Looking Down from My Aerie

By Anthony J. Beck

A variety of frank, compelling stories depicting love, sadness, sex, hope, violence, and humor, there is no corner cutting within these pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477230886

Anthony J. Beck

I have always been interested in people; why they do the things they do, what motivates them and so on. I look at the way they behave and listen to their words to see if they match their actions. I simply observe. It's all there, one simply writes it down. I have lived quite few years now, and I've probably made every mistake an average man can make. Because I've made mistakes I can see others making the same or similar errors. I don't interfere, it's not my place to, but I do try, sometimes, to hint at a better way. You never know. I say this. It is ok to make mistakes when you're 20. Just don't be making them when you're 50. I am happily married to Diana. I live a a quiet village in Warwickshire. I am retired from the Civil Service. I play the Blues guitar (Electric) and I still enjoy singing. I own 5 really nice guitars. My favourite guitarists are Eric Clapton. Gary Moore and early Peter Green. I enjoy reading and listening to Radio 4. Anything else about me I'd rather keep to myself in case anybody is looking.

Book preview

24 Hours from Tunbridge

He pulled at his collar in an attempt to get more protection, but it was a waste of time, the wind wasn’t having any of it. He should have worn a hat; that would have helped. He didn’t own a hat though. Maybe he should buy one; perhaps later. British Seaside towns in mid winter had little to endear them to anyone; that’s what he thought anyhow.

He knew his father had liked it here though; otherwise he wouldn’t have made the move would he? He had declared a new life was needed after mom had died, but Lowestoft…

And now, he too was dead. It should have been old age that took him. And if it had been that, he wouldn’t be here now. But it wasn’t. Some drunken dickhead had taken him out with hardly a bleary care. So here he was; Coroners court and all that goes with it.

Cold rain began to mingle with the sharp wind to sting his face with an unwanted nastiness; he didn’t like being here, that was for sure. He quickened his step to seek shelter in a nearby open-fronted windbreak. The—good idea—morning constitutional was rapidly losing its charm.

The relief was instant. It was amazing how much more comfortable he felt as soon as he stepped inside.

The rain became heavier, forcing a second person to seek refuge. A woman, head down, ran in. She gripped defensibly at her coat collar with one hand and her hat with the other.

Whooow, she exclaimed. That came on pretty quick. She looked at him and smiled tentatively. We must be daft. She turned away to look out at the grey, white tipped, choppy waves. She had done her duty and had been polite.

Daft, or nothing better to do. Tom kept his voice neutral. He could see she was pretty even though she was well wrapped up; she looked just a bit younger than him… fortyish. He turned, as she had done, to gaze out at the sea, his interest in any further speculation fading.

You must be a visitor? Her voice was light and melodic.

Tom turned to face her again. I am actually. How can you tell?

Ah, she said and smiled. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, it’s just that I walk here often and I’ve never seen you before.

Tom nodded. She was nice, and oddly… it bothered him.

I suppose from that then it would be elementary for me to assume you live here. You have the hat and the waterproof coat and you know that I’m a stranger, so I know I must be right.

You truly are the great detective then, because of course you’re correct.

You’re not a doctor by any chance are you?

Watson perhaps?

Of course.

Alas not.

Ah. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. Talking to strangers was meant to be brief, and to women who were strangers—even in these liberated times—was something a person steered away from; unless you were out networking of course. He decided to press on despite the possibility of an unwanted entanglement with some local female nutter.

Do you often open amusing conversations with visiting men? Tom kept a lightness to his tone. She was, after all, he reflected, a good-looking woman.

Do you know, the woman said. This is the first time I’ve ever done it. She stepped one pace closer. It begs the question doesn’t it?

More than one I would suggest.

The woman offered her hand. My name is Sally…

Tom.

Hello Tom.

Can I ask…

Because I thought you look nice… appear to be a nice person and I… She paused. This is stupid isn’t it? I’m stupid. You could be anybody: a murderer, a swine, a bully, a…

I’m none of those things, Tom assured her. I’m quite a decent chap… well I believe I am anyway. He gave her a crooked smile. It still leaves the question hanging though doesn’t it?

