She's called Lorraine, she's my step-sister and she's here for a three week visit. A very short notice visit.
My widowed father remarried thirty five years ago and I've known her on and off for all those years. To be honest it has been far more off than on as, after a very brief 'thing', and by brief I mean an evenings fumble on a sofa, we'd both gone our separate ways; me back to the army, she back to university then work, marriage, and life. And we'd lost touch for well over twenty years.
Then, five years ago, at one of my father's more notable birthdays, we'd started chatting, exchanged phone numbers, and said we'd keep in touch.
A year later she had called me, we'd laughed, and ever since, periodically, we'd kept in touch. And, for no real reason, over the last year or so, we'd started chatting more frequently.
Then two weeks ago she'd called me, we didn't often actually speak to each other, just messaged. The phone call, on her instigation, had turned into a video call, which really had been a first.
She'd clearly been upset about something, I'd kind of picked up on that whilst we'd been speaking; just something in her voice.
But once I'd seen her face it had been obvious, she'd been crying, and was still close to tears then.
They'd had a massive falling out; her and her partner. I hadn't asked what it had been over, none of my business. But she had been leading up to a question, that much was also obvious.
Then she'd said that she needed a break and was there any chance that she could come and stay with me. For a couple of weeks.
I'd obviously said, 'Of course you can come and stay.' What else could I have said?
I'd immediately realised, from how upset she had been, that it would be something that she would want to do sooner rather than later.
And so it was that she'd arrived three days later having driven the two hundred plus miles from her home in the north-east.
She got out of her car and we kissed on the cheek, she's quite composed, no sign of the upset of three days ago other than perhaps looking quite tired and drawn. We'd messaged often over those three days; making the few arrangements necessary and me asking questions like 'what don't you eat, what do you drink?' Things you should perhaps know of a step-sister you've known for thirty five years.
She asked if she could stay for three weeks and, again, I said of course. But I knew in my head that that could change, either way.
It's quite a strange experience seeing her again: let's face it, one meeting in over twenty five years, and that was five years ago at the birthday celebration, and even then I wouldn't say that we'd had a real conversation, so you can't say that we know each other.
And now here she is, at my place for a three week stay that, to me, seems to stretch interminably ahead.
This might be hard work.
She hasn't changed much, from five years ago. She has quite an angular face with high cheekbones, thin lips, brown eyes and thick black eyebrows. Her hair is the same coal black and, for as long as I've known her, has been cut in the same style; a plain, straight bob parted on the left leaving it constantly falling across her eyes. She is perhaps 5' 9", and if memory serves, she's around ten years younger than me, so mid fifties, and wearing 'comfortable' clothes. In those early years she'd been quite fashionable; wearing short skirts and multicoloured tops but she'd been about twenty and at university, plus it had been the tail end of the '70s with all the fun rebellion that went with them.
Five years ago she had been much more conservatively dressed in flat shoes, loose fitting tartan trousers and baggy jumper. Which is how she is dressed now, except the trousers are plain black.
She loved the house; she also lives in the countryside, although more open fields than deep in the woods like me, but she's an inveterate walker, has been for decades, and went walking as often as she could, so the woods will be perfect for her.
After settling her stuff in her room we had an early dinner and then went for a short walk, during all of which we chatted quite comfortably but avoided the subject of what she needed a break from: that would come later, if she wanted.
The next morning I showed her the intricacies of my ancient coffee machine then went off to one of the few gardening clients I still had and Lorraine spent the time having a better look around my place. In the afternoon we went for quite a long walk, once again avoiding the 'needing a break' subject.
That evening, after dinner, she asked if she could have a bath. I said that of course she could, I'm saying that a lot, and that as she was going to be here for three weeks then she needed to stop asking if she could do things. She smiled, said thank you, and went upstairs.
An hour later she came back down wearing a knee length fluffy bathrobe and matching slippers. Her hair looked a little damp and her skin shone.
She dropped onto the sofa and drew her legs up beneath her bum: I'm positive that women have rubber knees.
My lounge is quite small so I only have a two seater sofa and an armchair; more than enough for me, so I'd left her the sofa and, for the duration, I'd moved to the armchair.
I muted the tv. 'Wine?'
'Mmmm, red please.'
After passing her her glass I sat back down. 'How was your bath?'
She smiled. 'Lovely, sooo relaxing. And I love that you have candles. I hope you don't mind me lighting them.'
I laughed. 'Of course not, they've been there for years, they could do with using. Same with the bath, I'm definitely a shower man. Please use the bath as often as you like.'
'Thank you, I will.'
And we continued chatting aimlessly, talking about our lives, about my house, but still avoiding the subject.
And all the time I can't stop myself from glancing at her legs.
She has the calves of a seasoned walker; thick but not unpleasant, and waxed or shaved smooth. Not bad, not bad at all.
After about an hour I can see that she is fading, her eyes beginning to droop until, just on the point of dropping off, she starts. 'I've had it, think I'll go to bed.'
She got up and, bending over me, kissed me on the cheek. 'Thank you for this David, I really do appreciate it.'
I smiled. 'That's ok, my pleasure.'
And off she went.
Half an hour later and I'm in bed reading a book. And just as I turn out the light I hear it; a very faint buzzing, right on the edge of being inaudible.
I'm not even sure I can hear anything at first, I almost dismiss it as one of those little noises you get from a house. But I know my house: all the moans and groans it makes as it breathes, and this isn't one of them.
And I know what it is: and it isn't my imagination making it up because it likes the idea.
Lorraine is using a vibrator.
But, just as my mind begins to form a very pleasurable image, it stops.
