Sally. Do!
Richard had begun to stroll around the pool. Sally remained transfixed by the space he left. Though rosy and alive, her face spoke a glimmer of slow panic too. Diana saw this and acted upon it immediately.
‘Okay, kids, one last look at the creepy crawlies and then back to the coach,’ she more or less ordered, and though she was desperately intrigued by Sally’s stunned immobility, she tore herself away and went off in search of tarantulas and stag beetles. Sally remained motionless, her pose and poise reminiscent of church sculpture. She did not, however, feel her exterior stillness within. She was lurching and churning, not knowing what to make of the situation.
I hadn’t planned this. I don’t quite know what to do. What shall I do? Think. He should not have seen me like this. Soft. Penguins. Clapping. That won’t do. Think.
Richard was very near.
‘Wait!’ Sally suddenly cried after Diana. But Richard was there and Diana was not. He was unaware of Sally’s sudden crisis.
‘Hello, Sal!’
‘Hello, Richard. I must dash.’
‘Call me.’
The coach was a zoo in itself. Rubbery spiders careered through the air, jelly snakes and sugary polar bears littered the floor. The children were now chimps, charged with manic chattering, climbing all over the seats. Diana, still mittened, wasn’t that bothered about enforcing order and silence. She was more concerned and extremely inquisitive about Sally’s defiant silence. She nudged her with her elbow. Sally turned slowly towards her.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Who was that gorgeous man thing?’
‘Someone I sort of know.’
The women looked at each other. Sally wanted to look away but found the pull of Diana’s enquiring eyes too strong, too comforting. Still Diana searched Sally’s face. Sally felt safe and she also felt strong. She broke into a broad, conspiratorial smile. The camaraderie between the two women was intense, almost tangible. Knowing full well that she could trust Diana implicitly, Sally felt euphoric and, in hushed tones, she told Diana why.
‘I’ve been terribly naughty, Di.’
‘Oh, do tell!’ implored Diana, grasping Sally’s knee with mittened zeal but trying not to sound too keen. So Sally gave Diana an uncensored account in glorious Technicolor replete with close-ups. Though no detail of the action was neglected, she did, however, omit the underlying motive. There was no insinuation that this unbridled lust was driven by a carefully conceived plan. What Sally wanted was an approval of sorts, a ‘God, I wish I’d done that’. Diana did not disappoint her there.
‘This is the stuff of an airport groin-grinder! A veritable Jackie Collins bonk-buster. Wow!’
Sally was delighted. She did not expose the psychological bent of the situation, for not only did she fear the inevitable ‘It’ll only end in tears, someone’s bound to get hurt’, but fundamentally she wanted the fact that it was a calculated project kept all to herself.
Diana was quite exhausted when they arrived back at school.
When Sally arrived home she felt strangely depleted and a little anxious.
But I didn’t want him to see me like that. What can he think? Surely a true femme fatale wouldn’t go potty for penguins? She wouldn’t clap and squeal like a child. I don’t want to break the spell. I wonder if I have. He probably thought me quite sweet. I don’t want to be sweet, I want to be scandalous. He’s probably contemplating my merits as child-bearer and biscuit-baker this very moment. I must remedy the situation, reassert myself as a veritable vamp, a tough cookie, a steel butterfly. But how?
‘Hello, Richard?’
‘Sal! Enjoy the Zoo?’
‘Very much.’
‘Pop over?’
‘Now? Ten-thirty?’ Sally was in her red nightshirt (a present from Diana), fluffy green bed socks, an old tatty cotton scarf in her hair. ‘Sure,’ she purred, already scrambling out of her night clothes. She slipped on a black skirt and polo neck and declared to the African Violet that all was not lost. She hovered at her front door and then returned to her bedroom where she derobed and then dived back into her nightshirt. She drew the line at the socks and scarf, dabbed on a little perfume and slipped on her pumps. She covered up with her long trench coat, partly as protection against the drizzle, partly because what was underneath was for Richard alone.
It felt exciting to be going out when normally she would have been going to bed. But she also felt old and bemused, remembering how University nights would not yet have started. The roads were fairly empty and the traffic lights were on her side. She enjoyed hearing the fizzy whish made by wheels on the wet tarmac, seeing the sparkling orange flecks on the road cast by the street lights. It took less than twenty minutes, without breaking the speed limit or jumping amber lights, for Sally to arrive and park in Notting Hill where the bars were still throbbing and the bright young things would be enjoying tapas for a good while yet.
The lift in Richard’s building was old and cumbersome. The door had to be opened, the grille coaxed back then cranked closed, the floor selected with an assertive press and then an infuriating delay tolerated until the instructions registered. In the chug between ground and first floors, Sally had an idea. As first floor came and went, she unbuckled and unbuttoned her coat. By the time the lift was approaching the second floor, she had her nightshirt over her head. The lift stopped and so did Sally’s heart. But nothing happened and no one was there. Was the machinery trying to tell her something? It juddered on up and, for a delicious few seconds between the second and third floors, Sally stood completely naked.
The young lady who got out of the lift on the fourth floor smiled sweetly at the pizza delivery boy who got in. He watched her saunter down the hall and thought how well her long mac suited her. Sally’s knickers were still in the lift but he presumed them to be a handkerchief and, having recently recovered from a cold, he kept a clear distance. (They were discovered by the porter the next morning who sincerely hoped that nothing untoward had happened. In twenty-seven years he had never once had a pair of knickers lurking in this lift. Handkerchiefs and scarves maybe. Knickers, no. Mr Stonehill from Flat C tutted with him and said it was a disgrace.)
Richard answered the door, enveloped in his towelling robe. He kissed Sally on the cheek and before he had a chance to ask her more about the school trip, about her job, her colleague the elephant lover – all of which he was keen to know – Sally had pulled him towards her and nearly suffocated him with the deepest kiss imaginable. Her carrier bag fell to the floor and Richard’s penis soared skyward, pressing somewhat uncomfortably against the buckle on Sally’s coat.
Let’s undo that for starters.
Go on, Richard, unbelt me, unbuckle me, unbutton me, see what you can find. Richard had the belt off immediately and, still enmeshed in her kiss, he began to fumble with the buttons which were big but sat tight in their button holes.
I’m enjoying this! thought Sally.
I’m enjoying this! thought Richard.
When Richard had all the buttons undone, he slipped
