Father & Son: Book two of the Jensen Family Series (33 page)

Sitting on his bed, watching her
gesticulate, pace and berate him, Paul figured he should be listening to what
she was saying but as soon as she’d accused him of cheating on her, he’d
switched off. His ears pricked up when he heard the words whore and seduced
you.

“Whoa. She is not a whore, no way and she
did not seduce me. It was the other way around.”

“That’s rubbish. You were just a child.”
Eve protested, she absolutely, positively hated it when he defended Carmen.

“My charm worked on you didn’t it? You
know full well how persuasive I can be when I want too.” He lay back on the
bed, arms behind his head thoroughly bored with this conversation.

“Yes I do and I sometimes regret that it
worked so well on me.”

Shrugging, Paul looked at her standing by
his knees. “You know where the door is Eve; no one is making you stay.”

She gasped at his blunt tone. He wouldn’t
really end it just like that would he? She knew with certainty that he would
and that would not go down well with her father at all, she’d also lose face
with her friends even though they hadn’t fully accepted him, they had told her
he was fun to be around and she should bring him with her more often to parties
and social events. If only they knew the struggle she had trying to tear him
away from work.

“But, I want to stay.” She turned on the
little girl lost look that had him every time.

Dammit, she gave him the look. “How bad do
you want to stay?” He asked.

“So bad.” She lowered her voice, made it
husky as she leant over him. “That I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Anything huh?” He reached for his belt
and began to unfasten it, her hands covered his and completed the job by
dealing with his button and fly too. He reached in to his boxers and freed his
stiffening in anticipation cock. “Blow me.” He demanded. She gave the worst
blow job in the world but he wanted it because he knew she hated it.

There was nothing he hated more than
having to guide a woman on how to blow him. He just wanted to lay back and
enjoy it not issue instructions. She sucked and not in a good way. He
eventually just told her to keep still and fucked up into her mouth. She
finally managed an adequate suck with him taking over the motion. He pushed
deep as he came, too deep, he hit her throat hard, she gagged then vomited his
offering as well as her earlier meal, over his stomach.

Pushing her away and jumping to his feet,
he could feel the bile rising as saliva filled his mouth and he began to heave.
He made the semi naked dash to the bathroom before his dinner re-appeared then
he had to deal with getting his vomit covered t-shirt off over his head. He
couldn’t face the thought of tiny chunks of half digested food clinging to his
hair so he rummaged in the bathroom cabinet and found a pair of nail scissors.
He cut the neck band of the shirt then ripped it down its length.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went
back to his bedroom after detouring via the kitchen to fetch a bin bag.
Dropping his ruined t-shirt into the bag, he proceeded to strip his bed and add
the linens into the bag. After a quick sniff of his duvet, he deemed it fit for
further use and pulled out fresh linens telling Eve she had better make the bed
as she was the one who made the mess.

Tying a knot in the top of the bin bag, he
took it first to the back of the flat before remembering that the dustbin had
been put outside the front of the flat in preparation of emptying the following
morning. Dressed just in his towel, he stepped outside and began the battle of
pushing the bins contents down enough to allow his bag to fit in and the lid to
close. One pinched behind, a wolf whistle, a phone number and a bow to thank
the passersby for their attention, he made it back into the flat and to the
bathroom to shower off the residual smell of vomit.

The physical side of his work gave him no
end of pleasure. After the initial two days or so of aching and tending the
blisters on his softened palms, he got back in to the swing of hefting sods of
earth and planting trees, laying flower beds. He made sure the site was clean
and secure each night when he left and made his evening phone call to his son
before showering and eating.

His skin was beginning to take on the
healthy glow of someone who worked outside, he was beginning to sleep well
again and time was positively flying by. He took the odd day off now and then
to make a flying visit to Gloucester but lately Carmen had been less than
welcoming and in fact was beginning to put obstacles in his path when he had a
free day.

If he had the time, he’d mull over what
the problem was but as every hour of his day was filled, he only gave it scant
attention. The upside however, whenever he did go to see his son, the angry
almost violent sex he had with Carmen provided him with everything sex with Eve
lacked.

After the disastrous blow job incident,
he’d denied her requests to try again but he set about pushing her limits,
telling her she had the option of leaving each time she baulked. Either she was
enjoying, albeit under protest, the new things he taught her or she was one
hell of a good actress. He was getting a mild thrill from the way her body
betrayed her.

Carmen announced on his last visit that
she would be happy for him to have Gavin for the occasional weekend and maybe
even the odd week during school holidays. Perfect, just when he was at his
busiest. He asked about taking the boy with him to Spain as he was planning a
trip there when it was Phil’s turn to take on the day to day running of the new
project.

He was surprised when Carmen agreed and he
handed over the money to get a passport set up for the boy. He noticed Helen
looking between the two boys as he spoke of the things he could do with Gavin
while on holiday and realised that Luke would be missing out.

“Helen, if you are agreeable, I’d like to
take Luke too. It would be a shame to separate them for the sake of a holiday.”

“Won’t two boys be a little much to cope
with alone?” Helen asked, toying with the idea of letting her little boy out of
her sight for two whole weeks.

“Mum and Tessa are coming with me; I’ll
have plenty of help.” He answered. “You know I’ll care for him as if he were
mine.”

Helen nodded; he’d already proven that
statement many times. “I think he would like that a lot.”

Delving in his wallet and pulling out
another wad of notes, he told the two women to get the boys passports and
anything they needed for a holiday and not to worry about the cost.

Paul relented and allowed Eve to meet his
son and Luke when they arrived in preparation of their holiday. He watched the interaction
between the boys and his girlfriend and came quickly to the conclusion that she
was not the maternal type at all. While she talked easily with the more
outgoing and vivacious Luke, she struggled to communicate with Gavin’s natural
wariness and reserve.

Eve decided that Paul’s son was a brat
very quickly. He would stand and stare at her but turn away when she spoke to
him. His friend Luke was an entirely different matter. He was warm and chatty
and asked an awful lot of questions.

When John came home with Monica in tow,
Luke wondered off to see what his surrogate grandmother was doing in the
kitchen and Gavin wriggled himself between Paul and Eve as they sat side by
side on the sofa. He turned into his father’s side and snuggled, fidgeting
until Paul pulled him onto his lap and cuddled him.

She was touched by the interaction between
father and son but quickly became irked by it, as it was clear that even at
such a young age, the move was a calculated one on behalf of the child in order
to monopolise his fathers’ attention.

Paul barely noticed when she said she was
leaving. He didn’t offer to take her home and practically ignored her while she
waited for the car to arrive. He pecked her cheek as she reached the door; he
didn’t put his son down or hand him off to his mother as he told her he’d see
her in a few weeks. She was not happy. Not at all. This would be a topic for
discussion when he returned from his break.

Out of sight was out of mind as far as
Paul was concerned. Once Eve left, he forgot about her and immersed himself in
his son and Luke, playing games, watching cartoons and finally, winding down
with baths and a story before bed time.

Monica shooed him out of his Uncle’s flat
the following morning. She had taken charge of packing much to Paul’s relief
and insisted he take the boys out from under her feet while she completed it.
Telling him to return for lunch, she flitted about picking up the pile of
freshly ironed clothes as he readied the boys for an outing to the playground.

Having done his duty of pushing both boys
on the swing and making the roundabout go faster, he took a seat on a bench as
they headed for the slide. It wasn’t high and both boys were sure footed but he
kept an eagle eye on them as they climbed the four steps to the top and
squealed with delight on the slide down and repeated the procedure. He glanced
away as a woman began to tear strips off her child for getting dirty and was
thinking
aren’t kids supposed to have fun and get dirty
when he heard
the thud.

The silence that followed was deathly but
only lasted seconds. Paul was on his feet and almost by his son’s side when he
started to scream. The unnatural angle of Gavin’s arm was a dead giveaway that
it was broken. Uttering soothing words, he scooped the boy into his arms and
told Luke to hold on to him as they crossed the road to his car.

It seemed to take forever to drive the
short distance to the hospital. Gavin had stopped screaming and was snivelling
quietly as Paul carried him through the doors and to the reception desk. He
protested having to fill in the forms but at a stern look from the matronly
woman behind the glass, he set Gavin down and hastily filled out the required
parts. They were ushered immediately to triage where he was told that Gavin
would need an x-ray before seeing a doctor. A further form in his hand, Paul,
Gavin and Luke followed the orange lines on the floor to the x-ray department.

Yet another woman behind yet another
window took the form and told him to take a seat. Following the lines had
distracted Gavin from his injury but he was beginning to become agitated as
they waited their turn. Sitting Gavin one side of him and Luke the other, Paul
found a popup book, way below Luke’s reading age and probably below Gavin’s as
Carmen reminded him on every available occasion that his son was exceptionally
bright.

Making different voices for the characters
and humming dramatically as he turned the page had both boys giggling and the
old lady sitting in her wheelchair opposite them joined in the laughter as she
watched the two boys delight at the story coming to life.

With the book finished and both boys now
re-reading it as they sat on the floor by his feet, Paul glanced at his watch.
He should call his mother, it was already way past lunchtime and he knew she
would be alternatively worried and annoyed.

“Your boys are beautiful.” The old lady
spoke up, pulling him from his thoughts.

Paul smiled, “Thank you.” He answered. He
wasn’t about to point out that Luke wasn’t his. For whatever reason, he had
felt responsible for the boy ever since first meeting him. Even though he
himself wasn’t much of a father figure, he was at least there for both boys
which is more than could be said for Luke’s natural father.

“What’s the problem, if you don’t mind me
asking?” The old lady persisted.

Stroking Gavin’s hair, Paul answered “He
fell off the slide; we think his arm is broken.”

“Pesky things those slides! I tripped over
my granddaughters roller skates, broke my hip.”

Paul frowned, they had been here for
twenty minutes already and the old dear had been here when they arrived. “Have
you been waiting long?” He asked. “You must be in pain.”

“Oh don’t you worry about me, this is just
a follow up visit. I’m well on my way to mending. They’ll get to me when they
have time.” No sooner had the words left her lips than a nurse came and checked
her details before wheeling her away. On passing Paul she assured him that
someone would be out to see to his son very shortly.

Three hours and two bowls of ice cream
later, Paul arrived home with Luke and Gavin, the latter complete with dark
blue plaster cast and sling.

Hearing the door and the chatter of the
boys Monica called out from the kitchen “I told you to be home for lunch, where
on earth have you been?” She stopped in the doorway when she saw Gavin’s cast.
“What happened?” She asked as she crouched and pulled her grandson into her
arms, smothering the boy as he tried in vain to get away.

“He fell off the slide and broke his arm.”
Paul stated.

“Where were you when this happened? Not
chatting up some bimbo I hope.” She accused.

“I swear to God, I literally blinked and
it happened. I got him straight to hospital and we stopped for ice cream on the
way home because he was so brave and Luke was brilliant at keeping him
distracted. Sorry about lunch Mum.”

“Don’t you worry about that. It was ruined
hours ago. I suppose this puts the kybosh on the holiday?”

Paul shook his head. “I asked about that,
they said it will be fine just not to let the cast get wet.”

“Oh, good. You had better call Carmen and
let her know what’s happened.”

“Are you kidding me? If I tell her now,
she’ll get down here at lightning speed and take him home. No, I’ll tell her
when we get home. This is my opportunity to spend some uninterrupted time with
my son Mum; I’m not letting that slip out of my grasp just because he broke his
arm.”

Paul found that having to amuse two young
boys dissipated his fear of flying quite a bit although he still made his
customary dash to the tiny bathroom to void his breakfast once take off was
complete.

Given that neither boy had spent any
length of time away from their respective mothers and had also never been on an
airplane, they were remarkably well behaved, a relief to all on board. Confined
space. Screaming child. Not good.

The two boys were exhausted and hungry by
the time they reached the villa. Paul set about opening it up to the sunlight,
removing shutters and opening windows while trying to work out where the musty
smell was coming from. In the meantime, Tessa changed both boys into their pyjamas
while Monica whipped up something quick to eat with the supplies they had
brought with them.

Over the days that followed, Monica
watched her son slowly unwind. The tension left his shoulders as he fully
immersed himself in his time with the two little boys. There were constant
peals of laughter as he would perform some trick or let them bury him in the
sand.

Gavin seemed completely unaffected by his
broken arm and showed little signs of missing his mother which was pleasing for
all concerned. Monica had even devised a way of wrapping Gavin’s arm to allow
him to go swimming.

It warmed her heart to hear Paul teaching
Spanish to the boys and by the end of the first week they had firmly grasped
the basics meaning she could ask them simple questions in her native language.

It took two days for Paul to start to get
restless in the evenings. As he was accustomed to staying up late while working
at the club, sitting around and chewing the fat with his sister and mother was
driving him slowly insane and so, on the second evening, once the boys were
sound asleep, he asked Monica if she would mind if he disappeared for a few
hours.

He loved stepping out of the cool evening
air into the heat and noise of a night club. This particular one being his old
haunt on previous holidays. He knew it well and was remembered by a few of the
locals. His colouring meant he could blend well with his Spanish compadres but
the fact that he was relatively new to some of them meant he was quite
literally mobbed within minutes.

Having never been particularly shy, Paul
danced it up with some stunning ladies and downed far more than his fair share
of alcohol. He did ponder, hours later as he staggered back to the villa, if he
would have fucked that girl in the alley at the side of the club had he
remained sober and by the time he’d managed to get his key in the lock, he had
come to the conclusion that he absolutely would have done the exact same thing
had he been sober.

He was quite literally dragged from sleep
the following morning by a loud metallic screech and the sound of a diesel
engine beneath his window. Sitting up, his alcohol induced headache hitting him
full force, he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled towards the
window.

“Wow, I really did drink too much last night.”
He mumbled to himself and squinted against the sunlight as he opened the muslin
curtains. Leaning on the window sill, taking a deep breath of the sea air, he
glanced out to the beach where he could see his sister entertaining the boys
with sand castles. Looking down, he saw the cause of the horrible noise that
had woken him. A large flat bed truck, stuffed to the gills with tools and
building equipment. “Shit.” He groaned, turning from the window, he went to the
bathroom and splashed some water on his face before boogying the stale alcohol
taste from his mouth with the aid of a healthy amount of toothpaste and
vigorous brushing.