of classes. Not her best with other things on her mind. But enough time to help some punters with their steps, and to get another ego-boost from a couple of hunks who she assisted with some aerobic positions.
She couldn’t wait to get home to share the news. Should she text Bob? No she would spoil him and then share the news. The rest of the day was a blur. What a dream! What an opportunity! This was more amazing to her than any dream.
The radio blared in the Service restaurant. Some indie crap Tom thought. The truck had been sluggish and he was about an hour behind schedule, but the fucking rules meant he had to take a break before he got to Preston and that meant an unavoidable turn off at Abington. On the road days on end he was used to eating in these places, snoozing in the cab and showering in the ‘pay as you go’ facilities. It wasn’t much of a life, but it did the job. He knew the places he liked and the services he didn’t and he worked his hours to fit in with Premier Inns and familiar local village stops, where the talent was better than the hairy arsed truckers he found surrounding him here.
The olive green paint followed the wall around over the canteen area. To the right there was a paper shop. No interest. Listening to the radio all day you don’t need to read about it, it’s repeated on the hour every hour.
Driving had always been a passion. Driving HGVs was more a status thing than anything and, of course, it gave him the cash to allow him to do what he loved: racing cars and riding girls. One day he heard through a mate that there was a real ride of a woman up in Dunfermline and he went to meet her – only to find out it was Aidrian's wife Monica. More than shocked he gave her the money and rode her. When he was done he picked up the money and walked out. She didn’t argue. The fact was she obviously felt guilty. So she should, but that wasn’t enough for Tom. He arranged to meet her again, and this time told her that this would continue until he decided it would stop. What could she do but agree? But he was never there and felt it was like unspent cash having her at his beck and call, but then being unable to use her as he would. She even seemed unable to see him when he wanted her which led him to the current situation. When she didn’t see him she had to pay him what she had charged him that first time, and it wasn’t cheap. She must be at it regular to be able to afford it, and he wouldn’t tell Aids – I mean it would look bad on her. So after a while he stopped pestering her and waited for the cash, and it continued to arrive. They didn’t even talk much now, but he had plenty cash to play with when he was away, so it was a means to an end.
The bacon butty cost ?4.25, and wouldn’t have been worth two pound. Boredom. The waitress came by wearing a blue checked shirt and short skirt. What the hell. He got up from the unclean orange plastic table and followed the girl to the kitchen area.
‘Excuse me’ the girl turned. Pretty.
‘Do you want to earn 30 quid?’ The girl looked concerned.
‘Listen, I just think you look like a great girl and I was looking for some company’
He didn’t care if she wanted to or not. He would have her and legitimately too.
‘Nah, I don’t think so’, she turned away.
‘Sorry, darling. I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘OK’, she walked away from him.
‘200 quid. It’s my final offer.’ It must have sounded like desperation, but he knew she would have a price with her short skirt and working for pennies in a dump like this.
She paused.
‘OK, I’ll meet you in the car park’.
He would have to show her the money of course, so he made a point of taking out a sum of cash from the autoteller before placing it in his wallet. He glanced towards her as she cleaned another table and walked out towards the front of the building. He would have put a cigarette in his mouth just to prove how smooth he was, but it would spoil the few moments of pleasure he was about to enjoy with young nameless waitress from Abington or close by.
She followed as he knew she would, and he opened the cab door to allow her to come in to his den. The bed through the back was useful. Very useful. He moved his Gibson guitar onto the front seat and positioned himself around the back. She climbed in without any encouragement and went down so easily it was if she had done this before. The smell of money was too much for her but, after consenting, and moaning and sweating in the back of the cab for him, Tom would not be paying her a cent. He knew this and he lay back as she straddled him til orgasm. He had done this before and he would do it again.
The train was packed. The earlier train was cancelled and this meant she would have to run from Haymarket to get to the office in time for the interview. Fucking trains.
The sweaty, wet people created a musty smell and the trains were used so regularly they would never lose it she guessed. But this was what she wanted - a chance to get away from Fife and the familiar – an adventure with the other side, on the other side of the water.
The train crossed the Forth Bridge in all its glory, albeit the views were limited along the river by low cloud and heavy rain. Standing holding on to the luggage rack Emma became aware of two eyes staring at her from a raincoat clad man close by. Embarrassed by this eye contact she turned away, leg pressed against one of the luggage-rack legs. She rolled her hand down it to tidy her skirt, before realizing that it wasn’t the luggage rack at all.
Her eyes looked straight at the gentleman she had fondled. He seemed a little shocked, but quite happy.
‘I’m sorry’
‘Never worry’
She turned back towards the luggage rack as the train stopped at Dalmeny on the South side of the river. Few bodies got off, but more got on, and this time the people crammed around her. She thought of potential answers for the interview. Why she wanted the position. Why she would rather have a job which meant having to commute each day. Even without the pressure of the interview at this point she still found it difficult to answer them. She would never get it. The bodies were tight, but suddenly there was a tug at her waist, and a warmth across her midriff. A hand had appeared, straying from a coat sleeve. Emma's eyes looked up and around her. Many eyes were looking at the ceiling, or at books held high out of the way of the others. One set of eyes looked at her. They seemed kind, the man was mid twenties, with a boyish charm. Good bone structure.
‘Sorry’, he said.
‘Never worry’ Emma replied. The hand did not move. She gulped but found it hard not to stare at the blond gent who would not have looked out of place in a fashion magazine with his wide collar and purple sheen tie. The hand moved down to her waist and across the front of her skirt. His eyes were still on hers. The train had been moving, and was now stopping again just outside South Gyle. She could feel a strange nervous feeling within. Horror and delight in equal measure. The train headed off and the blond man continued to stare at her. The hand moved down across the top of her thigh, and rubbed for a second. She looked down to see the hand there. She looked up again
