My first job after graduating from university was working in the marketing and promotions department for a very well known publisher in London. I was thrilled because getting a job like that with a publisher like that was quite a coup for a young and inexperienced lad like me. What made it even better was that when I rang my girlfriend and told her the good news and asked her if she would like to she move in with me she didn't hesitate for a second.
Her name was Veronica and she was a stunning blonde. The best way to describe Veronica is to say that she had the face of an angel and the body of a Greek Goddess. Her blonde hair ran down in golden locks to her shoulders her eyes were a crystal blue and her lips were ruby red. Her skin was pale and flawless. And when I kissed her she tasted of vanilla. We had started going out when we were at university together. Every bloke on campus had noticed her immediately. But it never occurred to me that she had noticed me too. Unlike all the other blokes I hadn't bothered chasing her not because I didn't fancy her but because I just assumed I would have no chance. That kind of girl only goes out with big shots with the rich and famous with men who have movie star looks. I on the hand was just an ordinary lad from a council estate in Sheffield and while I'm not the hunchbakc of Notre Dame by any means I'm no oil painting either nor am I rich or a singer in a rock band.
But the fact was that out of all the men she could have chosen she had chosen me. My mates couldn't believe it. They were convinced that she was way out of my league and that she would be too hot for me to handle sooner or later, they reasoned she would come to her senses and dump me.
And if I'm being honest I didn't blame them for thinking that. Every day I would pinch myself just to make sure I wasn't dreaming and when she was by my side you couldn't knock the grin off my face with a sledgehammer. Secretly I feared that she would become bored with me but instead our relationship went from strength to strength and had even started to plan for a future together after graduation. I had several interviews lined up that summer and we had agreed that if I succeeded in landing a job in London Veronica would come to join me.
And everything was going to plan. We moved into a small terraced house in Fulham. It was cheap and close to the West End and my office. We didn't know anybody in London of course and we all knew that people were not as friendly as people up North and that neighbours never talked to each other. But that wasn't quite how it was with us. Because it seemed we had hardly opened the front door and crossed the threshold when we met John. He lifted his hat and introduced himself and said that he lived next door and that he was delighted to make our acquaintance. He looked to be in his late fifties, and as it later it turned out that was pretty accurate. He had a full head of hair that was heavily strecked with grey. He was broad shouldered and barrel chested. He must have been a big strong man when in his prime and he still looked pretty fit even then. His face was clean shaven without the red blotches and wringles that usually wrecked an old mans face. His voice didn't tremble or shake. He looked as if he could still run for the bus if he had to and shout as loud as the next man for a beer.
Anyway hile we were standing there on the pavement and talking I noticed that he couldn't take his eyes off Veronica. Not that I could blame the old boy Veronica had that effect on all the men who saw her.
"My dear," he said, "You are a sight for sore eyes. Yes indeed!"
Veronica I could see was flattered by the compliment. Beautiful women never get tired of being told they are beautiful and Veronica was no different.
"The most beautiful sight in the world is a beautiful woman," said John solemnly. And turning to me he added, "And you; young man are a lucky dog and in my opinion you don't deserve her!"
Veronica was very amused me less so. I had become tired of every tom Dick and Harry telling me that I was batting above my average.
"He seems nice," remarked Veronica after he had left. But I was not so sure.
About an hour later there was a knock on our door and there was John with a bottle of whiskey. Of course I invited him in.
He sat down on the settee and wasted no time in starting to tell us his life story. He was 58 years old and a widower. His wife had died a couple of years ago. So now he lived on his own. In his day he had been in the army, a docker, a lorry driver and an amateur boxer. He was still fit and strong and could turn his hand to anything but, he admitted, he had no idea how to boil an egg and he seemed rather proud of that fact.
"So who does your cooking?" asked Veronica sounding concerned
"Oh I get 'meals on wheels' but I don't like it much so family, friends, and neighbours help me out," he explained.
"But boiling an egg isn't hard," I told him "Even I can manage that."
"There's no point in having a dog if you have to bark yourself," he explained.
He stayed about an hour and he couldn't stop staring at Veronica the whole time. His eyes were on stalks and his tongue was literally hanging out of his mouth.
"You're a lucky young man," he sighed wistfully as he watched Veronica moving about in our little kitchen, "If only I was twenty years younger..."
I just smiled "...Yes?"
"I'd whip her away from you and no mistake."
I let it go. Every man, young and old believes that all they have to do is snap their fingers and any woman they want will fall at his feet.
After that we saw a lot of John, more than I wanted to and he would make himself comfortable in our living room and he was always telling us about his life; in the army and how he had very nearly been selected for the GB boxing team in 1956 and about his plans for the future which were to move to Malta because this country was going to the dogs. He'd been in hospital for a few weeks the year before, something to do with his heart he said but he was fine now and he was determined to enjoy the time he had left, "Nothing but wine, women and song from now on!" he'd cry with relish.
"Good for you," said Veronica.
"Yes," went on John "I've sorted out the wine and I can sing a bit all that's left now is sorting out the women."
"Any one in mind?" asked Veronica.
"You'll do for a start!" cried John with a cheeky grin. Veronica laughed which annoyed me a bit. "Ah, if only I was twenty years younger?" cried John, "I'd sweep you off your feet and no mistake!"
"Better be careful that you don't end up back in hospital again," I warned him.
"A man needs a woman and a woman needs a man," declared John pompously as if he was revealing to the World some great and universal Truth, "And that's the way of the world."
"Have you any plans to marry again?" asked Veronica.
John shook his head, "There is no one who can replace my Doris," he said with a sad shake of his head "And besides women these days...well its all liberation this and freedom that..."
"What's wrong with that?" asked Veronica.
"It's the man who should wear the trousers. A woman's job is to look after her man. That's how it has always been and how it should always be."