I can’t deny that. She turned away again and looked back at the broiling Sea.

If you were to come across an Alien, you know, someone from another world, a creature, even if it looked like nothing you could imagine, and you had the choice to ask it one question… what would you ask?

Is this important? Tom scrutinised her as she continued to gaze into the distance. Does anything hang on this?

She turned back. How astute of you; but then, and I don’t know why, I knew you were different. The look on her face was serious… intense. And yes, it’s important to me.

Ok. And strangely enough I don’t have to think about it because it’s something I have considered myself. I would ask the… Alien… if the race it belonged to had music?

Why are you here? she asked; a non sequitur. Sorry. Why are you visiting? You’re surely not on holiday, not this time of year. Her questions seemed to have moved off on a tangent; as if she had forgotten her previous enquiry.

Tom went along with it. I needed to come here because my father died recently; he was killed in a road incident. I’m his only living relative, so I have to make arrangements; settle some legal business.

How sad, she commented briefly. Are you alone?

I am married, but I am here alone. Tom felt he needed to respond this way.

I too am married. She said this as if to clarify the same point.

Most people would have asked where they came from. She was back on track now. A lot would ask about God. She shook her head. Music, music is brilliant. She pulled her coat more tightly around herself. Will you be here tomorrow?

Same time, same place, that kind of thing?

Yes, that kind of thing.

Do you want me to be?

Leading question. Gives you the edge no matter how I answer.

He nodded. No edge needed. I will be here tomorrow even if I don’t know why.

I will too, and I don’t know why either. With that she turned and walked into the rain. She strode off with a purpose in her step.

Tom visited the Coroner’s office during the afternoon to discuss the release of his father’s body. The man he spoke to was a bit of a pedant, but Tom supposed he had a job to do.

After a considerable amount of paper pushing and some procrastination, a date was finally reached; he could go ahead now and arrange the funeral.

He went back to his father’s house—his house now he supposed—and made himself an evening meal from purchases he’d made at a local supermarket. It was a simple repast. He could have produced something classier but he couldn’t find the incentive.

At seven o’clock he called Jackie. She would be home from work by now; unless of course there had been a crisis. She and her brother ran a Building supply and Kitchen installation business—something they had inherited from their father. They always seemed, he thought, to have an inordinate amount of problems to contend with.

She answered on the seventh ring and sounded breathless.

I’ve just got in. You can’t believe the day I’ve had.

How are you love?

Gerry has been a pain all day. I have to tell you Tom; I’m beginning to wonder about his ability to be in charge of anything. He’s got teams turning up without kitchens and kitchens arriving without fitters or the customer having any prior installation notice.

Perhaps you need to speak to him; he is your brother.

Yes well. You know what he’s like when he’s challenged.

Tom made no comment. He knew none was needed.

Back soon then? She slipped the question in almost as an afterthought.

Not sure love; perhaps one more day. I’m making progress but I’ve got some more people to see; you know how things are.

It’s probably just as well, to be honest, we’re so busy here, and you wouldn’t see much of me anyway. I’ve got to go out tonight to give quotes, we’ve got work coming out of our ears and god knows how when you think how shambolic we are.

If I do get the funeral arranged sometime soon, you will be able to get some time off won’t you?

Of course I will… if I can. Yes, yes I will… definitely. You can’t go to your dad’s funeral on your own can you… ?

Dad might have some friends here, bound to have. Some of them are sure to want to attend. I’ll have to speak to his neighbours.

That’s nice love. Look, I’ve got to dash, I’m going out in ten. Miss you, see you soon, bye…

The phone clicked off and then buzzed in that lonely way they can.

He retired early and read for a time. After a while he had trouble concentrating and put the book down. He thought about his father. He was going to miss him; did miss him. He’d always been a great dad, always considerate and ever understanding. Mother had been alright too; but not like dad. Tom had missed having him around after he had moved away; he found it difficult to understand why he had uprooted and moved to this… this place.

