Chapter 8

“‘Difficult’” whispered Sandra with a soft giggle Monday morning. “That was clever.”

I gave her an innocent look. “What?”

“Difficult? Hard?” She elbowed me gently in the ribs. “I liked it.”

“Well, you did sort of suggest to me that you were, you know, naked.” I barely breathed the last word.

“There was no sort of suggesting,” she giggled. “Let’s say, if you were ‘difficult’, I was, erm,” she paused in thought for a few moments, pondering. “Tropical?”

“Hot? Wet? Humid?”

Sandra just giggled and changed the subject as Talulah was walking towards us.

“Well you should know you’ve just made my life very difficult,” I whispered.

Sandra tried to stifle her laughter but couldn’t.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Talulah who was looking at her closest friend in bewilderment. “She’s having a difficult time digesting tropical fruits.” That just sent Sandra off into even more paroxysms of laughter, and Talulah into even more confusion.

Nothing changed much for the next few weeks. Each Saturday from about twelve, until about four pm, I spent with Sandra. We didn’t do much really. We spent a lot of time walking and talking, holding hands a lot, kisses that grew longer and more frequent. We went to a couple of different local art centres that Sandra wanted to see. She taught me a lot about different types of art, and because I had actually gone to see it with her, she didn’t mind when I said I didn’t like this painting or that piece of sculpture.

“But you can see the painting is good, even if you don’t like it?”

“In this instance I don’t know that I can,” I said slowly. “Sometimes yes. This time?” I shrugged. “It seems to me some kids can do better.”

She laughed. “Maybe. As it happens I love this piece. Look at this next one.”

“Maybe,” I said after a while. “I wouldn’t say I like it, but I certainly prefer it to the last one. It seems brighter, more colourful, and even if it does look untidy, at least you can see what it’s meant to be.”

“Which is?”

“A wild flower meadow of some sort.”

She nodded. “Good. As it happens I like it less than the last ones for exactly the same reason.”

“You prefer the impressionist type paintings to the more ‘realistic’ type?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

We went to see two films. A romantic comedy that I sort of liked and sort of disliked and sort of found irritating and sort of amusing but which Sandra loved; and an action thriller which Sandra out and out hated and I ended up not enjoying because of it, yet would normally have loved. We decided our taste in cinema was probably too different, but we decided to try another one, probably some time after Christmas.

The two Saturdays before Christmas Sandra couldn’t join me, but instead, for the first one, came out on the Sunday instead. Sadly for me, the weekend just before Christmas she was really busy and was unable to get away. Each Wednesday evening and Sunday morning Mrs Clarke would come and visit for an hour or so. She made sure I was okay, eating properly, looking after both myself and the house, went through my finances with me. Helped me to pay some bills, and just generally chatted. Often about nothing in particular, sometimes about concubines, or about her plans to help Talulah; and once or twice about school. I still lusted after her, and it almost seemed to me that Mrs Clarke regularly turned up to these inspections deliberately dressed up to ensure I stayed in lust with her.

By the time school broke up for the Christmas break, a few people had worked out that Sandra and I were dating. Bondy was the first to realise.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked Talulah.

“Sure,” she shrugged almost disinterestedly. Completely unfazed.

He looked at her. “How long have you known about it?”

“Since the Monday after their first date, which if I remember correctly was the Saturday after half term.”

The fact that Sandra and I were sat there watching and listening, amused by his confusion, and by Talulah’s matter-of-fact disinterest, seemed to make him even more confused.

Higgis already knew of course. He had caught us kissing, but when Blish found out, and also found out that his boyfriend had known all along, the two had quite a bitter fight.

“It’s my fault,” I told Blish. “I asked him to keep it a secret from everybody.”

“But he could have told me,” Blish exclaimed, very upset with us both.

Blish and Higgis were tense around each other for a day or two, but slowly relaxed and a few days later their friendship had obviously been renewed. And, I liked to think, had even got a bit stronger.

