Second Chance

By Nicholas Day-Lewis

A leopard cannot change its spots, but can a man change his life? Ray Ferris' career is on the skids while his nymphomaniac wife Susan manages to escape from his alcoholism, his cruelty and his miserly nature. As Ray fights his addiction he has a fortuitous meeting with a young street busker. Other characters enter both his and Susan's lives, as well as a strange windfall of cash that affects each of them in different ways. They gather at the debut concert of a newly-formed orchestra where a shocking accident leads to an unexpected conclusion. This is a story of love and humiliation, of diminished responsibility and survival, of musical talent and the many possibilities of second chances.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669889380

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Mousewife

S usan sat at the table. She was dressed in a faded dressing gown and slippers, and she had not touched her hair since she’d arisen half-an-hour earlier. It hung down past her shoulders and covered much of her face. Once upon a time she had been proud of her hair, a rich lustre of dark curls, and it was apparent that she had once been quite beautiful, with wide set blue eyes, and a high forehead. But now the ravages of time and anxiety had taken away her allure. It was as if she no longer cared about her appearance, as if life no longer had any meaning for her.

The early morning sun shone in through the dining room window, picking out the dirty marks on the glass and the dust that covered the surfaces of the furniture. She had her back to the window and it was difficult to make out her features, but it was apparent that she was trembling. Every now and again she let out a deep sigh and shook her head. There came the sound of cursing from outside the room and she turned her head toward the sound. It was only then that her face could be seen. It was not a pretty sight; her right eye was puffed up and reddened and there was a graze on her cheek. She kept clenching her hands and pulling her dressing-gown more tightly around her shoulders.

Ray entered the room, slamming the door as he came in. He stood staring at Susan, an angry scowl on his face and a plaster covering a shaving cut on his chin. His short hair was still wet from the shower. He was only in his thirties, a few years older than his wife, but he already had the slightly debauched, ruddy look of a man that was lost to alcohol. He was dressed in office clothes and already appeared ready for the day’s work. He stood for a moment staring at the empty table before speaking.

Well. Where’s my breakfast then? There was no answer. Susan barely looked up, and Ray, seeing the damage to her face, became a little conciliatory. Sorry about last night. She remained silent. Dammit woman, you’re my wife. You must never refuse me.

You were drunk, she said at last, but her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her.

What’s that?

You were drunk, she repeated a little louder.

That’s my business. If I want to drink I’ll drink.

And you couldn’t get it up.

Crap.

That’s why you hit me.

That’s bullshit. You refused me.

I didn’t need to. You were too drunk to do more than wave it around.

I just wanted…

Yes, I know what you wanted, she interrupted. She was now beginning to show more life. Her voice rose. But you stank. You hadn’t showered. That’s why I refused to touch you.

Ray came to the table and sat down opposite Susan. He opened his mouth a couple of times as though he was going to say something, or perhaps even deny his impotence, but he remained silent.

I’ll get your breakfast, she said at last, and she rose stiffly from the table and went into the kitchen.

I only had a few drinks with the boys after work last night, he shouted at her retreating back. I wasn’t drunk. He sat with his head supported in his hands, staring out at the unkempt garden. And I wasn’t incapable, he muttered.

Ten minutes later Susan returned with a tray. She thumped down a plate with a couple of fried eggs in front of him, another with buttered toast and then a cup of coffee. She moved away and sat.

Is that why you were so early last night? she asked.

Early?

You said you were drinking with your mates. I thought you would have been out with your floosie. He looked at her with a surprised expression, but remained silent. There’s no need to look so guilty; I know all about your womanising. So does everyone else in the street.

OK then, but I’m not seeing her any more. She went back to her old lover.

Good for her. Mind you I’m not surprised. Did you beat her up as well?

Of course not.

So it’s only your wife that gets a hammering.

Oh! Do shut up you old cow. She bristled at his rudeness, but it was nothing new so she hid her thoughts behind a passive exterior. Eventually Ray looked down at his breakfast and picked up his knife and fork.

Why no bacon? he asked.

Can’t afford it, she replied.

Nonsense. I keep on giving you more and more housekeeping money.

You don’t. I’m always having to scrape and save.

I don’t believe you.

