My Brother's Widow

I tried to contain the huge sob that had built up in my chest, but I couldn't. Screwing up my eyes against the tears I mumbled, "I know you do Cath, I'm so sorry." Neither of us said much for a bit, just cried to each other down the line; then I sniffed and said, "Cath...I like going out too. Let me take you out to dinner one night, anywhere you like, please. I don't mean on a date, just for me to start trying to make it up to you."

It wouldn't have surprised me if she'd told me to fuck off there and then, but after a few seconds she said, "Let me think about it" and abruptly hung up. Not expecting to hear from her for a few days, if at all, I slumped in front of my TV with a can of beer, feeling sorry for myself. The phone rang after about 10 minutes. Before I'd even spoken, Cathy's voice said, "Okay, Claridges, any day next week."

I didn't know if she thought I'd back down at that, but I replied, "Okay, great, I'll make a booking and let you know when. I'll even book you a taxi to get you there and home. Thanks Cath."

She replied, "I'm still mad at you", and hung up. I broke out in a cold sweat when I thought about what I'd agreed to. Cathy had intentionally picked the most expensive restaurant in London, run by a controversial TV chef, in possibly the most up-its-own-arse hotel in Europe! They were probably booked up until the next Ice Age. Not only that, I'd also committed myself to a taxi fare of sixty quid or more. Oh well, bang went the widescreen quadraphonic satellite TV I'd promised myself. I called in a favour at work and got one of my senior colleagues to get us a table, but even then it was on a Tuesday, the week after Cathy had specified, and only available due to a late cancellation – probably Brad and Angelina, I thought nastily. When I told Cathy she simply said, "Fine", and hung up.

Mum told me Cathy had asked her to look after Josh, confirming we were really on, and I waited nervously for the day to arrive. Meantime I sent my one dinner jacket and matched trousers to the dry cleaners. I had only ever worn the suit once, when I graduated from uni, and I had to get it from my old wardrobe at Mum's house. I took it into work with me on the Tuesday, together with a fancy white shirt I had to buy cufflinks for, and a black clip-on bow tie. Once I thought all my colleagues had gone home for the evening I nipped to the gents' and changed, feeling a bit of an idiot: I always hate dressing up. I stepped out of the toilet straight into two of my friends, who immediately started chortling. One of them sang a few bars of the James Bond theme then, in a bad Scottish accent, growled "The name'sh Twat...Jamesh Twat". I laughed it off; to be perfectly honest, despite not enjoying wearing it, I thought I looked pretty good in the outfit.

As it was quite early I walked across St James's Park and Green Park from Whitehall to Mayfair, attracting more than a few curious glances from passers-by. I hung around outside the hotel waiting for Cathy's taxi, ignoring the top-hatted doorman looking down his nose at me. When she arrived my sister-in-law looked absolutely stunning. She'd had her hair shortened a little and styled, and was wearing an ankle-length off-the-shoulder black dress, together with a chunky gold necklace and matching bracelet. She removed a pashmina from her bare shoulders, and in the light from the hotel's windows her pale skin glowed as if it was luminous. I wondered if her plan had been to try to show me up, and I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that I'd decided to wear the DJ. I told Cath how amazing she looked. I could see she was surprised when she looked me up and down, but she just muttered, "You look hmmpphh" and swept past me into the building.

As we were a bit early a flunky directed us to the cocktail lounge by the restaurant. That was fun – I tried to make light conversation and Cathy completely blanked me, just stared over my shoulder and sipped her Manhattan. I assumed the quoted prices were for a litre jug of each drink, but in fact they were for a single glass. When we made our way to the peach coloured restaurant the Maître d', having carefully checked to see that I really did have a booking, instructed a waiter to show us to our table. I took one look at the menu and momentarily lost my appetite. There weren't individual prices for the dishes, just a fixed price of £70 – each - for three courses, plus a 'discretionary' 12.5 per cent added to the bill.

We ordered our ridiculously overblown starters, plus a bottle of wine at a mere £45, then waited in silence for the food to come. I did no more than wet my lips with the wine, trying to make it last as long as possible. As Cathy started to tuck into her tarted-up crab salad I couldn't stand the angry silence any longer. Pushing my starter to one side, I said, "Cathy, I truly am sorry for what I did that night. It was a horrible thing to say, and I had absolutely no right. I'm sorry I scared your, um, friend away..."

