Going Up and Going Down (12 page)

I kept a close
watch on the greenhouse situation (and the envelope) at every opportunity over
the next few days, and during Anthony’s absences I checked on the envelope. I
made a point of indulging in casual chit chat when he was home, to see if he
would let slip what his plans were and where he was going each time he left the
house. I realised that once I discovered the envelope missing, I would need to
recall what his plans had been for the day to give me some idea of where the
final destination was for the disgusting stuff! I couldn’t decide whether
Anthony was stupid enough to sell direct to the end users or whether he was
just an insignificant courier in a large operation.

On the Friday
night, of that same week he had been given the envelope, I intended being awake
early the next morning and keeping myself busy in the kitchen. Anthony would be
going out to play golf and it was his turn to pick up his partner. If there was
any convenient time for him to remove the envelope, I thought that it would be
the weekend. I had given no thought as to what I should do if I managed to see
him retrieving the envelope. I hadn’t given consideration as to whether I would
involve the police, my parents, or even confronting Anthony. I’d not yet seen
beyond my sole aim - proving something to myself. I just wanted confirmation
that Anthony really was a bastard! Even though, deep down, I already knew!

I came to with
a start - the slamming of a car door and an engine turning over being my rude
awakening. It slowly dawned on me that it was Saturday morning and I sat up
quickly, my eyes searching out the alarm clock. It was 9.30am. I shot out of
bed and grabbed my dressing gown. It must have been Anthony’s car that I’d
heard. Without bothering to put anything on my feet, I put my gown on and ran
down the stairs and through to the kitchen. I paused for a few seconds just
outside the patio door. I chided myself at the breakneck speed with which I’d
just descended the stairs. What I find or don’t find in the greenhouse within
the next two minutes, that situation would not be changing within the next few
hours, so why the rush?

My forage into
the plant pots revealed…the envelope was still there! I was surprised. I had
genuinely thought he would have removed it that morning, his first real
opportunity.

He stayed out
all Saturday night and didn’t return until the Sunday evening. I somehow
doubted the envelope would be moved until the following weekend now (he
wouldn’t want to leave something like that in his car when he was at work), but
I intended to check the greenhouse as often as I could.

An opportunity
to leave work an hour early presented itself the following Tuesday. I hand
delivered some audited accounts to a client on my way home but as her office
closed at five o’clock I needed to be there sooner in case she wanted a few
words. By twenty minutes to five I was out of her office and fifteen minutes
later I was home, thirty five minutes earlier than usual. After I’d dumped my
bags on the worktop, I opened the patio door and stepped outside. The sliding
door to the greenhouse was not quite in position. I was stunned, and I
desperately tried to remember whether I’d been in a rush the last time I’d
checked. Perhaps it had been me who’d been careless – I had been trying to make
a point of leaving it fully closed.

The envelope
had gone. Somewhere between the hours of 8.15am and 4.55pm it had been removed
and taken…who knew where? I made a mental note to speak to my father as soon as
I could. I needed to know where Anthony had been, and without Dad suspecting
anything.

Not long after
the envelope had gone missing from the greenhouse,I found out that Anthony
had
been out of the office for around four hours on that same Tuesday. I hadn’t
needed, after all, to wheedle any information from my father. He’d called me on
the Thursday evening, to tell me he’d been for his check up at the hospital
that morning and that the consultant had been thrilled with his progress. I
could hear Mum’s voice in the background, prompting him at times as we
chattered on. I’d been on the verge of saying goodnight when he suddenly
remembered something.

“By the way,
Helen, I was so relieved when Anthony told me today that Eileen’s feeling much
better now. He was really worried when he dashed off to see her on Tuesday
morning, even more so when he got back to work mid afternoon. All that time and
her analgesia still wasn’t working.”

