The loud banging on his front door pulled Brian out of his meloncholic reverie. It wouldn’t stop. He looked out the window at the gray, looming skies, and moaned. Bloody perfect day to do himself in. The banging persisted until he shook his head and rose from the chair, the gun dropping on the floor next to it.
Brian went to the door and reluctantly opened it. Two big women, clad in wet raincoats pushed him back against the hall door and surged past him.
“Really, Brian, you could have been quicker. We were getting soaked out there, you bastard. You really are inconsiderate sometimes. I wonder what Wendy saw in you.” It was his very much older sister-in-law, Ruth, he saw. She kept going onward to the kitchen shedding her raincoat and hat as she went. He recognised the other woman as his mother-in-law, Julia. “We’re making a coffee. Come and join us,” Ruth shouted, entering the kitchen.
Brian closed the door and leant his head against it. Just what he wanted. The two relatives most like his beloved Wendy. Big, full of life and demanding. Wendy had been all that but had also been romantic, funny and incredibly, wantonly sexy. He tapped his head on the door. She had died two weeks before of a sudden brain haemorrhage, snatched from him after 7 years of joyous marriage, not blessed by children. Wendy had wanted them and demanded that Brian fuck her relentlessly for most of those 7 years. Her loss was devastating to a lonely man she had dragged out of hiding and nurtured into a strong, confident and handsome man changing him from the diffident nerd he had been.
“Come on, Brian. And bring some towels. We’re soaking in here,” Ruth shouted.
Reluctantly, he went to the hallway closet and pulled out two large fluffy towels and went into the big country kitchen. Big though the kitchen was, the two women filled a fair part of it. He handed them a towel each and sat down at the table. Wendy, too, had been a big woman and he had revelled in all that flesh as they had rolled around the bed. Or anywhere else for that matter.
Ruth had her head and hair buried in the towel as she rubbed vigorously. She was big, easily five ten, with big hips, a thickened waist and large breasts roiling inside a damp pullover as she moved the towel around her head. He could see extremely large nipples pushing out of the damp material and shook his head and quickly looked away. She was about 15 years older than Wendy, being the product of an earlier marriage. She was dark and italianate-looking, olive skinned and blooming with health.
Julia was Wendy’s mother but not Ruth’s. She was about mid fifties and short, round and roly-poly. Her figure was like a figure eight. Round hips, small waist, big round breasts. Her lack of height was due to her short, fat dimpled legs. She was the picture of health, pink cheeked and dyed blonde hair. Her face emerged from the towel she was using and said, “Please fetch another two, Brian darling - these are simply not enough.” In that moment, fresh and scrubbed she forcefully reminded him of Wendy. He scrambled out of the chair and went to fetch more towels, ducking into the lounge to hide the gun in a drawer.
By the time he got back, they were sitting at the table sipping steaming cups of coffee. One awaited him. He gave them the towels and sat.
“Really, Brian, this is all your fault,” said Ruth vexedly. “We hadn’t seen you since the funeral, so I thought we had better come and see how you were. Stupidly, we took Julia’s car and of course it ran out of petrol a mile from here.” She glared at Julia, who cheerily smiled back, completely unaffected.
“I see you haven’t been looking after yourself,” said Julia, looking around and noting general untidiness and a sink full of dishes. Very un-Brian like. His eyes looked like hot coals, his hair was unkempt and he was unshaven. “You look and absolute mess. Finish that coffee and take yourself upstairs and clean yourself up. You smell like you haven’t washed in a week.” She might look like a twinkle but she put up with no nonsense.
Brian drank the last of his coffee and dragged himself upstairs. As he pulled his shirt off, he realised he smelt like a horse. He shaved and stepped into the shower, shampooed his hair and washed all over.
Downstairs, the two women looked at each other. “I’d go, but you look more like her, Julia, don’t you think?” queried Ruth. “He needs to come back to the world, and Wendy would have wanted that. Go on - get up there and give him what he needs. I’ll clean up and join you shortly.”
