelve years,” I said.
“A solid time span, Elise.”
“Yes, it’s a long time.”
The waitress brought the food and drinks and departed. Gareth cut his bacon sandwich in two and handed me one half on a plate.
“I’m fine, thanks. You go ahead.”
“An empty sack won’t stand, Elise.”
I realised I was suddenly hungry. So I picked it up and bit into it.
“Thank you, I was famished.”
“We can’t have a beautiful lady dying of starvation in a coffee shop, unless they eat the chicken rolls of course.”
“Have you lived here a long time, Gareth?”
“About five years. I moved here after my wife died. I was born just out the road in Bannock.”
“I live in Bannock, whereabouts?”
“It was known as the Barry homestead.”
“That’s my house. Jesus, talk about a coincidence.”
“I drove out that way over the weekend, you have it lovely.”
“Thank you. I love it there; my partner, though, not so much.”
“It’s a bit remote right enough,” he said. “It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea.”
“It’s so peaceful out there,” I said wistfully.
“But you come here for coffee?”
“Oh, he’s WFH this morning.”
“WFH?”
“Working from home, he’ll be there until noon and then he’s off out.”
“To work?” he asked.
“So he says.”
“Oh, do I detect some uncertainty?”
“He’s off to Dublin for ‘meetings’.”
“I see, and are there no meetings?”
“He has a little girl up in Dublin.”
“A daughter?”
“No.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry,” he said, “it’s a bit of a trip for an assignation, isn’t it?”
“He’ll spend the night there. I wish he’d just put me out of my misery and end the relationship.”
“You could end it too, Elise,” he said.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, touching my hand, “you’re too pretty to be sad.”
“Thank you, Gareth,” I said, squeezing it slightly. “I’d end it today if it wasn’t for the house.”
“Can you buy him out?”
“It’s too much money,” I said.
The waitress made a production of clearing the table as we chatted. She was giving us daggers looks the whole time. Gareth noticed and began to reach for his coat.
“I think Simone wants her table and seats back,” he said, looking at his watch, “Jesus, it’s gone twelve already, Elise.”
“Shit, I didn’t realise the time. I’d better get a move on.”
He helped me on with my jacket and saw that my shirt was a ball of creases.
“You can’t go home like that, Elise.”
“It’s fine, I’ll be grand.”
“I live literally twenty yards from here,” he said, “come down to the house and we’ll sort you out.”
His smile warmed me, and I agreed. He pulled his jacket on and I followed him out, embarrassedly attempting to smooth my wrinkled clothing as I walked behind him. We walked the short distance to his house, a discreet townhouse not far from the café. He opened the door and ushered me inside quickly.
“We wouldn’t want to give the gossip mongers anything to talk about, would we, Elise?” he said with a wink and a smile.
“No, we certainly wouldn’t,” I laughed with him.
He brought me into a nicely decorated bedroom to the left of the entrance hall and handed me a robe that hung inside an antique rosewood wardrobe.
“Here, give me your clothes and I’ll press them, you can wear this for now,” he said, turning at the door as he walked away. “I’ll get my press set up, just shout when you’re ready.”
I smiled as he left. I was a little bemused and conflicted. What if he came back in while I was almost naked in his front room? I dismissed it, he was a nice gentleman, handsome and distinguished looking. I felt safe, he didn’t intend to harm me in any way. He was rather sexy, in fact, and if he was a few years younger, I’d certainly go for him.
I stripped off my jacket and wrinkled skirt, catching my reflection in a tall singular mirror tucked into the corner of the room on its stand. My hair was a mess too. I pulled my sweater over my head, and I saw a water stain on the left cup of my bra. Although still a little damp, it wasn’t that much of an irritant, so I left it be. I saw my nipples begin to show through the lace cups. It was a little chilly in the room, maybe that’s what caused it.
“Maybe it’s also causing the damp stain on my lace panties too,” I thought wryly to myself, realising that the situation I found myself in was quite arousing.
