12:15pm Sat 15th May 1971
She wasn't there and he knew she hadn't 'just popped out'. It was a small flat and it took less than a minute to realise that there were none of her things anywhere. He threw his overnight bag onto the bed and rushed out, his head in turmoil. What had he done? Where had she gone? He ran to Tony and Marion's flat half a mile away. Marion told him that she needed time to think. That he should give her that time and she would return if she wanted. He found her dictionary under the bed when he returned. Marion told him to throw it away, it was of no importance. He kept it. The only item of hers that he had.
They had met at the wedding. He was Tony's Best Man while she was Matron of Honour for Marion. They had hit it off immediately. She lived only a mile from him. He offered to drive her home. She accepted inviting him in for coffee when they arrived.
They had breakfast late, it was almost lunch. She skipped out of bed and headed for the kitchen. He watched her go then got up and followed her. He stood in the doorway watching her every move. She told him not to be so lazy and to give her a hand so he patted her bare bottom. Preparing scrambled eggs on toast for two took far longer than it should. They returned to bed to eat, each threatening dire consequences should the other spill crumbs in the bed.
They learned about each other as they ate. She had a lover, Italian, lived in Turin and married. He travelled and when he was away over weekends he sent her flight tickets. She donned her red hat and flew to his bed. She didn't love him, she loved what he did to her.
He told her of Joyce in Wakefield. She came willingly to his bed where he entertained her enthusiastically and frequently despite the fact she was married to a long distance coach driver. After he returned to London they met in various places when her husband was away. He should have been in Rugby that weekend.
She should have been in Madrid and it had been a tough decision. They agreed that their own moral compasses might be a little off balance then threw the covers off and set about ensuring that the weekend wasn't entirely wasted.
Friday 12th June 1970 she flew to Frankfurt wearing her red hat. He took the train to Nottingham.
Sunday 14th June 1970 he was waiting for her in the Arrivals Hall. She was wearing her red hat. Bystanders would have been forgiven for thinking they had been apart for months not hours. With no subtly at all he ran his fingers down her back from shoulder to her pert bum. She wriggled, giggled and asked 'Would I lie to you?'
They talked nineteen to the dozen all the way back to the flat. Neither mentioned the weekend. They bathed each other, dried each other and slipped between the bed sheets. There was a silence, the first since they had met in the Arrivals Hall.
'Thank you for meeting me,' she said eventually, 'I was afraid you wouldn't be there. Was it a terrible rush?'
'I was home by lunchtime,' he told her pulling her tighter to him.
'Not a good weekend then?' she asked quietly.
'Not a good weekend.' he confirmed, 'You?'
'He pressed all the right buttons but there was a problem with the wiring. It did little for me and got steadily worse. On Saturday night I had to fake it! He knew and asked if I had found somebody else. I told him I had. He asked did I love you and I told him I loved what we did together. We walked around the city for a while this morning, travelled to the airport together and when he left to board his flight I changed my clothes and put my red hat on for you. How about you?'
He told her that boys can't fake it. He used other ways to please her. Saturday they went window shopped and then ice skating. Saturday night they went to the pictures, snuggled up for the last time and parted as friends at the railway station that morning.
She turned to face him, kissed him deep and long then rolled on top.
'So, you're full and I'm empty.' she had said, mischievously.