So, both parents were gone now. He was alone. No, that wasn’t actually true, he had Jackie, but he still felt somehow adrift. He closed his eyes to sleep and couldn’t help but feel that he was perhaps… just a little lonely. Maybe it’s just the circumstances, he thought. He finally drifted into slumber.

Tom ate toast and drank coffee. He had slept in, but it didn’t matter; he wasn’t in a hurry.

He had arranged compassionate leave from work. They understood he had things to do. Take your time, his boss had told him. Don’t rush back, we’ll manage.

Tom wasn’t sure that his ‘Firm’ managing without him was such a good thing. Nobody is indispensable, he knew this. It was just the idea that you weren’t missed that was disconcerting.

Money wasn’t a problem though. He was comfortable, and with dad’s money… no sweat.

It was raining hard again this morning; another cold and dirty day. He drove into town, and after a few abortive attempts, purchased a hat that he thought suited him. It was a green waxed countryman styled cap that would keep out the wet.

At eleven o’clock, after a moment or two of niggling doubt he parked up as near as he could to the shelter; near to the same spot he had used the day before.

Here goes, he said to himself, and then hurried along the promenade towards his… assignation; she was already there.

You came.

Yes, he replied simply. He saw she was dress against the weather just as she was yesterday.

Why didn’t you say about love? Why not ask it if they loved each other?

Tom loved the way she had just leapt in with the question, as if nothing had intervened since yesterday. "Because… if I was talking to an Alien it would be the same as talking to… let’s say… a remote tribesman from South America. I wouldn’t know his language, his life style or his reasons for doing things. It could be easy to confuse love with protection, with ownership or defence. Music though. That speaks of some aesthetic understanding. We, the human race, love music, its part of our psyche. It doesn’t stop us being cruel or unkind and it doesn’t make us good people, but I think it shows that we have the capacity to understand these things, and with understanding there is hope.

Do you play?

The piano. Not brilliantly you understand, but some. You?

I paint. I love painting; Watercolours. She smiled I like your cap, it suits you.

Thanks… look… we’re fencing again. Is there a point? I feel as if you’re testing me or something. I don’t mind, but… you know.

She, Sally, looked thoughtful. If I ask you to come and have a coffee with me will you agree? She looked into his eyes; there was a tension in her posture.

Yes… yes I will.

We will go in my car, she said immediately. I will bring you back later. She held out her hand. It was a good hand; slender and well manicured.

He took it. He knew, even as he did, that he shouldn’t. It was wrong for more than one reason, not the done thing. He could feel her skin; it was cool, slightly damp and wonderful.

They walked, still holding hands, to her car. A small two-door thing; it was parked very close to his own. He felt conspicuous and just a little concerned for her. Nobody would know him of course, but her… she was local, that made it different. People could; might talk.

They drove in silence. She took them out of town for about fifteen minutes before turning into a single track road that led up to a large well established property that was surrounded by trees and shrubbery. It wasn’t where he expected to be brought. He had thought a café.

Nice place, he told her. They were the first words spoken since they had set out.

Yes, I suppose it is. She took a large bunch of keys from the glove compartment. Come on, she told him. Follow me. She opened a stout looking wooden door and led him into a spacious hallway, pausing to disable an alarm system by quickly entering a number code into a neat keypad.

We’ll go through to the kitchen, she said over her shoulder and strode briskly across the parquet flooring to disappear through a doorway off to her left.

Tom shrugged and followed her. Fingertips, and just hanging on, he thought, would be a good way of describing his understanding of the unfurling events.

How do you like it? She asked him as he entered the room.

What… Pardon?

Your coffee, how do you like it? She filled the kettle with a flourish and switched it on.

Milk and one please. He looked around and took in the well-appointed and spacious area. There was enough space for a six seater table to be positioned comfortably; an archway led into a huge glass sun lounge.

Who else lives here with you? He asked cautiously. We’re not going to… upset anyone I hope?

