Cathy And Chris Ch 12

That evening she was extremely quiet as she cooked and served the evening meal, and while the children were around Chris was his usual animated self and full of fun and bonhomie. Before she knew it, it was half past six and time to leave for the Legion club. She had searched some of Brian's boxes in the garage but had yet to find the standard bearer's things Mike Stafford's visit had been about.

Driving into the club car park was not a new experience, in the old days she did it all the time on club nights so Brian could have a few drinks. On Party nights, he'd insist on a taxi so Cathy 'could enjoy herself too'. Hmmm.

She sat in the car for at least ten minutes, having been rather early. Much as she knew the length of the journey, she had left early not wanting to sit through Dan's sullen look of betrayal and Chris's forced air of everything being OK.

Early she might have been but she didn't want to spend one minute more in the place than she had to.

She walked to the front entrance, which was locked. She remembered that Brian had a swipe card in his wallet that unlocked the door, apparently to keep out the undesirables. Many of them seemed to be in there already.

Her quiet entry was not to be, and she had to ring the bell. "Hello?" said a croaky voice from the intercom.

"It's Cathy McMahon," she said, "I'm here to speak to the entertainment committee."

"Really," said the voice, "Well the entertainment committee ain't here, they don't meet on a Thursday no more, they meets on Wednesday, you'll have to come back next week."

"Right," she said with an air of exasperation, "but I'm expected."

"Not by me you're not," said the voice.

"Is Mike Stafford there?" she said feeling like getting back in her car and doing all this by phone.

"I'll ask, who's calling,"

"Cathy McMahon, I already said,"

"Who?"

She had no other option, "Brian McMahon's wife?" Barstards. This last bastion of the X chromosome had finally made her admit defeat.

"Oh!" said the voice totally changed and now animated, "why didn't you say!"

"I fucking did." She said taking her finger off of the button as the door catch clicked open.

Once inside, she walked through those corridors with a cold feeling. Over the last sixteen months, the last three in particular, she had grown out of the woman that used to come here and she really resented that person and this place.

She looked around, it was a week night so no kids, the widescreen was tuned to Sky Sports again with no one watching, two teams of ladies were playing darts, with a few men around just close enough to remind them that while this was ladies darts league night, it was still a male shrine and they shouldn't try to get above themselves.

The yellow lined 'child free' area was still there and she thought back to the old farts that would stand either side of it just waiting for a child to so much as approach it with intent, one of the worst culprits was the man she was here to see. She walked to one side of it and perched on a bar stool, something she remembered Brian would never let her do, Bars were man territory.

"Catherine!" boomed a voice, it was Mike Stafford and he was wearing that fucking suit.

"Cathy please, Mike,"

"Sorry Catherine, but Brian..."

"Mr Stafford," she said, "As I said on Monday, Brian is dead, I like people to call me Cathy. You can call me Catherine if you wish MISTER Stafford."

"Oh," he spluttered, "Cathy, yes right," he tried to chuckle, "That might take a bit of getting used to. Right," he rubbed a hand through the sweat on his forehead, rubbing that hand on his trousers, then with a grin he rubbed his hands together, "What can I get you to drink?"

"Diet Coke please," she said.

"A little something in it?" he grinned.

"Ice and lemon if you have some," she smiled in a no nonsense manner.

"Sure I can't slip you a Bacardi in there?" he grinned like an idiot and Cathy got her first whiff of that appalling suit of his.

"Mike, I told you I'm driving," she said.

"Oh I know that," he tried to swell with importance, "but we have any number of taxis leaving here tonight, if you wanted to have a drink..." she followed his hand to the corner where the 'old gals' were sat mostly dressed in black and cackling to each other.

"Mike," she groaned, "I TOLD you, I don't drink on school nights, I have to drive to work tomorrow, you know to the SOLICITORS OFFICE I work in?" She took a deep breath, "Just a Diet Coke, thank you."

"Sorry," he tried to make up for his obvious lack of knowledge around women, "keep forgetting that kind of stuff being a committed old bachelor."

The diet Coke arrived and the barmaid, a new girl, favoured her with a smile. Mike indicated one of the tables further into the magnolia painted room.

"Won't you sit down?" he said.

