Love Never Dies Pt. 09

This is the concluding part of Love Never Dies. Apologies for the delay and thanks for your patience.

There are many in the world who are dying for a piece of bread but there are many more dying for a little love ~ Mother Teresa

~~~~~~~

NOW

WE sat in Gaynor's lounge but not in the usual chairs in the bay window. This time, Gaynor was stretched out on the four-seater leather couch, her back resting against a cushion and her bare feet in my lap. I was in my all-black golf attire and Gaynor was wrapped in a white cotton bathrobe, her legs bare from below the knees.

She held a mug of steaming coffee in both hands, gently blowing over the rim, and I balanced my 'world's best golfer' mug on the arm of the couch.

"So," she broke the silence, "you've had a few days to think things over. What's the verdict?"

My left hand rested on her shin and her silky caramel skin was cool under my palm. "Verdict?" I said. "No, Gaynor, I didn't mean to imply in my e-mail that I would be making a decision. What I was trying to say was that I needed time to consider what you'd told me about being upset and feeling . . . well, vulnerable, I suppose."

"Vulnerable," she quoted. "Yes, I think that's one word to describe the situation. There are a few others, of course."

She resumed blowing her coffee and her normally warm brown eyes stared icily at me. There was a distinct chilly atmosphere in the room.

"Have I done something wrong, something to hurt you?"

Gaynor snorted. "Good God Richard, I don't believe you've suddenly become that insensitive."

"What d'you mean?" I was perplexed.

She slowly shook her head, gold hoops swaying. "I don't believe this. After I told you that I'd been reduced to sobbing like a baby and was worried that I was heading for more heartache, you sent me a brief reply saying you were shocked and needed time to think."

"Yes, that's right, I couldn't just sit there and rattle off a reply. I was shocked, really shocked, at what you'd told me. I mean, I thought we were both enjoying seeing each other, being able to spend time together again and . . . oh, shit," I sighed heavily. " I just thought it best to take time and think for a while and then talk about things the next time we met. Which is what I told you in my message. Is that so wrong, Gaynor?"

"That was five days ago," she said softly. "You sent me a brief text the next day suggesting this day and time to meet, which I agreed was okay. Then I heard no more. You didn't even ask how I was feeling. There was no e-mail, no phone call, just silence. If you truly cared, Richard, you would have been in touch before now. I need to pee."

Before I could speak, Gaynor swung her legs off the couch and headed for the bathroom. My lap immediately missed the weight and warmth of her feet and I was left to think and contemplate on why Gaynor was in such a foul mood. I nodded to myself. I could understand that she viewed the lack of contact as somewhat less than caring. But that wasn't really the case.

I sipped at my coffee and listened to the distant sound of the flushing cistern which heralded Gaynor's return.

"Come on Richard, let's sit in the window," she said, striding across the room, hips swinging, and settled down in a chair, one leg tucked under her. "Oh, bring my coffee, please. I left it there," she pointed, "on the floor."

I carried both mugs, put them down on the small table between the chairs, perched on the edge of my seat and began to explain myself.

"Okay, I understand what you're saying and how you might think I wasn't caring. But that's not true, far from it. You know I care, I care very much."

Gaynor picked up her mug but said nothing.

"Perhaps I should have called you but, honestly, I thought you understood that I was chewing things over."

"Bollocks," said Gaynor abruptly.

"What?"

"Bollocks," she repeated and put her mug back on the table. She sat forward in her chair, crossed arms under her bountiful bosom and looked into my face. "Remember Richard, it wasn't so long ago that you were saying how much you wanted to hear my voice again and, after that, how lovely it was to be able to talk. So, what's happened? Why didn't you want to hear my voice these past five days? Why didn't you want to talk to me?"

"It wasn't like that." I shook my head.

"No? What was it like then? Tell me, Richard, I'm all ears." Gaynor sat upright, eyes blazing, and her husky voice filled the room. "Tell me, my soul mate, tell me why you didn't phone me when you knew I was upset and needed comforting. You knew I needed reassurance but where were you? Where was my loving Richard? Fuck it, do you really care? Do you?"

"Of course I care, you know I do. I love you."

"You've got a strange way of showing it."

"Please," I said, reaching out with both hands. "Listen to me, let me explain."