I almost lost it when, on the last day of term, Sandra asked me what I’d be doing for Christmas. I managed, just, to hold on, but she instantly knew something wasn’t right.

“What’s up sweetheart?” she asked softly.

I looked around. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I shouldn’t even be telling you. But...”

“Go on,” she whispered. There was no force to her request for more information, just open and loving trust.

“I can’t tell you here,” I whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”

There were a lot of people around, and even if none of them heard what I might say, I also knew I was likely to break down in telling, and that would get me a lot of very unwanted attention.

The school was closing early that day, so I suggested we meet up somewhere for a long talk.

“I was going into town after school to do some last bits of Christmas shopping,” Sandra told me. “Will your parents mind if you do the same?”

“Don’t know. They won’t say anything though.” It was agreed, and we met by the bus stop after school. We weren’t getting one of the school buses, which most of the kids caught, but instead waited a few minutes and took one of the regular buses into town. We were almost alone on the bus. Only a couple of first years. The year sevens, or eleven-year-olds.

I’ll jump in and explain the way the British education system is numbered and named at this point.

The academic year runs from the First of September through to the thirty-first of August, and is split into three ‘terms’. Autumn, from September to Christmas. Spring, from New Year to Easter; and summer, from Easter to mid July. If your birthday was 31st August, you were the youngest in the year. If your birthday was the following day on 1st September, you were the eldest in the following year. The first term after your fourth birthday, you could, if your parents wanted you to, start in full time nursery. Before that it was either part-time or private. From the September before their fifth birthday pupils start in year zero, more commonly known as reception. The following years were then numbered years one through thirteen. Reception, plus years one and two are also known as infant. The next four years, years three to six are known as Junior. Infant and junior, together, are often known as primary. At the end of the junior years, so at the end of year six, pupils are eleven and at that point they transition to secondary education and always change schools. The change from infant to junior sometimes involved a school change, sometimes it didn’t, but almost always the two parts were kept completely separate. Even in the same school, the infants and juniors usually didn’t mix at all.

At the end of year eleven, so when pupils are sixteen, also known as the fifth form or fifth year because that’s how long they had been at secondary school, they take a series of up to about ten GCSE’s, General Certificate of Secondary Education. The exact subjects, generally between eight and ten, were usually selected at the end of year nine.

Years twelve and thirteen, so the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds (at the end of the years) were collectively known as the sixth form, and these students studied A-Levels. A fewer number of subjects, four or five, but to a much greater level of understanding. Some secondary schools also did sixth form, some didn’t, and a few schools only did sixth form. So there may even be a school change at the age of sixteen.

At eighteen, pupils could go on to university, or they could start work.

Our school did ages eleven through eighteen. School years seven through thirteen. So when I say there were a few first years on the bus, what I mean is that there were a few pupils who would turn twelve sometime before the end of this school year.

Sandra and I held hands all the way into town, saying nothing, just relaxing in each other’s company.

I had found out previously that Sandra liked swallows. So when I spotted a very pretty set of dangly earrings with little swallows on, I had to buy them for her as a Christmas present. I took note of where they were, and after I had seen her off on the bus a couple of hours later, rushed back to get them. After I had bought them, I suddenly realised I didn’t know how I would get them to her for Christmas day. I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

After Sandra had finished her shopping, before I had bought the earrings for her, we went and sat in our favourite coffee shop. It was very busy, and also very noisy.

“So what’s up love?” Sandra asked. “Why did asking you about Christmas get you all worked up earlier?”

I took a deep, raggedy breath and told her some of what had happened over the half-term break.

“My parents aren’t with me,” I started. “Nor is my sister. I live alone now.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Why?” she whispered. I couldn’t hear the question because of the noise, but I knew what she’d asked.

“They were all collected by the Confederacy at the start of the hols. Along with about seventy other people. A third of them kids.”