"No, this is fine," she said picking up the glass and sipping.

She laughed inside at the internal struggle that Mike the old fart was having with the concept of a woman sat at the bar.

"Right," she said with a smile, "about this night for Brian, the old boy on the door tells me that the entertainment committee doesn't meet on a Thursday anymore?"

"No," said Mike almost guilty, "I... forgot..."

"So..." she said coaxing him to continue.

"So," he had to think, "So we carry on and arrange a really spectacular night in memory of my old mate Brian." He grinned.

"Right," she said, "spectaculor. And..."

"Oh well," he said realising that she wanted more, "we'll just do our usual thing," he grinned, "Bit of a disco, lay on one of my special buffets, then present a cheque to you at the end of the night to the charity of your choice."

"Oh," said Cathy, "Oh OK, nothing about heart disease and healthy lifestyle promotion then."

He scowled, "Oh no," he said, "I don't think so, they wouldn't like that at all,"

"Who?" she was genuinely surprised.

"The members," he said proudly, "we are a members club after all, and I don't think they'd want anyone preaching to them about not smoking and all of this nonsense about cutting all of the good stuff out of your diet." He stopped and adopted his smug expression, "My father smoked 40 a day his whole life and went to the pub every night, except Sundays of course, and ate meat and two veg every day and lived until he was 85, THAT'S healthy lifestyle Catherine... sorry Cathy."

"Yes, but this night is supposed to be about Brian isn't it? He smoked 20 a day, ate meat and two veg every day, came to the club three nights a week and didn't even make it to fifty five, what do you think?"

Mike's insufferable smug attitude didn't change, she tried again, "Don't you think he might want someone to learn from his early death, get something in the local paper about heart disease?"

"No," said Mike confidently, "Brian would have just wanted a proper branch send off, like he used to organise himself."

"But he had one of those," she said, "If you're just going to have another legion piss up and pass the hat round with Brian's name on, then you don't really need me involved do you. If there's one thing this club is good at it's that."

The irony was totally lost on him and he smiled, supposing it a compliment. "No...no..." he said, "No Cather... Cathy sorry, you'll have to be there, as the widow I mean and little Colleen, I'm not sure that Daniel will want to come, not after what I heard the other night."

"No, I'm not sure that I blame him," she said, "You must admit that this place probably doesn't hold that many fond memories for him."

"Yes, well, he could do with learning some priorities. A few years in uniform..." Cathy couldn't that one pass.

"No fucking way!" she announced, "my son is going to college and then University!" she said, swelling with pride.

"Really," said Mike in humerous disbelief, "If what Brian said was true, that I find hard to believe." He took a long pull at his pint as if to reinforce his special inside knowledge, smiling as he put his glass down.

"What did Brian say?" she said, a fire in her eyes.

Mike's single bachelor status did not allow him to see the flame nor pit he was already in, and he carried on digging. He affected his 'best mate' smile,

"Brian said Daniel was so thick, he'd be lucky to get him into a job on the bins, let alone get into the army, didn't even think the infantry would have him."

Cathy fumed. Mike finally realised that his attitude may not have been quite the thing to get his best mate's wife to like him, let alone get a second date. "'Course," said Mike going slightly pale, "He was joking, I expect."

"And you wonder why my Danny doesn't particularly relish thoughts about his father or coming back to this place?" She pushed her almost full Coke to one side.

"Mike, you do what you like in the name of your best mate, why don't you have some proper do's like in the old days, you raise some cash for him, give it to whoever you like; right now my feelings towards Brian aren't exactly sunny or charitable." She stood up taking her handbag from the bar, "thanks Mike, as I said on the phone, please take my name and my phone number off of your contact list..."

"Yes but..." he said, a real look of panic in his eyes.

"No but's Mike, don't make me get all legal on the club, 'cos right now I'm minded to do all sorts of nasty bloody things."

"But..." Mike was struggling to find something to say, something to keep this attractive woman here with him.

"When I find the standard bearer thing, I'll bring it back, PROMISE!" she almost growled, before turning on her heels, "Job as a dustman," she hissed, "like Brian was a fucking brain surgeon... slapping paint on a wall was the best he could fucking do..." she grumbled, storming away from the bar towards the exit and her car.

