John turns around. "Let me apologise for my lack of courtesy," he says, momentarily exposing his teeth before slamming his mouth tight. "How rude of me. No introductions. My name is John, and this lovely lady here is my wife, Valerie."
Silence.
They'd discussed giving false names, but they both agreed: what was the point? They never met for a second time. They had rules, and the first rule was that they never broke the rules. John shakes his head as Valerie shuffles in her seat and gives a limp wave. Did she think she was the Queen? He waits for a return introduction. None comes. John fiddles with the radio button, keen to fill the void. Turns the volume up. The male voice is calm and monotone.
"The news today, 1st June 1988. London prepares for the visit of President Reagan tomorrow. The President, who has been in meetings with General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev over the last few days, is scheduled to meet both the Queen and the Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher...”
John mutters under his breath. Changes the station. Bops his head back and forth to the blaring music. Won't you take me to funky town?
Glances in the mirror. Decides it is time to pick up the pace, that it is finally time for the train to leave the station. "Did you have a good night, darling? Busy, wasn't it? Especially for a Wednesday..."
The nod is slow and mechanical. Much better than John anticipated. All the encouragement he needs to keep talking, to introduce his charm offensive. "That club sure is an odd place, isn't it? Full of freaks. Present company excluded, of course. We both saw you in there, didn't we, Valerie?"
"We sure did, John."
"There were some proper sights, weren't there?" John shakes his head and chuckles, pulls back an involuntary snort. "Still, each to their own and all that. We're liberals. Very open-minded about these things. But you were different, darling. You were special. Stood out in a good way. We both said so, didn't we, dear?"
"We sure did, John."
John moves the car from second to first as they pull up on the drive of their semi-detached house in the quiet cul-de-sac they'd lived in for over fifteen years. He'd mowed the lawn over the weekend and taken the opportunity to chat with his neighbours, who were mainly out washing their cars. It was a nice little community. John was part of the Neighbourhood Watch scheme and they'd baby sat for a couple of the younger families. Unplugging his seatbelt (John still wasn't used to the damn things), John swivels his hips to properly face their young victim for the first time. "Nightcap?" he asks. John raises his eyebrows, flecked with silver.
This was where they were going to face objections, of course. Hadn't even asked for an address from their beautiful young guest, just headed straight to their house like it was a perfectly natural thing to do. John squeezes his wife's clammy hand. They were in this together.
The eyes in the back seat have returned to staring out of the window. The head turns. John's cheeks prickle as the eyes fix on his own. Ready for the onslaught, the protests. The dark hairs on his arms straighten. Valerie rearranges the position of her ample backside on the seat next to him. John's jaw is heavy and numb as the long legs in the back unravel. The door opens and shuts. His eyes are like saucers as the legs make their way up his drive and then stop outside his front door. Turns. The hands are on the hips. Again. The shoulders shrug.
What the fuck are you waiting for?
John struggles to keep his tongue in his mouth and his dick in his trousers as he hurries out of the motor and dangles his keys in the door. His poor wife waddles somewhere behind him, just as keen, but lacking his natural athleticism. Inside, their guest sinks into the depths of the sofa without waiting to be asked. John returns from the kitchen with three glasses of red wine. Valerie gulps and snorts and stains the rim with lipstick. She rests her hand on one of the long legs for just a few moments too long, daring to be outrageous.
"Why don't you go and change into something a little more comfortable, Valerie?" John asks.
His wife looks up at him from the sofa and wolfishly grins. "Something more comfortable, you say?"
John felt there was no need for his wife to raise her eyebrows quite so many times; it looked like she was having a funny turn. Valerie struggles up out of the chair and, blowing her husband a kiss, says, "I'll be back in just a few minutes. Don't go anywhere."
John barely waits for his wife to leave the room before occupying the space she vacated on the settee. "Bless her," he says. He shuffles, reducing the gap between them. "I love her to bits, of course. Who wouldn't? Such a kind heart. But we are very used to each other. Fish and chips is all very