“How do you know? Did you see it?”

I nodded. “It was a pre-pack. Dad and another bloke organised it. There were eleven sponsors, including Dad, about thirty-five concubines, and about thirty kids. Give or take. The actual collection was done at my house. I was there. I saw it all.”

Sandra moved around the table and sat beside me, holding my hands tightly. “You’ve been alone ever since?”

I nodded dumbly.

“But why didn’t you go? If you were there, you should have gone? Shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t have any concubines, and in any case I wanted to help Talulah. Dad knew some about her, but not enough to do anything. I asked him for advice. If it hadn’t been for Talulah, maybe I would have gone, even though I didn’t have any concubines of my own.”

Sandra frowned at me. “When did you tell your dad?”

“The same day Talulah told me and Bondy. Back when you were still suspicious of us and I was still scared of you.”

She gave a grunt of amusement at that observation, but then went serious again. “So what did you tell him?”

“Only that a girl at school needed my help, but that I didn’t know how to help. I told him what was happening to her, and I told him about her sister. I didn’t tell him anything else.”

Sandra nodded slowly, a slightly unhappy look on her face.

“Look,” I said softly. “You told Mrs Clarke and asked for help, I asked my dad. It amounts to the same thing.”

She nodded slowly. “I guess.” She paused. “So that’s why you didn’t go with them?”

I nodded.

“And you’ve been alone ever since?”

I nodded again.

Her voice dropped a little. “So you’ll be alone on Christmas day?”

Once again I nodded, feeling suddenly very miserable.

Sandra just wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight.

“Come stay with us,” she whispered.

“I can’t. Your parents will wonder why I’m not at home with my family.”

“But you can’t be on your own.”

“I’ll cope,” I whispered. I would, but I knew it would be hard.

We talked a little longer about that day, but I didn’t tell her about witnessing, and especially not about being part of, the sexual orgy that had gone on. Obviously I didn’t tell her about the knickers, nor that I had lusted after my own sister. I did however tell her that Mrs Clarke had found out and came around twice a week, for about half an hour or so each time, to make sure I was okay. That eased her worries a little, though not much.

The other thing I didn’t tell her was that Mrs Clarke had agreed to be my concubine. I knew I had to, it wouldn’t be fair on her not to, but at the same time I also knew that it wouldn’t be fair on Mrs Clarke if I did tell Sandra. Who would be angrier? Who would be more hurt? Who would I rather go with?

I nearly told her, but at that moment the alarm on her mobile went off and she quickly got up to head for the bus station. At the bus station she just held me tight until her bus came in.

“Don’t tell anyone. Please?” I begged her.

She nodded reluctantly. “All right. But you shouldn’t be on your own.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. I then nodded at her bus. “But you won’t be if you’re late home.”

She smiled slightly then kissed me hard. “I’ll see you very soon,” she said, letting go of me.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said to her as she got on.

I watched her bus as it left the station, then before heading home, dashed back to get the earrings I had seen.

Mrs Clarke turned up again, as normal two days later on Sunday morning. Today was the 24th of December. Christmas eve. Her inspection seemed, if anything, much briefer than it had previously, and for some reason she seemed a little jumpy.

After the inspection was over, she looked at me for a moment. “I had half planned on going to my parents for Christmas,” she said softly. “But after my dad died two months ago, my mother decided she would come to me instead. I don’t think she wants to be in her own home, without her husband, on Christmas day. Would you like to come and join us, just for a few hours? I can’t imagine you’ll enjoy being at home alone tomorrow.”

“I’d cope,” I said, “but I’d hate it. So yes please, that would be brilliant.”

She smiled. “I’ll come and pick you up about ten?”

I nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

“Good.”

Sandra and I chatted by text message most of the weekend. After Mrs Clarke had left, I told Sandra that I wouldn’t be on my own after all on Christmas day, that the Confederacy had arranged for me to stay with someone. I told a little lie and said that there would be a few people there, most of whom I wouldn’t know, and that they were all in an approximately similar situation to myself.