Our call had
ended shortly after that ……my proof. I knew Anthony would have mentioned his
wonderful mother being ill if there had been a grain of truth in it. He talked
about her quite often, probably just to yank my chain. He knew there was no
love lost between us. But thoughts of
them
drifted from my mind as my
head was suddenly filled with visions of addicts waiting for a fix, young girls
being given drugs and then forced into prostitution. The question came back to
me - what role Anthony was actually playing in all of it and I was shaking with
anger, and feeling sickened by my past relationship with him…and that I bore
his surname!

I was finding
it increasingly difficult, mentally, to cope with everything that had happened
in the space of the last few months.Living under the same roof as Anthony was
taking its toll. I was suspicious of every move he made and he sensed it.
Whereas at the beginning of our estrangement, we’d tolerated each other and
shared a forced politeness, we’d now reached a stage where we bickered
constantly….about everything! Bills, jobs around the house, even the
television. Any visits to my parents’ house were made by me alone! I still led
Mum and Dad to believe all was well and made excuses for Anthony’s absence
through jokey comments about his busy social life.

Work was
causing yet another problem for me, due to my forgetfulness and a total lack of
concentration. It was the girls, my friends who were the first to start making
comments,

‘Hello? Are you
with us, Helen?’, ‘What planet are you on today, honey?’ and ‘Is anyone at home
in there?’  I also became aware that most of the staff watched me from time to
time out of the corners of their eyes. I seldom saw smiles in my dealings with
any of them – those had been replaced with subtle concerned scrutiny. The
comments
and
the looks got me worrying even more. I knew that if I
didn’t get myself in check soon, there would be awkward questions coming my
way. Awkward questions with even more awkward and deceptive answers to them. I
needed to be more alert – self-aware.

When the new
working week started I was full of determination. I dug into my depths and
walked into the office with a refreshed, more cheery persona, it could almost
have given the impression that I’d just recovered from a nasty virus…or
pre-menstrual tension. I kept up the happy person act for most of the week,
whilst also being conscious of
every
move I made.

As the week
went by the results of my self-observations were greatly disturbing me. I was
struggling to eat my lunch - it was as if I couldn’t swallow. I was lining pens
up in neat rows, stacking files neatly at the very corner with the files
perfectly square with the edges of the desk, and my blotting pad also had to be
lined up square. My doodling on the blotter also had to be symmetrical. And I
was back to washing my hands and arms a dozen times a day. I was out of control
- my obsessive behaviour was visiting me during my working hours.

I felt totally
out of my depth. I tried in vain to come up with a solution. I needed another
outlet instead of letting it interfere with my working life. I was a threat to
my own professionalism! I couldn’t be obsessive at home. Anthony would notice.
He’d start calling me a ‘fucking weirdo’ – there would be even more rows. He
might also resort to telling my father. Dad would want to know what was causing
it. No! I couldn’t bear the thought that if Mum and Dad were to find out they
would be pushing me towards seeing Mr Gillespie again. He would press for the
cognitive behavioural therapy this time. I felt as if millions of grains of
sand were raining down, their very weight threatening to totally engulf me – I
couldn’t see a means of escape.

I knew I had to
take some action, and immediately. I made an appointment with a different GP at
our surgery for 5.45pm that Friday night. I couldn’t face seeing Dr Jack again,
after Dad’s insistence to him last time that he didn’t want me on any tablets.

This time, I
walked out of Dr Bell’s office clutching a prescription for Fluoxetine, an
anti-depressant frequently used in the treatment of O.C.D.

I’d been taking
my prescription drugs for over three weeks. My patience was non-existent as I
waited each day for a sign. I had been expecting to see at least
some
indication that they were going to calm me, get my O.C.D. in order and…make me
feel normal again. After all this time taking them, and with no apparent
improvement, I was beginning to despair – feeling that normal, for me, would
never return. Throwing the three month supply of anti-depressants into the bin
was looking like the most sensible option.