I slipped my hand inside my panties and touched inside my labia. It was a little wetter than moist. I rubbed my hands together to dry them and then slipped into the robe quickly. As I tied it shut, I felt the quality of the fabric as it cosseted me. It was pure silk and was luxuriously appointed. A pale peach in colour, it clung to me in various places on my body, lightly brushing across my skin as I moved. There was a warmth to its caress, akin to the caress of a lover’s warm skin.
A feeling of slight arousal washed over me, and I suddenly wanted to know how the fabric felt against my breasts. I took off the robe and placed it carefully on the bed. Watching myself in the mirror, I wasn’t seeing myself. I was watching another woman reaching behind her and unclipping her bra. My breasts were damp, so I used a towel that hung beside a basin in the corner of the room to dry them, feeling the exquisite soft scratching of the fabric as it teased my aroused nipples, adding further stimulus to increase their erectness and adding to the level of moisture between my legs.
I shivered in arousal but caught myself quickly as I lifted the robe from where it lay on the bed. Wrapping myself inside it I felt it cling to me fully. It was an out of body experience as it felt like my naked breasts were being held by the softest hands, adding to my arousal, and causing my nipples to protrude visibly through the light silk fabric. I cupped my breasts and my hands craved to feel my nipples through the silk. It was almost hedonistic.
I shook my head to rid myself of the thoughts that were forming there but it occurred to me that I should complete the experience. I removed the robe once again and decided to slip my panties off. I pushed them down to my knees and watched myself kick them aside in the mirror. I had a soft landing strip of blonde pubic hair, which I maintained with regular waxing and trimming, and my fingers drifted through it as I tested for softness. They then slipped just inside my labia, and it was a lot wetter than previously. I could feel the tingle of my aroused clit as my finger lingered for a brief second before I quickly took it away. I sucked the moisture off and dried my finger on the towel as I lifted the robe once again and slipped it on.
It made me feel fantastic. I felt my femininity return; I had missed the faded sensations of my body, and it was thrilling for me to realise that I could feel like a sensual being again. Straightening my hair, I looked at the pile of clothes and remembered where I was.
I picked them up off the floor, the robe holding me warmly in its caress, touching me in different places as I moved whilst lifting each garment and shaking it before folding it. With everything except my bra and panties in my arms, I walked to the door and placed my hand on the brass doorknob. I shook my head to clear it, took a deep breath, turned the knob, and walked out, barefoot, into the hall from where I called Gareth.
“I’m up here, Brianna,” he called from somewhere upstairs.
Following the sound of his voice, I climbed the stairs and found him testing the steam from a clothes press in what appeared to be the master bedroom. He was in the process of closing it when he glanced over at me and smiled.
“The robe becomes you,” he said softly, his eyes smiling.
He looked younger than previously, his skin smoother and his hair less grey. His blue eyes were bright and clear, and his hands rested softly on the handle of the press.
“Let me take these for you,” he said, taking my clothes from me. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
I handed them over and straightened out the fabric of the robe, still in disbelief at how soft and comforting it felt.
“You’re enjoying the robe, Elise,” he said softly as he pressed my skirt in a cloud of warm steam.
“It’s beautiful, Gareth,” I said, “where did you get it? I’ve never seen one quite like it?”
“I got it in Persia over twenty years ago,” he said, distractedly opening the machine and lifting out my perfectly pressed skirt, which he hung on a strange-looking hanger before hooking it onto a long bamboo pole that had several hooks attached to it.
“It’s beautiful. It’s silk, isn’t?” I asked.
“It’s a blend of over thirty silks from three countries on two continents. It’s unique, Elise, and every strand has a story to tell.”
“Unique? How?”
He laid my jacket inside the press and held it together as he brought the arm down again before releasing the steam.
“There’s only enough fabric loomed for one garment in each swatch that was made. No two are alike because of the variations of colour, blending and fertilisation of the materials.”
