Janey Johnson worked in the store office. The store that was, as general manager, mine to manage and the office that provided all the support services to the functioning of the department store. She wasn't the manager of that department but had been there a number of years and was considered the second in charge by dint of her accumulated knowledge. She was 43 (I had access to the personnel records) and was seemingly happily married to Peter and had two teenage children. Peter was "in banking" at a time – 1985 - when bankers, as a breed, were starting to become serious movers and shakers in the economic life of the country. As a result, they lived in a good part of the town and Janey was always well turned out, well connected socially and someone who commanded a presence by her social skills and appearance. Physically she was of average height, had a pretty face and well shaped legs, large breasts (hidden beneath the daytime office dress) and a curvaceous body, some of that latter being due to her age and the bearing of two children. A bit "mumsey" is a possibly and slightly unkind summation. To me, however, she was attractive, fanciable, but off limits as an employee, even ´though I was a single man, having divorced my wife a number of years ago. The fact that I was, at 34, several years younger than Janey, did not deter me from finding her attractive, as older women had always been my preference – something to do with sexual experience and maturity of thinking I suppose.
The store office was the usual mix of women with the usual banter generated when a group of women work together. There was the sexual innuendo, more often than not silenced when any male was in the vicinity and there was the mutual support when any one of them had a problem. The problem they now had to confront was Janey's husband's job. His increasing work load and promotions meant he now had to go to Germany for an assignment of 6 weeks leaving the running of the household to a woman who had a full-time job with the store and two children at school. That's where the camaraderie kicked in. The manager – Brenda – came to see me and highlighted the problem and, in the way I had developed the managers during my tenure at the store, also came with a solution. Janey's hours would be made flexible and temporarily reduced and any shortfall would be made up by increased hours from the remaining staff. I asked to see Janey and she confirmed the arrangements and also talked about her family life now that Peter had more responsibility. In fact, she intimated she was quite looking forward to a bit of freedom even if it meant more work in the home. I promised to review the whole situation in a few weeks time when he would have been away for a couple of weeks and when she could let me know if she needed more time off work or less.
The inevitable banter amongst the women in the store and particularly in the office now came to the forefront. What was she doing for sex without a husband? What was it like to sleep alone? When was he coming home and would they spend the whole weekend in bed? The usual stuff in fact and Janey, in her own way, joined in by saying the next man who asked her out for a drink would have his offer accepted. From my point of view there was no diminution in the performance of the office so I had no reason to intervene in any way.
As promised, after a few weeks, I interviewed Janey to see if she needed more time off and indeed, to see if she had any problems that the company could assist with. The conversation also included her feelings about living as a sole parent and the difficulties thus generated from all sorts of viewpoints – disciplining the children, maintaining the house and gardens, the lack of adult conversation, the loneliness.... and she reiterated, jokingly, her stance that any man who asked her out would have his offer accepted with relish, just so she could break the mould that she had been forced into. That produced a lull in the conversation. She left the statement hanging in mid air. I wondered if she was asking my opinion. There was a pause. Then I said:
"Janey. You know I'm single. If you feel you want to come out one evening and vent all your feelings and frustrations, that's OK by me. I have no-one to account to. It just wouldn't be a good idea if anyone here found out."
She smiled.
"Yes. I'd like that. You can hear all the problems of being a single parent. And I won't tell anyone."
"OK," I said, "shall I pick you up from your house on Thursday? About 8 o'clock? Will you want to go somewhere to eat?"
"No. I'll probably eat with the children and wait for Peter's phone call. Eight will be fine."
I didn't live in the town, but I knew where Janey lived having dropped her off there a couple of times in the past following weekend stocktakings. I parked outside and waited and she duly emerged a short time after 8. We opted for a country pub where we assumed and hoped no-one from the store would be likely to go and settled in to an evening's light drinking with me particularly being careful as I was driving. Nonetheless, it was a most pleasant time. She did not whinge or moan about her temporary problems but came across as a personable, competent, interesting and rather nice woman and engaged me in all sorts of hitherto unknown aspects of raising a family and living the family life. I dropped her back at about 10.45 and as she gathered her handbag from the floor of the car she turned to me, put her hand on my thigh and leant across to give me a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you," she said pulling back a moment, "I thoroughly enjoyed that. Getting out and meeting another man."
