WARNING TO NEW READERS TO THE SERIES - This is a long, rambling story and VERY British which has been divided into several parts for ease of editing and reading. The individual parts will make more sense if read in sequence as they follow straight on chronologically. Whilst this is a stand-alone story some readers may recognise some of the characters from my submissions from a couple of years back entitled 'The Touch' which can still be found in the Novellas section of Literotica. Interested readers should start reading at NOVELS & NOVELLAS > The Touch> Chapter 1 -- Jamie's Story. These new tales were put together whilst I was recuperating after an operation and follow the fortunes of some of the characters a few years on.
Most, but not all chapters contain some sexually explicit sections and the story has a strong incest theme which some readers may find disturbing and might wish to cease reading now.....
GF
Part One: CORA
My name is James, although my mother has always called me Jamie. The only time that I asked her about the nickname she smiled that secret smile that mothers do and simply told me, "You are named for a very special person I once knew who was called Jamie." She kissed me on the forehead and then added, "One day when you are older perhaps I will tell you the story..." She never mentioned the subject again until many years later and I was bright enough to realise that I was not intended to ask and so I was Jamie to Mother and James to everybody else.
Everybody that is except for my sister Coralline who usually called me Jim. Coralline, who is always called Cora, and I are twins. Not identical twins; we were born on the same day but an hour apart, Cora led the field and so is technically my older sister, but we are enough alike to have confused strangers when we were very little. As we got older, Cora got prettier but I like to think that I got the brains and strangely as we entered our teens my hair stayed blonder and my sister's hair became a darker mid-brown like Mother when she was younger and so we now look less alike. By the time that we reached our mid-teens we had both topped out at about 5'7" and were still teasing each other as to which of us was a half inch taller than the other.
There was only the three of us, and it had always been that way. My mother was never married to my father and we were registered with her maiden name, as James and Coralline Watford. Mother was open and frank about her reasons for remaining single "I wanted to start a family," she told us when we asked, "but I never found a man that I could spend my life with... I am happy just having you guys..." I really believe that was true. She never discussed my father, who he was or how they met, except to say that he was a good man who we would be proud of.
Perhaps some might consider it unfair or selfish to deprive her children of a father figure but she is a wonderful, loving, caring mother and as children we never lacked for anything and our childhood was a happy and fulfilled one. I for one never missed having a man about the house, I never missed out on any of the boy's activities which fathers usually took part in, Mother was always there on the side lines when there was a school rugger game, and for a time she was the commanding officer of our Army Cadet Troop, not just that but a really tough one and most of my friends found her really awesome. She could keep up with anyone on the assault courses we attended and would round off the day with her party piece... pulling a perfect score on the rifle range.
Mother never married, or even seriously dated anyone as far as I ever knew, she worked from home and so was there for us all the time when we were growing up. I cannot remember her ever bring a date home although she would occasionally go out to dinner or the theatre with a male friend or colleague but never stayed out overnight. Later as young teenagers, Cora and I did speculate about whether or not she had some sort of sex life, she was still very attractive with a good figure, horribly fit, always dressed well and probably did not look nearly fifty. I think that my mother's sex life or lack of one fascinated Cora more than it did me; but then teenage girls are always far more sexually and emotionally aware than boys of the same age. Naturally, like any teenage boy, I thought about sex a lot and talked about sex with my mates but in truth I was really more interested in sports than dating girls, and I found it vaguely disturbing to imagine my mother being sexually active. At least we were never made to suffer a train of transient 'uncles' as did some of my friends whose mothers were divorced or widowed and constantly looking for a new husband.
The family home is a large detached house close to the River Thames at Old Windsor which Mother had bought for a song in 1990 with her army severance just before Cora and I were born and was the only home that we had ever known. Both of us were now finishing sixth form and there was a real possibility that this would be the last Christmas that we would be spending together as a family. By next year Cora would be at University at St. Andrews in Scotland reading music and languages and I would hopefully be enjoying the sun and surf of Australia with a bunch of friends also taking a pre-university year out. I knew from the other under-grads I was acquainted with that once you left home to go to Uni there was virtually no chance that you would ever return.
For now our intention was to enjoy our Christmas holiday together the way that we had every year since Cora and I were seven. Our itinerary never changed and we all loved it that way. Christmas Eve we would drive into Windsor and attended the Carol Service at St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle. It is one of the top local social events of Christmas and is always packed with visitors and tourists but each Christmas my mother received a special guest pass which got the three of us into the chapel and guaranteed a seat in the pews; she had been an army officer herself before we were born and now worked as a freelance consultant for the Ministry of Defence designing training modules for the British armed forces. After the service we had a standing invitation to Combermere Barracks, the home of the Household Cavalry for drinks and mince pies at the officer's mess with the regimental families. Cora and I knew lots of the army kids as both our schools were close by and were attended by many of the children of army officers based in Windsor and London.
