Prologue
God, there has to be an easier way to make a living. Dave Parker was on his back in the loft of an old detached house in Surrey. The owner, who had recently been widowed, was having some work done on the house before she put it on the market. The Private House Sale Act of 2007 compelled the vendor to indemnify the purchaser of a property in the event of any major work needing to be done in the two years immediately after the sale. It was possible to get insurance cover for this contingency, provided the property had been surveyed and subject to an approved contractor repairing any defects found. The company for whom Dave worked, Brown & Co, was such a contractor, and had been appointed to undertake the remedial work on the roof timbers.
All these old houses were the same. There was always a lifetime of accumulated junk stored in the loft. He had been forced to move much of it around in order to undertake the ultrasonic scans and he was sweating freely from his exertions. He was now wedged in the area close to the eaves, right where the roof trusses met the joists. There was hardly any room to move. Not only that; the loft had been insulated with fibreglass and it was already irritating his skin. The dust mask he was wearing merely exacerbated the sense of claustrophobia. Still, at least the old biddy that owned the house was very pleasant. She would regularly make him coffee and there was always a plateful of biscuits too. He had got talking to her the day before and she had told him that she was selling up because the house was now far too big for her following the death of her husband. She was moving to a smaller, more manageable house, not too far from where her daughter and her son-in-law lived.
There was one last section of the joists to test. He would have to shift some wooden boxes to gain access. He was able to move the first box without any trouble but the second one seemed to be much heavier. He managed to drag it far enough along the boards to allow him to crawl behind it. It was quite dark in this area and he was obstructing what little light there was. Fortunately he had a torch with him and he was able to attach the probe without too much difficulty. He began to ease himself out and then something caught his eye. He shone his torch at the object in question. A thick manila envelope, covered in dust, was resting on the fibreglass insulation. Maybe it had fallen from one of the wooden boxes that he had just moved. He wriggled over to it and picked it up planning to put it back.
"Dave," he heard her say, "I've made you a cup of coffee."
"Thank you, Mrs Mayhew, I'll be right down." He slid back into the main area of the loft and putting down the envelope and his torch, he climbed down the loft ladder to the landing. She had left him a mug of freshly percolated coffee and a plate containing a generous helping of biscuits. He carefully placed the mug on the plate and holding onto the ladder with his free hand, he returned to the loft. He had forgotten about the torch until he trod on it. He lost his balance and in his efforts to regain it, the mug of coffee slipped across the plate, discharging its contents as it did so. The plate was awash with coffee and sodden biscuits. Not only that, there was coffee on the floor too, and it was already permeating the envelope. He quickly picked it up and mopped at it with his handkerchief. It was already soaked so he promptly removed the contents. There was a videocassette and a bundle of loose papers held together by an elastic band. The video was entitled, 'Majorcan Pleasures' and judging by the name, was one of those scenic videos that tourists used to buy as a souvenir of their holidays. The cassette was only slightly wet and he was able to wipe it dry with his handkerchief.
But it was not that simple with the papers; coffee had already begun to seep into the edges of some of them. Mopping at them would not make much difference. It made more sense to wave them about in the air and to try and dry them that way. So that was what he proceeded to do. And then a four-letter word caught his eye. He looked more closely at the top document. The word only appeared once amidst the mass of close typed text that filled four fifths of the page, yet his eyes had somehow alighted on it. He read the sentence containing the word and then the paragraph containing the sentence. Then he read the whole page starting from the heading 'Chapter 1'. He was intrigued and he carefully removed the elastic band from the bundle in order to read the next page. It was a continuation of the text, the figure two at the foot of the page confirming the fact. He thumbed through the other sheets. They were all consecutively numbered and he realised he was looking at the manuscript of a book.
Chapter 1
My wife, Kelly, is drop-dead gorgeous, an absolute stunner. She is twenty-nine years old, about five feet nine tall and has long dark brown shoulder length hair. Sometimes she wears it combed up, with a few longer strands hanging down in coils, framing her beautiful neck. She has a pert nose, captivating warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile. She thinks that her mouth is too big but since she is always smiling it just adds to her charm. She is often assumed to be an Italian, especially when she has got a tan. She has a superb figure too, slim but shapely. Her bust is full yet firm enough for her to dispense with her bra when she wants to. She has a narrow waist, a lovely firm rounded backside and long legs that seem even longer when she wears tight trousers. She looks after herself and goes regularly to a keep fit class as well as a tennis club. I reckon that she could have been a model, but in fact she works for a small company supplying computer products.