She seemed sort of happy with that, but asked me to send pictures. I said I would, but knew I couldn’t.

I was ready shortly after nine the following morning, wearing a pair of my favourite of Mum’s knickers. They were black and soft with lots of lace, very comfortable and very sensual. And very feminine. I had always loved them. Including Mum’s and Joanne’s, I’d acquired three hundred and thirty-seven pairs of knickers. By now I had worn about a third of them, and thrown about fifty away, a few before wearing, most afterwards.

Mrs Clarke turned up just after ten. Obviously I had no presents for her, or for her mother, but I had found a bottle of Chilean Merlot in the cupboard.

“Will this do in lieu of a present?” I asked her with a smile when I opened the door for her.

She just laughed. “Sure. I like Merlot. Come on.”

The day was easy and far more relaxing than I had expected it to be. Shortly after we had got to her house, which must have been a good ten miles away, she went up and got changed while I chatted with her mum.

I nearly called her Mrs Clarke too, but then remembered that ‘my’ Mrs Clarke would have changed her name when she got married. I didn’t know the old lady’s name. However she wasn’t daft, and told me to just call her Bernice.

“So you’re the one who’s been doing advanced maths and hadn’t realised it?” she asked me with a smile.

I nodded. “So I’ve been told. Are you a mathematician?”

She shook her head. “O level maths is all I’ve got.” At my look of confusion she told me that O levels had been the exams before the modern GCSE’s.

“And Andrea is your teacher?”

“Er. Yes.” I hadn’t known until that moment what Mrs Clarke’s given name was. I had to think. I couldn’t remember, not for sure, whether I had ever even seen an initial anywhere.

Bernice gave me a lovely smile. “You didn’t know my daughter’s name was Andrea? Did you?”

I gave a wry smile and shook my head. “No. She’s just Mrs Clarke to all of us.”

She nodded, “Good. That’s as it should be for a teacher. Now put it out of your mind. Okay?”

I nodded. “Were you a teacher?”

“I taught RE to years seven and eight, sometimes nine; and history to years seven to eleven.”

She had taught GCSE history. These days it was all modern history, so from about 1925, but her speciality was medieval history. She started to teach me a little rhyme to remember all the kings and queens of England, but we had got as far as:

Willy, Willy, Harry, Ste,

Harry, Dick, John, Harry three,

One two three Neds, Richard Two,

and she was just saying:

Harry’s four five six then who?

when her daughter reappeared. My jaw dropped, and Bernice burst into laughter.

“You young man are far too young to be falling in love with my daughter.”

Andrea, Mrs Clarke, looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing a flowing sleeveless royal blue dress that fell to just below her knees. It had a round neckline and was covered in tiny sparkles. She was also wearing heels, though not especially high. She had put a small amount of makeup on, at least, if it was more than that it was extremely skilfully applied; and had brushed her hair out and left it loose.

She was beautiful. Truly beautiful. I couldn’t begin to understand why her husband hadn’t wanted to take her. She had obviously heard what her mother had said, as she gave me a smile and a wink, but added a tiny shake of the head. Obviously her mother didn’t know anything about our hoped for plans. I definitely hardened, but not so much that it caused an issue.

Bernice in particular kept me entertained and put me very firmly at my ease, and the day went by very quickly indeed. Bernice herself was in her late sixties I guessed, but I could also see that in her youth she too had been a real beauty. She was the centre of attention, and that made it so much easier for me. I knew I couldn’t have chatted with Andrea herself like this, not without a third party present, and if Andrea had held the conversation, I think I would have felt rather more inhibited. We talked about a lot of things, some of what I wanted in a future life, Confederacy not withstanding. We talked about recent and older films. Classic films, some of which I’d never heard of. We talked books, video games: it turned out I was the only one of us that didn’t play video games at least a little bit.