Mike watched after her, in part shock, part panic but his eyes betraying some anger -- anger he couldn't find a reason for quite yet.

She drove back to the new house, thinking about the undoubted atmosphere there would be between her and Chris, and probably Danny if he was still up.

She got onto the ring road and put her foot down. The crappy old Vauxhall Astra estate that was part family car, albeit paint spattered, part works van for Brian was long gone, the day after his funeral in fact, traded up to a nice Ford hatch. Thinking on it she realised it was the first tie that she cut with him and his memory.

He had loved that car, while she hated it. If she ever discussed its replacement, or the purchase of a smaller one for her, she got his 'it's part of my tool kit, it earns it's living,' spiel in the same way as his mobile phone. The fact she was actually on a better hourly rate than him passed him by.

It broke down and he had it repaired, the seats were starting to wear but she stopped complaining when he showed her the silver duct tape he proposed fixing them with.

Shopping trips, the very rare days out and holidays all flavoured with the smell of gloss paint, white spirit and those stinking cartridge tube guns of gripfil or decorators caulk. The shopping had to go in the boot with it, any newly bought clothes had to be double bagged against something touching it; she even shuddered at the thought of one of Colleen's nursery friends pointing out that the tiny girl in her best party frock 'smelled of petrol' at the very first birthday party she attended.

And the dust. Those fucking dust sheets he used time and time again, brought home, shaken out in the garden or on the drive and refolded back into the car. It took months for her to stop inspecting the kids' dark school trousers for signs of pale white plaster dust that had so much been part of her life for so many years.

She of course traded it at the first opportunity, but once she had moved away from that estate, she could finally do what she had always wanted and get something much more sporty, something that wouldn't have lasted the first week without being 'keyed' and once the local hooligans had enough chance to glare, would have been nicked, driven around the estate and ring road at top speed to turn up burnt out in one of the recreation ground car parks.

It was a BMW five series estate her Father had helped her buy and tonight it came into its own.

She put her foot down and the thing pulled away beautifully, topping off a comfortable, controllable 100mph. That time of the evening there was almost no traffic and she slipped into the fast lane to pass the few cars and vans there were, growling all kinds of oaths at Brian, Mike, the legion and anyone within 100 yards of her. So angry in fact she used the fact this was a ring road to her advantage, and went round again, finally pulling off at her junction on her second pass.

Calmed slightly, she headed home. The gravel crunched reassuringly as she slowed to a halt. The blip key locked it, and she stepped into the hallway, hanging her coat on one of the many pegs there.

Danny was there and looked at her under his eyebrows.

"Look," she said, as Chris walked in with some tea, "I was just there to organise a charity night in your father's memory OK? I wasn't on a date, I wasn't doing anything other than loosing my temper with anyone within 50 feet of me, OK!?!"

Dan looked at her and nodded, Mum was WELL angry, and he figured he didn't want to be any part of that, especially as some of it could be his fault. After a suitable period, he kissed his mother on the cheek, grabbed all of his books and made for his room, away from the storm clouds floating across the room from her in particular.

"Want to talk about it?" ventured Chris.

"No," she said with a growl.

"Fair enough," he said; being better educated in female moods than Mike Stafford, he knew not to even pick up the shovel, let alone dig some more.

The film he had been watching had finished, and taking a glass of water, bade Cathy goodnight and headed for his bedroom, unhappy to leave her like this but knowing that she wasn't ready to let go just yet.

He was re-reading Joseph Heller's 'Catch 22', after proof reading Dan's book report on it, and was so much into it that he didn't hear her come through the wardrobe. Next thing he knew both book and duvet were sailing across the room as she jumped astride him, naked and with fire in her eyes!

"Fucking men," she growled, "What is it with you lot, is just Englishmen or the entire fucking species?" Before he knew it she was grasping his semi-soft penis and wanking it fiercely, "How fucking dare they," she growled pushing his growing erection into her puss that was just starting to get wet, "How fucking DARE THEY!!". she snarled pushing her self down hard on his cock, closing her eyes as he filled her.

"Who?" he said, surprised he could get a word in.

