Cathy and Chris

"Oh not so bloody clever now are we," said Mike waving the revolver around the room, but at Chris mostly. Cathy trembled, Mike was insane and insane people are extraordinarily dangerous, especially when they have old looking guns.

"All right Mike, I think you've made your point." Said Chris watching the gun and not Mike.

"On your knees," said Mike with a quite evil grin, "Yes... yes," he said sniffing and waggling the gun to reinforce his point, "Knees!"

"Fuck you," said Chris, "If you're going to shoot me, you shoot me where I stand and while I look you in the face."

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," shouted Mike, "Catherine..." said Mike with a twitch, "Yes, there will be none of this Cathy nonsense anymore, your name is Catherine, yes, Catherine... he wagged the gun at her wardrobe, "get something to tie his hands."

She looked at Mike and at Chris, seeing what Mike had missed, Chris pressing buttons on his phone without having to look. The cavewoman in her had still to lay down.

"Mike?" she said standing and walking from the bed to stand by Chris, "Fuck you, and the club and my mad fucking sister-in-law, fuck the lot of you." She thought she could just hear a tinny voice from Chris's phone, and put an arm around Chris, "If you're going to shoot Chris," she said loudly, "then you might as well shoot me too, I won't want to live in a world without him."

"No... Nooo," Mike whined, "You've got to marry me, ME! I promised Brian! Brian would have wanted it, we look after Colleen, Daniel joins the army. Don't worry, I'll by him his first pint when he's eighteen, Brian would have wanted that."

Cathy looked at Mike with the kind of hatred in her eyes that Chris had never seen before. If she had any kind of sympathy for the man, it was hard to see it now. Cathy sighed. "Mike, this is over now, put the gun down and go home."

"Noooo," he whined, "we're going to get married! We're all going to live together - wasn't going to be in this house mind, but I'll manage," His hand began to shake a little bit.

"Mike, put the gun down before it goes off by accident, you could hit Catherine." Mike swung the gun across to point it at Chris again, shaking even more. "Mike, take your finger off of the trigger, along the side of the trigger guard, you remember the drill."

Mike slid his finger out from around the trigger and alongside the weapon. Evidently this reference to his army days was something he could respond to. Chris and Cathy both breathed a sigh of relief, and Mike picked up on it.

"I know what you are trying to do," said Mike his finger back on the trigger, "Get me off my guard, I don't know what they taught you at SAS school but I ain't falling for any of it."

"Mike, I didn't do any of the bursting through doors shit, I was long range recon and pretending to be a tree for six weeks, I was taught to escape and evade, not dressing in black and embassy doors nonsense. Please, put the gun down, neither of us wants Cathy hurt do we?"

"Her name is Catherine!" Mike snarled, starting to feel more confident.

"Mike, why do you have the gun," Cathy asked.

"Just in case," said Mike with a grin, "good job I had it wasn't it? Huh?"

"Just in case of what Mike?" said Cathy, "Did you come out planning to shoot someone?"

Mike stared at her crossly, but couldn't answer, only managing a hasty, "Be quiet or you'll feel the back of my hand again,"

He looked at Chris with real anger in his eyes. "My gun; got it from Brian, might not have left me anything special, but he gave me this, so I could get what's mine! On... your... knees!" he slowly growled at Chris.

"Fuck... You..." said Chris equally slowly and with derision.

Flustered and confused, Mike pointed the old revolver at Chris, Cathy closed her eyes hugged Chris's arm tighter. Mike's hand wavered slightly but then raised, his arm at 45 degrees.

It was the moment Chris was waiting for; Cathy felt Chris's arm whipped from her as he grabbed Mike's forearm keeping the gun pointed to the ceiling while at the same time head butting the sadly deluded man on the bridge of his nose, before driving his right knee hard into the other man's groin.

Mike collapsed to the floor straight down, and Chris had only to slip the revolver out of his weakened hand as he fell.

Mike could not speak, and blood poured from his nose onto the pale carpet. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed hard, from both the pain of his face and testicles, and of his shattered dreams.

"In the British Army don't they say you should never to kick a man while he's down? Well, in the regiment we never went by the rules..." With a cruel look on his face, Chris pulled his foot back and hefted a vicious kick into Mike's stomach. Mike wept louder, and Cathy gasped.

