Tom

Thank you for reading my story, I hope that you enjoy it. Love Mica xx, Yorkshire England.

Please note that I am a British female, and I write in British English and vernacular, so for me a fanny is the correct term for female genitalia, a pussy is a pet cat, and the ass is a bum or arse.

I apologise for any typo errors in my story - I edit these myself, and I'm not perfect...

There was a quick stir of the air, more of a breeze, it caught her hair and flipped it over her eyes, and just for a moment she couldn't see. Her handbag was in her left hand, her shopping in her right, there was no hand free to clear her eyes. She stopped briefly and flicked her head, clearing her vision. She was by the Rude Statue, a Goat of sorts, rather well endowed with masculinity. Someone's idea of a clever joke she assumed.

She looked up into the sky, a mix of blue, grey and white. 'Typical' she thought, bringing her attention back to the path in front of her. She was looking forward to wearing her new dress out with Tom, they were off out for a meal, the first either of them wouldn't have cooked for themselves for some months. New lingerie and a new thin strappy dress that flared as she walked.

It had taken a slow leisurely few hours wandering the boutiques and designer shops before she found the one. She knew it as soon as she saw it. She had pulled it from the rack, held it to her, twisted it on the hanger, held it back, held it before her, held it back to her again, and she knew. She loved it. Tom would love it, she smiled as she walked towards the car, she couldn't wait to see his face when he saw her in it. She could imagine the smile in his eyes, the curl of his lips, the moistening of his tongue. She knew exactly how he worked. And she loved it. She loved him. He, she hoped, loved her.

There was a knock, someone bumped into her, she looked around, surprised, she felt a sharpness at her chest and then everything stopped. The skies went dark, the path faded and she fell, her bag spilling her new dress onto the ground, where it lay, soaking up the blood seeping from her lifeless body.

A woman screamed, another cried. A man rushed over and put his fingers at her neck, shaking his head as he looked at the gathering crowd, focusing on no one, not hearing any voices, not taking in any details of the crowd, nor of the growing pool that he was knelt in. He felt himself being pulled away. "Sir, Sir, come away" a voice said, presumably belonging to the hand that was pulling at him. He stood, quiet, not sure of what to do or what to say.

"Sir," the voice said again, "Sir, did you see what happened?"

He shook his head. He had seen nothing, just a woman fallen to the floor.

"Tom?"

He looked up. Bill was standing by his desk. Tom had just got back to his desk and had been so engrossed in the plan that he hadn't noticed Bill.

"Hi Bill, sorry, it's this process. I think I have finally found a way to get all the sites done in this FY."

"Tom, can you come and see Helen, it's important?"

"What now? Bloody hell Bill, I have just found the solution, if I don't write it down, it will fade away, just give me a few minutes, tell Helen I will be there in a moment." Tom turned back to the screen and moved the mouse, clicking on the field that would solve all the problems that had been facing them for two weeks. He felt Bill's hand over his.

"Sorry Tom, she said now and that is urgent."

"Oh Christ Bill, you know someone has fucked up the returns, it'll wait a minute."

"Tom, now."

Bill pulled Tom's arm and left him in no doubt that he had to go there and then. Standing, Tom grumbled as he clicked the screen saver and headed off to Helen's Desk at the end of the office. He waved his hands to his side, lifting them up then dropping them, the universal 'what now?' gesture.

"Tom," said Helen, "Let's just pop into the room next door." She didn't wait for a reply but headed straight for the door. One of the many small meeting rooms was just beyond, Tom was following close enough that he was through the opening door before it closed behind them. Helen turned the window blinds to stop anyone being able to see into the room and gestured to the chair, she spoke quietly. "Sit Tom."

"But, Helen," Tom began

"Just listen. There has been an incident. The police will be here in a few moments, they are just clearing security."

"Incident, what bloody incident?" Tom found it difficult to profane in front of Helen, it was odd, perhaps a quirk of his upbringing, but foul language in the hearing of women was an absolute no, no in his books.

"Tom, it's Jo, something has happened."

"What? What has happened?" Tom stood, staring at Helen, noticing for the first time the woman sitting quietly in the corner. He vaguely recognised her. HR? Occupational Health? He wasn't sure, but then people moved around so much that knowing where someone worked was not really a valuable piece of office knowledge.