"Fucking Mike fucking Stafford and the late fucking Brian fucking McMahon!" she growled, bouncing on his penis, and feeling it now erect and doing what she wanted most. "Oooh yeah," she growled taking both of his hands, using them as leverage and to assist her in lifting her bottom from his groin. He started to push up as necessary.

"Do you know what that old bastard used to say about my boy?" she hissed, "She used to tell everyone he was thick! Now that is the fucking pot calling the kettle fucking charcoal grey if I ever heard it, the old cunt was barely fucking literate himself." She snarled pushing down so hard she could feel the tip of him touching her cervix. "Oh shit," she hissed in another voice, and he pushed up feeling her grind down on him. "A fucking paratrooper! A fucking paratrooper questioning someone's intelligence! Who the fuck..." she snarled reaching down a hand to push up on his chest.

"I bet that old fuck wanted my boy to join the army," she snarled again, still maintaining enough concentration to continue the sex, "My Danny, in the army, not while I've a breath left in my body," she pounded down again and again, using her venom and aggression as a tool to reach her orgasm. Chris could only lie back and enjoy himself, although his hips were starting to feel slightly pained from her bashing her bottom and thighs against them.

"And that fucking idiot Mustafa," she said, grinding down hard on Chris's penis as if in revenge, "He only wants to put on a party in aid of heart disease, can you believe it!?! Fat chicken legs and stale warm sandwiches spread thick with butter and shitty beer to raise a few quid to kid themselves they are doing something for heart disease? Not in my fucking name, they can kiss my arse..." she said, not noticing him moving a hand free from hers.

"If there's any arse kissing to be done, I'd rather it was me," he said with a grin, pulling her down to meet him, their lips clashing at the same time as their joint giggling.

She fought back, joining in the half-hearted wrestling. He was much stronger than her but was enjoying this interesting addition to their sex life. Starting to tire slightly, he used one arm to pin her to him, freeing the other one which he used to great effect, smacking her lightly on her exposed left buttock.

The slight but surprised jump she gave made her push and squeeze down on his cock still embedded in her moistness and she purred.

"Oww!! Now then Chris," she purred, "That's taking advantage," she pushed herself back over him and pushed her pussy back down."

"Yeah," he said, "and so it that," she rose off of him only to push back down on him hard. "Go easy Cath, if you're not careful, you'll break it off."

"Oh poor Chrissy sore is he?" she baby talked to him.

"Not as sore as you're going to be if you don't play nice," he said, playfully slapping her other buttock. She gasped, giggled and cooed again, lying flat against him her perfect and as yet untouched breasts pushed against his chest.

"What if I don't want to play nice," she said running a hand through his hair, but still moving up and down along his rock hard erection.

"Perhaps, I'm gonna have to spank yo' ass!" he hissed into her face, while still easing her body up and down on his.

She grinned and tried to stop herself laughing, he joined in with the laughter knowing exactly what she was going to say.

"OK Cath," he said, "On three, one, two, three..."

They both said, "You wouldn't dare," and collapsed into fits of giggles, restarting the wrestling match from a few moments before, this time only interrupted by his occasional well placed smack on her beautiful bottom, totally exposed by her legs clamped either side of him, his penis still tightly held inside her. Eventually he was allowed to roll her over on to her back and get into the dominant position. He could only guess at how annoyed she was this evening, but if Brian was involved then he had to be careful with how they did this. Much as she writhed under him in a gasping, groaning joy, he knew that he had to make it a bit different if it was still going to be enjoyable for her and not bring back bad memories.

"That bastard," she groaned, gasping into his neck and pushing up into him, "That rotten, rotten, hateful bastard," she trembled. Chris recognised her tone and thought the only way to bring her down was through orgasms, lots of orgasms, no stress and only tears of pleasure.

He rose up slightly, and raised her legs pushing them over his shoulders, and knowing what to expect grinned at him in delight.

"Oh yeah, go on Chris," she gasped as he pushed into her pussy, with the deepest penetration possible.

She came almost straight away, as his cock stroked at all of those places she loved so much, her G-spot, cervix, A-zone, all feeling the hard thrust and pulse of his weapon.

Her arms and hands could only reach out for him, stroking his body and his arms that trembled at each thrust, supporting his weight and part of hers as her muscle contractions from her orgasm pushed her legs down onto his shoulders.