My voice tailed off. Cathy had stopped eating and was staring down at her plate. Her shoulders began to shake and I thought she was about to burst into tears; then I realised to my utter astonishment that she was actually giggling! Looking up at me, her eyes sparkling, she said, "He was pretty awful, wasn't he? Oh, Danny. Honestly, HIV! I'm not sure who I was more furious at, you for coming up with a plotline from a bad US sitcom or him for believing you! And as for that other one you met, Mark, ugh, he made my flesh crawl. I can't keep this up - let's be friends again Dan, I like it much more when we are. I'm sorry about this place" – she waved her hand at the crowded dining room – "I'd never have suggested it if I'd thought for a moment you'd actually manage to get a table here!"

At that moment the only thing I felt was relief that Cath had put my stupidity behind her. I grinned like an idiot and said, "That's okay Cath, you're worth every penny, and more. Anyway, now we're here let's make the most of it."

After two more ludicrously rich courses we both felt like a bit of fresh air, so we wandered across Berkeley Square to Green Park tube station. It was a warm evening and after all that food and wine I was glad to remove my jacket and tie. Cath slipped her arm round my waist and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to place mine around her shoulders. I offered to honour my promise of getting her a taxi home but she said no, and we sat together on the train, she dozing on my shoulder. I was incredibly aware of the softness of her small soft breast pressing against my chest, and I prayed that she wouldn't wake up to see the stonking great unwanted erection that was tenting my trousers.

As we were strolling towards her home, Cathy said, "Danny, did I say how handsome I thought you looked tonight in that suit? God, this evening must have cost you two hundred pounds." Yeah, I thought, and the rest. She continued, "I feel so guilty about it – let me go halves with you, please." It was tempting, or course, but I told her I wouldn't hear of it: I'd invited her out to apologise to her, and there was no way I was going to let her pick up any of the tab. She shrugged, then said, "Okay then, you can choose the restaurant next time, and I'll pay."

I was delighted to hear her say there'd be a next time and, with a big grin, I said, "Great, how about a salmonella burger from that van outside the DIY store?"

For a moment she looked worried then, totally deadpan, she replied, "Well, just so long as you don't expect me to shell out for fries with it!"

We actually went out again on the Saturday. Josh slept over with my parents and we ate at a lively Russian restaurant in Chelsea, then went to a nearby club which does '70s and '80s nights. We both threw ourselves around to old classic pop tracks, laughing and getting sweaty, but my favourite was the dance we had to the Commodores' Three Times A Lady, holding each other close, our eyes locked. Between dances we chatted, naturally drifting into reminiscences of our past. Probably thrown off my guard by a combination of the booze I'd had and the sheer relief at us being friends again, I started to tell Cathy, "You know, I used to be so jealous of Steve, you were..." I stopped, wondering how I'd started down that path and thinking the anecdote I was about to tell Cathy would probably piss her off with me again.

She smiled and frowned with curiosity. "Go on, I was what? You know I'm just going to nag you now till you tell me." She reached across and tickled my hips and I snorted with laugher and squirmed.

Recovering, I took a deep breath and plunged in. "What I was going to say was you were the first girl I ever saw naked, well, semi-naked." Cathy gave a little gasp of surprise and stared at me with her mouth open, but she looked more amused than angry so I carried on. "There was a central heating vent between my room and Steve's, and if I pulled out the grill on my side I could squeeze my face into the gap and see into his room. I used to watch the two of you in there. One day, I suppose I was about 10, I was watching and – God, this is embarrassing Cath – Steve unbuttoned your shirt then you reached back and undid your bra and took it off, then Steve put out the light. I nearly fell off my bed when I saw you! That image of you was burned into my brain."

Cathy continued to stare at me and I waited for her reaction. To my relief, after a couple of seconds she almost fell off her chair with laughter. She shrieked, "Steve always thought you were spying on us, you dirty little sod! I used to say things like, in that case we'd better give you something worth seeing."

We both laughed, and I told her, "For years I was jealous of Steve. I never really dated girls at school, because I'd always compare them to you. I hope Steve realised how lucky he was."

