Maelstrom

The smell of frying bacon drew Meg into the kitchen. She yawned heavily; the taxi had dropped her at home well past midnight and sleep had been a long time coming. But it had been a good night and she grinned at the memory as she switched the kettle on.

It took her a few moments to notice her mother in the room adjacent to the kitchen. She was sitting with her back to Meg, her head bent over a piece of paper.

"Wanna drink, Mum?" asked Meg, rubbing her tired eyes with the edge of her dressing gown sleeve.

Sylvie jumped and Meg saw her shove the paper in her pocket. "No, I'm fine," she said in a funny voice.

For a second Meg thought it sounded like she was upset, but she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered her head. Her mum wasn't the emotional kind. The only time Meg had ever seen her cry was when their dog had been run over a couple of years before.

When Sylvie came back into the kitchen, she smiled brightly at Meg.

"Good night was it?" she asked as she turned the hob back on to cook some more bacon.

Meg shrugged. "'Spose," she said, but Sylvie had already walked away again.

With a cup of tea in her hand, Meg took a seat at the breakfast bar and watched her mother thoughtfully. Sylvie was standing at the sink, staring into the garden as she filled the washing up bowl. When the water began to overflow, Sylvie appeared not notice; she was in a world of her own.

"Mum, are you okay?" asked Meg eventually.

"Huh?" Sylvie belatedly noticed the water was still running and she quickly turned the tap off. "Yes, darling, I'm fine. Get the bacon out of the fridge for me and I'll make you a sandwich."

* * *

When Meg left the room, Sylvie pulled the crumpled letter from her pocket and stared at it again. She felt like her whole world had shifted on some invisible axis. Although she had thought about this moment a million times over the years, it had still come as a huge shock.

The grey envelope had seemed innocuous enough at first when she had picked it up with the other post. It was only when she opened it and read the brief letter that she realised what it meant. The safe walls that surrounded her came crashing down and the ground beneath her feet opened up as the potential repercussions of her predicament began to sink in.

How on earth was she going to tell Meg?

* * *

"Damn." Meg examined the empty packet of cigarettes and scowled in consternation. Tommy must have nicked the last one while she wasn't paying attention.

He is such a fucking cheap skate

, she thought crossly. Now she was going to have to pay a fortune for a packet from the pub machine.

She stopped in front of a shop window and glanced at her reflection critically. Her normally curly auburn hair hung in sleek waves, courtesy of some new hair irons her mum had given her for her birthday, and her curvy figure was barely contained within a tight dress she had found in a charity shop the previous weekend.

A loud wolf whistle had her spinning around on her heels. Two lads standing at the bus stop were watching her.

"Hey, sexy," the tall, skinny one yelled. "If you come over here I'll show you a good time!"

Meg gave him the finger and stuck her tongue out rudely. "Go home - your mum will be wondering where you've got to," she replied scornfully with a disdainful toss of her hair.

Skinny boy's mate sniggered and received a thump around the head for his lack of loyalty while Meg waltzed off towards the high street, oblivious to the fracas. She had more important things on her mind.

Like whether or not Ryan was likely to show tonight.

A silly smile touched her red lips as she thought about Ryan. Six feet six of pure perfection – it was just a pity he was still seeing that bitch, Linda. The man was a total stud muffin and Linda was, well, a total skank. But Meg felt certain tonight was the night where she would have the opportunity to persuade Ryan that the grass was greener on her side of the fence.

But if he didn't show, then she would have to come up with another plan.

Her feet were beginning to hurt in her new shoes, but Meg hurried along, ignoring the discomfort. She was late and she knew Sarah was likely to be pissed off as ever with her lack of punctuality.

Sure enough, by the time Meg pushed through the crowds of people queuing for the bar, Sarah had a face like thunder.

"For fucks sake, can't you ever be on time?" she grumbled crossly as Meg flung herself down in the corner booth.

"Basically, no," Meg grinned. "I don't

do

punctual – you should know this by now."

"Well I wish you did – I've had to beat

them

off with sticks for the last twenty minutes." She nodded her head in the direction of a trio of eager young men, all hopefully smiling in Sarah's direction.

