Contents: British English and grammar.
Old Speckled Hen is a bottled English beer. Today it would probably be called a craft beer.
Don't get anxious - it's only a story. As usual, write your own ending / sequel, if you want.
***
Old Speckled Hen
It was ironic really, when Brent and Audrey got married, he was a CAD designer with a big company, and she was setting up her own legal practice. Six years later, they were making good money, but their roles had reversed. Brent was working from home with his own CAD business. He drew plans for home and factory extensions, loft and garage conversions, and had earned a good reputation. Audrey was still using her law degree, but was employed by the Sharwoods corporation. She'd already risen to chief contracts manager.
They lived in the London house where Brent had been born. It was over a hundred years old, high ceilings and draughty. After marrying, he'd installed double glazing, and converted the smallest bedroom into an en suite bathroom. But Audrey would have preferred something nearer the city centre. She did not complain, but began a subtle campaign: putting on an extra sweater as 'it's so chilly in here'. Expressing shock at their fuel bills, even though they could afford them.
But Brent liked this part of London; it was also called Brent. He'd often asked his parents if they'd named him after the area, but they'd joked the area was name after him. There were plenty of parks and lakes and he needed the exercise. He was mildly diabetic, and took tablets for blood sugar control. He didn't show any external symptoms, but his last check-up had been worrying.
"Your bone density is down nearly twenty percent."
"God! Are we talking hip replacement when I get older?"
"Nothing that serious, just a vitamin D supplement."
"Like those Seven Seas capsules?"
"Similar. But as a National Health Service diabetic, you get all your medication free. Not just your Glucophage, but Vitamin D3 as well. I'll write you a prescription."
"Lucky me!"
"Take one of these every morning. But only in the winter. In the summer months get out in the sunshine. A couple of overcast days will be fine. I want you to walk for an hour a day. Or two sessions of thirty minutes."
Their outlook on life was not the same. Audrey liked clubs, parties, getting tipsy. Brent liked the occasional beer, but preferably at home. He'd spend half an hour drinking one bottle of Old Speckled Hen, and would appreciate the flavour rather than the effect. They often dined out and socialised though, and he was good company. He'd even got drunk at times. But Audrey thought he would be just as happy staying at home or walking round the local parks.
There came the first confrontation, albeit a gentle one. It took place at the dining table.
"I'd like to move house Brent." she started. "Somewhere more modern. Closer to where I work, and to the nightlife."
"I love this house, you know that." he replied. "But I'll listen. Is this desire to move more compelling than it was, say, a year ago?"
"Yes. Sharwoods have been trying to nail a deal with the Chinese for six months now."
"You told me. It sounds exciting."
"It is exciting. And next week, two of their executives are coming over to reconnoitre; check out our set-ups."
"Set-ups? Plural?"
"There are other firms after their business. Not sure how many, but the Chinese will visit all of us."
"Do you know who your competitors are?"
"Not officially, but it's easy enough to work out. This is a major breakthrough for us. I told you how slow and methodical Asians are, but they're finally coming to a decision. We're on a shortlist."
"I'm delighted for Sharwoods, and for you personally, you've put in a lot of hours on this. But how does it affect our moving house? I assume you want to stay in London, and not buy an apartment closer to the Beijing nightlife?"
She laughed. Brent didn't often make jokes.
"If we win this contract, it'll be our biggest deal ever. And in the end, it will come down to me and the CEO, Nigel. I'll fine-tune the details, and he'll sign it off."
"So, we're talking about bonuses aren't we?"
"Correct. We're talking about your wife coming away with over a quarter of a million pounds, tax free!"
Brent sat up straighter.
"Wow!"
"And I would like you to finally move on from here. Sell up, and we'll relocate closer to the city. I'll add my bonus to whatever we sell this for, and we split ownership of the new place. Also split the decision on where we buy, of course. You need to like it too."
"OK, you like deals, so how about this? Get your big bonus, and we'll move house. Fail, and we'll go on an expensive holiday to compensate. Then we can talk about moving again, next year."
"Great! Did I tell you how much I love you?"
In the summer days leading up to the Chinese visit, their sex life took flight. Audrey was insatiable. Previously, they'd mostly made love at weekends; maybe only once during the week. But suddenly, it was the other way round. They were making love almost every weekday, and resting over the weekend. Brent wondered why, but wasn't about to complain. He continued his exercise regime, but his walks round the parks were making his legs ache; and his balls.