Gaynor looked at my hands, back up to my face, and slowly unfurled her arms and linked her fingers with mine. "Go on," she said.

"First of all, you are right. I should have phoned, I can see that now." I paused and looked into chocolate-drop eyes. Gaynor's features remained grim, her succulent lips pressed tightly together.

"Okay, so once again in my stupid life, I just didn't think straight. I've messed up again. I can only plead that my mind was in a whirl after what you'd told me and I was desperate - and I do mean desperate. I was concentrating on trying to find a solution. I've thought about nothing but you . . . about us . . . every hour of every day. Believe me, it's been the only thing on my mind."

"Okay, okay," she said softly and squeezed my fingers. "Maybe I've over-reacted," and she gave a shy grin. "But I still think you should've called. I would've phoned you . . . never mind, forget it. So, what have you decided?"

I looked into her eyes and saw anger had been replaced with concern, perhaps even fear. "No decision really, other than to agree with you that we need to talk honestly and frankly about our situation, whether we have a future or not." I inhaled deeply. "As I see it, you are the one who is struggling with this . . . arrangement, call it what you will. I know it's not anywhere near ideal but I believe it's better than nothing. I want to see you, be a part of your life again and . . ."

"Hold it right there," cut in Gaynor. "You talk about being a part of my life but that's not right. My life has changed because of you." She squeezed my hands as I opened my mouth. "No, let me finish, Richard, let me explain."

I nodded.

"Good, thank you. My life changed 30-odd years ago because of you and it's happening all over again. You probably don't realise but I've stopped doing my usual things. For instance, I haven't been to the camera club in weeks, I haven't been out to take any photos, I've not been to see my friends. All I've done is sit here, waiting for you to make arrangements to see me. My mind is constantly thinking about you and I keep asking myself 'why am I seeing you, a married man.' What have I become Richard, your mistress?"

"No, that's awful," I spluttered, shaking my head furiously. "I've never regarded you as a mistress. I could never do that, that's a terrible thing to say. Heavens above, Gaynor, I love you and always have done and I always will. Your are the love of my life. You must know that."

Gaynor withdrew her hands from my grasp and leaned back in her chair. "Yes, I know you love me . . . and I love you. And that's the problem, isn't it? It's fine talking about being loving friends but we both know that's nonsense. We're much more than friends, aren't we?"

I nodded, reached for my coffee and sat back in my chair. "Yes, of course we're more than friends. We've got history." I swallowed a gulp of lukewarm liquid. "If I wasn't married . . ." I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, who can say?"

"Nobody can," said Gaynor quickly. "But this is the point. You are married and I'm having sleepless nights worrying about it. My stomach is churning and I feel sick with nerves. Every day I feel bloody terrible and it's an effort to get out of bed. Look at me now, Richard. Still in my bathrobe and it's gone noon. This whole affair is making me feel ill. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I do . . . now I do. But I didn't know you were feeling physically ill and I'm not terribly clear on why you think you'll get hurt."

"Oh Richard, don't be naive." Gaynor wiped the back of a hand across her mouth and then licked her lips. "Have you thought about what will happen if Veronica finds out about us? Have you?"

"No, and I don't see why she should find out."

"Oh, c'mon, Richard." She shook her head again. "Truthfully, how long do you think you can keep on seeing me like this? You're living a lie at home, asking people to cover for you and all that. How long do you think it'll be before the shit hits the fan? Because it will, I know it will. What then? You say you'll never leave Veronica and that's okay, you've been honest and I thank you for that. And I certainly don't want to be the cause of your marriage busting up, I truly don't. But what we say and what we want means nothing if we're found out."

Gaynor rose abruptly from her seat and picked up the two coffee mugs. "This is a dangerous game we're playing, Richard. We're in a minefield and it could blow up in our faces at any time. More to the point, it'll blow up in your face." She started to leave the room. "Want another coffee?"

"Yes please," I said, got up and followed her into the kitchen. "I appreciate what you're saying but I think you're being alarmist."

Gaynor looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "You really are naive, aren't you, Richard?"

"I don't think so, no," I said. "Veronica trusts me, she doesn't pry into what I do or where I'm going. I really do have great freedom. That's why she doesn't suspect anything now. Believe me, there's nothing to fear. It's under control."

"Sorry, I'm not as confident as you. Wish I could be. But my glass is half-empty on this one, honey."