Chris put the phone to his ear,

"Hello Police? Did you get any of that?"

Evidently his 999 call had gotten through to the emergency operator who had passed the call straight to the police and they were all busy trying to trace the location of the call having heard the talk of guns and shooting people. They were two streets away so Cathy unlocked the bedroom door and ran down the stairs to wait at the front door. She heard the whoop of the sirens and seconds later saw the cars and their flashing blue lights.

Upstairs Chris was knelt by Mike's weeping, bloodied face,

"And if you ever come anywhere near Cathy or any of our children, so fucking help me I will kill you. I will tear you limb from fucking limb, and rip out your worthless heart while it's still beating if you ever come close to my family again!" Chris could feel the tears of rage on his cheeks and stood, stepping back from the sad little man before he hit him again. To his relief, seconds later he heard the police sirens, and running feet seconds after that. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

The officers hoisted Mike to his feet cuffing his hands in front of him so he could still hold his agonised balls. A sergeant held up a clear evidence bag, "I'll take that if you don't mind, Mr..."

"Morris sarge, Chris Morris," Chris handed the gun to the sergeant, pistol grip first, who clicked a lever and the revolver's chamber popped out to the side.

"It's an old Webley," said the Sergeant, "Early World War two vintage I would say, Oh look, only got empty .38 cartridges in it." The sergeant pushed in a pin and three brass cases fell into the bag, he then let the gun, still broken, drop in next. "OK Mr and Mrs Morris, we are going to take Mr Stafford to the hospital, then to the police station. It might be worth you popping along to accident and emergency yourselves, just for a check-up you understand. Are you going to be at home tomorrow? Only we'd like to take a few statements, OK?"

"Yes sergeant, no problem," said Chris, "what time?"

Photographs taken of the room, Cathy's red cheek and the blood on the carpet, the police cars pulled away, Mike Stafford safely caged in the back of a large Ford Transit. Chris walked back into the house and trudged up the stairs.

Cathy was on her knees in her bedroom trying to mop up some of the blood from Mike's nose before it stained the carpet, but more than that her happy memories of the room. He could see the tears dripping from her cheeks to add to the mess.

"Well I don't know about you, but I've had better Friday nights. Do I take it your evening didn't go so well?" He had that eternal grin on his features. She shook her head, still kneeling on the floor by the blood stain. "Oh come here you silly bitch," he opened his arms and she ran into them hugging him.

"Oh Chris," she sobbed, "I was so frightened. I thought he... I thought he was going to..."

"S'all right," he cooed into her ear still hugging her, "He's gone now, it's OK. You're safe, I've got you."

She just rested in his arms - again.

"Why do I seem to spend so much of my time being looked after by you?"

He just looked at her,

"Because I love you. I will always be here for you." He squeezed her tight and she felt wonderful in his arms.

"I was trying to dump him you know," she sniffed into his shirt collar.

"Yeah," he said, "didn't seem to take the hint though did he?"

"No." she sniffed, "he had some idea that Brian left me to him in his will, after some pissed up oath session at the club." She broke down in tears again, "I was trying to tell him not to come round again Chris really I was, you have to believe me, nothing happened I swear."

"It's OK honey," he breathed, "I'm sorry I stormed off, if I'd had more patience and came back earlier I would have been here and he might not have got so brave and slapped you."

Her sobs subsided and she pulled together a bit. She looked into his face and tried to smile. He kissed her. She kissed back, a hard impassioned kiss that had her mouth opening, and her tongue slipping against his.

She pushed him back against the bed, and he fell on it,

"Cath, are you sure you want to, in here?"

"Yeah," she said pulling her sweater over her head and unbuckling the belt to her jeans, "I've got a ghost to lay in this room and if I don't do it now I might never". He started to undress barely reaching his shirt before she pushed him back and climbed onto him in her matching white string panties and bra, still wearing her short white socks though.

She ripped at his shirt sending a few white plastic buttons ricocheting across the room, finally dragging it from his body. His trousers came next, his boxers going with them.