It wasn’t,
however, the gradual improvement I’d been anticipating. It happened overnight.
I woke up feeling like the old me again, totally calm and without the
overwhelming compulsion to disinfect the whole house or poison Anthony. I’d
lost the obsessive desire to scrub everything with bleach….my hands and arms
included. I felt more positive that I could get back on track at work. I chose
a book off the shelf in my bedroom and read it in one sitting – I hadn’t read a
book for months! I even found everyday things to smile about – a programme on
the television, the politeness and genuine smile from a check-out operator at
the supermarket. It was a nice feeling, to be back in control.

It was a
pleasure to go to work and come away each night, achieving the finalising and
signing off of accounts that had been waiting for my attention. I was rapidly
getting through one of the obsessively neat piles of folders stacked on my
desk. I noticed the acknowledgement in the face of, not just Ted, but each of
my friends and colleagues, that I was back.

Janet brought
some letters for me to sign just before Friday lunchtime and as she waited for
me to go through them she asked hesitantly,

“Helen…we’re
all going out tonight, we haven’t done it for ages. Not the city centre though
- we thought maybe Ascot Village? Are you up for it? It’ll do you good. You
haven’t been too well lately, have you?”

I looked up at
her and smiled, touched by her concern. It sounded just the thing - it would
get me back into socialising with the girls whose company I adored. I didn’t
need to think too long before giving her my answer.

“Janet, I would
love too! Thank you for asking me. It will be the ideal opportunity to...celebrate
the fact that I’m feeling better.”

She was happy.
She gave me a gentle thump on the arm before uttering,

“You’ll love
it, girl!” She scooped up the signed letters and left.

A night out!
I’d almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy myself. It was an exciting
thought that I would soon be finding that enjoyment once more. The butterflies
of nervousness swooped up and down in my stomach as I started thinking what I
would wear. We gathered in the staff canteen at lunchtime and made our final
arrangements.

Not too many
hours later we were in Jigz Club in Ascot - chosen because it offered
everything that we wanted - food, a nightclub and a choice of bars. There were
six of us, Janet, Nina, Gillian, Gemma, myself and a recent addition to the
trainees, Leanne. We’d already dined and had a couple of drinks in one of the
bars. It was packed with people and the atmosphere was lively. Although the bar
that we were in had no music playing, the incessant buzz of different
conversations all around us was deafening. We could barely hear each other
speak to indulge in our own chitchat. Leanne, being the youngest, and the
liveliest of us all, was eager to have a dance and she kept pointing to the
door, miming the famous moves of Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. We all
giggled at her like schoolgirls (she was crazy) but we followed her obediently
as she led the way.

If we’d thought
it noisy in the bar, it was nothing to the volume that was pumping out of the
colossal speakers. Conversation was impossible. There were groups of people
stood all around the packed dance floor, all at different degrees of
intoxication. With talking being completely out of the equation, the only thing
to do was to dance, whether the music was to our liking or not. Nina and I
couldn’t keep pace with the others and every four or five dances we got off the
dance floor for ten or fifteen minutes to catch our breath.

It was during
one of our dancing sessions I became aware of a guy standing at the edge of the
dance floor staring hard at me. He appeared to be with three or four other men,
obviously friends of his. I was straining my eyes to get a look at him, but it
was hard work with the strobe lighting pulsing away to the music. I lost sight
of him for a few minutes and then almost jumped out of my skin to find he was suddenly
leaning in close to me. I jerked my head away from him quickly but seconds
later a flash of light passed across his face – it was Alex Baker- Thompson!

Alex grabbed my
hand and led me off the dance floor. He cupped both his hands to my ear and bellowed
something inaudible. The only words I managed to make out were
“….somewhere….quiet…talk..” I nodded my acquiescence. I managed to grab the
attention of Nina and Leanne, pointed at Alex and the door and covered my ears,
and I hoped they would get the gist of what I was trying to say. He grabbed my
hand to guide me through the throng. Once clear of what had to be the noisiest experience
of my life he asked,

“Fresh air or
one of the quiet bars?” I considered for a second whilst he swept his hand
across his hair, and his wedding ring glinted under the corridor lighting.

