A second entry into the Winter contest. In this one the weather catches the whole country by surprise. Mature Melanie Ellis and her young protégé Gerard Lumier are forced to find a hotel for the night. It's Christmas Eve, and it wasn't the plan.
I hope you enjoy the following. The names are made up off the top of my head. They bear no intentional relationship to anyone living or dead. The hotel and restaurant are real, though.
Please forgive any glitches which remain in the text. I hope mistakes don't detract from the whole.
Feedback is welcome.
Most important -- thank you for reading.
GA -- Belize, Central America -- 13th of November 2016.
***
The car slewed to the left, tyres gripping nothing but compacted snow as it slid like an ice-skater towards the container truck doggedly making its way along the left-hand lane.
"Fucking hell!" Melanie blurted. "Fuck's sake, Gerard ... Try not to fucking kill us both."
The Ford Focus missed by scant inches. Fishtailed for a few greasy metres. Then the tyres managed to grip something other than ice.
"Sorry, Mrs Ellis," Gerard said, fingers tight on the wheel. "I'm not used to this. I've never driven through snow like this before."
"It's not your fault, Gerard," Melanie said. "It's fucking mayhem out there. Everyone's in the same fucking boat."
It was true. They were on the M25 motorway. It was Christmas Eve afternoon and the traffic would have been crazy in any event. But the snow had fallen quick and heavy and caught the whole country south of a line from Bristol to Norfolk by surprise. The reports on the radio had come in with increasing frequency, radiating panic. The airports at Luton, Stansted, Gatwick and Heathrow were hugely affected. Flights were delayed or cancelled. There were warnings to keep off the roads unless the journey was vital. Announcers on the radio were urging people not to travel, a big ask on the day before Christmas.
"To be honest," Melanie sighed as she looked out of the passenger-side window. "We're all fucking fucked."
Gerard Lumier didn't flinch as his boss vented forth with the foul language. She was known for it. The profanity was all part of the legend. He'd been surprised at how she'd reigned it all in during the meeting. He'd expected her to drop the ball at least once during the four-hour stint. But, to his surprise, she'd behaved with impeccable manners throughout. She even came over as quite the cultured lady he'd thought to himself a couple of times. Now, as the snow continued to fall amid dire warnings from BBC Radio 2, she was worse than ever, stress bringing out her potty-mouthed worst.
"Look, I know it's not far to the M1, Gerard," Melanie said as she swivelled to regard the boy driving the car. "But I don't think we're going to make it. Not in this weather and with all these mad cunts on the road. Yeah," she added, rolling her eyes as she droned, "It's
Christmas Eve
"
Gerard heard the contempt in her tone as she went on to say, "But I'll be fucked if I'm spending the night trapped in some snow drift inside this fucking car. I'm not dressed for a night in a freezer. We'll be fucking dead by the morning." Melanie blurted a laugh and finished with, "Wouldn't
that
be a merry fucking Christmas?"
"What are you saying, Mrs Ellis?" Gerard asked, risking a quick glance at her face.
"We get the fuck off this road and try to find a hotel."
"Hotel?"
"Yeah, a fucking hotel," Melanie said on a note of exasperation. "You know what a hotel is, don't you?"
"Well, yes, of course, but--"
"I'm not fucking arguing the toss with you, Gerard," she said, cutting him off. "We're getting off this cunting motorway. I told you, we're not going to get to the M-fucking-1. Tough shit if it's Christmas. But, if we don't find somewhere to shelter, you won't be seeing another fucking Christmas at all!"
It was pointless to argue. Gerard might have only been with the firm for six weeks, but he knew the score where Mrs Ellis was concerned. Besides, he thought, she was probably right. It would be better to make the decision early and find a place to stay before everyone else had the same idea.
"Okay," Gerard said. "Do you know somewhere?"
Some fiddling with her mobile phone and a lot of cursing later and Melanie nodded her head.
"M40," she said. "East. Towards London. There's a Premier Inn just off the A40 Westway at Greenford. That'll do us. I'll put the room on the company card. Dinner and breakfast, too, of course. And, since it's Christmas Eve, I'll fork out for some wine and beers. Whatever you like."
He didn't reply. Gerard just nodded and focussed all he had on keeping the car moving and out of contact with any other vehicle struggling along just like the Focus. They looped round off the M25 and motored past RAF Northolt as the snow started to come down with vigour. Melanie barked instructions, telling Gerard where to leave the main road and guiding them to the rear of the hotel.
"Good fucking job, Gerard," Melanie said. "I'm impressed. You were a star in the meeting and now you've got us here in one piece. You grab the stuff," she added as she opened the door. "I'll get us checked-in."
Gerard popped the hatch, got out, and hurried to the back of the car. He lifted the door and grabbed at Melanie's suit carrier. He collected both laptop cases from inside, managed to hang on to everything without dropping an item into the snow as he slammed down the hatch. Then he juggled with the keys and the laptops and aimed the fob at the car. He was already halfway to the hotel's back door when the locks thunked down.
