It was Sunday morning and, unsurprisingly, we all slept in quite late following last night’s activity. When we eventually did emerge, Margaret prepared a sort of brunch and we talked about what we should do for Jill’s last evening with us. Jill was Margaret’s sister who had been staying with us for a few days.
It was amazing to think that she had only been here for three days and yet she had brought a spark back to our lives that had not been there for many years. Now that her house redecoration was complete she would be setting out in the morning to return home. Since she lived at the other end of the country, we had no idea when we would see her next so we wanted to make her final evening memorable.
As we chatted around the breakfast room table, Margaret was idly flicking through a free local paper that had been delivered a few days before.
“I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “Look at this Jill. The Cult are playing here tonight at the University.”
“Really?” said Jill as she moved around the table to look at the paper herself, “I can’t believe they’re still around!”
I had certainly heard of The Cult, they had been quite well known post-punk rock band in the mid to late-eighties, but they had never featured anywhere on my list of favourites. It seemed however that they were big news at the time in the girls’ household. Margaret and Jill were reminiscing about the singles and albums they had bought, having seen the band make an appearance on a TV program called The Tube some thirty years or so ago.
“The fire in your eyes, keeps me alive,” sang Jill.
“And the fire in your eyes, keeps me alive,” responded Margaret.
“I’m sure in her you’ll find… the sanctuary,” they sang together, but not even in the same key, before bursting into a fit of giggles like teenagers.
“Ian Astbury was my first ever crush,” admitted Jill, “I used to imagine meeting him and him giving me my first real kiss.”
“My imagination went further than yours,” Jill retorted. “He was the focal point of my first forays into masturbation. He was responsible for my first ever orgasm!”
Jill and I both stared straight at Margaret and she blushed a deep crimson. “I’m not going any further with that!” she said and buried her face back in the paper.
“Well that’s decided,” I said. “We’ll go and see them tonight.”
“But we’ll be twice the age of anyone else there,” said Margaret.
“Who cares? It’ll be fun!” Jill replied.
I fired up the laptop and within 10 minutes I had secured three tickets that we could pick up at the door when we arrived. Then I went on to book us a table for dinner at a restaurant about ten minutes’ walk from the University campus and made a call to arrange a cab for the evening, so that I didn’t have to drive.
All arrangements made, I repaired to the lounge to watch a recording of last night’s Match of the Day and doze a little. The girls spent the whole afternoon reminiscing about music and boys, which seemed to be the two main interests of their teenage years, and deciding what they were going to be wearing for the evening.
Five minutes before the cab was due, Margaret and her younger sister came downstairs. Their time working on their outfits had been well spent. They had done their very best to approximate eighties fashion from within their existing wardrobe.
Margaret was wearing a gold and black lace dress. It was off-the shoulder and sleeveless, so basically being held up by her boobs. I guessed she was also wearing a black sleeveless bra. Under her breasts, the dress narrowed to a v-shaped waist that was quite flattering, before flaring out to a short ra-ra shape. The skirt part was actually very short, but underneath she was wearing some lacy black leggings that came to just above her ankles. She was wearing a pair of black shoes with quite a high heel and was carrying a black, fake feather boa in case she needed to cover her shoulders.
Jill was wearing a plain black cocktail dress with quite a high, halter-style neck that I recognised as one of Margaret’s that she hadn’t worn for many years. She had referred to it at the time as her “bodycon” dress. It was really close fitting, particularly as Jill was a little curvier than her sister and it was immediately apparent that Jill had dispensed with a bra for the evening. When she twirled around to show off the outfit, I realised the reason for this was that the dress was virtually backless. This dress was quite short too, but Jill’s legs were bare and she was wearing a pair of black ankle high boots. She carried a light shawl in case the temperature dropped too far later in the evening.
We climbed into the taxi around six fifteen and within twenty minutes we arrived at the restaurant I had booked. It was just a small Italian that was convenient for the University. We had not eaten there before but, despite it being quite early, it was bustling and most tables were occupied, which I took to be a good sign.
We were seated at a small round table and ordered some drinks while we studied the menu. Margaret had her usual gin and tonic, Jill ordered a vodka tonic and I started with a Peroni beer. I also ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio so that it would be well chilled when we needed it.