When writing this story, I hadn't thought beyond the initial plot, but as it developed, I realised that there was a second story to be told. Hence the title being Just Good Neighbours -- Part 1.
*****
My name is George Maynard and I lost my wife a while ago. At first, I was devastated. I very nearly fell apart, but realised I needed to be strong for our two sons (who were 19 and 21 respectively at the time). They both returned from University to attend the funeral. Their Mother's death had been unexpected and very sudden. One minute she was in the kitchen preparing lunch, the next she was on the floor dead. It was a stroke. She knew nothing and felt nothing.
The boys were worried about me, but they had to return to their studies two weeks later, so when I assured them both I'd be OK, they departed.
Of course, I wasn't really. And this was the point at which I nearly lost it. I even considered suicide, but just before I took that thought too far, I remembered my sons -- and the fact that Katie -- my late wife - would never forgive me. I recall smiling wryly at the thought.
Work kept me busy, but it had become almost mechanical now; the commute in, work for 8-9 hours, commute back, cook dinner, watch television, go to bed. The only departure from this routine was on Thursday evenings when I went and did the weekly shop.
It was almost a year later that by chance, when returning from the supermarket, I saw somebody running along the pavement. I must have seen people doing this before, but this time it ignited a spark and made me recall that I used to enjoy running (although that was twenty years ago now).
Over the next few weeks, the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of attempting to regain some fitness. So, I bought some trainers and he put on my tracksuit and he went out for my first run in many, many years. It was awful. I probably covered no more than a mile and a half and had to walk three times. I began to wonder if it was such a good idea after all.
Two days later, legs still aching I went out again and was pleased to get around without stopping. It took some time, but gradually I managed to get up to runs of around three miles at a time. Once I had found it possible to run four times a week regularly (in the evenings after work), I was prepared to try a slightly longer run on a Sunday. The first five miler had me walking a few times on the last section, but I had achieved my aim.
Two important things happened at this time; the first was that I became aware of something called "parkrun". The second was that inclement weather and the dark evenings made it difficult to get my training runs in. I made a swift decision; with only one car in the double garage, I had enough room for a treadmill. So, I bought one. Not a mega expensive model, that wasn't my style, but one that had all the necessary functionality and, fortunately, my sons were home that weekend and helped me to fetch it and set it up.
Pretty soon I found I was doing all my evening runs on the treadmill, while doing my longer run in the forest on Sunday mornings. But I did worry that the treadmill might not be an adequate substitute, so I introduced hill and speed sessions on it.
And then came parkrun. If you're not familiar with it; it began fifteen years ago with a group of something like thirteen people taking part in a regular weekly 5k run in Bushy Park in London. The idea got picked up by others and very quickly took off. Before long there were hundreds of events taking place all over the country. Eventually, the idea was even exported, and many other countries caught the bug.
I was a little nervous when I took my barcode along to my first run, but when I saw the vast range of ages and abilities and listened to the First Timers Briefing, I felt a lot better. I was made to feel welcome and, along with the other newbies, received a round of applause during the pre-run briefing. And then it was time to head to the start.
I had intended to take it easy for this first time, but once I had started, I found that I was running well within my abilities and decided to stride out a bit, once the initial congestion had eased.
It was a two-lap course, with a couple of extended uphill slopes (and associated downhills). Before I knew it, I was heading into the finish funnel and collecting my token.
It was after I got home and had a shower that the e-mail with the results link came through. My time of 29:11 was pleasing; I had expected to be closer to 31 minutes.
Two and a half years later, I was running six days a week and had just taken possession of my cherished "100" shirt (the "50" was now retired). I had also discovered the delights of touring to different events. There were times during the year that my performances dipped; usually as a result of excessive heat and sometimes due to minor illnesses or running injuries. My target was thirty miles a week and I usually hit it. I had lost two and half stone in weight and felt fitter and healthier -- and happier.
Like many runners, I had seen the advantage of technology and had bought myself a smart watch that recorded my runs using GPS and forwarded the data to Strava. I found some running buddies of about the similar ability to me (one slightly older, three much younger) and went for occasional evening runs with them.
So, now my life was basically revolving around my running.
*****
One of the things that I discovered (now that I was older), was that I seemed to sweat more freely when I exercise. After a heavy treadmill session, I could be absolutely dripping -- and I mean dripping -- almost as if I was standing under a shower. My wife never liked it when I was bathed in sweat, but she had never seen me quite like this. I guess I was vaguely aware that for some women this could be a real turn on, but I never really thought about it. Why would I?
One warm afternoon, after taking the day off to do some work around the house, I put in a longish run on the treadmill. As usual, afterwards I completed my warm down exercises. Nowadays I find this necessary to keep injuries at bay. In fact, I've been in the habit of doing a series of exercises first thing in the morning as a safeguard against a recurring back problem. Usually, after the warm down, I spend twenty minutes or so lying flat on my back on the living room floor (on a towel to soak up the sweat, of course), but this time I took a couple of minutes to put out the rubbish bins.
I've pieced together what happened next from my own recollection and what Jennie later told me.
Jennie was 43 at the time. She works part time and is usually home in the afternoons. Jennie's husband Frank is very sporting and goes off regularly to take part in activities. She didn't seem to be interested in what he did but walked to and from work and went swimming regularly to keep herself fit. She also ate healthily and moderately, thus maintaining a good body shape. They'd been our neighbours for a long time, but I'd never thought of Jennie in a sexual context (which, I suppose, is rather surprising really).
Jennie had worked that morning and came home feeling a little over-heated. Our gardens face South, so she decided to get herself a long, refreshing drink and change into something more appropriate. As it happens, when she went upstairs to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe and, instead of pulling out the shorts and t-shirt that she had intended, she spied her new -- and, as yet unworn -- bikini.
"Why not?" she said to herself. "Nobody will be able to see me in the garden." And with that she stripped naked. But before donning the rather daring costume, she made sure she covered all exposed parts of her body with sun cream.
After a few hours of relaxing in the sun, it clouded over rapidly, and she came back indoors. Her husband wasn't due back until very late that evening. They had never had children so, alone in the house she went back upstairs and removed her bikini and had a shower. As nobody else was around, she didn't bother to dress, but wandered around doing little jobs (like putting Frank's clothes in his drawers and wardrobe -- why he couldn't do it she didn't know). She had just finished when she heard what -- at first -- she thought was a rumble of thunder. Not surprising as it had been forecast to end the long, hot spell they'd been having. But when she heard the noise a second time, a memory triggered in her head and she realised that it was her neighbour next door (me) putting out his rubbish bins.