Then he was inside, grateful he wasn't going to spend the night trapped in the focus in the blizzard coming in hard.
The foyer was busy with people milling around, suitcases everywhere and mayhem at the reception desk.
"It's all we have," the harassed lady behind the counter was saying. She had the air of someone whose Christmas Eve had turned into a nightmare, her demeanour harried, face tense under the Santa hat perched askew on her head. "It's the airport. Heathrow's closed. We're full," Gerard heard her say as he approached the desk. "Do you want it? Because if you don't..."
She left it hanging, eyebrows raised, expression saying she didn't give a fuck if Melanie accepted or not. It was the last room. Someone would be along any second to take it.
"Fuck," Melanie spat. "Yes, all right. There's no other choice. We're sharing," she said to Gerard as she handed over the credit card. "No more rooms."
As the receptionist processed the card and made the booking, Melanie shrugged and added, "I suppose we're lucky to get it. Another couple of minutes..."
There was some clicking of keys on a keyboard and Gerard was asked for the make model and registration number of the car.
"Room one-oh-nine," the receptionist said. She slid the cardboard sleeve over the counter. "Keys are inside. The restaurant will be open until ten. Sorry about the early close. Christmas," she said.
It was a standard Premier inn. Purple décor, an open-front unit just inside the door for clothing. The bathroom was opposite the wardrobe, the bed on the right deeper inside the room itself. There was the usual long counter beneath a mirror. Electric jug and the makings for tea and coffee on top. The TV was a new flatscreen thing fixed to a bracket on the wall. The bed was neatly made. It was warm in the room, the heat prompting Melanie to take off her jacket.
"Well, here we are," she said as she threw the jacket onto the bed. Melanie turned and looked at Gerard. She put her fists on her hips and added, "Merry fucking Christmas!"
He grinned. Despite the disappointment of not getting home for Christmas, Gerard found Melanie's crude enthusiasm infectious. He was also impressed by the swell of her bosom, her appeal in no way diminished by her mature years or her lewd manner. He liked her. Thought she was lively and fun and sexy. Gerard had indulged in a fantasy-reel full of Mrs Ellis more than once. She was perfect for him. Mrs Ellis possessed all the physical qualities he found attractive: a busty, brassy blonde of a certain age with a figure and face which must have stopped traffic back in her day and which still caught a few looks. She wore her blouses white and tight, buttons strained with the pressure while her skirts were just about on the mark of being too short for decency. He liked the fact she had a propensity towards killer heels, the effect of the shoes enhancing the shapely line of her legs. Back on the road, it had been the sight of Mrs Ellis's skirt high on her thighs what had caused the lapse in concentration which had almost resulted in him skidding the focus into the side of the truck.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs Ellis," Gerard replied. "Do you want this hanging up?" he asked, holding the suit carrier aloft.
"Yes, thanks, Gerard," she said. "And since we're going to be stuck in here together for the night, why not relax and call me Mel?" Melanie turned away and went to the window. "Fuck me," she said as she looked out into the swiftly oncoming darkness. "The cars are under a blanket of snow about three inches thick!"
Gerard hung the suit carrier on the rail and dropped the computers on the bed. He went to the window and stood alongside her, the first tingles of sexual arousal down at his balls. He glanced at Melanie Ellis, his eyes taking in the thrust of her breasts. Then he glanced back at the bed and experienced an upswelling of lust when he realised they would both be under the cover that night.
Melanie leaned in and grabbed the curtains. She yanked them together and turned to look at Gerard.
"You going to call home and explain what's happened?" she asked. "I expect your mum and dad will be worried about you."
Gerard felt the heat rise in his face at the reminder he still lived with his parents.
"Uh, yeah, I suppose I better," he mumbled.
"Well, I'll have a shower and leave you to it," Melanie said, fingers at her blouse. "Then we'll go to the pub next door, shall we? Get our Christmas party started," she quipped.
Gerard tried no to look as Melanie walked away, shrugging her blouse of her shoulders as she went towards the bathroom. He was already hard when she paused and turned side on to discard the blouse, dropping it onto the bed with everything else.
"You did very well in the meeting," Melanie said, repeating what she'd said outside in the car. "You're impressing me, Gerard," she added. "I like you, you know."
He didn't know what to say. Gerard was confused by the sudden rush of compliments, the feeling compounded because she was just standing there in her skirt and bra, the sight of her large breasts bubbling over the cups doing nothing to ease his confusion.
"Is it going to be awkward?" Melanie continued, her focus set on Gerard's face. "Us two? In bed?"
"I ... I don't think so, Mrs Ellis," he managed to gurgle. "I ... I could keep my clothes on," he stammered.