A cloud of steam indicated that my jacket was done, and he lifted it out, examined it for faults and hung it on another hanger before attaching it to the next hook above my skirt. He let his fingers test the finish and smiled.
“Perfect,” he said softly.
He lifted my sweater and gazed at it.
“Merino wool, but not from Italy,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“It doesn’t speak Italian,” he said.
I laughed out loud, and he looked askance at me.
“I need less steam for this,” he said as he rotated a black knob on the side of the machine. “Less time too, it’ll shrink otherwise.”
I was amazed at his application and attention to detail. He held the garment as one would hold a lover. His touch was incredibly soft but sure, and the look in his eye was one that a lover would have for his paramour. An outpouring of steam indicated that the sweater was done, and he hung it up on the next hook above my jacket on the bamboo pole.
“I’ll let them relax back to their own shape for a while, Elise,” he said, “would you like some tea or something stronger?”
“What have you got, Gareth?” I asked, smiling a cheeky smile.
“I have something that I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” he said, and he opened a cabinet at the foot of the big bed in the room.
“Is it Champagne?” I asked with a girlish sigh.
He smiled as he produced an amazingly intricate white jug bottle with a blue representation of a dragon along the side and two small matching goblets decorated with ancient Chinese symbols and etchings. The bottle was sealed with a scarlet wax, and he assiduously picked at it until it broke open, leaving just a simple glass stopper keeping it sealed. He tapped the neck of the bottle on the wooden headboard of the bed, and it popped open with a sigh.
“Baijiu,” he said, sniffing the neck of the bottle. “It’s an ancient Chinese celebratory fermentation, akin to your champagne in culture but not in taste or strength. This particular vintage is nearly 100 years old, and I’m nervous that it may have soured, but it smells good to me.”
“It’s like a Chinese Champagne?” I asked.
“It’s celebratory in the way that our culture celebrates with Champagne or Prosecco, but it tastes better and is a little stronger. Legend has it that it elevates the primal desires of the couple who imbibe it. This one is from the Fenjiu Distillery in the Chinese province Shanxi. Would you like to try it, Elise?”
“It’d be a shame not to,” I said, “now that you’ve opened it.”
He laughed as he filled the two small goblets and handed one to me.
“Gān bēi,” he said, raising his goblet to mine.
A tingle ran through me as they touched, and a fire began to rage inside when I swallowed the drink down.
“Try this one slowly, Elise,” he said, pouring two more. “Sip it, this time, and experience the day it was bottled 100 years ago, when it was a grey day with intermittent sunshine and low humidity. Can you hear the wheels of the delivery carts as they rattled over the stony ground outside the distillery? Can you close your eyes and see the two young lovers kissing in a field of Jasmine? Can you express your feelings as the freshly rain-washed flowers release their sweet aroma, casting a spell over everyone it touches?”
With my eyes closed I was transfixed by his words, transporting myself back to a time that was a century in the past. I sipped the Baijiu and savoured the background sweetness.
“What am I tasting, Gareth?”
“Aside from the fermentation, you should get some tropical fruits and anise,” he said.
“Anise?”
“Yes,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it, “anise for Elise.”
“Aniseed,” I said, “yes, that is coming through, now you mention it. It’s not overpowering.”
“No, unlike you, Elise,” he said, touching his lips to mine. “You are intoxicating.”
“Gareth,” I whispered as his lips hovered over mine, a feeling of surrender beginning to overpower me.
“Yes, Elise?”
He touched my face and our lips met again, more powerfully. I felt my arms pull him into me. I felt his hands on my body as I surrendered to him completely. I sensed more than felt the robe open and drop away, leaving me naked in his arms. I felt the heat in my loins as he lifted me and carried me to the soft mattress of his huge bed and gently set me down on it. As he laid beside me I became aware that he was naked too. I saw his lips surround my nipple as he bit softly into it, sending shock waves through my clit and directly to my vagina.