Finally, they were mostly naked and he began to do all of her favourite things. He busied his lips on the nipples he had dragged out of her bra, while his other hand wound down from her chest, down her flat stomach to her strip of pubic hair before his strummed his virtuoso hands across her pubic mound, cupping the whole area and gently squeezing, as if taking possession of her. She responded gasping,

"Oh yeah, please Chris," she said, feeling his long middle finger stray through her damp flesh and worm between her labia, stroking up in search of the pleasure centre he knew to be there. He strummed, she groaned. He pinched her hard nipple between his teeth and squeezed, and she almost bounced off of the bed.

Laying along her to one side, he began his quest for her first come. He was quickly rewarded and she pulled his head down so his mouth could meet with hers as she came.

He continued stroking, this time reaching his long middle finger into her and straight to her g-spot. After so many months, he could find it so easily, and she knew it, gasping with a shocked 'oh!' as he started a strong massage of the rough patch of skin.

He started to slide down, happy to relinquish her boobs for the chance to feast on her pussy again; he hadn't done this in some time, and felt that now was the perfect time to reintroduce himself to that part of her.

After ten minutes of groaning and gasping as she came, he climbed over her and slipped his penis into the hot, wet depths of her puss, feeling her so closely against him, in the manner he loved most, bare skin against bare skin, close, personal, sensual contact.

"Oh Chris," she gasped feeling the tenderness that had been missing from their love making of late, "Thank you, thank you," she gasped in her throes, "Oh darling Chris, thank you..."

He heard the term of endearment and tried not to let her know that he had; chances are she wouldn't remember what she said,

"I'm so close, don't stop," she gasped, and he didn't; not until she had slipped down the slope of her last orgasm, coming in waves as his ejaculate shot into her.

They gently kissed through the last of the spasms, and he smiled, noticing her eyes were closed.

"Thank God you are OK," he said stroking her hair and her face, "I was terrified something was going to happen to you," she could hear the tremble in his voice. "I only came back... to check... you know? Make sure you weren't on your own, I was going to my Dad's place, I almost did, Jesus!! He could have..."

"Hey Chris it's OK, you saved us, you rescued us both."

She saw a single tear, form in the corner of his eye,

"Seems I just can't let you out of my sight for five minutes," he said, "One moment you're speeding through town with a temper, next I'm having to fight off armed loonies, what am I going to do with you."

"Well," she said, using her little finger to catch the tear just moving down his face, "What you did just then was good for me."

"Yeah," he smiled again, "Right, let's go to the carpet place and get this bloody thing replaced, they don't close until seven on a Friday. I still have the measurements on the pad in my car, same colour?"

"Yeah," she smiled, happy that the one memento of Mike Stafford would be gone.

"Tell you what," said Chris, "Let's go down to the town afterwards, just me and you, like I planned." She looked up at him.

"You still want to take me out?" her voice wavered.

"What? Of course I do, come on, get your gear on, grab your make up and you can fix your mascara on the way."

He took her hand and gently led her out of the house to his car. Before she knew it she was repairing her war damaged make up and trying to lessen the redness in her cheek, as his Renault headed towards the carpet showroom.

The salesman confessed himself confused that they should be back so soon after it was first installed, but their 'really bad stain' story was enough.

At a little after eight o'clock he drove through the barrier to the converted canal side development that was now full of designer shops, pubs, a bowling alley, restaurants and a cinema.

When they arrived, the place was full of life, colour and people, and brought her out of any sadness she might have felt almost straight away. He raised his elbow and she slipped a hand under it.

He pulled them towards the restaurant, Frankie and Benny's, and while he turned sideways to ease through the crowd her hand slid down his arm until she held his hand. As the reached the small queue for the restaurant, she looked up at him and smiled, and squeezed his hand. He leant forward and kissed her on the lips, in full and in public. Her heart raced but she decided that she really didn't mind all that much, and returned the kiss, slipping her hand to the back of his neck and sliding her tongue between his lips.

"Oi!" said a young woman behind them in the queue, "What's up love, not had your tea?"

She stopped kissing him, red faced and giggled along with Chris.

Another girl with her said, "I thought all of that had to stop when you got married," said the girl. Both Cathy and Chris held up their left hands to show their bare ring fingers.

"OK," said Chris, "but does that count if we're married... but not to each other?"

"Yeah right," said the other girl, as if the older man in his thirties couldn't possibly do something as risqué as that.