“Fresh air,
please – the heat in there is nauseating.” He smiled, his shoulders sagging a
little releasing some of the tension,

“I’m so glad
you said that, Helen. I must be getting old, I can’t cope with the noise these
days. To think that I used to love it all.” His arm around my shoulder, he
guided me again, through the crowds waiting around for cabs.

We sauntered
along for five minutes, me grasping onto his left arm for support, my too high
heels threatening to unbalance me should I place a foot in some unseen bump in
the pavement. It was fresh and peaceful outside in the half light. Cars drove
past us but any sound from them was insignificant. I wondered what we were
doing – what had happened to the talk? I tried to think of something to say and
he beat me to it.

“You’re married
then, Helen? I’ve noticed the ring.” I didn’t see any reason to lie.

“Yes. I’m
married…estranged! I wear the ring because…appearances…there are people who
don’t need to know right now. Long story…! You wear a wedding ring too. Where’s
your wife, Alex?”I turned to look at his face as we continued our leisurely
stroll but he didn’t face me. He was deep in thought, eyes staring ahead.

“She’s...um...with
her mother. She cheated on me, I kicked her out.”

I was
astonished. So it didn’t just happen to me then? I couldn’t think of anything
to say to him.

 I wasn’t sure
how far we’d wondered in silence but we took a left turn into a road with less
traffic. In quite a clumsy move, he suddenly swung around to face me.

“Helen, I’m
really sorry! I am! We parted on bad terms last time and I didn’t want that.” He
was waiting for me to say something and I couldn’t find the appropriate words.
Such a long time had passed and I’d just heard an apology I had never expected.
I tried to remember how long ago…and he’d just dragged me out here to say
sorry!

 “Wh…” I
started to comment but he cut me off quickly.

“Helen, I made
you feel cheap. I tried to poke into your pants…I..” Those words were like a
trigger - a starting gun to me. Poke…into my pants…my head was about to
explode, sharp tingling in my tunnel. I needed, urgently, to be fucked and I
felt myself losing control in that need.

I grabbed his
hand roughly, shoving it straight up my skirt and into my pants.
“Do…you…mean…poke like…like this, Alex?” and I pushed his fingers towards my
fanny. I moaned out loud and released his hand, his fingers finding their own
way. His lips were suddenly hard on my own, his tongue forcing its way in, but
I wanted it urgently and needed his warmth in my mouth. I parted my lips for
him. My hand fumbled desperately with the zip of his denims. As my breathing
grew heavy and my need increased, I abandoned that attempt and reached down the
top of them, into his underwear, and felt his stiffness expanding as I fondled
it.

As our wildness
became more urgent, we edged our way along the road, not noticing our steps. I
groaned in frustration as he pulled his fingers out of my hole, my inner
muscles throbbing in wait as, struggling with the zip that held his pulsing
cock in place, he finally succeeding in freeing it for me. I pulled away from
his probing tongue and as I bent over with the intention of going down on him,
he grabbed my arm and hurried me another twenty yards down the road, and
through a gap in a hedge into a small park.

His lips were
on mine again, one eye watching as he steered me backwards, his fingers up me
once more. I felt the back of my knees make contact with something and his
fingers had gone yet again. He eased me into a sitting position and I took his
cock into my mouth. He wasn’t big lengthwise, but his girth was thick. As I
sucked and enjoyed his thrusts into my mouth, I let my mind roam. I imagined
how it would feel to have that thickness inside my hole, hammering at me and
filling me with his spunk. I still had my panties on, they were getting wet.

It all came
pouring out of me – months of sexual frustration. My eagerness to be fucked was
turning me into a madwoman, wild, as a tigress! I couldn’t wait a second
longer. I was insatiate. My hole needed filling, and fucking…wildly! I pulled
my mouth away from his cock.