I turned towards her and she moved her head back towards me and gave me another peck, but this time our lips met and the intended peck became a little kiss as she squeezed my thigh.
"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow," she said, smiling, as she turned to open the car door. I waited to see her arrive at her front door, turn to wave and then insert her key in the lock. I drove off, happy that she seemed happy.
The following day she came to me in passing in the store and whispered:
"Thanks again for last night," and, almost as an afterthought, "maybe we can do it again."
I said nothing, probably tongue-tied as I mentally ran through the consequences.
About a week later, Brenda, her manager, came to see me again on routine business and in passing I asked about Janey and how she was coping.
"A little bit distracted I'd say," she replied, "I don't know if it's tiredness or whether she's got so much on her plate that she drifts off – I don't mean she falls asleep – I mean her attention to detail. Perhaps you could have a word with her. She seems to appreciate your concern."
"OK. Ask her if she wants to talk with me on the basis that we may find another avenue to help her and then get her to come and see me."
A day went by and then Janey knocked on my door.
"Can I see you?" she asked.
"Sure. Come in. How are things now?" I asked as she sat down. She was nervous as she fiddled with her handkerchief.
"I've been thinking about this a lot," she said "Prepare yourself. I want you to take me out again and then fuck my brains out." she blurted.
I sat as if struck dumb, fidgeting in my chair.
"Brian," she went on, "I have had an awful to think about since I've been running the house by myself. I see an awful lot of deadlines that seem to be approaching needing action. I know you rather like me – a woman knows about such things – can tell – and I sort of wanted things to progress further the other night – but I wasn't sure and you were too much of a gentleman to take advantage."
She paused here, but I didn't interrupt 'cause I was knocked back and unable to formulate my thoughts – either the emotional ones of the manager/staff relations ones. She went on:
"My next big birthday will be my 50th. I know it's a way away but every time I look at myself I see time marching on. My hair gets a few grey bits, my body gets a little saggier. You know the stuff. My kids are teenagers and will go to university in a couple of years and then it'll be too late to remember my younger years or, at least, to do anything about enjoying them. I've only ever known Peter and I love him very much, but I want to know what it's like to fancy another man; to flirt and take things a little too far; to feel another man's body and him to feel mine...and appreciate it. This is probably my last opportunity both before I get too old and before Peter comes back. Am I making sense?"
I felt it time to intervene.
"I do think I understand where you're coming from." I said formally, "and you're quite right. I do find you attractive and I'm very flattered that you should be asking me."
Was that the right thing to say I wondered?
"But you need to understand the consequences. Either of us could get emotionally involved. The staff might find out and that would destroy both our respects. Oh! Janey. I wish you'd never asked."
But at this outpouring from me, said in haste and without too much thinking, I hastened to add before this opportunity escaped me:
"But I'm glad you did and I think I do want to as much as you seem to want to."
"Brian. I don't mean today 'cos I am not ready. I don't mean a lunchtime assignation 'cos that's not long enough. You arrange something and I'll fit in. Aim for Friday will you and I'll have to hide my excitement."
At that she left the office and I breathed a sigh of wonder and amazement at what had happened. Then I thought I'd better act quickly to hire an hotel for the following day. Later on, and just before Janey left to go home, I managed to get her alone and whisper that I had a room in the International Motor Inn booked for Friday and how did she want to play it.
The following day I was, as usual, at work early – it was my habit – when I saw Janey walking up the staircase, also in early and with no-one around I walked to the head of the stairs for a talk, my heart racing and the excess saliva of excitement in my mouth.
"I intend to leave here at around 6 ish and book into the hotel. When will you come? And how will you play it when you get there?"
"I'm early today," she said, "so I will leave at about 3 and go home, prepare the kids meals, get ready and I should be there at 7.30 ish. I'll take my own car, 'cos I'm not stopping the whole night in case I fall in love!"
"Do you need to make an excuse at the hotel desk?" I asked.
"No. That's OK. I think I can summon the bottle to ask for you. Maybe I'll pretend I'm a business partner or something," she giggled.
I duly checked in at just after 6 and took my overnight things – in a suit carrier – into the room, unpacked and took a shower and got dressed again. I watched TV news with none of its content penetrating my distracted mind. I kept looking at my watch – probably every two futile minutes – and peered through the curtains into the parking area watching for a little green Peugeot 105. I ate an apple I had brought with me – I couldn't have faced anything more substantial.