We had dinner about two pm. That is to say, we started then. But we didn’t finish for nearly an hour and a half. We had spicy parsnip soup, home made, followed by roast duck with a spiced orange sauce, roast potatoes and veg, including roasted beetroot. This in turn was followed by a shop bought but very good quality Christmas pudding and brandy sauce, which in turn was followed by a lovely ground coffee. It was all very delicious. Mrs Clarke opened the wine I had brought, and we had two glasses each during the meal, emptying the bottle.

I volunteered to help clean up, but both women smiled.

“Not today,” Mrs Clarke said. “Today it’s all going in the dish washer. Even stuff that wouldn’t otherwise go in.”

“Even these glasses?” Bernice asked her daughter in surprise.

“Even those,” Andrea nodded. “They’re not expensive ones, so I don’t mind this once.”

Replete, we just sat back and chatted once more. For some reason our conversation was a touch darker now. We talked politics, though I listened to the two women talking more than I talked myself. We talked about the Confederacy and what we knew about it, which wasn’t much. Most of all though, we talked about Talulah and how the current wave of anti Confederacy feelings in some of the ‘strange corners’ of the population might affect our plans for her.

“Has Amber got a CAP yet?” I asked.

Andrea shook her head unhappily. “No. It would seem that her father has forbidden her from getting one. More than that, he’s persuaded her she doesn’t want one. He seems to be telling her all sort of lies and misinformation, some of it just blatant propaganda and I think she believes him. She actually told me she doesn’t want one.”

“Oh crumbs. You just asked her?”

Mrs Clarke smiled slightly. “Not quite like that, no. I asked the class as a whole. Hands up those who had one, those who didn’t but wanted one; those who weren’t sure; and those who didn’t want one. She was one of three who were quite determined they were never going to have one.”

“Oh hell,” I muttered.

“It should have been a maths lesson, of course, but about ten minutes in someone asked a question, can’t remember exactly what now. Someone made a comment about the swarm, or the Confederacy, something to do with distances, and next thing you know there was an argument between two kids about whether it was real or not. At that point I intervened as I thought it would be a perfect moment to find out Amber’s feelings. I changed the argument into a discussion. By the end of the lesson, it had all boiled down to three girls, all of whom I believe would not get a qualifying score, say they will refuse to ever get a card. About half a dozen more kids, male and female, who hadn’t made up their minds, and all the rest either had, or wanted one.

“Amber isn’t aware her sister has one. Believes, in fact, that she doesn’t want one. I’ve set a holiday project for all of them. The three who don’t want a card, plus the six or so who aren’t sure, have to produce a joint presentation on the benefits of getting one, while the rest, split into three groups, have to produce similar presentations against.” She smiled softly. “I’m hoping they’ll produce some very interesting presentations.”

“Do you think it’ll persuade anyone to change their views?” I asked.

“Maybe. I doubt it though.”

Tea was a much lighter affair than dinner had been: cold meats, salad, cheeses, fruits and some very nice breads. Followed by a rich fruit Christmas cake. Washed down with cups of tea.

It was after nine and both the women had had one glass of port, which I had declined, and were sipping on a second when I suddenly realised I probably now had no way of getting home.

“Er. Miss?” I enquired gently.

Mrs Clarke looked at me.

I tapped my watch. “It’s really time I aught to be getting home.”

She looked at the clock on the fireplace and nodded. “Come on then.”

“Are you gonna be okay to drive?”

Bernice looked at her daughter. “Andrea. You cannot drive. The lad will have to stay here tonight. We both know from experience that that sofa is more than comfortable enough to sleep on.

For a moment Mrs Clarke looked indecisive, but then she relaxed and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry Toby. I don’t know why I didn’t remember earlier.” She sighed. “It’ll have to be a fairly early start tomorrow to get you home again as I have plans for tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Thank you Miss. Sorry, I should have thought of it earlier too. I’m afraid I was just enjoying myself too much.” My emotions welled up for a moment, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. I was lonely. More lonely than I had realised.