Have you any idea what things cost these days? If you want bacon tomorrow you’d better give me some cash now.

And where’s the marmalade.

You finished it yesterday.

I can’t eat toast without my marmalade. He sounded petulant.

Well, you’ll just have to. I can’t afford more of that either.

With an air of great reluctance Ray fished in his trouser pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a twenty dollar note and threw it down on the table.

I want the change, he said. Susan gave a small tense smile and gathered it up, but she remained seated. I’ll be back at six, he added, draining his cup of coffee. He gathered up his jacket and strode to the door, and without a backward glance or farewell greeting he left.

Soon Susan heard his feet scrunching on the gravel of the footpath, and the sound of the Ray’s car starting and pulling out from the garage. She quickly ran to the window to see the car disappearing round the corner of the road, and the moment the coast was clear she jumped into action. She placed the half-eaten breakfast onto the tray and took it into the kitchen. In a matter of minutes the dishes were washed up, dried and put away, and then she moved to the bedroom to make the bed. Finally she went to the bathroom for her shower.

As Susan washed the grime and memories of the previous night away she sang quietly to herself. She hummed an old song she remembered from her youth: ‘Three Coins in a Fountain’. She wondered what would be her wish if she had been in the movie. The events of her childhood and teen years were still vivid in her memory. Her mother, Elizabeth, was a so-called born-again Christian, a person to whom everything was ‘of the Lord’. It was never by, with or from the Lord, but always ‘of the Lord’. Susan was subjected to her mother’s religion at every turn, and forced to attend her mother’s church. She wasn’t sure if she hated the church as much as she hated her mother for dragging her along to it.

Her father died when Susan was thirteen, and just entering puberty. He had driven his car at speed into the buttress of an overhead bridge, and had been killed instantly. He was the only occupant of the car. At the inquest he was decreed to have died by misadventure, and Elizabeth received the full proceeds of his extravagant life insurance policy. However, many of those who knew Susan’s father, and indeed Susan herself, thought he’d been driven to suicide by his wife’s preaching, but were reticent to say so. Susan had loved her father dearly, and became even more hostile towards her mother.

At school Susan had one particular friend. Francine was a year older than Susan, and when Susan had turned fourteen and her friend fifteen, Francine announced that she now had a boy-friend who was sixteen.

Last night he let me touch it, she told Susan.

Touch what?

His dick, silly.

Oh! Susan had little idea what Francine was talking about. Her parents had told her nothing about boys, or about sex. She vaguely knew about periods, but because her mother had never told her what to expect it came as an unpleasant surprise when hers suddenly started at school one day. She had been totally unprepared and embarrassed. Her teacher had come to her rescue. Now she looked at Francine with wide eyes. What did it feel like? she asked her.

I made it grow, Francine answered, but I wouldn’t let him go the whole way. He didn’t have any condoms with him.

Six months later Francine announced that she had gone to her doctor who had prescribed contraceptive pills, and she was now sleeping with her boy-friend. In the meantime Susan had managed to acquire a sex manual and had been astonished to read the facts of life of which she’d previously been ignorant. She was able to have slightly more intelligent discussions with Francine regarding her intimate moments. And she learnt much about the physical feelings and emotional responses of her friend during her assignations. She would love to have been a fly on the wall. Francine’s descriptions of her coupling had aroused strange feelings in Susan’s body, a strange need, one which she couldn’t identify for what it was.

When Susan turned sixteen her mother had remarried. Barry was a member of Elizabeth’s church, though he never wore his religion on his sleeve. He was a handsome man, a few years younger than Elizabeth, and Susan took to him instantly. He treated her well and showed far more interest in her than her mother did. Barry was a good step-father to her. By this time Susan had, despite heated arguments with her mother, managed to get away from the church.

It’s not of the Lord, her mother had said. You will finish up in hell.

I’ll risk it, Susan had said.

You’ll have no friends. You ‘ll see.

You talk so much bullshit, Mum.

How dare you talk to me like that? But by then Susan had turned and walked out of hearing. She had become rebellious, and she seldom listened to her mother any more.

But she had listened carefully to everything Francine had told her, and now she was ready for a bit of titillation herself. She had to admit that she didn’t have any boy-friends. That was when she had started planning the seduction of her step-father. How cool it would be to get one over my mother, she had thought. She discussed her plans with Francine.