It was a stupid thing to say. Cathy's lip trembled and I cursed myself. She sipped her wine, then after a silence of nearly a minute, not looking at me but gazing at the swirling dancers, she murmured, "You made me jealous too, once." I looked at her quizzically. She turned to me and said, "It was at your cousin's wedding, about three years ago. D'you remember, Natalie Groves was a bridesmaid? I got talking to her at the reception, and she told me you were the best bloke at oral sex she'd ever met; it sounded as if she was a bit of an expert! For the next month I couldn't look at you without blushing, and wondering..." I felt myself blush under Cathy's amused gaze. Nat and I were an item on and off for about three years but, while it was quite flattering, I couldn't believe she'd said that to my own sister-in-law! I was desperately trying to think of something witty to say in reply when Cath jumped to her feet and held out her hand to me. "Anyway, come on, I came here to dance, remember? Burn baby burn..." Singing along to the song that had just started playing, she grabbed my hand and dragged me back out onto the floor.

I might have expected the atmosphere between us to be strained after those little confessions, but in fact it wasn't at all. We laughed and joked together, and walked to the tube station with our arms linked. When we reached Cathy's stop, though, we were both a bit subdued, and walked silently, hand in hand, to her front door. As on the previous occasion, my cock stiffened simply from her nearness. When we reached the front door, Cathy turned to me and, her eyes on her feet, said hesitantly, "Danny? You know how you said these weren't dates, just friends going out together? Well, I...I kind of wish they were dates." With that she gave me a kiss on the cheek and scurried indoors, almost as if she was scared she was about to do something we both might regret. I made my way home to Streatham in a state of perplexity, the confidences we'd shared during the evening whirling through my mind.

Cathy and I didn't make contact for the next few days, but she was hardly ever out of my thoughts. I couldn't deny I fancied her – I had done since I was nine years old – and she'd given me the strongest possible hints that my feelings were reciprocated. But even so, I still thought of her as Steve's wife, totally out of bounds. When I was a kid I'd read how in olden days, if a knight was killed in battle, his brother was expected to marry his widow. I used to have this fantasy where Steve died some brave, noble death, and I went to the grieving Cathy and...I thought about that after he did his nosedive at the paper mill, and it made me feel as guilty as hell. Now I was actually contemplating it for real! It would just seem wrong, almost like incest, but every time I thought of Cathy my heart started racing and I got a warm glow in my loins.

When Cathy phoned me at work on the Thursday after our bop I felt my stomach clench nervously. She sounded nervous too, coming across artificially bright and breezy on the phone. "Oh hi Danny, I just wondered, if you've got nothing better to do that is, whether you might fancy coming over for dinner tomorrow night, although it's okay if you don't, I mean..."

I interrupted her before she talked herself out of it. "I'd love to Cath. Just tell me what time to show up." We agreed the details and I walked around with a silly smile on my face for the rest of the day. I rushed home on the Friday and had a long hot shower. I'd eaten at Steve and Cathy's loads of times, of course, and usually it was just a jeans and T-shirt job, but this time I felt I should make a bit of an effort. I put on a nice suit and tie, and applied a bit of the expensive Hugo Boss eau de cologne that I only use on special occasions. Just as I was leaving, as an afterthought, I slipped my toothbrush into my pocket. Well, I thought, you never know. On the way to grab a taxi I stopped off at an off licence and bought a very nice bottle of pinot grigio.

My stomach was clenching with nerves all the way over to Cathy's. I told myself I was being a prat: nothing was going to happen, we were just going to relax together, have a nice meal and enjoy our close personal friendship; that was all. Cathy must have been looking out for me because her front door opened as I reached for the bell. As usual she looked lovely, in a glossy purple dress with a V-neck plunging towards her bust. I noticed that with it she was wearing an amber pendant I'd bought her for her 34th birthday. I immediately noticed she didn't seem to be wearing a bra. She stood back and looked me up and down then said, "Mm, you scrub up quite well really." Then she leaned close and added, "Cor, you smell nice too." She gave me a hurried peck on the cheek then led me into the lounge. At the far end Josh was at the dining table, finishing his tea of fish fingers and chips. While Cathy slipped my wine in the fridge and prepared our meal, Josh spent a while humiliating me at several computer games. Then I took him up to bed and had a play fight with him, which helped to tire him out.