Christmas Day and Boxing Day were always spent at home, doing the traditional seasonal things, a full cooked breakfast, something of a rarity for the rest of the year, followed by opening of Christmas gifts by the tree then helping Mother to prepare the dinner before going for a walk in the park. We would have an early dinner about 4pm and then spend the evening watching movies before having supper of hot chocolate and mince pies then turning in for the night. Once in a while we would have a house guest for Christmas dinner. Every couple of years my mother's elder sister Aunt Julia would visit for the day and sometimes Uncle Ted from Dublin who was my mother's cousin and our only other living relative would invite himself over for Christmas dinner if he was in England but most years it was just the three of us and we liked it that way.
The day after Boxing Day heralded the start of what we kids had dubbed "The Great Christmas Adventure". The three of us would load up Mother's ancient 1970's Volvo 245 estate car with bags and kit and then take off for Heathrow Airport to fly to Austria for a short skiing holiday, returning a couple of days after New Year. Cora and I could both ski pretty well by the time we were 8 or 9; we both loved the sport and looked forward to our Christmas break every year and New Year in the Austrian Alps was fantastic. Mother had been a really keen skier when she was younger and had initiated us into her obsession at an early age.
That was how the Watford family spent the Christmas holidays and that was how we expected to spend this one too....until everything went Ape-Shit.
Christmas week had started well. Cora and myself had very little to do at school and we had taken some time out for 'revision' which meant that we had managed to help to get the house decorated, do all our last minute shopping, check the ski gear and pack the car ready to go to the airport and there was still a couple of days to go before Christmas Eve. Mother had been out with Cora and had brought home a really nice six foot Christmas tree and put it up in the corner of the sitting room and Cora planned to stay home and do the decorations, whilst Mother was in her study working.
I spent Monday morning out in the garden raking up leaves and twigs and ferrying them down to the compost heap in the barrow. It was a cold day but the first dry one that we had had that week and so I was comfortable in jeans, walking boots and a gilet over an old school rugby shirt but it was a welcome sight to see Mother coming down the path from the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand... unfortunately she was also the bearer of the first piece of disappointing news. She had been shut up in her study on the telephone all morning and the look on her face told me that she had something to say that would not bring me joy. She was wearing one of her smart business skirt suits and that should have given me a clue.
She handed me the brimming mug, slipped her arm around my waist and ruffled my hair with the other hand, "Are you happy, darling?" she asked. Actually I was.
"Yeah, I needed to get out in the open air, all the extra studying this term has seriously reduced my sports time and left me stir-crazy..." I grinned and tried winding her up, "I really enjoy raking up leaves.... Maybe when I get back from OZ I'll ditch university and a career in the army and become a gardener instead... maybe one soldier in the family is enough... a gardener would be different..." She didn't bite at my attempt to tease her and provoke a protest over my career choice. Instead a strange look passed over her face, a mixture of mild surprise, amusement and something a touch wistful. My mother has one of those beautiful expressive faces that can show a hundred emotions all at the same time, and right then she looked everything from amused to frightened, to desperately sad which made me just want to hold her and make everything good again, I slipped my arm around her shoulders. "Sorry, Mum... did I say something wrong?"
"No darling, not at all..." she assured me. "... but seriously, you know the choice of career is entirely yours, I would never try to influence you to do something that you didn't want...." She hugged my waist, "You picked a career in the military the same as I did...but if you wanted to do something else...it is not too late to change your mind you know..." I knew that Mother had concerns about my decision to take a year out before university and go travelling but I think she had equal reservations about my wanting to pursue a career in the army, even though it had been her choice at my age.
I laughed. "I am not sure that I really see myself planting and pruning for a living, as much as I enjoy a bit of pottering about in the garden sometimes.... I am still a little boy at heart and would rather dress up in a uniform and play with guns and tanks and things that go whizz-bang...!"
"Don't mock the humble gardener..." she scolded gently with a smile. "The kindest person I ever knew was a landscape gardener, and a very good one too." My mother had always hated snobbery or prejudice and I know she would support us in whatever life choices we made, humble or ambitious. She quickly changed the subject, maybe a little too quickly but she did not give me a chance to pick up on it.
