Hot Cross Buns: Rich bread buns made with butter, sugar and egg, spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and mixed spice, and baked with a mix of dried fruit and candied peel.
EIGHTEEN
I left work early next day, Friday, telling Jenny to do the same. She didn't need telling twice. I collected the keys to the house. David offered to take me but I begged to go on my own. He gave me a sheet of paper with instructions on it.
"Be sure to remember the code to turn off the alarm, or you'll have the police there." David was emphatic.
Then I set out to drive to the house, full of trepidation and eagerness. I enjoyed every avenue and road, the gardens in spring bloom and the budding trees lining each road. Every metre was exciting and beautiful. It was a wonderful place to live. It helped that the sun was shining out of a cloudless blue sky.
Then there I was at the gate. The drive stretched before me, fifty metres to the front door. I drove up the drive slowly. The memories were flooding me again.
There I was in front of the door. I hesitated. There was fear. No reason. Need there be?
I put the key in the lock, and opened the door. Immediately there was a loud beeping sound. The Alarm! I scrabbled for my machine and found a four digit code number. The control box was by the front door, and I keyed in the number. The beep stopped. I did not understand the word 'Sweden' written underneath the box.
The phone rang. I picked it up. "Yes?"
"Code word please."
"Sorry, who are you?"
"The alarm company. Please give the code word."
"Sweden?"
"Thank you. Have you had any problems?"
"I've just bought the house. I'm moving in."
"Mr Allan Jonsson?"
"Er, yes. What you should know is that I have transient bouts of amnesia. I have to consult a memory aid if I forget things. It delays things."
"We can increase the time delay."
"Please do. I don't want a panic like that every time I come home!"
That little discussion over, I began to explore the house. Yes, it was familiar. The kitchen was easy. What amazed me was that all the utensils were in place. It was a complete old fashioned kitchen. I had nothing to buy. David or Viv must have cleaned and turned on the fridge and freezer.
The living room looked familiar, though I couldn't say I recognised it. The two other rooms seemed to be an office or study and a dining room. The office had a computer. The dining room had a table and chairs and a sideboard, though there was nothing in it. Under the stairs was a door and I discovered the cellars. One had a snooker table, the second table tennis. There was a dartboard on one of the doors. The other two rooms had boxes stacked on top of each other. Something to explore when I had more time.
Upstairs, the bathroom and toilet held no surprises. Their cupboards were empty save for toilet rolls. Then the bedrooms. There were five of these. As I entered the first room the memories hit me. This was 'our' bedroom. There was the en suite bathroom; there were the two wardrobes and a dressing table. I opened the drawers and stood back in surprise. There were men's socks and underwear. In the wardrobe were suits and sweaters, and shirts and ties. Other drawers were empty, but the second wardrobe had a few dresses and skirts hanging up. I saw a vision of Ann wearing one of them, running in the garden with the boys. Perhaps I had a visual memory after all.
I found the drawers with the bedding and extracted a set. I unfolded it and left it to air. That's what my mother always did. Another memory. Even more of my life was being pieced together by my much-abused brain. I had a vivid memory of Stefan being sick on the landing. Strange memory. Another of all the children in our bed with us on Christmas morning; it brought a tear to my eye. The house was working its magic. I even remembered we got milk from a milkman, and resolved to engage his services, if indeed there still was one.
Yes, I belonged in this house, and it belonged to me with all the memories it would unlock. I looked at the central heating boiler and saw a note on the notice board by its side from David.
Dear Allan
I stocked the fridge with basics. Here is a list of take-away shops that deliver. You can order more supplies from Asda, Sainsbury or Tesco on line. You have broadband here. Try firing up the computer in the study. Welcome back home!
David
What a good friend he was!
I made some tea and sat in the kitchen and enjoyed the atmosphere of the place. It did feel like home. I had little time that night, but on the morrow I'd have all day to saunter round the place, inspect the garden, unpack my bags and try that computer. I turned on the radio and let the music and banter wash over me. Then it was time to wash up and leave for the flat. I'd be moving in tomorrow!
I consulted the instructions and set the alarm, wondering if the loud insistent beeping had given it its name, as I shut the door and waited for it to stop. Then back to my other home, where I packed two suitcases and went to bed.
On Saturday I had an early breakfast and then loaded the car, travelled, dumped it and the suitcases and went walking round the district. Then I drove into Sale town centre. I needed supplies for the coming week and found Sainsbury's. I went back to the house weighed down with bags and was glad I had a car. I had left the alarm off, and was grateful for that.
My mobile rang and Jenny asked if it was a good time to come over. I gave her the address and she told me she was setting off.