“Oh, Gareth,” I heard myself moan as his tongue sought the lips of my labia, taking one between his lips and sucking it gently whilst stroking my entrance with his finger, driving me higher to a place I’d never been.
I was fully open to him, my legs wide and bent at the knees as his tongue lapped at me, making me squirm, my stomach tense and my limbs feel like jelly. I felt his fingers in the cleft of my bum as he slowly stroked within it, every increasing tension building inside as I felt sensations that were powerful and new, and when his tongue touched my clit it was all I could do to hold my reserve, which I did for about five nanoseconds before an orgasm of seismic proportions ripped me apart, flailing my limbs and shredding my nerves.
He mounted me as I shook in ecstasy, and I felt myself squirting ejaculate over him as he entered me slowly and carefully. I had no notion of the size of his penis, but it filled me completely and it was an agonising few minutes as he penetrated me, taking an age to fully sheath himself inside me until I was completely filled with what felt like an amazing cock.
Our lips met and I was drunk with orgasmic power as I attacked his lips with mine, demanding further release and the feel of his tongue on mine. He began to move inside me, sending me into raptures as I felt every millimetre of him as he moved faster with each stroke, every sensation imaginable coursing through me until I virtually exploded in an earth-shattering orgasmic release whilst hoping that my screams couldn’t be heard out in the street.
His breath began to rasp as his pace picked up and he was slamming his cock into me with supreme force and speed as I felt his intensity in the power of his fingers as they held me tighter. I moved to meet his every thrust and felt another climax beginning as he began to vocalise his impending release. I was almost there too, and we just missed a simultaneous arrival when he pumped an overwhelming amount of semen inside me, taking my breath away at its power and heat as it coated inside me and leaked onto the bed sheet below us, to be joined by mine a few short seconds later.
I remember us kissing, hungrily forcing my tongue into his mouth, my senses craving his touch. His fingers danced on my skin, transmitting pinpricks of erotic stimulation to parts of me that had never been explored. I felt his hardness against my thigh, vividly picturing it without having seen it, recalling how each little gnarled vein felt inside me. I reached for him and took him in my hand, acquainting my hand with his girth. Celebrating his length with my fingers as they stroked along the underside while I bit into his nipple.
He groaned.
“Take it, Elise” he growled pleadingly and eased my head downwards.
It was huge, to me. My hand wrapped around it, not quite big enough to encircle it. My mouth stretched open to take him between my lips, managing to take just the wide round head and a little of the shaft under my tongue. He arched upward, forcing it deeper, making me gag. He fucked my mouth slowly but gave me control. I felt the heat in my loins and the river of liquid viscosity that flowed without end.
I wanted this cock inside me again. I needed to feel the power of his thrusts and the force of his ejaculation. I heard a deep moan that was almost an agonised growl as he slid deeper into my mouth, touching my throat as he cried out when the head jerked violently as he shot another huge load under my tongue, filling me with his smooth and musky semen, forcing me to swallow it all, leaving nothing behind. We lay breathless, the taste still heavy on my tongue and mouth, my jaw aching with a beautiful ache as I kissed his chest and stroked him back to life.
“I’ll need some time, Elise,” he whispered.
I’d give him that time, but I was rabidly aroused, in need of satisfaction, yearning completion. I straddled his chest and eased myself across his shoulders and lowered my clit to his lips. I felt him move and his hands grip my hips as his tongue reached to touch my soaked vulva and penetrated my needy vagina.
I became a wanton woman like never before. He’d turned me into something I’d never thought I could be as his tongue extended deep inside me while I fucked it in desperation, needing to come so much. It was a rapid rise to my peak, and he moaned as I released a stream of fluid over his face and shoulders, covering him and marking him with my musky scent as I screamed in agonised ecstasy yet again.
