Ever since the night of the row, the night that her husband Rob had walked out on her, everything in Helen's life had been in turmoil. On a purely practical side Rob had hired a crooked lawyer who had helped him to declare himself bankrupt leaving her with nothing. Behind her back he had re-mortgaged the house so that when they had had to sell it there had been nothing but debts and, with no capital, she was forced to move into rented accommodation. As she pushed open the door of the terraced cottage she'd found, she felt as if she'd hit rock bottom. All her dreams, all her aspirations, had come down to this, alone and broke in a run down one bedroom cottage in one of the cheaper parts of town.
But it wasn't just the money; for years Rob had been calling her 'stupid' and 'worthless' and, when he had left her for a younger woman it had been the last straw, the final insult. Her self-esteem was in tatters, she was unwanted and unloved. She felt every minute of her thirty four years, an aged hag consigned to the scrap heap. She dumped her few possessions on the table and slumped in a chair. She had never felt so all alone; somehow, during their time together, Rob had scared off all her old friends and now that they had split she had no one. Would she ever, could she ever, rebuild her life?
The days passed, each one fading into the next in a dull grey haze until, when the weekend rolled around, Helen found herself at the kitchen sink washing up the breakfast things and staring out of the window at the back garden. Even that was a mess; given the diminutive size of the cottage the garden was quite a reasonable size but the previous occupiers hadn't given it the care it needed and it was hopelessly overgrown. Somehow the mess in the garden became a symbol of the mess in her life. She had to do something, anything, to break this ennui and a bit of gardening would do her some good. She went upstairs, put on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt and headed out into the July sunshine.
At first she attacked the overgrown tangle of plants with all the pent up rage and frustration that had been boiling within her. She found a scythe in the shed and she used it mercilessly to slash away at the brambles, the overgrown buddleia, the knee high grass, the un-pruned roses and the tangle of bindweed until the tempest within her calmed and she looked up to see that, not only had she purged the anger within her but she had made considerable progress in tidying the garden as well. She started gathering up all the detritus to make a start on a compost heap when a voice distracted her.
"Wow! You have worked hard. It's been ages since anyone's touched that garden. Looks like you could do with a drink after all that effort."
Helen looked across to see who was talking. There, leaning over the fence, was an woman, presumably her neighbour, with a welcoming smile on her face. In her right hand she held a bottle of white wine.
"I've got this bottle of Pinot Grigio that's been waiting for a nice sunny day just like today." The woman continued. "It's no fun drinking alone; come on round and have a glass or two."
"But... But..." spluttered Helen. "I couldn't impose like that."
"Impose! You won't be imposing," Urged the woman. "Come on round; what are neighbours for? I'm Sam, by the way. It's short for Samantha but no one's called me that since I was in pigtails."
"Hi, I'm Helen. Look, I need..." Helen was about to say that she needed a shower but she remembered that the cottage only had a basic bathroom and there was no shower, only a bath. The wine looked cool and refreshing and... "Oh, hang it all; why not? I'll be right over."
Helen went through her house, out of the front door and through the ginnel that led to Sam's back garden. There she found Sam setting up sun beds either side of a low table which held the bottle and two glasses. Now that there was no fence between them she got a better look at her neighbour. Helen guessed her age would probably be a few years less than hers, late twenties maybe; she was also several inches shorter, slim and fit, although there was something about her that said wiry rather than petit; some inner strength that dismissed any little girl image. Her hair was short and a jet black which hinted of hair dye rather than natural colour. She wore denim shorts and a bikini top which showed off her deep tan and athletic figure. In short she was a young, vivacious and attractive woman and Helen felt old and dowdy beside her. Still it was too late to back out now.
Sam finished arranging the sun beds to her satisfaction and sat back on one of them and started to pour the wine. Helen nervously approached the other and perched on the edge.
"How can you wear that sweatshirt in this weather?" Sam asked. "You'll roast. Take it off; you'll be far more comfy without it."
"But I've only got a bra on underneath," Helen started to object.
"So? You've nothing I've not seen before and this corner of the garden's completely private. Anyway, I'm going topless; it seems a shame to waste such a beautiful day. Come along, don't be shy." Sam was obviously not the sort to take no for an answer.
Helen glanced around. Indeed, the layout of the hedges had made that corner of Sam's garden into a little private sun trap totally hidden from anywhere but Sam's cottage. She was still very apprehensive about stripping off in front of this strange woman but with Sam going topless it would seem churlish not to and, Sam was right, she was already sweating freely; it would be good to get some air on her body. She peeled off the top wishing that the bra she was wearing wasn't so plain and hadn't seen quite so many washes.
At first Helen was shy and reluctant to talk but, behind her bubbly personality, Sam was a superb listener and soon Helen was pouring out her life story. The wine was cool and refreshing and when the bottle was finished Sam went to the fridge to fetch another. Helen hadn't felt this relaxed in ages. The wine had gone to her head, the hard work in the garden had had a cathartic effect and simply being able to talk to a sympathetic ear was wonderful. Not only was Sam a good listener, she was also kind and understanding, Helen had seldom if ever felt such an instant empathy with a new friend.
The conversation wandered far and wide, and whilst in many ways the two women were very different, in all the things that were important they seemed in total agreement and, as they chatted, Helen found she was entranced by Sam. Her initial resentment of Sam's good looks and self confidence were being replaced by respect and affection. Sam was certainly a pretty girl and it was no wonder she was sunbathing topless, her breasts, whilst not particularly large, were perfectly formed, and beautifully firm. She wondered...
"You can touch them if you want." Sam's voice cut through Helen's reverie.
"What!" Helen replied, taken aback by Sam's bluntness.
"You've been staring at my breasts like they're strawberry ice cream. If they fascinate you so much why don't you try stroking them? I promise I won't bite."