She gave me a towel and a toothbrush and showed me to the downstairs bathroom, where I had a quick wash, while she and her mother quickly sorted out some bedding for me.

Just sleeping in the same house as Mrs Clarke was exciting enough to keep me awake for a while. I stroked myself lightly through Mum’s soft, sensuous knickers, but I didn’t dare come, despite my rock hard boner. I’d had a few texts from Sandra during the day, and as I settled down sent her another telling her I missed her and hoped she was okay.

It was an early start for Boxing Day, just after seven thirty in the morning. I didn’t even get up that early on a school day, but Mrs Clarke and her mother had plans. They were heading for Bradford in West Yorkshire where Mrs Clarke’s brother and his family lived.

It wasn’t much out of the way for them to drop me off. We both lived in North London, but about ten miles apart, so dropping me off and then getting onto the M1 motorway was not much more difficult that just heading straight for the M1. She cut me a huge piece of Christmas cake, and also gave me about a half of what was left of the Christmas pudding and all of what was left of the roast duck.

I thought she would just leave me at the gate, but she came to the door to make sure everything was fine. “Obviously I won’t be here tomorrow for our regular check, and I’m in just too much of a hurry to do it now,” she told me, “so I’ll trust you until next Sunday. Okay?”

I nodded. “Yes Miss. Have a good time in Yorkshire.”

I think she must have heard something in my voice as she stepped forwards and frowned at me. “Are you going to be okay Toby?”

I nodded.

“You’re lonely,” she suddenly said, and reaching out pulled me into a hug. “I hadn’t realised before, but you’re lonely aren’t you?”

I nodded as I put my arms around her and held her, holding onto her as I found I just needed to hold someone. Anyone. I was, I suddenly realised, unbearably lonely. I missed my parents so much. I was only just not crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We’ll have to sort something out for a couple of weeks time.”

I wasn’t really listening, just holding on like a drowning man holding onto a lifeline.

She relaxed her hold of me and pushed me gently away from her, but still closer than I’d ever been before. For the first time I noticed I was actually taller than her.

“I’ll leave you with something to remember,” she said softly. She reached up and kissed me softly. Not a peck on the cheek, but nor was it an all out tongue twister, saliva swapping, snog. It was just a soft, tender kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, but it made all my worries just vanish into the mist.

“I’ll see you next Sunday,” she whispered, and pulled away from me and left. I watched as she walked briskly down the drive, her slim, trim figure in tight jeans, boots and a black jumper had me rock hard again.

I wanked myself silly for the next half hour over the memory of her and that kiss. I was still so desperately in lust with her. I wanted her so badly.

I texted Sandra to say that I was home again, and hoping she’d had a lovely Christmas. A few minutes later she rang me and we spent nearly an hour just talking about nothing.

“Do you think I could see you during the holidays?” I asked.

“Yes.” She said immediately and without hesitation. “I’ll come to you. Where do you live?”

I gave her my address, but didn’t ask when she’d be over. I didn’t want to pressure her. “I can’t come today,” she told me. She must surely have known what I wanted to ask. “I’m not sure about tomorrow, but I should be able to come over on Thursday. Is that okay?”

“That’s absolutely fine,” I told her. “I can hardly wait.”

She laughed. “Me too.”

We didn’t talk much longer, but we did text each other regularly for the rest of the day.

After we had hung up, I went and quickly showered and changed knickers. Wasn’t sure whose these ones were but they were nice. For the rest of the day that’s all I wore. I wore another pair that night, and the following day wore two different pairs during the day and a third overnight. I was trying to get through them and wear as many as I could to work out which ones I liked, and which ones I didn’t. For a few different reasons I was probably throwing away one in three or four after I had worn them, or in a few cases when I tried to wear them.