Being back home and on familiar roads was helping my memory remarkably. I would test myself: could I remember the alarm code? What was the alarm password? Where was Sainsbury's? How would I get there by car? The feeling of being adrift in the world had gone long since but now in this new environment I feared that feeling would return. But I did feel at home, did I say that before?
Jenny arrived. We hugged and kissed.
I took her round the house, pointing out things that had triggered memories.
"This house is going to be very good for you," Jenny asserted, "It's a lovely old house; full of character," she said as we returned to the kitchen and I set myself to make a pot of tea. I sat happily opposite her at the oak kitchen table. I was home and one of my favourite women was with me for the weekend.
The day passed in a flash. We spent most of it on the road driving between my flat and the house, bringing my personal effects, unloading and finding places for everything. It turned out that all the men's clothing in the house was my size, and Jenny agreed that they were probably mine. Ann had never got rid of them. I left a change of clothes and spare toiletries at the flat. I decided to hold off terminating the lease; in any case it had six months to run.
In the afternoon we did all the things I threatened myself I'd do. We also cleaned. The house was dusty after being unused for so long. It was late evening when I ordered a Chinese meal for us. We were too exhausted to make love that night, but rectified the omission at length the next morning.
There is something about Sunday morning sex. Perhaps it's the invitation to be relaxed, to take my time, and to be able to play my hands over the pliant, firm, sleekness of a breathtakingly beautiful blonde, hearing her vocal reactions to my varying caresses over each different part of her totally accessible body; lightest grazing of her nipples watching them grow and lengthen, the tracing of fingers up and down the concave hollow of her spine, the gentle stroking of cheeks upper and lower, the light drag of a thumb over her lips until she has to open her mouth and suck on it, running her tongue over it, presaging another licking and sucking to come, further south.
The twisting and gentle pulling of her hair as her eyes close with the sensation, the raking of the fingernails up the back of her legs, tantalising the back of her knees, the delving and probing of her most secret parts denied to all other men, feeling the string of her tampon. Whoops! Watching her sink deeper and deeper into the sensuousness of her feelings, hearing her breathing deepen then catch and exhale as some part she had not expected was treated to my attention.
What better feeling is there when almost unconsciously her hand encircles my cock? When she absently traces fingers across my perineum and up the crack of my bottom, running over my buttocks and down the crease of my groin. Or when she idly plays with my earlobes, following the contours with a finger. When her finger demands access to my mouth and I suck on it. Or she bends on hands and knees, straddling my body, her bottom to my face, showing me everything while massaging my toes and feet and kissing them, sucking each into her mouth and laving them with her tongue.
How easy it is on such occasions to slide into a classic sixty-nine from there and to taste each other's deeply private parts, gradually allowing the intensity of desire to rise until she crests into her climax, and then seeks my cock for her aching pussy. Then comes the fierce pounding of body to body, as the bed rattles and thumps, humping with loud cries and shouts of surprise at the intensity of the throes of orgasm, and falling spent into each other, still joined and feeling the satiation in each other's arms.
Well, some of that anyway. The tampon was inhibiting! She realised she had to make some adjustments before I could enter her. A quick trip to the bathroom and an urgent rolling of the condom and then the age-old exercise.
It is essential that the Sunday papers are delivered when you live at Cherry Tree Lane: the folk round here do not approve of naked men running to the newsagent's, and I wasn't intending to get dressed just yet. So no papers to read. However, I was able to access four frozen croissants and bake them while I made coffee. Then we took breakfast in bed before she took me in her mouth and made me come. Considering ten years abstinence, she did it with some expertise.
We went out to lunch and walked round the area in the afternoon, followed by tea, crumpets and home made scones, with butter and jam. Then kissing, and a request.
"Allan, sweetheart."
"Yes, my love."
"There's something I'd like you to do for me. No one else has ever done it to me, only you."
"Oral?" I asked.
"How did you know?"
"You liked it the first time, and it's the only thing we haven't done this weekend, at least to orgasm." I pointed out. "Come here."
"In a minute." And she ran to the bathroom. I heard the water running and realised she was cleaning herself. I cleared the table. Then she returned to the kitchen.
After I had pulled off her pants and her knickers, I put her on the kitchen table, leaning back on her hands, feet on the edge. I sat on a chair and leant in to take dessert at my ease. I put the tampon string to the rear and I set to work.
I was slow, tantalising, until she was begging me incoherently to release her, which I then did, which was unfortunate. She came hard, her feet shot off the table and her pussy smacked me on the nose and banged my chin on the table, and when her eyes opened she noticed me rubbing my chin. She cried out, looking at me with a worried frown.
"What is it?" I grunted as I stood up.
