Man Of Few Words

Chapter 50

"Her name was Wendy," he began, his lip... not just his lip, his entire lower jaw wobbling.

"She was," he paused for a long time, his brow furrowed in pained concentration. "Seventeen. She was only seventeen. I..."

He took a long swig of beer. I breathed out hard. I was feeling tense and I was showing it.

"I wanted to impress her," he continued. "I was older. I was 22. I had a car. An old Beetle. It was a horrible pale green colour, which really clashed with the orange of the rust. But it was a car. She was impressed enough to accept my invitation of a drive through the countryside."

I was already starting to put two and two together. I could see where this was going. Can you, dear reader?

"I took her up into the Chilterns. It's lovely up there, especially on a warm spring day, like it was that day."

He said "that day" very softly, very quietly. There was a bit of a croak to it.

"Lots of these lovely, gentle undulating roads lined by high hedges. Feels very cosy, very intimate. And, of course, you get these breaks in the trees and hedges where you can look out over the rolling hills. Yes... very..."

He stopped. I thought he was going to take a swig of beer. But no. He was just staring. Staring at nothing.

"Dad?" I said this despite hoping he would just stop the story. I guess I was feeling some sort of sense of duty. His head snapped towards me. Then he sort of mouthed "W... w.... w..." and cleared his throat loudly before continuing,

"We were having a lovely time. Talking, listening to the radio, laughing. That old thing could be a bit of a bumpy ride, and a few times she'd yelp at an unexpected bump or hump. You know what I mean. Not like a dog. Like a... girl."

He looked at me again. I nodded slowly and rigidly, my eyes wide with tense concern.

"We'd just passed through one of many pretty little villages." He paused. I could hear his breathing – deep, but weak somehow.

"She put her hand on mine, which was on the gear stick. I let go of the gear stick and gave her hand a quick squeeze. And I glanced across at her and smiled. She smiled back, then looked down at our hands on the gear stick. I felt her lift my hand off the gear stick and softly pull it towards herself. She placed it on her lap. I..."

He cleared his throat loudly again. And again. He took two big swigs of beer. My throat was dry too, but I didn't drink anything. I just kept swallowing hard. Dryly and painfully.

"Her hand was on top of mine, and she..." He was starting to sweat. "She pushed her fingers down on mine so that they... they went down and I... y'know, I gripped her. I gripped her between her legs. I didn't put my hand up her skirt!"

He looked at me wide-eyed, like I'd just accused him of something. I didn't respond.

"She sort of... moved my hand around a bit, in a way that she liked, then she took her hand off mine, and I continued. I... y'know, took the hint. I kept doing it until we reached another village and I had to shift down a gear. That was when she made a bit of a noise. She'd been breathing more heavily up to that point, but when I moved my hand away, she made a sort of..."

"Dad!" I interrupted, "Are these detailed really important?"

He hesitated a few moments then said,

"It's just... I suppose I want you to understand. I'm not trying to make this sexy or... it's not like a mucky movie. She really liked it. I mean, it was..."

This time he interrupted himself. I didn't have to explain to him that I know that women sometimes like being touched between their legs. Sometimes under the skirt, sometimes over it.

"Okay, so..." he stammered, "I, er... didn't need te..."

He let out a heavy groan, seemingly somewhat exasperated at himself. Then he plucked a handkerchief out of a pocket, tipped his glasses up, and mopped his eyes and forehead. I hope he hadn't previously blown his nose on that thing, but I think I hope in vain.

"Anyway, once we'd passed through that village," he continued, "I shifted back up the gears and then I... I put my hand back there."

My patience expired. I whispered "F... f..." barely audibly then snapped,

"Dad," I said firmly, but he just sat there staring at the wall and caressing the arm of his chair. I really hope he didn't realise he was doing that.

"Dad!"

This time he looked at me.

"Did you crash the car?" I demanded. "Did she die? Did Wanda die?"

Something strange started happening to the muscles in Dad's face and neck. It was a bit like that face people pull when they know they have to sneeze but it won't trigger. Only it wasn't a sneeze that wouldn't trigger. It was a grievous, howling cry.

"The hedges," he continued, shifting his gaze back to the wall. "It was hard to see ahead. I... I don't know if I was too far over, or the other car. But there was no time. It just clipped me. Just clipped me. But..."

He was breathing very hard now. It was hard to tell if he was trying desperately to force that cry out, or to keep it in.

"I lost control of the car. It span to the right, skidded across the road and slammed sideways into a tree."

He paused, seemingly frozen for several moments.

"When the car stopped, my hands were on the wheel. Her hands were... blood..."

He suddenly took a deep, loud snort of breath through his nose and lunged towards me, almost falling out of his chair.

"Yes David," he barked, fixing me with eyes now filling with tears, "She did... fucking... die. And her name, David, was Wendy."

Then the grievous, howling cry took over, and all I wanted to do was get out of there.