“What are you
bloody waiting for?” then half screaming at him,
“Fuck me, Alex
!” I
sensed he was feeling a similar wildness. I stood and pushed my panties down my
thighs. In his own urgency to give it to me, he bent down and pulled my panties
off one leg only. He lifted me off the ground with both arms and as I clasped
my arms around his neck, and my legs around his waist, he lowered me towards
his cock. With me holding on tight, he released my waist. One hand supporting
my bottom - his other hand guiding his upstanding pole into my pussy! He
staggered ten or twelve feet, his cock hard up inside me, to a tree trunk and
pushed my back firmly into it. Breathless, he stammered,

“Helen….ca…can’t..believe!
You!”

He was almost
on his toes with every upward thrust into me. His very girth was grazing me,
each nerve alight, pubic bone rubbing fiercely at my clit. Within two minutes I
came, my juices free flowing over his length, my mouth wide open with the shock
of an experience long forgotten. I was greedy, I wanted more.

“Alex!” I urged
“Don’t move, leave it all the way in and don’t move now, please!” The
frustration was evident on his face, he wanted to carry on fucking, but I’d
halted him. I was breathless, way too hyped, but it would only take me a
minute. As he stood still, all my weight bearing down on his dick, tight inside
me, I could feel every nerve of it as he throbbed within, alighting every nerve
in my tunnel, and I screamed out with the intensity as I came again. My eyes
closed and I held my breath, savouring every glorious moment.

When he pulled
out and backed away, I couldn’t wait to get him back inside me. Dropping to my
knees and hitching my skirt up to my waist, the anticipation was sending me
into a new frenzy. What was taking him so damned long, I wondered?

“Alex, what
the…..
hell
are you doing? Hurry up…shove it….back in,
now!”

“It’s… on
it’s…..way! Babe, you…you’re so…
fucking
impatient!”

I felt his
fingers slide down beneath the cheeks of my backside and at that same moment
his knob touched my labia in its new search for my warmth. I tipped my head
back, my eyes crossed and every bloody nerve throughout my
body
felt
engulfed in flames. That mere
hint
of more action to come - his
knob
against
my fleshy outer parts, sent me into paroxysms with a new release of cum. It was
beyond…pure heaven!

He twisted my
hair around his hand as he fucked me crazily. “You’re…turning…me…into a…raving…fucking
luna…lunatic…Helen” he blurted, a word with each rough thrust into me, a
perfect rhythm. Riding me, on and on, my hair as the reigns in his grip as I
was enjoying every stroke of being re-acquainted with sexual wantonness!

I could feel a
new wetness developing, his pre-cum, as, with his free hand, he delved into my
bra and squeezed tightly on my left nipple. I groaned at the new pain, and moaned
at my ecstasy down below. I heard his throatiness close to my ear as his
thrusts continued, a new fiery urgency in each,

“Same
...again…Helen? Shall I…stick it…deep…in you…and…hold…as my…as my…cock…spurts…my
cum?”

“Yes!
Please…now…give it…to…me!” I was almost screaming again as one final (his
hardest) thrust hit deep into me, pulsing strongly against the walls of my
pussy as he let go, his warm juices spurting deliciously as I excreted my own
cream once more…

“You’re…fucking…amazing…Helen!”
he whispered as his breathing started to slow.

As we traced
our steps back to Jigz, he placed his arm around my shoulders. I was deep in
thought about how I was going to pass this one off with my friends, who must
all be wondering where the hell I’d disappeared too. We approached the door and
Alex suddenly stopped and faced me, his lips seeking mine. I froze and stepped
backwards.

“Helen, can’t
we…?” I cut him off sharply, sensing what was coming.

“No, Alex! I
don’t feel anything for you!

My head held
high, I turned and walked into the club, straight to the ladies room.

I spotted the
girls quickly enough. They were taking a breather at the edge of the dance
floor, during a brief pause from the music system.