A Momentary Indiscretion (A Carmington Novel)

By Robert William Saul Harvey

Eighty-two-year-old Bernard and his eighty-five-year-old wife, Sharon, are on the last day of their week-long holiday in the small seaside resort of Carmington-on-Sea. A hired trailer van on a holiday park is not the most glamorous way to spend ones sixtieth wedding anniversary. Still, needs must.

After a pleasant day spent first, on the pier, then on the promenade, Bernard and Sharon make their way back to the holiday park only for Bernard’s bladder to decide it’s had enough, resulting in a desperate dash to the toilet block.

After an annoying encounter in the toilet, Bernard’s life spirals out of control...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert William Saul Harvey
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463696019

Robert William Saul Harvey

Robert was born in 1949 in the small Scottish hamlet of Douglas West, Douglas in Lanarkshire, but moved to England when his father, a miner, had to move south for a job.Having left school at the age of fifteen, without any qualifications whatsoever, he started work in a small engineering firm. He soon got fed up coming home covered in dirty grease and having a spotty face so, after six months, decided that engineering was not for him. With nothing to lose, he ran away to sea, so to speak. He joined the Merchant Navy and happily spent three and a half years travelling the world and getting paid for it!Meeting his future wife at the age of nineteen convinced Robert to leave the sea and settle down. There were not many jobs around for a nineteen-year-old and he ended up doing bar/cellar work until deciding to get married at the age of twenty. That was when he joined the Royal Air Force, in which he spent nine years as a Clerk Secretarial, attaining the rank of Corporal before leaving in 1979.After applying for various jobs, Robert finally got one with the National Coal Board in a colliery Stores Department. Ok, this would do him for a while, whilst he looked around for something better. Thirty years later, as a Supply and Contracts Manager, he retired from the Coal Industry at the age of fifty-nine and now has an allotment where he plays at growing vegetables (very nice they are too), and spends his spare time dabbling on his laptop; bliss.Now, with seven books on Smashwords, an eighth under construction, and number nine in the pipeline, who knows where it will stop?Second in the series, Beryl's Pup is now also available.

Book preview

Chapter 1

‘Hawww!’ The girl stamped her foot on recently mowed grass. ‘I’m bored stiff,’ she thought as she folded her arms and made a huff. ‘Huh. ‘Snot fair!’

Nothing is never fair when you are only eleven years old.

Such a nice warm sunny day, hardly a cloud in the sky, and she is stuck on this stupid holiday park with her boring parents and her even more boring little sister.

No wonder her whole world is not fair!

‘There’s sod all to do in this shit-hole. It’s a right dead-end. Full of boring old farts. Ain’t even got a play park for us kids and we can’t get down to the beach without mom and dad. All they want to do is sit around the trailer all day, boozing and watching TV.’ Another huff, complete with pouting mouth and gritted teeth. ‘Wish we hadn’t come here now. Wish we’d just stayed at home. At least then, I’d be able to go and meet up with my friends, go out instead of having to spend all my so-called holiday looking after my stupid, pain-in-the-ass little sister.’

She glared at her smaller sister and sent a barrage of red hot daggers flying towards the back of her head. She needed to vent her anger and frustration on someone for spoiling her holiday and the younger girl was the one in the firing line so made for an easy target.

But, hey, that’s what little sisters are for.

No. You can sod off, said the older girl to her sister’s back. I don’t want to go to the bloody shop with you. It’s only a short way down the hill. You can see it from here. Look. She nodded and pointed a finger at a small wooden building at the bottom of a short hill. You’re big enough and ugly enough to go by yourself. ‘Bout time you learned how to do grown-up things on your own.

Think: All superior and bossy.

‘Silly little cow. Grrr.’

A deep intake of breath, followed by a grudging explanation, of sorts.

Look—all you’ve got to do is tell the woman what you want, then give her the money. She’ll give you change and you come back up here to the trailer. That’s all there is to it. I’ll stand here and watch you every step of the way.

‘Easy. You stupid nitwit.’

The younger girl let out a low, whining groan. But… sniffed and groaned

All right. Go on then, urged the older girl still with her arms folded and a threatening expression on her face. Get a bloody move on.

She’d had enough by now.