When I returned downstairs, it was as if I had entered a different room. The bright electric light in the lounge had been dimmed, and the flickering light from a table candelabra glinted off two cut glass crystal wine flutes. They were set on a deep red tablecloth, together with sparkling silver cutlery. Slow, sensual classical music whispered from the stereo unit. I saw my wine on the table, together with a corkscrew, and opened the bottle. Cath heard me and called from the kitchen "Have a seat Dan, I'll be out in a moment."

The dinner was delicious: tender lamb followed by a light treacle sponge. Our conversation was stilted, with each of us waiting for the other to speak, both starting at the same time then apologising with embarrassed laughs. We talked about all sorts of things: how my work was going; how Josh was getting on at school; my folks; holiday plans; just about everything except what was going to happen when we finished eating. Throughout the meal I wanted to stand and take Cathy in my arms, but I felt it should be her choice to make the first move – if there was a first move.

After the meal I offered to do the washing up, but Cath said, "Oh leave it, I'll just chuck it in the dishwasher tomorrow. Sit down, Ill make us coffee." I sat on the couch and removed my tie; a couple of minutes later, she joined me. She sat very close, her thigh resting against mine, making blood rush towards my cock. We sat mostly in silence, just murmuring the occasional comment. She still hadn't shown any sign that she was offering me more than dinner and, wondering if I'd misjudged the situation, I started making noises about catching my last bus. Cathy inclined her body towards me and smiled tiredly, perhaps a little drunkenly. Then she placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "Relax Danny. We both know you're not going to be on that bus." We made a joint decision to kiss. It was gentle and loving, our arms slipping around each other's necks, my fingertips caressing Cathy's bare upper back. Instantly my cock was stiffer than I could ever remember. With some girls I've been with, the animal in me would have pushed them back on the couch and shagged them right there, and they'd have loved it. But that wouldn't have been right with Cathy. After a minute or so I felt her fumbling for my hand and, easing me to my feet, she blew out the candles and led me up the stairs to her bedroom – hers and Steve's bedroom.

Inside Cathy switched on a small table lamp in one corner. We started to kiss again, and Cathy began unbuttoning my shirt. I jumped slightly as her fingers stroked across my nipple, which stiffened to her touch. I fumbled to undo her dress but couldn't find any fastenings. She stood back, laughing silently, and it turned out there were small zips just below each armhole. The garment slipped to the floor and she stepped out of it, standing before me in only a tiny pair of black silky panties. Her breasts were every bit as beautiful as I remembered, perhaps a little larger, but still small and pert. Her belly was smooth and flat. I felt a sudden tremor of nerves and, turning away from Cathy, sat on the edge of the bed and quickly stripped and slipped under the duvet. Cathy laughed again, then dropped her panties and slipped in beside me.

I pulled her to me and kissed her, revelling in the silky warmth of her skin. She responded for a few seconds then pulled away and lay on her back. She sighed then whispered, "I'm sorry Danny, but...fuck, this feels strange, being in bed with you. I mean, I've thought about nothing else for the last week or so, but...I suppose I still think of you as my bloke's kid brother. Being here, next to you...Would you mind very much if we just cuddled up for a while?"

I smiled, and touched her arm, I hoped reassuringly. "Of course I wouldn't Cath. I know exactly what you mean. We don't have to do anything you don't want, ever." She gave me a huge smile then and kissed me on the nose as she slid into my arms. I can't pretend it wasn't a trial, lying there with her soft breasts resting against me, my legs intertwined with hers while I arched back my groin to keep my aching erection from touching her.

We kissed tenderly, just tasting the tips of each other's tongues, and plucking gently at each other's lower lips with our teeth, my hands unmoving in the small of her back while hers stroked my back, driving me crazy. After a few minutes I forgot myself and cupped a hand to one of her breasts. I immediately realised and withdrew it, but she caught it and returned it to her boob. She nuzzled her nose into my neck and whispered, "That's okay, it's nice...comforting."

I cupped her smooth skin and stroked my thumb across the nipple and Cathy sighed, opening her mouth to my tongue. After a couple more minutes I decided that if I was caressing one tit it was probably okay to kiss the other. I dipped my head down and closed my lips over her nipple. She moaned with pleasure, and cradled my head to her. I gently grazed her dug with my teeth, and mumbled, "Oh my God, I've wanted to do this for so long."