Nobody. She spooned coffee granules into two china mugs. This is not my house, it belongs to some friends of mine, they’re away… in America actually. New York, she added superfluously.

No chance of them just turning up then?

None at all. They’ve only recently gone, and they’ll be away for a while. She smiled and nodded at him reassuringly. Sit down, take your coat off, I won’t be a minute.

She pulled her hat off and worked her way out of her own coat and stowed them unceremoniously on the worktop.

Tom did as he was told, and then sat down. He watched her as she continued with the minor productive chore and once again wondered what he was doing here.

His musings on the riddle faded as he appraised her. She was beautiful. He could see this more clearly now. Her uncovered hair was blonde and curly and appeared to be natural. She was wearing calf length boots that were obviously expensive. Her dress was a yellowish thing decorated with little flowers; it clung to her and accentuated her lithe looking frame. She certainly had something about her; a little bit of mystery, a promise perhaps; a promise of what though? And why was he looking for promise anyway? It was disconcerting.

She carried the drinks over and gave him his.

You’re edgy, I can tell, just relax and don’t worry, nobody is going to turn up… we’re here on our own. She sat down next to him. Her closeness suggested an intimacy she was comfortable with.

Now that she was close, Tom could smell her perfume. It was a light gentle fragrance that suited her. It went well with her slender fine boned hands and soft hair. It made him want to take hold of her; pull her to him and protect her.

Sally sipped at her coffee; she held it close to her mouth. Have you ever thought that you we’re in the wrong place, living the wrong kind of life with the wrong person, and wondered what you were going to do about it? Her eyes held him, demanding an answer.

I think we all do that sometimes.

"No I mean specifically. Have you ever felt like that?"

Tom considered her question. I think… he hesitated. I think that we don’t always have what we really want. I think that the person we’re with, whoever that is, can be the right person sometimes, and sometimes not. Perhaps we always want what we can’t get.

I know what I want, Sally said positively. And I know that I haven’t got it at the moment.

Tom looked at her and took in her attractiveness. He wondered what was going on in her mind, and he, once again, wondered why he was wondering.

"What do you want then? And do you know how to get it if you do know?"

Do you like me? She asked ignoring his question. Do you think I’m pretty?

You are pretty. I don’t think anyone would deny that.

She stood up and put her coffee on the table. Come with me, she said quietly and held out a hand to him. I want to show you something.

Tom stood and took her hand; again he liked the feel of it.

Sally led him out into the hallway and then up the wide stairway. They didn’t speak and they didn’t release their hold on each other either.

She led him into a bedroom. It was a large spacious area with two big windows overlooking the rear of the property. A double bed was positioned against the left hand wall; it had posts and a canopy with hanging net curtains that were tied back. She led him past the foot of the bed to a painting that sat on an easel by the far window.

What do you think? She asked him.

Tom inspected the painting. It was a medium sized water colour; an exquisite depiction of a rural scene. The artist, whoever that was, had an obvious talent. The detail was fine without being finicky; colour and texture and sunlight tumbled into each other in a way that made him want to really be there.

It’s good, very good, he said. I like it, it has… a liveliness… . a reality… it makes me want what it offers. He paused and turned to her. You did it didn’t you?

It’s a place not far from here, she told him. I go there sometimes when I feel… the need. I think… I almost believe that some places have souls, a life of their own; they have a presence. Some places can heal you. She touched his cheek; her fingers as gentle as a soft warm breeze. Some people are like that too.

She moved away from him and sat on the end of the bed; she began to take her boots off.

Tom watched the way she seemed to add elegance to a process that could have looked ungainly. She placed her ankle across her knee with supple grace, pulled down the zipper and eased her foot to freedom with the fluidity of an athlete. She repeated the move for the second boot and then placed them neatly to one side.

She stood up and quickly removed her dress. She folded it into a tidy bundle and placed the garment on the floor next to her boots. She looked at Tom and smiled. Just a few seconds, she told him, and then proceeded to unhook her bra. Then finally, with an unabashed flourish she pushed down her panties and stepped out of them; both bra and panties were placed upon her dress.