You’ve got a lovely body, said Francine. You should parade it in front of him.

What! Go naked, said Susan. I couldn’t do that.

No, silly. Not naked, not completely.

Susan had no real idea of how to go about her flirtation but, in a way, it was taken out of her hands. Barry walked into the bathroom one morning, not realising that Susan was there. She was not only there, but standing naked in front of the mirror, admiring the body that Francine had called lovely, not that Francine had ever actually seen it. She’d had to admit that yes, her body did already have lovely curves. She had a tight bum and belly, and her breasts were now firm and shapely. She had turned as Barry came in, presenting to him a provocative side view. She didn’t try and cover herself, but stood smiling at him, her arms by her side. He had stopped and stared at her, and his face had coloured. But he remained immobile for what seemed an age. He seemed unable to avert his eyes, eyes that were full of a strange hunger. Then he smiled.

I’m sorry, he eventually croaked. I didn’t realise ... And he quickly left and shut the door.

After that it was only a matter of time. Susan had asked Francine for the name of the doctor who had prescribed the contraceptive pills. She had visited the same doctor, had obtained a prescription and had purchased a supply. She continued to make eyes at Barry, and often, when her mother was absent, she had provoked him by walking past him with her dressing-gown undone, and wearing nothing underneath. She was convinced that she was only doing this to drag Barry’s affections away from her mother. As she slowly got her womanly hooks into him she began more and more to despise her mother for her weakness. She had no thoughts as to how it would turn out in the end. And she had no idea what it would be like to submit to a man.

As for Barry he was becoming increasingly lustful. Elizabeth hadn’t turned out to be the best of lovers. She claimed that she only complied with his needs because it was ‘of the lord’, not because of any pleasure either of them might receive. Every time Susan kindled further desire in his mind he weakened a little further. One night, after being rebuffed by Elizabeth one time too many, he crept out of bed and went to Susan’s room.

Are you awake?" he whispered.

Oh yes, she answered. I was hoping you would come.

Do you really want me?

Yes, I do, and Susan threw back her bedclothes to expose her naked body. Her curtains were open and there was enough moonlight for him to see her by.

He slipped off his pyjamas. Susan was amazed at the size of his penis, and a little terrified, but the die was cast.

"Are you still a virgin?’ asked Barry, his voice faint with emotion.

I am, yes, and I’m on the pill.

Aren’t you frightened it will hurt?

I am a bit scared, but I want to know what it feels like.

I’ll try and be careful, he’d said.

She remembered how she had reached out to touch his penis, and fondle it just the way Francine had described. Her boy-friend loved it, got really turned on, she’d told Susan. And she remembered that she’d spread her legs as Barry had looked down on her, and had mounted her. And yes, it had hurt a bit, as he’d predicted, but she’d had a wonderful overall pleasure from that first of many sexual encounters. She was hooked, and they were both aware of it. For months they came together whenever they could be alone, both at night and during the day. Then one Sunday morning Barry told Elizabeth that he wasn’t feeling well and that she should go to church on her own. The moment she was out of the house Barry rose from his sick-bed and went in search of Susan.

Come to my bed, he suggested. There’s more room there.

I’d love that, said Susan, thinking what a coup it would be, making love in her mother’s bed.

They were rutting shamelessly when Elizabeth had walked in the door. Barry hadn’t even aware of his wife entering the room. He was far gone and couldn’t stop himself as he climaxed. Only afterwards, as his body relaxed, had he become aware of Susan’s stiffened body. He looked up and saw Elizabeth standing there, an angry scowl on her face. Susan had realised that her mother would have witnessed everything, and had wondered what Elizabeth would have made of the scene. She was glad, and proud, of the fact that her mother would have watched her husband loving and coming to orgasm with another woman, her own daughter, whom she hated.

Susan always remembered her mother’s first words, and the fact that she had berated Susan and had never said a word against Barry, not at that stage anyway. You shameless little hussy, you slut, you whore, she’d shouted. You’re a disgrace. Those were just some of the epithets which her mother had yelled at her. She had also called her a nymphomaniac, a title she rather liked for she knew full well that a nympho was what she had become. I just knew there was something going on, so I never went to church. I just drove round the block a couple of times and came home, she added. And what do I find going on behind my back. A den of iniquity.