She did not see why she should have to hold her younger sister’s hand all the time. At seven years old, she is no longer a baby, even though she acted like one.

Promise? asked the younger girl, who turned her head and made baleful eyes at her sister. You'll Stand here, all the time?

Yeah. Promise, came the grudging reply.

The big sister stamped her foot again and bugged her eyes as she jutted her chin forward and nodded at the wooden building again.

Go on then, she urged with more than a touch of anger in her voice. Shoo!

But her younger sister hesitated, just a tad too long.

This incurred further sarcastic encouragement from her elder sister.

Aw. Come on. Don’t be such a little baby, you wet fart. Grow up. She closed her eyes and imagined shoving her little sister in the back after pointing her towards the target. No good. The little twat would probably fall over and skin her hands and knees on the rough tarmac.

Time for a sympathetic sigh and a softer tone. No one’s gonna hurt you, you daft ninny. It’s only a little way down the hill. I can see the Reception place from here, so can you.

What more did she need to say?

Her sister made unsure, so she added further instructions, See that door, the one with the… she added. Yeah. That one. That’s it.

‘Thicko.’

Go in there. No. No need to knock. Just turn the handle and go in. It’s just like any other shop.

‘Now. Sod off, will you?’

The younger girl made hesitant as she turned towards her goal.

The older girl continued to egg her on.

Yeah. It’s okay. I’m watching. I won’t move an inch from here. I promised, didn’t I? I’ll wait right here until you come back. You could have been there and back by now. Go!

The younger girl inhaled, as if to steel herself for the journey ahead, before she dawdled down the hill.

‘Huh?’

Sisters. Who’d have them? And why did she have to be lumbered with this one?

A booming voice from within the depths of the static trailer behind made her cringe.

‘Oh bugger. Not her.’

No. It’s okay, Mom, she called to the empty doorway. I can see her. Yeah, I’m watching her.

‘Yeah, yeah. Nag nag.’

Why do parents not listen to what they are told?

I said, Okay! she shouted.

Watching her sister as she walked down the short, none too steep hill did not hold her interest for long, and her attention soon diverted from the task in hand when a shadow flew overhead.

‘Wow! That’s a bloody big seagull. Wonder if they feed them on burgers and fries round here. Fat bugger. It’s a wonder it can take-off with a belly that size.’

And,

Her mind drifted back to the time she had been brave enough to hold a seagull in her hands for a dare. The seagull had been heavy, and very dead because, after being hit by a one and a half ton automobile, a seagull tended to die.

Uh-huh.

A thump from a speeding car made it very dead indeed.

The seagull’s head lolled over to one side, as did its wings and feet, when she raised it aloft to enable the two children with her to get a look at it. All dead and floppy.

She squealed at the sudden movement and dropped the thing on the ground. Danced backwards in case it should bounce and hit her legs.

The other children also squealed before dashing to the other side of the road amid frightened giggles.

A dog watched with interest from a safe distance.

Upon seeing the girl drop the seagull, the dog raced forward, grabbed the dead bird in its jaws, and ran off, disappearing into a nearby patch of undergrowth, no doubt feeling happy with itself for saving the children from being attacked by the dead seagull.

End of daydream.

A sharp query from within the holiday home behind the girl jolted her back to the present.

It’s all right! she called. I said, she’s fine, Mom. I don’t have to go down with her.

‘Oh boy!’

I told you, she’s okay. I can see her okay from up here.

‘Och! Mothers!’

Yes Mom. I’m watching. Yeah. I can still see her.

‘Grrr.’

A high-pitched warble distracted the girl and her attention turned to the cheap cell phone she held tight in her right hand.

Okay.

So.

One of these new-fangled smartphones it was not. Only an old model of phone one of her school friends had loaned her prior to coming away on holiday. Her parents were too mean to buy her a phone, but pity any poor thief who might be stupid enough to prise it from her fingers.

‘Oh goody. A text from Milly. Wonder what she’s getting up to while I’m stuck in this bloody dump…’

Chapter 2

‘I suppose this is as good as it gets,’ thought eighty-two-year-old Bernard Irving as he savored the feel of a warm breeze coming in from the North Sea.

