The sun woke me, shining through the net curtains, as it had every morning for the past four days. We had discarded the duvet -- the pleasant, early summer warmth had rendered it unnecessary -- so Janine and I were covered from the waist down by a simple sheet. Janine was still fast asleep, clasping me tightly with arms and legs, her long black hair laid over both our bodies. I had grown accustomed to this closeness remarkably quickly, having slept alone for the past four years, and cherished it. The only downsides were that my sixty-one year-old joints ached for movement and my bladder, of course, seemed not to have the capacity it used to. In short, I really needed to get up, stretch my arms and legs, and go for a wee... and yet I just couldn't bring myself to wake Janine, or to disengage myself from her embrace.
So, there I stayed, admiring the sleeping nymph who seemed not to notice or care about my age or lack of fitness, and wondering how things were going to work out. From my point of view, I hated the idea of being the subject of gossip. It was fine here at The Hideaway. We were not known and, whilst people gave us the odd funny look, we felt able to be ourselves. I could not see that lasting once we got back home, though Janine was insistent that we shouldn't worry about anyone else, that we should ignore them and build a future together. I hoped she was right, but I knew there would be consequences, and deep down I knew that my advancing years alone would limit our time together. I had tried explaining that I was worried about becoming a burden to her, but she simply refused to listen.
After the first day here, when Janine had surprised me with nipple piercings, a tattoo that mercifully turned out to be temporary, and a brief but heart-rending account of the abuse she had suffered at the hands of her parents and others, we had settled into a quite cosy routine. I worked in the mornings, trying to put in at least three hours of good writing, whilst Janine pottered about and occasionally brought me coffee. Now and then she had gone out, either to the village or to the nearby town, bringing back cakes and other nice morsels. She had established one hard and fast rule for herself: if she was in the cottage, she was naked. A flimsy summer dress hung on the hook behind the front door, so that she could put something on in a hurry if someone came to the door, but no-one did. Her nudity was quite distracting and, more than once, temptation got the better of me.
"It's your own fault," I said on one occasion, as I fucked her, good and hard, from behind, over the arm of the sofa. "Parading yourself about like this. What did you expect?"
"I expected this," she replied, her words interspersed with moans and grunts in time with my thrusting. "I wanted this." My response was to fuck her harder. "Yes," she grunted, "More. Give it to me." We went on in this fashion until I could hold back no more and came inside her. We remained in position for a few moments while I got my breath back.
"I need to do another hour of work," I said, "And then I will thank you properly for that."
"My pleasure," Janine replied. "Anytime." She stood up, faced me, and kissed me on the lips. "You are welcome to whatever part of my body you can get at," she said, her beautiful green eyes sparkling at me. "I didn't actually bring any knickers with me -- just a couple of dresses and my denim skirt... so I can't deny you anything."
In the afternoons we generally went out, exploring the local villages and countryside. In the evenings we cooked for one another, having had a superb meal out that first night in a lovely, but pricey, restaurant. In the late evening, as was my wont, I headed for the pub for a pint or two, which Janine had decided I should continue to do, but I hated being away from her, so I had never been gone for more than an hour.
Now we only had two nights left. Soon, we would have to head back to reality and I, for one, was not looking forward to it. I had another concern: if I did decide to make Janine a permanent part of my life, for however long that turned out to be, I would have to tell my daughter. Beth was thirty years old, married with children of her own and living in New South Wales. We communicated, by video, once every week or so via our iPads, and sporadically between calls by WhatsApp, so technically I could 'hide' Janine, but that would be dishonest, and unfair to both of them. No, I decided, if Janine is to become a fixture, Beth must be told. I had no idea how she would react.
One thing was clear to me, though: I was happier now than I had been at any time since my late wife had fallen ill, some six, or was it seven, years before. I felt invigorated, and motivated. I was writing more with Janine in the house than I ever had when I was alone. In fact, I thought, I'd written enough in the past four days that I could afford to take a day off. A plan was forming in my mind. Janine stirred, made a little mewing sound, but did not wake. I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. Maybe I'm being selfish, I thought, but as long as this girl wants to be with me, I want to be with her. When she wants to leave, I'll let her go but, until then... I'll do whatever it takes to make her feel safe, and loved.
Loved? Did I love her? Realistically, that seemed a bit premature after less than a week, but I surely did have feelings for her. Don't make a fool of yourself, old man. She's lovely, certainly, but so young. You're setting yourself up to get hurt.
I could wait no longer, betrayed my aching joints and my bladder. I simply had to move... and then, across the room, my phone buzzed. I extricated myself from Janine's entwined limbs, miraculously without waking her, and padded to the bathroom. I had heard no more from Sally, Janine's mum, since the first morning at The Hideaway, and I was expecting that she would make contact eventually. I was in no rush to speak to her though, so after doing what I needed to do, I brushed my teeth and headed for the kitchen. I filled the kettle, switched it on, measured some coffee into the cafetière and generally pottered about for a few minutes, before picking up the phone. I was wrong. It wasn't Janine's mum, it was my daughter.
- Hi Dad xx Got time for a chat?
- Always x
I tried to compute the time difference. It must be evening there. The phone now chimed with a WhatsApp call.
"Hi Dad, how are you?"
"Pretty good, thanks Beth. Are the kids there?"
"In bed now, sorry."
"Everything ok, love?" It was unusual for Beth to call mid-week -- she usually did video-chat at the weekends so that I could see the whole family.
"Everything's fine here," she said, emphasising the word 'here'. "Great, actually."
"You're starting to sound like an Aussie," I laughed.
"Oh, stop it," she laughed back, sounding even more Australian. "Anyway, I just called to check if you were ok. Are you at home?"
Now why would she think I'm not ok, I wondered.
"I'm at the cottage, writing."
"The Getaway, is that the place?"
"Hideaway."
"On your own?"
Here we go, I thought... consequences.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's just... I heard a rumour... an old school friend emailed me... you know..."
"No, Bethany, I don't know." I was a little irritated, but I should known this would happen. Small towns... I got control of myself again. "Ok Beth, what have you heard? Spit it out."
"Well... this friend of mine said you'd run off with some teenaged ex-student. She said, well, she said that maybe I should come home and talk some sense into you before you land yourself in jail. I know you'd never do anything illegal like that -- I know you too well -- but I thought I ought to check, just in case someone's taking advantage of you."
"Taking advantage," I blurted out. "Christ, Beth, you'd think I was ninety-one not sixty-one!"
"Well, these things do happen."
"I suppose they do, and I am glad you care about me enough to check, but I'm fine, honestly. No-one is taking advantage of me, other than the breweries, obviously."
"So, there isn't a teenaged ex-student with you?"
The moment of truth. I could honestly say no, because Janine was not a teenager. Beth would be none the wiser, at least for a while, but the truth would inevitably come out, eventually, and my relationship with my daughter might be damaged, irreparably. When confronted with the same dilemma, Janine had chosen to meet it head on. I would follow her example.
"She's not a teenager," I said, flatly, "But she is a lot younger than me, and she is a former student. Her name is Janine, and she makes me happy, Beth. Happier than I've been since your mum died, certainly."
There was a stony silence at the other end of the phone.
"It's a long story, Beth." I tried again. "Janine... well, I can't say too much, but she's been through a lot. We are just working out what it all means. No one is being taken advantage of."
"How old is she, Dad?" There was anxiety in Beth's voice now. "My friend gave the impression that she's really young."
"She's not a teenager, Beth. I'm not going to get arrested or anything, but I won't lie: it's a big age gap. She's younger than you, and I know that must seem weird."
"How old."
