As far as pairing off is concerned Rachel and I were non-starters - she didn't look twice at me, and I never talked with her. I'm one of the average guys; her time, and probably she herself, was more than filled by one or two of the handsome, athletic jocks who clustered round her.
Gary was always winningly handsome in a roguish sort of way; still is. He did date her in upper sixth form, and they were together for a while, but it finished as teenage romances do; they both moved on to other partners.
Gary and I went off to different universities, and it transpired that Rachel went to a third. Then Rachel and Gary both returned to our hometown immediately after graduating, while I got a job in computing ninety miles away. They took up again, lived together for a couple of years and then got married.
Gary had a managerial job in a light engineering firm and was making good money, with prospects of rising to the top of that particular tree. Rachel was an assistant manager in a department store, and from what Gary told me was in line for a store manager's job. He told me all about their brand new cottage-style home. It looked very small and cramped to me. In Britain 'cottage' means 'cramped'! (It does mean other things as well, but not in this story).
After I'd been five years with the firm, we opened a division back home and I was offered a directorship in charge of customer support and bespoke innovation - very important in software sales - and a move back home. It included adapting existing programmes to perform different or extended tasks according to a customer's needs, but was mainly dealing with helping customers with more complex problems than those resolved by 'turn it off and on again', or 'try plugging it in'.
I was very young for such promotion, but that was life in computing, everyone seems to get promoted young, and though I say it myself, I was very good at what I did, both solving problems and organising a team for more complex tasks.
The increase in salary and the share options were mind-blowing for me at that age, and I was able to buy myself a very roomy third floor flat with great views over a golf course to the hills beyond: spacious hallway, three bedrooms, living/dining room, kitchen, large bathroom with wet shower area as well as a bath, etc. Each of the rooms, I reckoned with slight exaggeration, were bigger than the total floor area of Gary's and Rachel's 'cottage'. The flat was expensive, but now I could easily afford it. Life was good.
Gary was ecstatic I was back, and we took up again, though we only met in the pub or in my flat; I was seldom invited to their house, and when I was so invited, Rachel seemed to make herself scarce. Sometimes she would make polite conversation, you know, asking me how the job was going, that sort of thing, but she seemed distant and the exchanges were brief. They didn't seem to invite people for meals. I laughed to myself that there wasn't room to get everyone round a table in their dining room! I never invited them either.
Strangely it never occurred to me to wonder why. It was a 'guy' thing I suppose: we were drinking companions. I had a busy life at work and socially. Gary and I had no real interests in common: he talked football and cars and I listened and commented. We also commented on the attributes of my various girlfriends, and he crowed about his sexpot wife, so there was plenty to talk and joke about while out on the booze.
So now, after a settled couple of years of regular drinking with him, I was faced with this new situation. I didn't think very clearly if I remember.
First of all, I'd always fancied Rachel, but it was clear that she did not fancy me at all, and as I said, I never made any attempt to date her at school. I'm not sure she even liked me; our meetings were never what you would call warm or friendly.
In any case, Gary got to her first and mates don't poach their mates' women, do they? I must have told him he was a lucky bastard, though now it seemed he took that to mean I fancied her rotten, which I did, though very morally, hopelessly, and at a great distance.
So getting to shag the woman was very enticing at a visceral level: she was far better looking than any of the women I'd ever had. Come to think of it, she was far better looking than any women I'd ever
seen
. Realistically she would never go for it, and even if she did, morally I found the whole thing unsettling and frankly wrong.
Though she had a lively dating life in the last year of high school, and it was common knowledge that while she must have had sex, she was not 'easy' like some of the girls - the girls I went with. She had to date a boy for some weeks before they became intimate, and she was known never to cheat on the lad she was seeing. As a result only a few, which included Gary, actually got to date her. I assumed she still had those morals and would not betray her marriage.
Finally, I was not short of female companionship and I didn't need the complication of a married woman, even one as pretty as Rachel. While at university I did the one night stand routines, some of which extended into two weeks or a month.