Oh no, said Susan. She gave her mother a withering look. Our fucking is ‘of the lord.’

Once she and Barry had extricated their limbs, and Barry had left the room in confusion, Elizabeth walked up to the bed, and slapped Susan across the face.

Such blasphemy. You will leave this house, and never return. Is that understood?’ she said. I never want to see you again." Then she walked out.

Susan hadn’t left the house immediately. She’d gone to her room seething with anger, her face smarting from the slap. She’d decided to lie low, and not emerge till the next morning when she could go back to school and talk to Francine. Her friend was fully aware of the affair Susan was having with her step-father. Indeed, Susan had often boasted about the way she had seduced him, and seduced him so thoroughly that he had lost interest in her mother. As she waited, holed up in her room, she’d heard muffled arguments all day from elsewhere in the house. When they’d eventually died down later that night she’d crept into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich.

In the morning Susan had told Francine what had happened, and repeated everything her mother had said. I need somewhere to stay. Please can you help?

Francine had thought for a moment before replying. Strangely enough my elder sister, Denise, is looking for someone to share her apartment. There’s two of them, but they need a third. We could try her.

Where is it?

Near Cheltenham Station, I think. But you’ll have to pay your way. Denise works in a supermarket nearby. Perhaps she can get you a job there.

I’m sick of school anyway, said Susan. I’d like to work.

And so it had been agreed. Denise and her friend Sally had allowed Susan to join them, and Susan had agreed to their conditions, a third of the rent, bills and food. She had gone home to pack her clothes and other possessions, and had left a note for Barry telling him where she would be staying, and asking if he could lend her enough money to tide her over. Meanwhile she had been interviewed for a job at the supermarket, and Barry had arrived one day with enough money to keep her going. She kept in touch with her step-father after that, though there would be no further sexual contact. She had never seen nor heard from her mother again and that suited her. However, there being no further opportunity to have sex in her all-female establishment, she had given up on the pill. This was her downfall, she’d had to admit.

Susan’s previous life had flashed before her eyes as she prepared herself. When she finally emerged from the house half an hour later she was transformed. Her hair once again looked lustrous, her face was made-up simply, and she was wearing a lovely short frock with patterned flowers and a wide white collar. Even her swollen eye, already turning black, had been carefully concealed with skin-coloured ointment. She looked and felt a delight as she walked to the bus-stop.

It was two weeks later and little had changed. At least the Susan’s eye had largely healed but she came to the breakfast table each morning looking as dowdy as ever. Sometimes she looked even more dispirited as though she was ready to give up. She accepted Ray’s advances in the bedroom, if with bad grace. She was always less than enthusiastic and often tried to delay the inevitable. She knew it was useless to feign a headache, but she often pleaded tiredness or that she had a period. These were becoming unpredictable as she got older, or so she claimed. He was rough with her, often entering her clumsily and painfully, seemingly unable to realise that she had needs as well, that she needed to be aroused. She was very careful to ensure that she was up to date on the pill; a pregnancy would have been disastrous.

As for Ray, he had been hauled before his boss a couple of times for his inability to function without regularly heading to the pub at lunch-time. He was on a last warning and was seriously trying to kick the habit, but it didn’t stop him from drinking at home in the evenings, often to excess. He realised he would have to increase his wife’s household allowance and he did so, by a small amount. She told him that as well as needing more for food, all her clothes were old and many of them required mending. He only ever saw her in the same old outfits so had to believe her. However, despite the increase in the allowance the food his wife provided didn’t seem to improve. In fact there was a sameness about it that was monotonous in the extreme. It was rather similar to his sex-life, and the increasing severity of his erectile dysfunction was beginning to worry him. It was all her fault. One night, after a particularly unsatisfactory bedroom encounter, he rolled over onto his back, and started complaining.

It’s not my fault that you can’t get an erection, she said.

You don’t arouse me any more, he replied. You’re as exciting as a wet Sunday afternoon.

I can’t do anything about that.

Yes, you can. You can stop lying there like a lump of wood and …, you know…., play your part.

