Chapter 37: An Affair

Gordon was always meticulously turned out. It wasn't vanity that made him spend so much time over his appearance. It was the result of his father's influence. Eli had been an Army sergeant. He demanded smartness. He cast a keen eye over both of his young sons after they'd washed, combed their hair and brushed their boots, and he always gave them a thorough inspection before they left the house.

"First impressions are lasting impressions," he'd say. "Come here our Gordon. Give me your comb! Stand still! You haven't got your parting straight. Your hair'll be falling into your eyes."

Or, "Those boots need a bit more spit and polish. You can't go out like that!"
" What would people say?" Nan added, always backing her husband.

Gordon's smart appearance, his healthy body odour, his large hands and his unusual eyes had a strong attraction for Joyce ever since she'd known him. She'd liked and fancied Gordon. It vexed her, but she couldn't help herself. She hated being vulnerable like that. His apparent inaccessibility was also annoying, and the fact that he had preferred her friend Margaret. These were the main factors which had spurred Joyce on to go looking for Gordon outside his meeting in the Trades Hall.

The result of his taking her bait was her triumph. She only wished Margaret had been there to see what happened! She felt a surge of mixed, pleasurable emotions as Gordon made his decision, accepted her invitation and opened the passenger door of her car.

Initially elated after he decided to go with her, Gordon soon began to have doubts. She drove him down town, over Skerton Bridge and headed for Morecambe. Halfway down Morecambe Road, she turned left down Ovangle Road and took the road past the Golden Ball pub. This road was often under water when the tide came up the River Lune. She drove on towards Sunderland Point, slowing to cross a cattle grid, turned sharp left and stopped the car on a secluded grassy slope.

"Where are you taking me?" he'd demanded when they left Lancaster.

"Not far! Don't worry, you'll be back home before the pubs shut."

He began to feel awkward. He had no idea what to say to her. Reality was not quite as easy to handle as fantasy. He was long out of practice with small talk, although she had plenty to say and he half-listened, wondering what he was doing in the car. He was having second thoughts, but it was too late for those, so he let himself be carried along by her.

"I bet you've never been here before, have you?" she prattled. "It's called Snatchems. We've crossed the marshes you can see from your works. It's really lonely and spooky this side of the river. Not that we can see anything in the dark!"

Her headlights picked out a narrow winding road. There were pools of water shining here and there. Muddy banks with tufts of marshy grass were glimpsed . There were no other vehicles around. But the lights were on in the Golden Ball pub as they drove past. Inside were some local farm-workers and fishermen, people who lived isolated lives and they were out for pub company. Their homes were not far away on land that was just above sea-level. When river and sea conspired with gales some of their land was flooded. The men and women were a hardy and resolute bunch.

"I've been here once or twice with friends," Joyce went on. "It's the first time I've driven myself though. I hope I remember the way back. Are you warm enough?"

There was no heater in the car and it was a cold night. The temperature was plunging and Gordon was a bit shivery.

He was surprised that they had parked miles from anywhere. He had thought that she was just taking him for a ride in the car. Something more serious now seemed a probability, and events were moving too fast for his liking. He began to realise what she really had in mind and he couldn't help thinking that home was a long way away.

A wind was rising and rain started to beat down on the roof of the car. He felt uncomfortable. He wasn't used to this sort of thing. He wished he was back in Lancaster, having a pint with the lads.

She leaned towards him after she'd switched off the engine. She snuggled up against him and said, "It's been a long time."

"Yes," he agreed.
"Are you glad you've come?"
"Yes," he lied.

There wasn't much room in the car. The steering wheel, the hand-brake and gear-stick were taking up most of the spare space. Then he plucked up courage. "What the hell!" he thought, "In for a penny, in for a pound!" Awkwardly, he managed to put his arm round her and kiss her on her neck. The scent of the old familiar perfume reminded him of how it used to be; there was even a slight taste of it on his tongue. He was up for it. She was more than eager.

What with that steering wheel and their two winter coats and the rain and gale outside and the temperature inside dropping by the minute, he had no idea how he was going to proceed successfully. It was definitely too cold to strip off. His sense of humour nearly got the better of him. He saw the farcical side of the situation he was in.

"Pity she's bought a sports car," he thought. "If it was an ordinary car we could go onto the back seat."

He opened the top button of her coat and felt for a breast. She had a hand up under his overcoat. He began thinking about Margaret. What would she think if she could see him now? He didn't want to think about Margaret but she kept on coming into his mind. He wished he was back home with her.

"What the hell am I doing here?" he lamented to himself. "We're not going to get anywhere anyway. Not in this tight situation! Not in this bloody car!"

Joyce had other ideas.

After a bit more foreplay she said, "I'll come and sit on your lap." Thank God it was dark. She could not see he was embarrassed.