"Come on then dear," said Cathy pulling him into the restaurant as the waiter indicated that they should, "let's get some dinner, then you can get home for your Ovaltine and an early night."

"The early night I can manage," he whispered, "but Ovaltine tastes like shit."

Chris held her chair while she sat down she thought back to the winter nights when she had to make Ovaltine for Brian. Always had it the same way, half milk half water, always started drinking it first week of October, even when it was still mild weather.

"OK," she said sipping the glass of water the waiter had filled for her, "just the early night then."

They ate their meal, listening to the great music and chatting about his project, the end of the mortgage, Dan's choice of GCSE's, the 3 youngest and university. He ordered a huge ice cream sundae to share and they ate it with gusto, ending with some great coffee.

After a couple of hours, she began to wonder why she had never gone out for the evening with this totally charming, sexy, funny, kind, generous guy before. This was the first time, and as she sipped her coffee she smiled at him over the cup, promising herself this wouldn't be the last.

She took his arm and held him tight as they walked through the retail park with its good natured Friday night crowds and he pulled her into one of the quieter bars, for a last drink.

He ordered a Coke for himself and asked her preference, she went to say 'Bacardi and Coke.' She'd drunk it in the past, and it was pleasant enough, but that would always be 'that' drink, which she used to drink in 'that' place, because it was an appropriate drink for a lady.

"I don't know," she said, "you chose one for me."

He looked across the bar, and at her,

"Long drink," he smiled, "but with class, Stella Artois," he said, "very cold, and very nice."

"That's a bit strong isn't it?" she said, knowing full well that it was.

"Yes, proper electric soup, Stella," he said.

"Chris," she said sliding forward slightly on her stool, "you don't have to try and get me pissed," she pressed her face against his to whisper in his ear, "trust me, I'm a sure thing, you've pulled." She brushed her lips against his face, as she sat back again.

They drove back to the house in a companionable silence, her laying back in her seat, content after a lovely night with a lovely man. He parked on the drive, coming round to open her door for her, something he always did when it was just them.

She got out of the car and he closed the door, pushing her back against it and wrapping his arms around her to kiss her. She kissed back putting arms around his neck. The whole teenage 'night out with a great guy – snogging in the car and at the door' thing came back to her, and she felt truly young again. Her two children, her dead husband, her worries about her relationship with Chris, the rest of her family, all disappeared in a flurry of first date nerves and butterflies in her stomach; after all technically it was their first date.

They had, to all intents and purposes, lived together like husband and wife for almost four months since both families had moved in together. Many of their children's friends and their parents just thought that Cathy and Chris were Mum and Dad – and again, technically they were.

Some of the older teachers would regularly confuse the whole McMahon/Morris link and wondered how come Colleen and Karen lived at the same address, looked and dressed, and did their hair to the point they looked identical, were dropped off and picked up with 'goodbye Daddy/hello Mummy', yet answered to different names. The school admin ladies just dubbed the jolly little trio 'the McMorrises'.

They got to the front door, and he sensed her anticipation, and played on it, pinning her to the door frame within the covered porch.

"Are you parents in?" he said breaking for air.

"No," she whispered, without even smiling at the silliness, "Would you like to come in... for a coffee or something?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a grin, letting her fish through her handbag for her door keys even though he still had his in his hand. She opened the door and both tiptoed in, enjoying the little two actor – two audience play they had entered into without a word being spoken.

At the bottom of the stairs he grabbed her again, pulling her back into his arms,

"Let's not worry about the coffee," he said, and in the pale light thrown by the street lamps he saw her shake her head and smile back at him.

She took his hand and slowly led him up the stairs, stopping momentarily at her bedroom door and the bloodstain reminder that was there. She pulled him into his room switching on the bedside light, dropping her handbag and keys on a sideboard.

She sat on his bed not trying to think what those first dates had been like in the old days. Chris sat next to her and kissed her, gently with no contact other than lips.

Timidly she stretched out a hand, which trembled just perceptibly, and stroked his cheek. He reached out to her waist and gently laid a hand there, resting, not moving, not stroking. Her other hand reached up and laid on his shoulder, at the same time his arm snaked around her pulling them closer together as their lips finally crushed together at last.