"Maybe if you wore something less slutty, you wouldn't have had a problem?" Meg glanced down at her friend's boob tube and mini skirt and wondered how it was Sarah had the nerve to act so completely oblivious to her charms.

"It's not slutty!" Sarah said, clearly outraged at Meg's assertion.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Is it my round then?"

"Too fucking right. I'll have another sex on the beach – it's going down a treat so far."

"Oh I wish

somebody

was going down on

me

," replied Meg mournfully and Sarah burst out laughing.

"Sorry, no sign of Ryan yet," she said.

"Well there's still time. You did tell him we were all meeting here, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I made sure he knew." Sarah pulled her phone out of her voluminous handbag when it bleeped loudly. She read the text message in silence.

"Okay, the others are gonna be here in half an hour," she told Meg as she tapped out a brief reply. "That gives you plenty of time to get a round in. Oh and make sure you check out the cute new bartender – he's well hot!" She winked lasciviously.

Meg had to agree that Sarah was right as the bartender mixed their cocktails. He wasn't exactly her usual type with his dark hair and slight build, but there was certainly something charismatic about him.

"Will there be anything else?" he asked with a smile as she stared at him.

Belatedly, Meg realised he had spoken and an uncharacteristic blush warmed her pale cheeks. "Not yet," she said, smiling flirtatiously.

He grinned and took her money, their fingers briefly touching. She felt a tingle down her arm and a sudden rush of warmth between her legs. Yeah, the guy definitely had that X factor. Suddenly Ryan didn't seem half as important as he had a few hours previously.

* * *

Her head hurt. Trying to focus on her glass, Meg wondered why men were such bastards. Despite her best efforts, Ryan had rebuffed every advance she had made. He seemed determined to stick with the skanky Linda and for the life of her, Meg could not understand why.

What did Linda have that she, Meg, didn't?

"Just forget him," Sarah had advised drunkenly after Meg stormed off into the ladies following a humiliating snub from Ryan.

"But we're meant for each other!" Meg wailed. It made her so angry. She just wanted Ryan to give her a chance, but she may as well have been invisible this evening for all the attention he had shown her.

To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure why he had even turned up at all. But none of that mattered now. She had had enough of chasing him – plenty more fish in the sea and all that.

The cure bartender caught her eye as he passed by her table on his way back to the bar and she flashed him a killer smile. He grinned back at her and she immediately felt better.

Just because Ryan's a tosser - it doesn't mean that all men are

, she thought with a little more optimism.

Looking around, Meg suddenly realised that it was late and she really ought to be making a move. She turned to see what Sarah was up to, but her friend was engrossed in her latest conquest. The guy had his hand up her skirt and Sarah was practically horizontal across the velvet seat.

"Humph," Meg grumbled.

Looks like I'm the only one not having fun tonight.

She stood and made her way over to the ladies, aware that most of the customers had already departed. She winced as she walked unsteadily; she knew she would have a painful blister on her heel once her shoes had been discarded.

With her attention distracted by her foot, she failed to notice a stray handbag left by a stool. Her heel caught in the strap and she tripped clumsily, sprawling in an ungainly heap at the end of the bar.

Now her ankle hurt far more than her heel. "Ouch," she moaned, hoping like hell that there was nobody around who might have witnessed her embarrassment.

"Hey, are you okay?" asked a husky voice.

Meg looked up to see the cute bartender standing over her with concern written all over his face.

"I dunno," she said with a grimace, trying to straighten her leg. "My ankle is killing me."

"Here, let me help you up," the guy offered. Before she had a chance to say a word, he had slipped his arm beneath her and was carefully supporting her weight as she clung on to him.

"I think I'll be alright," she said unsteadily. At least she could put some weight on it – so it wasn't too badly sprained.

"Are you with anyone?" he asked, looking around the room at the thinning crowds.

"Kind of," Meg replied, noticing that Sarah was still engrossed in lover boy. "But I think she's busy."

The guy followed her line of sight and laughed. "I think you might be right," he said. "Okay, let's get you sitting down somewhere and then I can organise a taxi or something."

Meg smiled at him gratefully. It made a change for a guy to be helping her with no ulterior motive. As he took her through a door behind the bar area, she enjoyed the feel of his body against hers. Although her head was severely woolly from all the alcohol she had consumed, the attraction she had felt earlier was still simmering away.

