Author's note: This is the sixth and final part of the story. Just a wee reminder, as it's so long since I posted the first three chapters: the children are Melanie's, and Phil is her mother.
Thanks as ever to my muse and inspiration, without whom this couldn't have been written. To raconteuse, for the most painstakingly professional editing. And to all my readers, whose posts and emails encourage me to strive to be a better writer.
*****
Sandy had set his clock early. When Phil entered the kitchen about seven in the morning, he was already there; the kettle was boiling and the makings of breakfast were set out neatly ready for cooking. The older woman coughed, smiled:
- Well, you beat me to it, for once.
He turned grinning, as he filled the teapot:
- Good morning Phil. I hope you slept well after your late night? Tea'll be ready in a couple of minutes. And since I'm not allowed to help you prepare breakfast, I forbid you to lift a finger to help me.
Not even her daughter addressed her like that. Phil was momentarily discomfited, but knew this man was only trying to be chivalrous, so she swallowed it:
- Melanie's poetry certainly made an impression on the reviewer. I must have read the article six times before I could sleep last night. She gave me a copy when the volume was published of course, but I have to admit I barely dipped into it. I need to read it with care now. Thank you for taking her to the reception...
- Sandy!
The squeal of youthful excitement could only have been Frances. Her arms went round him:
- I'm so glad you're back! We've lots to show you. Um, how was Sydney? Bet you wore mummy out. Is she still asleep?
The girl turned, hugged Phil:
- Good morning Gran... love you.
The woman's hand ruffled the girl's tousled hair:
- G'morning to you, kitten. Now, let me show you how Sandy helped mummy in Sydney...
She detached herself from her granddaughter, led her into the living area, thrust the Australian Literary Review, open at page three, in her hands. Frances gazed in awe at the quarter-page art portrait of her mother above the writing.
- Mummy's in the paper! Wow, must show Maria and William...
The girl disappeared at a run, clutching the article. Sandy emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray with teapot, milkjug, sugar and mugs:
- Phil, would you be so kind as to take everyone their tea please? I'm just about to start cooking, so I want folks at the table in twenty minutes.
Phil didn't allow the children to plague their mother over the meal:
- The sooner you eat, the sooner you'll hear all about Sydney...
A cacophony of excited questions erupted as soon as the last fork was laid down. Melanie's heart was in her face as she turned sideways, kissed Sandy's cheek:
- Well, I think it's my job to tell you our adventures in the city. But remember, they only happened because this man here has written a remarkable novel.
She gave her littlies an edited account of their time in Sydney. Maria's eyes were feasting on the portrait of her mother in the paper till she caught the word television:
- MUM! You were on T.V.! You should've told us...
- No darling, Sandy was the star, not me. But -- stroking his hand on the table -- I think they gave you a CD, dear?
- Um yes, but it's only boring old me...
Maria's eyes drilled him:
- Sandy, you're the least boring person I've met. Well, for an old man... Where's the CD?
The children disappeared into the garden once the show was over, Frances and Maria dragging Sandy by his hands. As they arrived at the rough shrubbery beside the drive, William explained:
- We found a blue-tongued lizard yesterday. She's a female. Look Sandy...
And the lad lifted a bit of old plywood behind the bushes, revealing a very large lizard. Sandy was genuinely delighted, but put on a bit of a show for the children:
- Wow! Isn't she a beauty! Oh Frances, don't...
But the girl had already draped the long fat reptile round her neck:
- Go on, stroke him Sandy!
He hesitated, but William pronounced:
- It's okay man, they like being petted.
Ah, the certainly of early adolescence, Sandy thought. He stroked the beast hesitantly:
- Maybe they do. But I'm sure she'd prefer to be back under her bit of wood. Thank you for showing me. Now, what else is there to see?
The lizard was forgotten as a trail of squeals led Sandy round the back of the house.
- These -- it was Maria, pointing to a tangle of bikes -- they need fixing, and mummy never has the time. Can you sort them out? If you can, we'd love to take you cycling. Mummy has two bikes...
- I know my way around a bike, lass. I'm sure I can fix them. But I smell coffee. Am I allowed to have one before I become an engineer?
Three hours later, Melanie, Sandy, and the children rode back to the house. Sandy had of course, forgotten to apply suncream, and the back of his neck, brow, and the tops of his forearms and thighs glowed red through sweat. He collapsed on the sofa, but Melanie busied herself in the kitchen preparing lunch, showing not a trace of exertion or discomfort.
*****
As they finished eating, Phil announced:
- I'm on dinner-duty tonight. Who wants to help me with the shopping?
She drove off ten minutes later, with the children. When they were out of sight, Sandy took Melanie in his arms:
- Well darling, isn't Phil sweet? Looks like we have a couple of hours to ourselves... any thoughts?
She glanced coyly at him, eyelashes fluttering. Acting it, he knew.
- Um, perhaps... I'd like to complete what we started last time darling, when Mum took my littlies to the library. Remember?
God did he remember: his woman bent over, his cock deep in her from behind... and the crunch of tyres on gravel ending it:
- Yes sweetness...
- I need to change then.
She slid past him to her room, still in her cycling lycras. Returned a different woman: tight t-shirt showing braless tits, short summer skirt, black thighhighs. When he lifted the skirt to inspect her, a red lace band showed at the tops of the stockings. And her cunt was naked, glistening. He gasped, suddenly erect. Pulled her to him possessively, hand between her legs:
- Fuck, darling, you know exactly how to get to me, don't you?
- I know you sometimes need me like this... and sometimes I need to be your dirtygirl. Come on...
She led him outside, to the exact spot where their coitus had been interrupted a few days previously. She knelt before him subserviently, removed his shorts and briefs. Sniffed:
- Oh, you really are my darling dirtyman, you stink of sexsweat...
And her mouth enveloped him, lascivious, needy. He gasped:
