Greater Expectations (19 page)

The pressure derived by the need to be seen to be successful.

Sites such as this provide that escapism. They provide an illusion of a more exciting life. A separate life where they can be used with wanton abandon and feel sexually liberated.
A secret life all for themselves.
The illusion becomes delusion when no thought is given to its consequences. Maybe that is what they are looking for, the drama that comes from being caught. To once again be seen as a “lover” in their husband’s eyes rather than simply being a “wife” or a “mother”. I don’t need to meet any of them to know I am not far wrong.

Their actions speak louder than words.

My perception and understanding of this site has dramatically changed. Initially, I wanted it for what I thought it was–and suppose that it still is–the no questions asked straightforward cyber meeting place for just sex. Now, I realise that it is, for the most part, a desperately lonely and squalid place for men and women looking to escape from one hopeless situation by delving straight into another.

All to just feel special again.

My research is as complete as it needs to be and I can stand this no more. Thankfully, it would seem to me that women are just the same as they always have been. Only now they are more sexually aware and far more demanding. This is also as it should be. They are also more open to sexual experimentation and much more confident within themselves. This can only be a positive for us men. It is a relief for me to know that there was no huge secret for me to uncover. On the contrary, sex is still sex, but now it is I who needs to be more open and sensitive to my partners’ desires and fantasies.

Yet it has been a surprisingly painful journey in reaching this conclusion. My use of Supasexxx.com was, in theory, supposed to be a fun filled experience but it proved to be an altogether more distressing reality. It was with great delight that I cancelled my membership and cast myself adrift from this
money-making leviathan of hurt and sorrow.

It is a playground of despair and desolatio
n and I will
never
return here.

24

Dad

Saturday 7th March

“Richie, it’s Z, I am really sorry to bothe
r you at this time but listen…”

“Z…? What time is it…? What’s wrong…? Is everything okay…?”
Even if my tone had not relayed my anxiety, the fact that I was calling at 2.46am certainly would. As such he knew everything was certainly not okay and he cut me off mid sentence, his voice full of comforting concern.

“Well I certainly wish it was mate but, sadly, no. My mum just called to tell me that my dad has had a suspected heart attack. He has been rushed into our local hospital and so I am just packing and heading there directly. Obviously I cannot work tomorrow and don’t know how long I will be gone but will keep you updated as and when I can. I am really sorry to land this on you mate but you can see my predicament and I really have no choice. They both need me.” I really just wanted this call to be done and get going. The adrenalin was rushing through my veins and I needed to be on the move.

“I am really
so sorry
mate. Really, I am. Don’t worry about a thing here and I can cover your shift today, no problem. You just get off and wish your dad the best from me please. If he is anything like you, he’ll be a stubborn bugger and I’m sure he will be just fine.” He never even gave me the opportunity to respond, he just hung up. I had really come to like and, more importantly, respect young Richard since our time at Penny’s.

Penny
.

Suddenly I was in a quandary. Should I tell her? At this time in the morning? After our last conversation, would she really want to hear from me? Yet I felt that she had a right to know. I had no idea why. Maybe I just wanted to tell her, maybe it was simply the right thing to do. Maybe I am overthinking it. Isn’t this exactly one of those times when you need friends?

True friends.

I finished packing my holdall and was ready for the door when I decided to take a few seconds and text her what was going on. It was the cowards way out, there was no doubt about that but the time gave me the perfect excuse, it would be unseemly and most improper to call.

“Unseemly? Improper?”
When did I start talking like this? I berated myself,
“Forget it, send the text, appease your conscience, whatever you need to do, but do it quickly and get moving. Asshole. Your father’s lying in hospital and here you are, debating with yourself about sending a stupid fucking text.”

I picked up my phone and found her name in my contacts list and selected the text option.

Dear Penny, I am really sorry I haven’t been in touch lately…

Did that sound too girly? Too pathetic? Yes, it surely was.
“Get a move on, your dad is waiting…”
Okay, lets just take a minute and get this right. You never get a second chance to make a first impression, as they say.
“Who are ‘they’? And what are you talking about, first impressions? You already made your first, second, third, countless fucking impressions. She has a handle on what you are like. Just get the text written and get on the bloody road. Your dad needs you!”

This argument with myself was only stressing me more than I was already and so I was sorely tempted to just forget the text. Yet I instinctively knew that, if I didn’t text, it would be the absolute end our friendship and I wasn’t r
eady for that.

Not now.

Not yet.

Dear Penny, please forgive me not being in touch sooner, I have been an ass. I am also really sorry to bother you with this just now, and I am fully aware of the time hence the text rather than a call. You see, I could really use a friend just now as my dad was rushed into Hospital less than an hour ago with a suspected heart attack. Mum is with him and I am on my way there now. I shall, of course, completely understand if you don’t respond but just know that you were the first person that came to my mind when I heard. I hope that counts for something…

I hit the “send” key as soon as I had finished and so gave myself no chance to reconsider. I really had no clue what to expect in return, a call, text or no response at all. Nothing would surprise me. I thought no more about it and locked up the house and headed straight for the car.

Like most men that drive for a living, one of my indulgences is a penchant for nice cars. They evoke a certain attitude, in me at least, and an unjustified if not altogether peculiar arrogance that lends itself to a tendency to drive accordingly. I heard it once said that it’s not important how fast you are away from the lights but rather
the style in how you get there.

I suppose there is a life lesson in that particular analogy.

In my case, I ease there in an aging “S” class Mercedes Benz. Childishly, I named her “Ava”. She is a truly marvellous feat of engineering that all but eradicates the monotony of motorway driving. Any driving, actually. Ava was designed for the unlimited German Autobahn and so restricting her to ambling along within the confines of the congested UK road network is almost criminal. Yet it is impossible not to enjoy her, even in testing circumstances such as these.

These particularly testing circumstances being my dad’s current predicament, not the insufferable driving conditions.

I threw my holdall in the back seat and myself in the cockpit. Short work was made of the meandering country roads and a mere ten minutes later, Ava and I slipped onto the motorway. Pushing the accelerator closer to the floor, I watched her needle fly past 80, checked my mirrors at 90 and set cruise control 2 mph below the ton. Speeds in excess of 100 mph attract an automatic driving ban so Ava was flirting perilously with my licence and livelihood.

Still, I knew to trust her.

At a little over 5 hours, it was wholly unsurprising that I clocked my fastest ever time for the journey home. What was surprising, however, was that this journey was completed in rather atrocious driving conditions. It seemed that there was a snow cloud following me for the entire duration. Thankfully, the roads had been gritted and kept clear. Also, at that time of the morning, the traffic had been very light and so there were no unexpected hold ups.

I had heard nothing from Penny and my mind was continuously twisting and turning, trying to find different excuses for her that made sense. In a sadistic way I was glad, for between her and the weather, the demands on my concentration kept my mind from drifting to thinking about Dad. Similarly, nothing was heard from my mum either but that was of no concern to me at all as I knew that would be due to her being inside the hospital and so wouldn’t be able to use her phone. No news being good news and she knew I was on en route anyway.

Ava was practically abandoned in the hospital car park, not that this is how it would be described by anyone other than a professional. Ordinarily, I am quite pedantic in ensuring that I park with precision within the parking lines. Not today. Today it was parked at an angle but still within the box. After all her hard work, Ava deserved better.

I ran quickly through the rain towards the main entrance and so away from the source of our mutual embarrassment.

The receptionist was fantastic and gave me sympathetic directions to the High Dependency Unit. I am absolutely convinced that there must be a special place in Heaven for these people, all those staff that work in hospitals and medical centres all over the globe. All, each and every single one that I have ever met, demonstrating nothing but care and compassion in the most thankless of circumstances and only in the most trying and stressful conditions.

Saints
–every single one of them.

It was hardly surprising that the first face I saw when walking through the doors into the ward was that of my mum. She was sat like an errant schoolgirl waiting at the Headmaster’s office with her knees tight together with her fingers entwined and nestled on her lap. Her gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

She looked old and frail and I hated it.

Normally she is always so beautiful and radiant with a ready smile for any occasion. I took a moment to compose myself as it was obvious that she needed her son to be a man now. She needed me to tell her it would be okay. To tell her all the usual things that people say in these situations. Things like
“Dad’s a fighter, he can beat this.”
Also,
“It’s only a heart attack. It’ll take more than just a heart attack to keep Dad down, you wait and see.”
Mixed up with a
“Good old Dad, he’ll be back in his usual chair hogging the remote and watching the football in no time.”
Those nonsense things that mean so much and said to comfort and elicit a smile.

I could tell them to Mum but who was going to tell them to me?

Taking stock and with a final deep breath, I strode purposefully forward, stood tall and strong, and said softly, “Hi Mum, so what’s the news?”

She looked up and her sad eyes hid behind a brave face that was anything but convincing.
“Oh son, it’s so good to see you.”
I knew she meant it and when she stood, I gave her the hug that only sons can give their mothers.
“He’s fine.”
She whispered this into my ear as I stood rigid to lift her clean off her feet. She needed to know that I was strong for her, in every way.

“So where is he? What happened?” I asked in concern but my relief was palpable.

“He is resting. It was a minor heart attack and he has to make some lifestyle changes but, at our age son, that is to be expected. The usual things, cut back on dairy and red meat, more veg, more exercise, that sort of thing.” We were sat together now but holding each others hands and so sitting more sideways in the chairs. It was deeply uncomfortable and I could feel my legs getting numb but it really didn’t matter. Mum seemed to be happy enough and that was the main thing. My discomfort could be tolerated.

“Oh, and it was so nice of your friend to come. She has gone to get me a coffee. She really has been a great support, very attentive and kept me going. Nothing has been too much trouble. She really is quite lovely.” Mum was looking at me with an unmistakable glint in her eye. I had seen this glint before. It’s usually reserved only for those occasions when she has found me a suitable girlfriend. Most often, it is only Mum that has seen this “suitability”.

This
was definitely
that
glint.

“What friend?” I was afraid to say her name but I dared to hope…

Mum didn’t get the chance to respond. She looked over my shoulder and I turned and stood as I followed her gaze. On reaching my full height, the blood rushed back into my legs and left me light headed, the stars in my eyes were almost blinding me and I felt that I would pass out. Penny, knowing nothing of my predicament, had run and jumped up on me, squeezing me tight with a strength that surprised me. She was sobbing softly as she buried her head into my neck.

Almost inaudibly she whispered “I am so sorry Z,
so…very…sorry
.”

I could not understand what she was sorry about but knew better than to ask. I was just delighted she was here and it felt so great to have her in my arms, whatever the circumstances. It was a deeply disturbing feeling, that gave rise to no end of guilt, when I realised that th
is moment–this exact moment–was, in itself, entirely worth the effort to be here.
How terrible a son am I?
Yet I simply didn’t care, I just wanted to hold her and never let her go.

It was Penny who broke the embrace and tried to compose herself. She had placed the coffees on a trolley that had been left nearby in order to free up her hands when she saw me. She passed one to Mum and gave me the other.

“It’s okay, I can go and get myself one. Where is the machine?” I said, looking along the corridor from where she had come.

“Please, don’t be silly. You have this one and I shall go get another. It’s more important that you stay here with your mum. She can bring you up to speed with everything and I shall be back in a jiffy.” She was most insistent and it was obvious, even to me, that she wanted to “freshen up” and so not look like she had been crying. I took the coffee and sat back next to my mum.

“You kept her very quiet son.” My mum said as soon as Penny was out of earshot.

Her mischievous glint was back.

“There really is nothing to tell.” There really wasn’t. “She owns the Auchtershinnan Estate and we became friends after my stay there. That’s about it. Nothing else to say.”
What else could I say?

“It doesn’t seem to me that she feels the same way son. Believe me.”

I was quite happy to allow my mother this moment. Usually I gave her short shrift and never had an issue in reminding her to mind her business. However, this wasn’t the time nor the place to be causing her any more upset. Besides, I was quite enjoying the fantasy of what could be with Penny.

“Mum, she has both title and privilege. She is aristocracy personified so why would she ever be interested in me? She is destined for a Lord or, more likely, a dark and mysterious foreign Prince with a life in a castle and all that entails. I am a mere truck driver to her.” I could not hide nor otherwise mask the sorrow that my own words generated from within me. Verbalising what I now knew to be my true understanding of our respective positions within our “relationship” was causing me more anguish than that of my dad recovering from his heart attack. At least I knew he was going to be fine, safe and secure in the knowledge that he had a wife and son who love him and who were waiting right here for him.