"Tom," the other woman said, "I'm Kathleen from HR. The police phoned a few minutes ago. Jo has been taken to hospital. I am afraid the news is not good."

Tom looked at Kathleen then at Helen, noticing that Helen appeared to be crying. He suddenly felt very scared and knew that if he hadn't been sitting down, his legs would have failed him. This news was obviously more than not good. It was the worst. "What happened?"

"We need to wait for the Police Tom" Kathleen said quietly, "they would not give us any details, beyond, well," she paused.

"She's dead" Tom said, looking at the white board on the wall, mentally reconstructing the partially erased words, unable to comprehend what was being said, what to do, what to say. If she was dead, then nothing actually mattered. He tried to get focus.

"Yes, I am sorry" Kathleen said.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and it opened, a man looked in, dark skinned, middle aged perhaps. Open necked shirt, chinos and trainers. 'Christ who the hell wears trainers these days?' Tom thought.

"Sorry, are you Tom Masters?" the man asked?

Tom nodded and looked away. He wanted to shut his ears, close his eyes and then wake up from this nightmare, laugh at too much cheese before bed, shower and go to work. He had an idea about that scheduling conundrum, and had a few things to try.

"Tom, I am DCI Frobisher, Aaron Frobisher." He came fully into the room and held the door open behind him.

"Thank you ladies, I will take it from here if you don't mind." Kathleen and Helen exchanged a look and then quietly left, Frobisher closing the door behind them, and then looking directly at Tom he spoke again "I am sorry Tom."

Frobisher was quiet. He looked at the man before him. Studied him, watched the reactions. He had been in this position too many times and knew when the person before him was a victim or a person of interest. Tom was easy to read.

"Tom, Jo was found today on the Promenade. She had sadly passed away before the ambulance arrived."

"What do you mean, passed away, what the fuck happened?" Tom's voice rose in pitch as the words fell out, his eyes widening and his breath deepening. He fixed Frobisher in his gaze.

"Well Tom, we are not too sure of the exact events. She fell to the floor, a number of people came to her aid, but nothing was able to be done. A nurse could find no pulse and called 999. An ambulance was there in minutes Tom. We don't think she could have suffered." Tom stared at Frobisher for a minute, eyes unblinking, and then pointing at Frobisher, "Why are you here? Why a DCI? Why not a constable?"

"Because Tom, you know what she was working on, you know what she does, and the only part of her death that is unexplained is the who. We know the how. We are containing it. We have put out a communiqué, that a woman sadly suffered a heart attack whilst shopping today and fell to the floor, smashing a jar of Beetroot syrup that she was carrying, causing some distress at first to passers-by."

"Fuck off" Tom looked away, the white board once more taking his attention. This was ridiculous. They were research scientists. No one outside novels and TV dramas attacked research scientists. And even if they did, no one would try and cover it up. "I take it she wasn't actually carrying any beetroot?"

"No Tom, she wasn't. She was stabbed directly into the heart."

"I presume you have the CCTV footage from the area, and I presume you know who the fuck killed my wife?"

"No Tom, no we don't. That area is a blind spot, it doesn't have any working cameras. Presumably that is why the event took place in that spot." It wasn't actually a blind spot at all, but as this was a murder investigation, no one needed to know that, not yet.

"It is not a fucking event Frobisher. It is a murder. It is the murder of my wife, not a fucking event".

"I apologise Tom, yes it was, that is exactly what it was. We currently have no leads. We are examining CCTV footage from further away, looking for any behaviour that is out of place." Frobisher paused and then looked directly at Tom.

"What was she working on Tom? What could cause someone to do this, what could they gain?"

Tom stood up and looked at Frobisher. "I'll tell you what," he said, his lips tightly pursed, the words almost spit out. "I'll tell you this for free, your name sure as hell isn't Aaron fucking Frobisher."

Tom knew that he could not trust anyone, not even this man that said he was a policeman, no one. He and Jo had been on assignment at the labs for only six months, they hadn't found anyone that they could not be suspicious of, the place was unsettlingly normal.