As if her looks and figure weren't enough she also has a wonderful personality. She is always happy and it is no exaggeration to say that she seems to light up any room she enters. She is by nature, caring and considerate and, in consequence, is well liked by everyone who knows her. I readily concede that my objectivity is open to question, but during the six years we have been married, a number of our friends, both male and female, have all told me as much, usually going on to say how lucky I am, as if I didn't already know. To put the icing on the cake, so to speak, she is very good in bed. And not only in bed either; but also in the lounge, in the kitchen, in the garden or wherever else we happen to be when the fancy takes her. Suffice it to say that she is particularly gifted in this respect. And before anyone questions my objectivity, let me say that a man whom Kelly had met a couple of months earlier, has the same opinion. How do I know? Because he told me so himself! In words that will remain indelibly stamped in my memory, he casually informed me that my wife was a 'fabulous fuck'! But maybe I should start at the beginning.
Kelly and I have been married for just over six years. We weren't childhood sweethearts exactly but we have known each other since we were children. She is the younger sister of Sean, who was my best friend at junior school. She was just six years old and was having a birthday party when we first met. Sean didn't want to be the only boy present so I was also invited. It's funny how some things stick in the mind. I can't remember anything about the party but Kelly can. Apparently there were some chocolate fingers on a plate on the table and she argued with me because I took the last one. Not so long ago I came across some photos that were taken at this very party. It was evident she was self-conscious about the brace on her teeth, but she actually looked quite sweet in her blue check dress and her hair in pigtails. However appearances can be deceptive and according to her brother she was a real pain.
I suppose I started to become more aware of her when she was about eight or nine. Sean and Kelly had been invited to a fancy dress party and their mother had made costumes for them. Sean's was Sir Lancelot, and Kelly's was Lady Guinivere. I did not go to the party because my parents could not afford to make me a costume, although I only found that out some years later. A few days afterwards, I was round Sean's house and we were playing Knights of the Round Table. Sean was dressed up in his Sir Lancelot costume whilst I was in my everyday clothes pretending to be Sir Galahad. Kelly felt sorry for me and she gave me the scarf to wear from her Lady Guinivere outfit. She said this was her 'favour' and it signified that I was her champion and that I would for evermore have to protect her honour.
I remember her turning into a bit of a tomboy, when she genuinely preferred to be with boys, rather than with friends of her own sex. She would often come out with Sean and me when we went tree climbing in the nearby woods. She was both agile and fearless and would invariably climb higher and quicker than anyone else. She would also join in when we played football and she was actually quite skilful. She had good ball control and she could use both feet. Not only that, when she tackled you, she really got stuck in. The only thing she wouldn't do was to head the ball because she didn't like getting her hair dirty!
In fact, she seemed to have a natural ability at any sport involving a ball. She was gifted at tennis, and having joined a local club, won both the junior and then the intermediate cups. She became a regular in her school netball team and it wasn't long before she was made captain, eventually going on to play for the county. She had stopped playing football much earlier, realising that her legs looked all the more attractive when they weren't covered in bruises.
I cannot exactly recall when my feelings for her became more intense, when I began to think of her as more than just Sean's sister. I may have been about fifteen or sixteen. I know it took me ages to pluck up the courage to ask her out on a proper date and I don't think I will ever forget my trepidation as I waited to see how she would react. To my great relief she agreed, and we arranged to go to the cinema. I felt very proud as I purchased two tickets for the back row. Unfortunately I didn't have enough money for two popcorns and two orangeades, so I bought just the one drink and two straws. Kelly had placed our container of orangeade on the armrest so that we could share it. I decided I would take my coat off and in so doing managed to knock over the drink, spilling it all into her lap! The cold and sticky orange juice utterly soaked her. To make matters worse she had dropped her popcorn from the shock and that was sticking to her dress. I was mortified, she was furious and she stormed out of the cinema saying that she would never speak to me again! However Kelly was no more successful in shaking me off, than she had been shaking off the popcorn. She agreed to go out with me on another date and whilst she was getting ready, Sean, ever one to tease his sister, couldn't resist a joke at her (my?) expense and offered her the loan of his wet suit. Fortunately it wasn't needed on this occasion or indeed on any of our subsequent regular dates.