As far as he was concerned, days like this made living worthwhile. It felt so good, the sun on his face, the gentle sound of waves breaking on the beach and the cheerful sounds of people enjoying themselves.

He almost wished the moment could last forever. Being so contented, relaxed, and satisfied with his lot just then, he could think of nothing better, other than perhaps humping the ass off some delicious young blonde woman on a white sandy beach on a secluded Caribbean island.

Uh-huh.

Such a thing would be a very acceptable alternative. He would sit on the deck of an enormous cruise ship with said blonde by his side and an extra large gin and tonic on ice complete with a slice of lemon.

However,

Bernard, a realist, knew he could never afford such luxuries, not on his pittance of a pension. He had resigned himself to being lumbered with his lot long ago.

So,

This was probably as good as it would get.

Just then, the world made good, and Bernard intended to make the most of it. Tomorrow, he and his wife, Sharon, would head home to their pokey little one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Birmingham.

Boo!

The weather, up to this point, had been lousy. It had rained for most of the preceding week, keeping them cooped up inside their rented mobile home. Almost as bad as being at home. At each other’s throat, snapping and snarling.

He was determined to enjoy this rare opportunity to relax and forget all his worries, leave them at home and pretend he was somewhere else—anywhere—it did not have to be here.

He could be, literally—anywhere on the planet.

He did not have to be sitting on an old wooden bench on the Carmington-on-Sea promenade with his grossly overweight wife by his side.

‘Oh. Shit!’

His bubble burst at the thought of his wife.

Why did the beastly Sharon have to poke her podgy enormous nose into his daydream?

Now she had broken into his train of thought, spoiled his moment of bliss.

Bugger.

Typical of her!

In her younger days, the delightful Sharon had been slim and beautiful, so irresistible.

But, now.

‘Yuk.’

He glanced at her without turning his head.

Definitely, resistible.

So resistible, in fact, sometimes, he wished she was out of his life. If she were gone, he would not miss her. Not one iota. He would manage on his own. No problem.

Anyone can microwave a supermarket ready-meal.

True.

A laundry service, close to where they lived, would take care of his clothes. And he considered himself to be more than capable of pushing a vacuum cleaner over the carpets once a week.

Also true.

What more could a man of his age want?

There you go then. No need for a wife.

Sorted.

As far as Bernard was concerned, the not-so-beautiful Sharon could leave any time she wanted to.

Now he and his wife were sleeping in separate beds, Bernard did not have to put up with her fat ass hogging the duvet. Also, she can fart from dusk to dawn, to her heart’s content, and he no longer wakes up in the mornings with her skid-marks on his legs. This made for a better night’s sleep and he could dream his dreams in peace.

For the moment, however, until the day of her leaving arrived, he would bide his time, take life as it comes.

Maybe, one day Sharon might stand at the top of a flight of stairs, and there was no one else around, a gentle nudge would be all it would take to sort her out, make life just that bit better—for him. He could do without her incessant nagging: did not see why his slobbing out in front of the TV in his underpants should upset her so much, she had seen him wearing them often enough. Not his fault he had smelly feet. Why should he have to put his old socks in a plastic carrier bag instead of dropping them straight into the laundry basket? Why should he have to leave his slippers outside the bedroom door after first spraying them with deodorizer?

Think: List and endless.

Heaving a contented sigh, Bernard relaxed his posture and eventually blanked further thoughts of the obnoxious Sharon out and allowed his mind to turn once more to pleasanter things.

He opened his eyes, let them drift over the hundreds of people taking advantage of the current spell of pleasant weather, enjoying themselves on the wide sandy beach below the promenade.

Soon, the tide will turn and the cold salty water of the North Sea will come rushing into the shallow bay and wash away all the carefully built little sandcastles and the not so perfect figures of weird and wonderful creatures, which looked nothing like they were supposed to be, and force the sunbathing lobsters with their sunburned skin to crowd in closer together and gradually herd them back towards the promenade.

Well before sunset, the sea will lap against the concrete barricade preventing the town from being flooded.

An old fishing village had swelled into the small seaside resort of Carmington-on-Sea in less than ten years. It had flooded at least twice in living memory and the Town Council, clever money-grabbing tits, had decided a raised concrete promenade would serve a double purpose—prevent flooding and attract holidaymakers.