In silence, Gaynor finished making the coffee. As we left the kitchen, she surprisingly said: "Let's go to bed," and led the way to the bedroom.

Stripped naked, we lay pressed against each other, chest to breasts, pelvis to pelvis, feet on feet, and gently caressed backs and arms and thighs. We kissed, lips briefly but firmly meeting, and Gaynor sighed, her warm breath wafting over my face. "I do love you, Richard," she said. "But I wish I didn't."

"Guess I understand that," I said and kissed the soft tip of her nose. "Life would be much simpler."

"Mmm."

"But I love you, we love each other." It was my turn to sigh. "These past few months have been incredible. I feel alive again because of you and I daren't think about losing you. Not a second time."

"I know what you mean. I don't want to lose you, either." Gaynor paused and her left hand cupped my balls and she gently squeezed and tickled the sac. "I suppose it's down to me, isn't it? You've always said that."

"Yes, it must be your decision. As a married man I'm not in a position to make demands. I can't insist on anything we do. This time around, Petal my future really is in your hands," I said and Gaynor released my balls and circled her fingers around my growing erection.

"Mmmm," she said. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. My mind's all over the place. It's just that I am so frightened and panicking. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's lovely when we're together and I'm usually on cloud nine. But . . ." she tightened her grip on my shaft and gazed into my eyes . . . "then you have to go away and I don't see you again for days. Then reality hits. And I struggle to handle it. Oh shit, you must understand that, at least."

"Yes, of course I do. I miss you like hell as well, you know. It's not easy for me to leave, go home and pretend everything is normal. You couldn't begin to imagine the thoughts going through my head when I drive away. But, in the end, isn't what we have, better than nothing? I'd love to be with you all the time but . . ."

"Yes, yes, I know," Gaynor interrupted, her hand stroking along my firm length. "We've done that conversation to death. Let's forget it for now."

She illuminated the room with a brilliant white smile, rolled on to her back and opened up her glorious thighs.

"I want you on top of me and I want your fat cock inside of me. I want to feel your love, Richard. Please, darling, make me feel safe."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IT WAS about three weeks later, in the last week of November, when I got a surprise text. I was in the garden with Veronica, just finishing the winter tidy up as daylight faded, when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled off my gloves and drew the phone out of my pocket. I looked at the screen and my heart missed a beat when I read the name Charlotte. I pressed to bring up the message and read:

Hi Richard, can you phone me ASAP. It's about Gaynor. Soon as you can, please. Charlie.

Alarm bells rang loudly. Charlie had been given my number in the event of anything happening to Gaynor. So, what was wrong?

I looked across the freshly-mown lawn at Veronica, who was squatting and scooping the last of the fallen leaves into a black plastic bag. "I'm done here, sweetheart," I said. "Unless you want anything else, I'm going up for a shower. Okay?"

"Yes, fine," she said without turning. "I'll only be about another ten minutes or so. You go ahead and I'll get us a hot drink for when you've finished in the shower."

"Okay, good," I said and headed back indoors and climbed the stairs to the bedroom. There I looked out of the window, watching Veronica still at work, and pressed the call button for Charlie's number.

It buzzed just twice and then I heard: "That you Richard?"

"Yes, Charlie, what's the problem?"

"I'm worried about Gaynor. When's the last time you saw her?"

"Er, just three days ago. Why? What's happened?"

"Did she seem alright to you? I mean, was she her normal self?"

"Yes . . . perhaps a bit quieter than normal. Why are you asking? Has something happened?"

"No, nothing's happened as such." Charlie paused, a rarity for her. "Look, it may be nothing but I am really, really worried about her. Twice now she's cried off a shopping trip with me, you know, a bit of early Christmas shopping. And she's been complaining about being nauseous and not sleeping. And she rarely goes out unless you call round. Do you think she looks poorly? I mean . . ."

"Whoa, hold on Charlie," I interrupted and waited for her to stop talking. "I haven't noticed any real difference in her, though she has told me about sometimes feeling sick and tired. But, quite honestly, I think that's down to a bit of stress about our situation."

"Yes, I know all about that," said Charlie as I watched Veronica stand up and begin to drag the black bag towards the garden shed. "But I don't think it's just stress. I think there's something physically wrong and I want her to see the doctor."

"Well, you're both ex-nurses . . ."