Tom was shocked. This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to people like him. Ordinarily women didn’t just strip naked without reason, and not under the gaze of someone they hardly knew. It was almost beyond his comprehension.

She stood naked before him, and the sight of her amazed him. She posed; her hands behind her back. She was relaxed, the heel of her left foot rested against her right instep in a balletic pose. She was stunning. Her breasts were high and firm, her waist was trim without an ounce of extra flesh to be seen. Golden pubic hair glistened in the light like a beacon positioned above her slender thighs and legs; Tom could hardly breathe.

What do you think? Her voice was flat without inflection; it gave nothing away.

I think you are… . amazing, absolutely stunning.

Good, was all she said.

She stepped forward to close the distance between them. Touch me Tom. I want you to touch me, to feel my body. I want to feel your hand on my skin. She closed her eyes.

What could he do? He touched her. He touched her face and hair before moving down to her breasts. He was surprised by the firmness of them, he had expected them to be soft; all breasts were soft weren’t they? He moved on, he squeezed her smooth buttocks and pinched at her lean waist, his thumbs pressing into her flat belly; he became aware of his growing erection. Bloody hell! He thought, what’s going on, what am I…

I want you, she said; interrupting his thoughts. I need you to make love to me… will you? Will you Tom… please?

He pulled her in against him and pressed her firmly against his groin. Yes… yes, of course I will. He had no choice; couldn’t have said no even if he had thought to. His head was gone and physical desire had now taken over the reins of control.

Sally broke free from his grip and went back to the bed; Tom followed her, disrobing as he did so.

She sat on the end of the bed and waited while he finished undressing. Her legs were pressed primly together and her hands rested on the duvet at her sides. She had a solemn look on her face, nothing coy or provocative, only intent observation.

As soon as he removed his briefs she rolled swiftly to the centre of the bed to make room for him. She smiled brightly and then became serious again. Take me Tom, please. Do with me as you will… it is what I want. She closed her eyes and held out a beckoning hand.

They made love for hours. Tom was overwhelmed by the pleasure of her. She whimpered and cried with secret and unmentioned emotion. She called out with unashamed enjoyment. She whispered endearments and words of encouragement. She kissed, sucked and lunged at him with barely controlled passion, demanding from him everything he could give and then some.

It had been all he could do, during the event, to control the way things went. He knew that he could have easily ejaculated twice in quick time and be done with her. He would have been sated but she wouldn’t. He sensed this, so he had paced himself, hung back to let Sally have her time, let her wrestle with whatever tormenting thoughts troubled her. It was though, the most satisfying and enjoyable sex he had ever had.

After, they rested and he held her close as she nestled against his chest. She was quiet and warm, her arm around his body gripping him firmly.

Tom’s eyes were closed and he was teetering on the edge of sleep, his body demanding some time to recover.

I knew it would be like that. She said softly.

Mmmm, he said, brought back from the soft greyness he was drifting towards.

I knew the very first time I saw you. You couldn’t tell how I felt, I was aware of that, but I knew… and I was right; you would be the one.

The one? Tom was wide awake now.

I had doubted, she said, her lips moving against his chest, that it would ever happen. I have often despaired, and now, there is you. Her hand moved down to take hold of his limp penis; she squeezed it gently rubbing her thumb underneath the smooth knob end.

Tom couldn’t help but relish her ministrations. This woman seemed almost mystical, everything a man could possibly dream of having.

He thought about Jackie; that woman who was his good and loving wife. How long had it been since they had made love? And how long had it been since any of their love making had been anything more than an observance of their marital agreement? Months… years… a long time anyway. Still though, he did love her in a quiet way.

And here he was, now, with a woman he didn’t even know; and what did this Sally mean by the one?

When you say you’ve been waiting… what is it you actually mean? And me being the one; the one what?

Sally had him at full erection again; her hand had done its work. She moved up to kiss him on the lips; her tongue probed and lapped as her mouth sucked. She eased her lips from his and moved her body in one elegant movement to sit astride him, and then, reaching down to grip his cock, she guided him in and slid down to engulf him once again.