However in third year, I had given up the casual liaisons and had two serious relationships. The first girl, Abigail, was hot. She and I had a stupendous sexual relationship, but that was all we had. We lived together in each other's rooms, but had few interests in common. Mind you, with all the sex we didn't have time for much else.
It took us two months to realise that we were going nowhere, and finals were on the distant horizon. We parted without resentment.
A month later I fell for the other end of the alphabet, Zoë. With her it was the reverse of Abi. We had everything in common, we had the same interests, the same likes and dislikes.
Though constrained by the need to prepare for finals, we supported each other through those last months at university. We studied better in each other's company, and seemed to know when we needed a break. Sex was simple and loving; it had meaning for us beyond physical performance. We were perfect for each other.
The trouble came as the offers of jobs came through. I was offered the aforesaid opportunity I couldn't turn down about ninety miles from my home town, she had a similar offer but in Germany. She was a languages and business studies student, I was in science and computing.
We were realistic about it and took the jobs, and parted with great sadness and regret after graduating.
After the bereavement of parting from Zoë, I buried myself in my new job, and made rapid progress. It was eighteen months later that opportunities for relationships began to present themselves. Nothing deep or serious - the girls were career orientated as I was - and we had sex sporadically as recreation and fun.
Once I had moved and been promoted, opportunities for flings, one night stands or weekends, multiplied. For one thing I was back on home turf. I did not date anyone from work, but there were plenty of opportunities in the pubs and clubs. In my mid twenties, I was not looking for a life-time companion.
So climbing onto my high moral horse was easy: Rachel did not fancy me, and I had all the female interest I needed. I would refuse Gary's offer. He could get some other mug to tup his wife.
That done, I forgot all about it and mentally got on with the mundanities of life. So trusting! I believe the term used is blindsided. I was blindsided.
The next day Gary phoned me at work.
"Call by on Thursday?" he asked.
"Ok," I replied. "How did Rachel take it?"
"She seemed ok with it," he said, though I thought I detected some uncertainty in his tone.
"Ok," I said, "We can talk about it on Thursday. See you then."
He rang off.
Gary and I had got into a pattern when going out on the booze. I would call by his place and pick him up, and then take him back to my place where I would park the car and we'd go to my local. After an evening drinking, he'd either get a taxi or we'd go back to my place where he'd get Rachel to pick him up. She'd ring the door bell at the outer entrance to the block, and he'd go down. She never came up, it was, after all, the third floor, though there was a lift.
On Thursday I had a surprise waiting for me. I drove up to the house, parked outside on the road as usual and touched the horn. I was not looking toward the house but ogling a rather pretty young woman across the street and wondering how she had managed to get into such skin-tight jeans, when the car door opened and Rachel got in the car.
The shock must have shown on my face.
"Rachel!" I said, rather fatuously. She looked annoyed, nay, angry.
"Come on Rod!" she snapped. "Drive. Let's get this over with."
"Sorry?" I said, still trying to cope.
"You? Sorry?" she spat. "I'm the one who's sorry. You're getting to fuck me it appears!"
"Wait, Rachel," I said but I got no further.
"I said drive!" she shouted at me. By now she really was very angry. "Back to your place I suppose, or have you booked some seedy flea-ridden hotel?"
I put the car in gear and drove. I was starting to catch on. Gary had indeed blindsided me, probably realising that I would refuse if he didn't pull a fast one.
He clearly hoped that her physical allure would be too much for me to resist. He'd led me to believe I was picking him up, and sent Rachel out instead. She thought I was in on his little plan.
It was a pleasant evening but only as far as the weather went, though it was dark by then, so I drove to a favourite beauty spot of mine and parked the car. It was on a hill and overlooked the town, the lights of which were very pretty, though not as pretty as Rachel, even when she was angry. Up till then, she had sat in sullen silence, which I was loth to break.
"What are you doing Rod?" she growled. "I'm not doing it in the-"
"Shut up, Rachel!" I shouted over her. "Shut your mouth and listen to me."
The surprise on her face and her silence showed how much I shocked her, so I was able to get a word in edgeways.
"I was under the impression that I was picking
Gary
up tonight," I began, "so I could tell him I was
not