"Talk about sardines!" thought Gordon as she somehow managed to put her legs over his, prise herself from under the steering wheel and sit on him with her head pressed tight up against the windscreen.

"Pull my things up!" she urged.

That wasn't easy, but she stuck her backside up against his chin and he just managed to pull her coat and dress up above her legs. But now they were over his face and he felt that he was suffocating.

There was still the problem of his clothing. He should have opened his coat and unbuttoned his flies before she moved.

"It's no good," he told her. His voice muffled from under her clothes, a bit like Michael's when he went into his bedroom on Sunday. Michael would go under the bedclothes and pretend that he was a submarine. Gordon felt that he was out of his depth. Thinking about Michael dampened his enthusiasm even more.

"It's no good. "he gasped, "I can't get at myelf."
"Where there's a will there's a way," she giggled.

So they tried again. She levered herself back to the driver's seat. He took his overcoat off and pushed it onto the narrow shelf behind him. Then she came back onto his lap.

At last they managed it. She'd come prepared with a Durex, slipping it over him, and manoeuvred like a contortionist, leaning down between her own legs.

Gordon hated Durex. His friend Brian said, "It's like washing your feet with your socks on."

Thinking of Brian, he recalled his friend's reproachful look as he'd climbed into the car alongside Joyce. He began to feel really guilty and cold. All he could think of were his family and friends. It was as though they were watching his every move.

Her having no knickers on helped. And she was certainly warm up there. Instinctively he rose to the occasion, his misgivings forgotten, while Joyce made the best of their difficulties. Despite all of his doubts, urgency intensified and all came to a speedy conclusion.

For Gordon it had been more like a duty than a compulsion. There would have been a lack of gallantry in not doing what she expected. Now it was over all he wanted was home. It definitely had not been worth it and he wished he'd never come with her in the car. He gave her a perfunctory peck on her lips.

As for Joyce, part of her was satisfied. She'd proved that Gordon was still attracted to her. But their togetherness had not lasted long enough as far as she was concerned. "Well," she thought, "it's a start. There will be plenty of other occasions. Now I have the car we'll be able to do this when we like."

Gordon went through minimum motions of expressing some affection for her but his one thought was about how late it was and how quickly they could be back in Lancaster. "We'd best be going," he said. "It's very late!"

Joyce struggled back to her own seat. She tidied up. She removed the Durex, wound down a window and threw it and its contents out onto the wet grass. The wind blew in on them.

"I think it's turning to snow!" Gordon said.
"What a worrier you are!" laughed a quite jubilant Joyce. She gave him another quick kiss and said, "That was nice wasn't it? We'll have to do it again soon."

Gordon didn't say anything.
She laughed again.

"I forget. You're not used to this sort of thing. Don't sulk! You mustn't be late, must you? We'll have you home in no time at all. We can't have Margaret worrying where you are can we?"

Gordon kept quiet. He wondered how Joyce could have done what she had done with her best friend's husband. He wouldn't, he couldn't, have done it with Jack's or Brian's wife! But what about himself? What about Margaret and him?

She smiled at him. "So it's 'Home James and don't spare the horses!'" She turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing!

She tried again.

Nothing!

"It won't go!"
"I can see that!"
"Hell!"
"Yeh!"
"There's a starting handle in the boot."
"What does that do?"
"T hey told me at the garage that you put it in a little hole at the front of the car and then turn it. It should start the engine."

Should!

It didn't!

Gordon was soaked to the skin by the time he'd climbed out of the car, unlocked and opened the boot and found what he assumed was the starting handle. He poked and probed with it and eventually located the place to push it in. It was a hard job turning it. He tried about twenty times and nothing happened. The next attempt caused a back-fire and the handle jerked in his hand and nearly broke his thumb. He'd already strained his back and now he had an excruciatingly painful thumb.

He opened the car door and told her, "It's no good. Nothing's happening. It won't start. We'll have to walk." There was no point him going and sitting in the car again. He was already wet through. Joyce put her scarf over her head then joined him, outside in the gale and rain. She slammed the door and Gordon asked her, "You said you'd been here before so which way's the quickest?"

Of course she didn't know. They'd crossed one or two narrow roads on their way to where they were but she had no idea where they led. They were in big trouble They were out in atrocious weather and with the possibility of being caught by an incoming tide.

There were a couple of lights further down the river, near the sea, on Sunderland Point. But that meant going even further away from home, with no guarantee of any help if they went there.

There was only one thing for it. They'd have to follow the road that they had come on and hope that someone would help them from the Golden Ball.

Dumb with shame and self-pity, numb with cold, worried sick, he set out with her in the darkness, leaving the car abandoned on the slope.