You don’t think, she said with quiet intention, that I’m going to let you go do you? Not now, not when I have found you. She contracted her vagina with good muscle control and gripped him like a third hand. We are going to be so happy me and you, she informed him, so very happy. And with that she began to move up and down with a slow sensuous rhythm; the firm grip though, remained the same.

Tom couldn’t telephone, he wouldn’t be able to say the words; of this he was sure. A text or email was out of the question; they were too impersonal.

He pulled the pad of blue writing paper close and began to compose the message he had to send.

Dearest . . . .darling, I have to write to say that I won’t be home anymore. Cos something happened, to me . . . .

Attack

"Brian! Surely you’re not going out this morning. I don’t believe it, today of all days, and it looks like it’s going to snow.

Brian Kington put his foot up onto a kitchen chair and began to tie his walking boots.

Come on Cathy, don’t give me a hard time love, I won’t be long I promise; just a couple of miles is all.

"Bloody hell Brian, its Christmas day, or have you forgotten?"

Nooo, I haven’t forgotten. We’ve got plenty of time. I’ll go out, do a short route and be back in no time. He glanced out of the back window at the glowering sky. If the weather turns, then I’ll come back sooner.

The woman picked up a large baking tin that contained an equally large Turkey and rammed it noisily into the oven; she swung the door shut with her foot, closing it with a bang. We’ve got Maggie and the kids coming, and my mother with that new… bloke of hers. You’d think she’d have given it up by now, she is a bloody great granny for god’s sake. She went to the sink and plunged her greasy hands into the bowl of sudsy water that was slowly going cold. It’s not as if I haven’t got enough to worry about, and now there’s you buggering off.

I’ve got my health to think about love, you know that. He tied the second boot.

I know, I know, Cathy said, failing to keep the tetchiness out of her voice. But one day won’t bloody kill you. She withdrew her hands from the bowl and dried them on her pinafore.

Brian Kingston’s face darkened. You don’t know that. And anyway it didn’t happen to you, did it? You’re not the one who wakes up in the middle of the night wondering when it’s going to stop again.

He went into the utility room and got his Barbour coat. He didn’t want an argument but he didn’t want another heart attack either. Exercise and weight loss the doc had said; well he was bloody well sticking to it. A five-mile walk every morning and evening had become his habit and he was sticking to that too, no matter the weather. Add that to a three stone trim down and he would live forever. He hauled the coat on and went back to his wife.

Come on love, don’t be cross. He draped his arm across her ample shoulders. It’s better that we run a little late today than have me dead for a long time.

She brushed tears from her eyes with back of her hand.

We both have to live with it Brian. It gets to me as well you know.

He hugged her and kissed the side of her head. Look… I’ll be half an hour no more, I promise. I’ll stride out really hard, ok?

Alright I suppose. Cathy knew in her heart that his going out wasn’t that much of a problem really. The real thing was, this was the first time that Maggie was coming to visit since her and Tony had split up. She knew the kids were upset; they were bound to be missing their dad weren’t they? Bloody hell! What a time to decide on a divorce, one week before Christmas.

And then there was her mother. What did she still want to be messing with men for at her age? He was such a greasy git as well; really smarmy.

She patted Brian on the rump. Don’t be long love… please.

Callum O’Donnell was late. He was in fact, very late. Too many drinks and too much of… ? He couldn’t even recall her name. How stupid could a man be? Married three months and he’s already giving it to somebody else. Christ! Squaring this with Shirley was not going to be easy. She had been really upset when he’d called her this morning, crying so hard she could hardly speak. She had even contacted the police, thought he was dead.

The woman; the mistake, had been in the shower while he had grovelled out his apology on the mobile.

As soon as the woman had dressed, he’d gotten rid of her with un-gentlemanly haste, but not without a little regret. She’d certainly been a goer; he could remember that much. She had left Shirley in the novice stakes as far as shagging was concerned.

It was too late for regret though;