When he got home, he sat on the settee nursing rather large glass of ice-cold water from the fridge. So far all had not gone to plan, Jo was not supposed to be dead, she was supposed to be sitting next to him on the settee, their unspoken language confirming that their plans were on track. That was his intent, he didn't know how well the house was bugged, who was watching, he just knew how he had to act.

They didn't speak of the plans in the house, in the house they were simply the married coupe that they purported to be. They laughed, they bickered, they cuddled, they fucked, all exactly as a loving couple would do, only, they weren't a loving couple, they were simply assigned a role, and they were acting it out. He knew that Helen was getting too close emotionally, but how could he dampen her ardour?

It was known that someone was trying to obtain the secrets from the laboratory, and they both had enough knowledge to understand the work that was happening, the Security Agency they worked for had approached them and asked if they could play a part in tracking down who it was. They would live together as a married couple and both transfer to the Laboratory as a team.

They had to assume that the home would be bugged, they could never reveal the real them at home, nor in the car on the way to the laboratory, nor at their work stations at the laboratory. There was a room at the laboratory complex that was swept for bugs daily, only there could they talk freely, the room had no windows, no electrical sockets, only a buzzing fluorescent light fitting and some plastic chairs.

"I don't love you," Jo had said to him, "you do know that?"

"Yes, of course, and I don't love you either."

"I just say that because you really do a fabulous job of it appearing as if you do. I am fooled and I know the truth." The truth for Jo was that she had fallen in love with Tom, it wasn't supposed to happen, but it had, she knew that her heart would get broken, but that was the job, the life. Their assignment included them behaving like a madly in love couple, they were not supposed to actually fall in love.

He shrugged, it was difficult to live a life that was inherently false, they both had to appear to be what they were not, and Tom found it easier to live as if the lie was the truth. He told himself every day that he loved Jo, and he reminded himself every night that he didn't. He wasn't even especially fond of her, he didn't dislike her, he was just doing his job, living a lie.

The postman brought a letter, it was a simply statement, The Brown Cow, Bingley, 1200. He destroyed the letter, cutting it into small pieces and then putting it into a mug and filling it with boiling water. The ink used was dissolvable, he knew that, and manually shredding the words meant that even if they could reconstitute the letter pieces, he had ensured that reassembly was impossible. He used the rolling pin that turned the contents of the mug into a mush, he then flushed that down the toilet.

He was officially on compassionate leave, Kathleen from HR had insisted, two weeks, longer if necessary. Going to the pub may seem strange to a casual observer, but he didn't really care about casual observers, it was the trained observer that he wanted to isolate and identify. Someone had arranged this, this senseless loss of a life.

He drove to the pub and parked up in the car park, there were few cars there and he managed to park such that he was facing the exit and his driver's door was at the aisle end, it would be difficult to block him in. Part of his training years ago had been to always identify and protect your exit.

He walked to the bar and ordered a pint of low alcohol beer, low alcohol because he was driving, but to an observer it would appear as if he were drinking and driving. He didn't yet know who the observers would be, if any. He had no idea who from the agency had called the meeting although the why was obvious, the plans had to change now that one of the team was lost.

He was sat at one of the outdoor tables adjacent to the river, the sound of the water would help obfuscate any words he might say, he had also learned how to speak with a tight mouth and confuse lip readers, all part of the training.

Someone sat at the table behind him, he had seen them approach, a drink in their hand, and then walk passed him.

"Tom, don't look around," he heard.

"Okay," he said, his lips barely moving.

"A shock?"

"You think?" Tom said, "that was never on the cards."

"No. However, what we want you to do is to act the bereaved husband and see what evolves, they must have a plan. Can you do that?"

Tom sat and thought about his reply. His feelings were loss of a colleague, not a husband bereaved of a loving wife, so, yes he could.

"Yes, of course. I suggest that we set up counselling for me, that might be a way to talk securely."

"Yes, we think so too. We'll be in touch."

Tom didn't turn around, he wanted to appear unconnected to the person that had been behind him; he heard the receding footsteps, and he sat and slowly drank his beer. When he had finished, he went and stood on the bridge looking down at the river, perhaps someone might consider his thoughts to be suicidal, but this wasn't the place, the river wasn't deep here, the most he would do if he flung himself off the bridge was break an ankle. He headed back home.