"Perhaps if you stopped treating me like a lump of wood I could stop behaving like one, she said bitterly. Perhaps you should go and find yourself another floosy and just leave me alone, or a prostitute or something."

Perhaps I will, he said.

If you can find one, she added. I won’t mind at all. Just go for it.

You don’t mean that.

I do. You’ve never loved me. Not as a woman likes to be loved. I’m just an object to you, a slave to cater for all your wishes.

That’s a lie.

When did you ever help with anything?

That’s not my job.

"Well, make it your job. You can start in the garden, tidy up, make it less of a wilderness.

Another two weeks passed. Ray did try and make some sort of order out of the chaos in the garden, but he grumbled at the imposition and blamed his wife for allowing it to get in such a state in the first place. After a couple of Saturdays of desultory hacking at the undergrowth he gave up.

You’ll have to do it, he told his wife. I’m tired.

You’re tired? she said, and she laughed at him. Perhaps you should call Jim’s Mowing, she added. They’ll fix it, and you can sit back on a deck-chair and watch them doing your job. You’d love that.

No need to be sarcastic.

I’m not being sarcastic, I’m telling the truth.

Just shut up and get me a beer.

There aren’t any.

What d’ya mean. I told you to get me some.

The housekeeping doesn’t run to booze.

I gave you extra.

No, you didn’t. That was for food, and some decent clothes.

Ray raised his fist and began to threaten her, but suddenly thought better of it. He flounced out and later she heard his car start and fly off with a screech of tyres. Susan waited until silence settled over the house, and then walked slowly over to the telephone.

Ray never came home that night. He arrived rather sheepishly the next morning, and had to knock on the front door as he’d gone out without his key. Susan answered the door after a suitable pause, and Ray crept in without looking at her, and without saying a word. He went into the lounge and sat.

Well, said Susan. Who was it this time?

Any chance of a coffee?

Perhaps, if you ask nicely.

Please. Please may I have a coffee

Certainly you may.

She came back a few minutes later carrying two cups, placing one in front of him, and taking the other to a chair on the opposite side of the room. She sat and crossed her legs. Ray hadn’t noticed her legs for a long time. They were rather shapely. He realised that she looked different somehow. He hadn’t seen her before in the dress she was wearing, her hair was shining, and her face was prettily made up. There was an air of confidence in her manner. He was quite taken aback. Something must have occurred in his absence, some big change. He felt that it was for the better, and he resolved to make a clean breast of everything, own up as it were and get his wife back on side. But before he could say anything she placed her cup on the table and looked at him with a contemptuous stare.

Well, she said again. Perhaps you would like to tell me where you were last night, or is it too shocking to talk about it.

I did what you told me to do, he said.

You mean you phoned Jim’s Mowing?

No, of course not. I went to a hotel.

I didn’t tell you to do that.

I mean with a woman. You told me I should find myself another woman, that you didn’t want to sleep with me any more.

Too damn right.

I met the this woman in a hotel bar.

That sounds par for the course.

But it wasn’t like that.

It never is.

No, I mean, it wasn’t the sex, he said.

What the hell was it then? she asked.

We got talking, and somehow I felt I could trust her, that I could tell her everything and she wouldn’t be judgemental.

Go on.

You may not believe this, but we talked most of the night. Even when the bar closed, we continued to sit and talk.

And you expect me to believe there was no sex, she said, shaking her head.

There was no sex, he said, and he looked up at his wife with an expression which made her want to believe him. I told her my life story, and the things I didn’t tell her she wormed out of me. She made me realise what a bad husband I have been. She made me realise how selfish I have been. I came back to make amends, to say I am sorry.

Wow! said Susan, and she sat back in her chair, picked up her cup again and sipped her coffee. That’s quite a confession, she added after a pause.

My friend persuaded me to come.

And you expect me to believe you are a changed man.

"Yes. I am changed."

The leopard that changed its spots, she said with a smile.

She also persuaded me to stop drinking.

That I don’t believe, said his wife. Who is this new friend of yours anyway, someone from Alcoholics Anonymous?

No, just a caring person.

How lucky can you get?

I want you to forgive me.

There was silence in the room for a couple of minutes. The ticking of the clock was the only