"Yes," cut in Charlie, "and we're the worst kind of patient in the world. Look, next time you see her or talk to her, try to get her to see the doctor. Okay? Can you do that?"

"I reckon you'd have more chance than me, Charlie. You're her best friend from way back. Anyway, what do you think's wrong with her?"

Charlie's deep sigh blasted my ear. "I wish I only knew. Is there such a thing as lovesick?" and she chortled. "But, seriously, I don't know. I've never known her like this . . . so lacking in energy and life. It's not like her at all."

"Hmm," I said, watching Veronica lock the shed door. "Okay, Charlie, I've got to go now. I'm actually seeing Gaynor tomorrow lunchtime. I'll let you know what happens."

"Good. Thanks, Richard. It might be nothing but it's so out of character. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand, but I really must go."

"Oh, yes, okay. Sorry. Bye, Richard." And the connection was cut.

In the bathroom, I quickly stripped and stood under the warm jets of water, thinking about Charlie's concerns. Gaynor had mentioned a few times about stomach churning and sleepless nights but she'd put that down to her nerves over our relationship. And, in recent weeks, since our frank discussion, I thought she was virtually her normal self. We'd spent some fabulous times together, including walks in the country when she brought along her camera. And her energy levels in bed were certainly impressive. Okay, she didn't eat a lot but that had been the case since we first reunited.

I switched off the water and wrapped myself in a bath towel. Maybe Charlie was misreading the situation. Whatever, I'm meeting Gaynor tomorrow and, if necessary, I'll raise Charlie's concerns.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I FLICKED the windscreen wipers into action, watching them bat away the drizzle as I sat in in The Toad's Hollow car park. The weather was ugly miserable and I glanced again at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was 11:42.

A red mini, headlights aglow in the splashing gloom, swept into the car park and sharply-braked to a halt in a nearby parking spot. The slim driver in white blouse and tight-fitting black skirt, scrambled out and raced for the bar entrance. Ah, young Alice is late for work yet again.

Now, it was 11:44 and Gaynor had never been this tardy for a meeting. I reached for my phone and scrolled to her number but, before I could make the call, her black saloon cruised across my vision. Gaynor reversed to park just two spaces away. Relieved that nothing was wrong, I got out of my Volvo, locked it and looked towards Gaynor's vehicle. She remained sitting and beckoned me to her with a crooked forefinger.

I rushed the few steps through the drizzle, flung open the door and flopped into the passenger seat. "Ugh, not a nice day at all," I said and leaned for a kiss. I stopped halfway. Gaynor was staring straight ahead, looking through the rivulets on her windscreen.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Slowly, as if a film was running frame-by-frame, Gaynor turned to look at me. She wore her familiar blue eye shadow and deep crimson lipgloss - but her chocolate eyes lacked sparkle and her full lips were scrunched together. Not a happy person.

"I'm sorry, Richard," she said, huskily and with a catch in her voice. "I very nearly didn't come here today. Sorry, I can't stay, I'm not feeling right. I'm not well."

I reached out and took hold of her hand which was still on the steering wheel. It was soft but clammy. "What's wrong?" I asked, rubbing the cold back of her hand.

She sighed, deeply and noisily, and turned again to look straight ahead. Then she shook her head, oscillating her golden hoops. "There's no easy way to say this . . . I'm sorry, Richard, I just can't go on seeing you. I'm sorry, I really am." And now she turned to look at me. "It's no good pretending, I just can't carry on like this. It's making me ill. Every day I wake up and feel sick, sometimes I even vomit. I'm a mess, Richard and it's got to stop."

"I don't understand," I began, my mouth drying up with alarm. "I thought you loved me, that you enjoyed being with me."

"I do but this isn't the way to carry on, Richard. It's not real, snatching hours here and there, fucking almost every time we get together. It's all wrong. We can't live in the past or try to recreate it. Don't you see, it's all a fantasy we're trying to live."

I shook my head. "No, it's not a fantasy, not at all. We love each other, don't we? That's not pretense, it's real. Okay, it's not ideal but surely these hours we spend together are better than nothing. Better than the 30 years we spent in the wilderness, surely?"

It was Gaynor's turn to shake her head. "No Richard. As much as I love being with you, it's tearing me apart. I can't keep pretending. A part-time love affair isn't what I want."