"Take a seat while I finish a couple of things, then I'll ring a taxi for you."

"Thanks," she said, "but I don't even know your name!"

"Zach," he said. His blue eyes made her heart beat faster and for a moment she forgot where she was.

"I'm Meg," she replied slightly breathlessly. Her nipples were hard and she knew she was wet. Deliberately, teasingly, she lifted her legs up on to the low couch she was sitting on. As a result, her dress rode even higher up her thighs and the tops of her stockings were revealed.

He noticed.

For a moment, their eyes locked and Meg felt the unspoken ripple of desire between them. Then he regretfully turned away. "Gotta clear the bar," he said hurriedly.

She watched him leave the office and smiled gleefully.

This is going to be easier than I thought.

* * *

Zach realised his hands were shaking when he nearly dropped a crate of mixers. "Fuck!" he muttered as he tried to control his rampant thoughts.

The last thing he needed was to lose this job – hell no, he had only been here five fucking minutes. If he had no job, then he stood zero chance of affording the rent on the studio flat he had just taken a short-term lease on.

"Get a grip," he ordered crossly as he carried the heavy crate back up the cellar steps. But his dick refused to listen and he sighed.

The girl had caught his eye as soon as she walked in earlier. Her flaming red hair was noticeable enough, but it wasn't just that. It wasn't even the way her breasts threatened to spill from out of her dress, or the way her arse curved in such a delicious fashion. It was something subliminal...something inexplicable.

But whatever it was, he was going to have to be strong and ignore it. He had enough complications in his life without adding 'relationship' into the mix. She may well be hot as hell, but all he was going to do was ring for a taxi shortly and then make sure she got in it safely. It was all part of the job. With grim determination, he began to collect the dirty glasses and wipe the tables down.

* * *

Meg jumped when Zach reappeared. She was beginning to feel sleepy from all the cocktails she had drunk and although her ankle was throbbing, it wasn't enough to bother her all that much.

"Sorry about the wait," Zach said as he dropped a pile of dirty tea towels on the floor. "How's the ankle?" he asked.

She leaned forward and rubbed it. "Sore."

"Let me have a look," he said. "I did a First Aid course last year."

He came over and sat next to her, lifting her leg gently so that it rested on his knee. Meg felt his first tentative touch and tried very hard not to make a sound. She watched his hands manipulating her joint and wondered how it would feel if he slid his fingers further up her thigh...

"There's not much swelling so I think with a little rest, you'll be fine," he announced cheerfully as he turned to face Meg.

She swung her legs down and pushed herself up into a more upright position, catching him glancing at her cleavage although he immediately looked away when he realised she had intercepted his look.

"I'll try standing again," she said, aware that her dress was rising past the point of decency, but not caring all that much. "Can you give me a hand?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, before grasping her arm and trying to hoist her. For a moment they teetered slightly then she winced dramatically and sank backwards on to the soft sofa, pulling him with her.

Zach fell on top of her and she managed to look surprised as his face hovered mere millimetres from her own. She could feel the heat of him, burning through her thin dress, sending her pulse rocketing through the roof.

He regarded her intently as his weight pressed her body into the cushions. For an instant she was sure he knew she had engineered this, but he didn't move a muscle. Instead his hand crept up her body, sweeping across the curve of her breast, before reaching her cheek.

Then he kissed her.

Her ankle was ignored as the inferno took hold, igniting her senses in a way she had never felt before. His mouth ravaged hers hungrily, his hands cupping her face almost tenderly.

Alcohol blew reason out of the window and Meg forgot she was lying on a couch in a cramped office: an office where anyone could walk in at any time. Instead she arched her back and eagerly ran her hands down his back, needing more than just a kiss.

She could feel him hard and throbbing against her belly, making her wet and achy. Her breasts strained against the balconette bra that she had chosen to wear tonight and when his hand moved lower, edging towards them, she moaned encouragement.

The phone on the desk rang shrilly and Zach jumped up instantly, leaving Meg awash on a sea of lust. Then it rang off and the room was silent once more but for Meg's heavy breathing.

"I'm sorry," he said as he looked at her uncertainly. "I shouldn't have done that."