I fell on my side, empty and hollow as I laid in his arms, his hand on my bum, softly squeezing my buttock and exploring my cleft seductively until we fell asleep in the evening darkness. I felt calmed, satiated, my body performing delicious little ripples of pleasure as they undulated in gentle waves as my senses slowly returned.
I woke in the darkness and saw it was hours after midnight. Panic swelled up in me as I slipped out from under him and took my clothes from where he had hung them. I ran downstairs and found my underwear, quickly slipped it on and dressed, grabbed my bag and left the house as I saw it was 2:55.
I ran to my car, fumbling in my bag for my keys, finding my phone with a screenful of texts from Barry. Conciliatory at first, then changing to curious, worry, panic and then outright demanding. I threw it into my bag and drove home at speed, my entire body convulsing as the remains of Gareth flowed out of me.
I parked the car outside the house and sat there for a while, catching my breath, resting. I went inside and got into bed, my pulse throbbing in my veins. I smelled of sex and Gareth. I needed to shower. I dried myself off afterwards and slipped into bed, naked, as I saw the lights of his car wash the walls of the bedroom through the windows. The door burst open, and he shook me.
“What?” I said, angry at his touch.
“You didn’t answer my texts, I thought you were dead,” he shouted.
“I’ve been in bed all afternoon,” I said.
“Are you sick?”
“I’m fucking sick of you,” I said.
The words were out before I could stop them. He rocked back on his feet.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I screamed. “While you were out fucking your little friend in Dublin I could have been dead on the side of the road in your head and yet all I get is a text? You’re not sleeping here tonight. I don’t care about the house. I don’t care about you, so just fuck off and leave me alone. It’s over.”
Remarkably, that was all that needed to be said for him to leave without any further scene. I knew he’d be back to clear his stuff out but, if I never heard from him again, it would be too soon. I fell asleep and didn’t wake until noon the next day. I checked in at work and had two items to attend to which didn’t take long. I texted Barry to tell him to collect his stuff by the weekend or he’d find it on the road outside the house. He replied that he’d have it out before then. It was almost too easy.
I checked the bank accounts online and found them untouched. On Thursday morning, I received a male visitor in the form of an Estate Agent, employed by Barry, to value the house and place it on the market. I told him that I was one of the owners of the house and had not been consulted, so I told him to leave. I received a call from Barry ten minutes later.
“What do you want?” I said.
“You sent the agent away,” he said.
“The house isn’t for sale,” I said.
“What? You can’t do that, Elise.”
“It hasn’t been determined whether the house can be sold or not,” I said.
“What does that mean?” he said. “Who determines that?”
“A judge, probably,” I said.
“A judge? What kind of judge?”
“A Family Law judge,” I said, “at our settlement hearing.”
“But we’re not married, Elise, are you crazy?”
“In the eyes of the law we are married.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“I know I’m not. I want to buy you out of the house, and I must be given the opportunity to do that,” I said.
“We’ll have to spend money on a valuer, Elise. The money’s not there.”
“This is your fault, Barry. You get a valuer and I’ll get one too. Although we won’t have to if we can reach an agreement on how much you want for your share of the house.”
“Well, that house is probably worth about €200k, Elise. There’s a mortgage of €110k, which leaves us with about €45K each.”
“I’d disagree with your valuation,” I said. “We only paid €130k for it a few years ago, the house two gates away only sold for €160K three months ago. So I’d put your share at €20k, of which I’d expect a discount of €10k because of your role in the breakdown of our relationship.”
“I only get €10K? You must be off your fucking head.”
“It’s a one-time offer, take it or leave it. I can raise that inside a week,” I said, “go away and think about it but don’t think for too long,” I said, and hung the phone up.
At 9:30, I felt the heat rising inside me as I thought about Gareth and our spectacular evening and night together. I found myself in the shower a couple of minutes later, aroused and using my fingers to try and recreate the experience somewhat. I dressed casually, carefully selecting a matching green lace bra and G String set in the process. I trimmed my pubic hair, applied a little makeup, and drove into Gorey, parking outside the church once again. I took my bag, straightened my hair in the mirror and walked down to Gareth’s house.