For Sharwoods the big day arrived, and Audrey and Nigel made their pitch for the job. It took the whole morning, and she came home mid-afternoon.
"Tell me how it went."
"Let me grab a shower and we'll eat out." she replied.
The restaurant was almost empty, as they were dining so early. While they waited, sipping wine, Audrey told him all about their Chinese visitors. They'd been immaculately dressed in Savile Row suits, and taller than she'd expected. Apparently, people from Beijing and the north of China were often taller than those from the south.
"You'd have liked the woman they brought with them."
"Go on."
"She was gorgeous, also tall, and wearing one of those traditional Chinese dresses in red and gold. We call it a cheongsam, but they say chi pow. It's spelled q,i, - p,a,o."
"The one with the slit up the side?"
"Yes, hers was split up both sides. It had a high neck, a Mandarin collar we'd call it, and it covered her arms. But instead of buttons it was fastened down the front with little pegs, like a duffel coat but embroidered. And I've never seen anything so tight. In fact she told me the slits are not for displaying her legs as such. They're so she can walk!"
"What was she? An escort?"
"I don't think so. They introduced her as their interpreter. The guys obviously understood English; but pretended not to. Perhaps she was just there as a distraction."
"For English businessmen; to break their concentration?"
"Could be. I'm pretty sure I'm the only female they'll be dealing with on this trip."
"Maybe they think you're a distraction!"
Their steaks arrived.
"You find all this exciting don't you?" Brent said.
"I do." replied Audrey. "Contracts may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I love all the fine details."
"I mean sexually. You've been wearing me out for the last few weeks; usually on weekdays. Not that I'm complaining you understand!"
She put down her knife and fork.
"Do you know, I never really thought about it. But you're right, I suppose I do! Don't drink any more wine, I'll be needing a top-up as soon as we get home."
And that's exactly what she got. Brent hardly had time to close the front door behind them. They did oral and everything else until he was drained. Then Audrey set to work reviving him, and they did it all again. Later, his balls still throbbing, he woke up, staring into the darkness. The bed smelled of sex and Audrey was gently snoring beside him. He was tired, and wondered what had woken him. He was replaying something she'd said at the restaurant, which he'd missed at the time. As he was drifting off again, he remembered. 'I'll be needing a top-up.' It had been a remark referring to sex and wine, but it didn't quite work.
You top up your fuel tank, or your wine glass, when there's already some in there. When it's empty, you fill it up. Was there already semen in Audrey? Did she want sex with him, having already had it with someone else? Was that the real reason she'd wanted a shower as soon as she got home? It was possible this craving for excitement could spill over, so to speak, to her workplace. She'd been putting in a lot of overtime, mostly with the CEO. If this urge for sex gripped her while she was there, then Nigel would be the most likely beneficiary.
The Chinese clients went home and, suddenly, Audrey's mother got ill. It was a brain tumour. After they visited her in the hospital, the doctor ushered them into an office.
"I understand your mother had been complaining of headaches for some time?"
"Not really." replied Audrey. "Mostly she's had problems getting to sleep."
"Well, she hasn't been very forthcoming, but I get the impression she has a medical background?"
"Yes, she was a pharmacist; she took early retirement two years ago. Now I wonder if this was the reason."
"Ah. Then I fear she might have been self-medicating."
"Has she made it worse?"
"Probably not. She wouldn't have known what was wrong with her. Treating headaches or insomnia won't have harmed her though."
"So what's the diagnosis?"
"I have to tell you that the tumour is well advanced, and terminal. Nothing we can do."
"We have money."
"Sorry to be blunt, but even the most expensive surgery will not leave her significantly better off."
"I see. What do you recommend then?"
"She can go home tomorrow. She'll be more comfortable in familiar surroundings. Check on her every day, and bring her back here if she starts suffering any serious headaches."
"Can you tell us how long she has?"
"We cannot be sure, but I'd say up to six months. We're near the end now. I'm sorry."
They both tried their best to persuade Sue, Audrey's mother, to move in with them. There was plenty of room and with Brent working from home, he could check on her more easily. But she was adamant she wanted to spend the time left, in her own house. Brent appreciated how she felt, and promised to pop in every day. That first week, she asked for a 'serious word' with him.