She could see the war of emotions flitting across his face and she smiled serenely.

"But I wanted you to do it," she told him innocently.

But this time he wasn't to be swayed so easily. "No, you're drunk and I need to make sure you get home," he said firmly. He picked up the receiver and turning his back on her, he dialled a local taxi company.

"Five minutes," he said when he replaced the phone. He refused to look at her now that the call was over. Instead he took a seat on the edge of the desk and examined a poster about health and safety that was pinned on the wall.

Meg felt disappointment crashing over her. It was the second time she had been rejected tonight. First Ryan and now Zach. She must be losing her touch.

"Great," she said dully. A tear threatened to spill down her cheek and she felt wretched.

"Come on, I'll wait outside with you," Zach said gently.

She looked up and saw that he was smiling at her and for a moment her spirits lifted a little.

"You don't have to," she sniffed.

"No, but I will anyway."

He pulled her up and slipped an arm around her waist. This time she allowed him to walk her out of the office and through the exit doors, on to street. She looked for Sarah, but there was no sign of her friend. Meg guessed that she had gone home with the guy she had pulled.

The bitch.

It was beginning to drizzle outside and Meg knew her hair would be curling outrageously before too long. She sighed. Not that it mattered what her hair looked like anyway. Zach had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't really interested in her.

"Is your ankle okay?" he asked solicitously as they stood beneath the canopy that hung over the bar entrance.

"I think so," she replied, gingerly stretching it. "Probably be fine in the morning."

"Well be sure to come back and let me know how you are," said Zach as a taxi sidled up alongside them.

Meg turned and looked at him. "I might," she said coyly.

Zach opened the taxi door and helped her in. His hand briefly touched her bottom and she jumped as a bolt of electricity shot through her again.

"Bye, Meg," he said with a grin as the taxi pulled away. He was still watching as they turned at the end of the road and she smiled. Maybe all was not lost after all.

* * *

Sylvie dialled the number on the crumpled sheet of paper and stood shaking as it rang. She had deliberated for what felt like years about this, but it didn't matter how many times she told herself it was a mistake to stir up the memories. All that remained was a burning desire to know what had become of the child she had been forced to give away at sixteen.

"Hello, who's this?" said a sleepy voice when eventually the call was answered.

"It's..." Sylvie hesitated. "It's Sylvie," she said in a voice so quiet she wondered if he had heard her.

There was a very long silence. "Hi, Mum," the voice said.

* * *

Meg opened her eyes with a grimace. She had forgotten to close her curtains when she fell into bed late last night and now the sun was shining directly on to her face.

She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head. Christ it hurt. What had she been drinking last night? Slowly the assorted memories came flooding back and she groaned.

Then she recalled the cute bartender and she smiled. Maybe the evening hadn't been a total wash out after all. Despite the hangover that throbbed relentlessly behind her temples, she seemed to remember that he had suggested she paid him a visit.

How was her ankle anyway? She gingerly twisted it and felt a small amount of discomfort, but it certainly wasn't too bad and it

definitely

wasn't bad enough to prevent her from going back out tonight.

With her headache instantly diminishing at the thought of seeing Zach again, Meg climbed out from beneath her duvet and staggered into the bathroom. She was absolutely ravenous after her boozy night out and the thought of a bacon sandwich was making her mouth water.

* * *

Zach was polishing glasses as he stared into space. The bar was relatively quiet; a few couples sat around, but the large, noisy groups that characterized busier evenings were absent. He didn't mind the slow periods. It allowed him time to think.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the redhead from the previous night until she tapped the bar impatiently with nails that were painted a vibrant purple.

"Hi, can I help?" he started to say, but the words got stuck in his throat as the memory of the way she had tasted swamped him instantly with lustful, heated desire.

"I reckon you can," she replied coquettishly. She flicked a long coil of hair around her finger and licked her lips suggestively. "But in the meantime I'll have a cider."

Zack tried to speak, but his lips refused to move. All he could think about was the recollection of her lying on the couch, her breasts straining against her dress and her thighs parted licentiously. His cock ached unbearably as the images taunted him. But professionalism kicked in and eventually he remembered that he was supposed to be serving her with a drink.