Events progressed over the next few days, Jo's body was released by the coroner for burial and Tom made arrangements that she should be cremated. There was a small service, Jo's parents attended, in the belief that their daughter had simply had a heart attack. A few people from work attended and a couple of the neighbours including the Hendersons who lived opposite. John Henderson worked at the labs where he, and Jo, worked, but they never crossed path at work.

Helen Henderson had spoken quietly to Tom, expressing her profound sorrow and inviting him over during the day for a quiet cup of tea, Tom thanked her, he had no plans to return to work just yet, he was giving the protagonists as much as he could to show themselves, he was playing the bereaved husband to its limit.

A couple of days after the funeral his front door knocked.

"Oh, hello Helen," he said to Helen Henderson who was stood on his doorstep.

"Hello Tom, right, it's been a few days, we spoke at the cremation, you haven't left the house, come over, drink tea and we will not talk about Jo, unless you want to. Your life needs to go on, you know that, and you know that Jo would want that."

"Okay Helen, you're right. Give me five minutes and I'll come and knock on your door."

"You won't need to knock, the door will be open, just walk in."

He had nodded and shut the door after she had gone. They hadn't really had much to do with the Hendersons, they said hello when they encountered each other, but that was about it. They knew each other's names but never went into each other's houses. Tom had never seen John Henderson at work, and he wasn't sure he could remember how he knew that John worked there.

In his bathroom he stripped, washed groin upwards, put a clean T Shirt, underpants and shorts on, slipped into his sliders and walked over the road to the Henderson house. As Helen had said, the front door was open, he pushed and announced his presence.

"Only me Helen," he said shutting the door behind him.

"Come on through, I'm in the kitchen," she replied.

Helen was wearing a sheer top that clearly showed her lack of bra, her nipples covered with a denser lace that almost, but not quite, hid them. Her skirt was a light white fabric, cotton he guessed, and would no doubt be almost see through with a light source from behind. He may be in mourning, but he recognised her intentions, he was a man and he was no fool.

She turned to face him, "how do you have your tea?" she asked.

"Just a little milk please," he answered as he looked at her, a critical study, on the few occasions that they had met her clothes had never been so revealing, her actions had to be premeditated, he just had to decide how to respond.

"Come, let's sit in the garden, it is warm, and we are not overlooked here," Helen said as she passed him his tea.

In the garden there were two chairs facing each other, each with a small table at the side. Tom sat in the chair with the sun behind him, he wanted to see her expressions, not be dazzled when the sun appeared from behind the clouds.

She sat opposite him and Tom saw immediately that he could see up her skirt, her knickers had small flowers on them, his dick stirred.

Helen had made sure when she selected her clothing that Tom would be able to see up her skirt, and as she sat, she watched his trousers and saw the slight movement in his groin. Good, he was a man then, that would make her life easier.

"How are you feeling Tom, in yourself I mean, I guess the shock will have faded?"

"Okay Helen, I need to think about getting back to work I suppose, nothing will bring Jo back, so, I need to move on with my life."

"Indeed, getting out and meeting people will help, feeling normal, being a man I suppose that is what you need." Helen wasn't exactly being subtle.

"Perhaps, but I am no good at socialising Helen, I find it difficult to talk to people and when I am talking with a woman I just get distracted, and that distraction is not easy when I haven't got a wife to keep me focussed."

"Well Tom, you are talking to me okay, so talking doesn't seem to be an issue and there really isn't anything to distract you I wouldn't have thought, there's only me."

He smiled inwardly, she was playing her part well, he wondered how far she would go.

"Only?" He said, his eyes lingering on the tight fabric stretched across her crotch, his dick firming even more.

"Oh Tom, really, I am just an ordinary housewife Tom, my husband is out all day at work, there is nothing so see here."

"How do you fill your days Helen; do you not get lonely?"

She looked at him, her eyes focussed on the bulge in his shorts, there was no hiding it, and then she looked up into his eyes again.

"Oh, well, I have a fertile imagination Tom, I imagine all sorts happening, there are some attractive propositions living in the street, and I can get lost in my mind when I see them, and then I have to wait for my husband to come hope, and then I have to hope that he is ready for me."