If only he were younger and fitter, Bernard would have been down there on the beach, among the rest of the sunburned lobsters, with his shirt off, sporting a skimpy pair of swimming shorts, and she, the once lovely Sharon, in her one-piece light blue bathing suit.

Nice.

But,

Alas, his eighty-two-year-old body had gone to seed long ago. Nowadays, he carried somewhere near two hundred pounds of fat and gristle—way too much for his five feet six inch frame.

‘Ah well. Not to worry.’ he sighed.

Even short, tubby men were entitled to dream.

Inhaling through his nose, he tilted his head to the right and peered up at the sky, using his right hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun.

The bright light made him squint, he cursed the folly of forgetting to bring his sunglasses with him.

‘Idiot.’

He made a mental note to get him a pair of prescription varifocal photo-chromatic spectacles.

Picture: All Singing, All Dancing.

At least, such would save him having to carry around three separate sets of glasses; reading, seeing, and sun. Not to mention the resulting frustration of selecting the wrong pair at the wrong time.

A few lazy, fluffy snow-white clouds drifted across the pale blue background, like balls of cotton wool on a light breeze. Plenty of room for the sunlight to bathe his overweight body in its warm glow.

Even though sweat caused his white cotton shirt to stick to his skin, it did not mean he should go to the extent of removing his dark blue worsted blazer, or undo the matching blue tie with its neat Windsor knot. If he removed them, he would still have to carry the bloody things around all day. Much easier to keep them on.

A bit of perspiration hurt no one. Might smell a bit but, so what…?

Bernard made a face.

‘Nasty, noisy buggers.’

He hated the sound of squawking seagulls. Thought they were a sodding nuisance. Even worse were the ones flying overhead.

Amid much shouting and crying, the crazy birds wheeled around before swooping down on any of those stupid unsuspecting holidaymakers who lacked the sense to protect their burgers, sandwiches, and ice creams.

Gulls, the thieving buggers, were never slow to take advantage of such unguarded moments.

Attracted by the noise, he turned his head. Just in time to see a large gull swooping down towards a table outside a nearby cafe and whisk the remnants of an adolescent girl’s half-eaten burger out of her hands before she knew what had hit her.

The victorious bird flew away with its prize amid much squealing and flapping of wings.

The unfortunate victim sat and gawped in stunned amazement.

A man—the girl’s father perhaps—jumped up from his seat and waved his arms about as he futilely shouted for the Fucking bird to bring back the stolen burger.

All to no avail.

Anyway, what self-respecting seagull would be stupid enough to take pity on a mere human being?

The girls screamed. She wanted her burger back.

The man stood shaking his fist like a right Wally and fumed as the seagull alighted atop one of the many lampposts and happily devoured its ill-gotten gains.

Bernard smiled to himself.

‘Stupid gits.’

He quickly lost interest in the girl’s dilemma and blanked out her screams and the noise of the birds.

Screaming children were worse than squawking seagulls.

Yes.

As Bernard saw it, he could have been anywhere in the world just then, Barbados, Singapore, Hawaii. Anywhere.

But,

Nah.

Another sigh and his face made disappointed.

He knew darn well; he was not somewhere else.

He was here in sodding Carmington-on-Sea. The center of the bloody universe—not…

Chapter 3

To the casual observer Bernard and Sharon appeared to be a normal, chilled-out couple as they took their time walking along the seafront hand-in-hand—a normal, happy, married couple enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

Right.

The perfect couple.

Cute.

Sharon always insisted they hold hands whenever they are out, to show everyone how much in love they were, even at their time of life.

Bernard obeyed because, although it always made him cringe when they held hands in public, it was nowhere near as bad as the alternative. Sharon’s displeasure was a sight to behold. She would follow episodes of snarling, snidey remarks with lengthy periods of stony silence.

Sweet delight she was not.

So.

He put up with it and held her hand, or rather, she held his hand.

After a slow walk down the hill from the holiday park, they had spent the morning browsing in a myriad of shops before making their way onto the sea-front promenade and, about noon, visited the grubby pub situated just inside the entrance to the pier. Here, Bernard had partaken in two pints of beer and a seafood salad whilst Sharon had