My mouth fell open when I found it all boarded up and looking that it had been so for many years. I didn’t understand. I tried peeking through a gap in the hoarding but could only see signs of a derelict house. I went into a newsagent’s shop a couple of doors down and was told that the house had been in that state for many years.
I walked into The Cosy Café. Neither of the waitresses who had been working on the morning I met Gareth were working that morning. I knew one of them was called Simone, so I asked the owner if Simone would be working the next day. She looked at me and said that there was no Simone employed there. I turned to leave and saw the girl in the leather jacket sitting in the same place as last time. She smiled at me, and I nodded my head to her. I stopped as I passed her by.
“Can I ask you something please?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Was I in here on Tuesday morning?”
“I think it was Tuesday,” she said. “You disappeared on me.”
“Sorry?”
“I went to the loo and wanted to stop by your table on my way out, but you had left.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I thought we’d made a connection, sorry.”
“No, please. I should be sorry, not you,” I said. “I’m Elise.”
“Simone,” she said. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
Simone? Another girl named Simone in Gorey of all places? I was thrown completely.
“Ehm, yes,” I said, “why not?”
We chatted over coffee for ten minutes or so. She was engaging and was very attractive. I finished my coffee and told her I had to leave.
“Next time the coffee is on me,” I said.
“Next time?”
“Yes, oh, sorry, that was presumptuous of me,” I said a little embarrassedly.
She placed her hand on the back of my head and pulled me in for a long, deep soul-searching kiss that made my head swim and started the faucet in my G String running.
“You can buy the coffee next time, Elise. You’re a fabulous kisser.”
“Thanks, so are you.”
I stumbled out of the shop on unsteady legs, my head spinning. I managed to get into my car and drive home. I parked in the garden and was opening the hall door when I saw a parcel leaning up against the inside of the gatepost. It said, ‘For Elise’, in black lettering and an elaborate script. I picked it up and brought it inside the house, opening it with a child’s excitement at Christmas.
The unwrapping of the plain brown paper revealed a wooden box with faded markings and an etching of a fantail kissing a swallow as a dragon breathed fire and swished his tail below them.
It looked as though it was about to fall apart, but the lid slid easily through two grooves set into the top of the upstands at the sides of the box. It glided as if on castors or bearings and made a soft wheezing sound as it travelled the length of the box.
Inside the box was another carton that took up half of the space. It was of brown balsa wood construction and was unmarked with the same opening action as the outer box. It had one word etched in the wood, ‘Baijiu‘.
The remainder of the space was filled with the softest white tissue I had ever seen or felt. It held a watermark of a stylised ‘G’ repeated in a randomly universal pattern through the paper itself. I lifted it gingerly, not wishing to damage it, to discover further layers of the tissue paper until in the very centre sat a pale peach robe identical to the one I had been given to wear by Gareth.
I felt myself go weak before the heat began to build in my core. Something about the etching on the box struck a chord and I suddenly remembered it was similar, if not identical, to the tattoo on Simone’s hand. I checked the time; it was still only 10:45.
I ran to my car and drove back into Gorey. The rain had started to fall about half the way there and when I reached The Cosy Café, Simone was huddled outside, sheltering under a makeshift covering provided by an empty cardboard carton previously used to transport butter. She saw me jump from the car and take her hand as I led her to the passenger side door. She eagerly sat in out of the rain.
“You’re soaked through, Simone,” I said.
“I’ll be grand, Elise.”
“I’ll give you a lift home. Where do you live?”
“A mile past Bannock,“ and said.
“It’s on my way, we’ll get you out of those clothes and dry them first, you’ll get your end otherwise,” I said.
“What? You’ll leave me naked?”
“No, I have a beautiful robe you can use.”
END
