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Lovely Linda
by Joyce Walker




It was the summer of my seventeenth birthday.  The first one after Dad left home to live with the lovely Linda.  Not that Mum called her that; most of the names Mum called her were unrepeatable.

The school holidays had finally arrived and I was looking forward to two weeks away with them.  Two weeks of quality father and son time, kicking a football around on the beach, playing cricket outside the caravan, finding the biggest rollercoaster at the funfair and riding on it.

I mean, Mum tried really hard to make me happy, but she’s never been exactly sporty, just looking at a big ride made her heave, and even if it hadn’t, I don’t think it would have been quite the same going out with her.  The fact of the matter was, I missed the male company and seeing him for one day at the weekend once a month wasn’t enough.

I was in the bedroom packing my case when my mobile rang.  After rummaging around on the bed, I eventually found it under a pile of neatly folded and ironed T shirts Mum had just brought up to me.  Only now, they weren’t neatly folded anymore but lay in an untidy heap, looking much more in keeping with the rest of the room. 

By the time I found it, there was a missed call, his.

I phoned him back.

“Look son, I’m sorry, there’s been a change of plan.  The holiday’s off I’m afraid, some other time, eh?”

“What do you mean the holiday’s off?”  I asked.   “You’re supposed to be picking me up in a couple of hours.  You promised.”

“Yes I know, but Linda’s been rushed to hospital, nothing serious, but it looks like she’s going to have to rest in bed for a few days.”

“But we could go, couldn’t we?  Just the two of us?”

“I don’t think so; it wouldn’t be the same, somehow.”

Too right it wouldn’t.  It would have been better.

“I’ll see you next Saturday; we’ll have a game of footie in the park.”

I terminated the call, threw my phone on the bed and kicked my suitcase onto the floor.  It landed with a thud that caused my mum to run upstairs to see what had happened.

After she’d moaned about the mess and the creases in the T Shirts, she took pity on me and gave me some of my holiday money so I could go to see a film and buy a burger afterwards.  So I phoned my mate Gary and asked him if he wanted to come.

Mind you, by the time we got home, I bet he wished he hadn’t, because all I did was moan about Dad and Linda and being let down at the last minute and that I was going to get my own back on them, though I had no idea how.

I spent a few sleepless nights trying to formulate a plan, but by the time I saw Dad at the weekend, I still had no idea what I could do to make him and Linda suffer although I was still determined that they would.

I suppose it was when I found out that the reason for the holiday being cancelled was because Linda was pregnant that something started to form in my mind.  I dismissed the idea of using Linda’s growing bump as a punch bag almost as soon as it entered my head.   I’ve never been exceptionally violent and I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hit a woman, pregnant, or otherwise and while I did consider drowning the sprog as soon after birth as I could get it on my own, I dismissed that idea too; probably for the same reason.

Volunteering for baby-sitting at every opportunity so I could make his life hell on earth was another possibility I dismissed, though I must admit it was, for a while, a very tempting idea, but then I came to realise it wasn’t really the poor kid’s fault.  He didn’t ask to be conceived just before my dad was supposed to take me away on holiday.

No, the people I really wanted to get even with were my dad and Linda.

The lovely Linda, 20 years younger than him, who had a reputation for putting herself about a bit and a liking for anything in trousers. 

Okay, so that was mostly my mum’s view of her, but she hadn’t been averse to sleeping with a married man, so perhaps some of it was true and I’d met her enough times to know she was a bit of a flirt, because she was always flirting with me.  All I had to establish was how far she’d actually go.

At seventeen and with no steady girlfriend I certainly didn’t need much encouragement.  I picked a night I was staying over, one when Dad had to work and waited till the baby was tucked up in his cot and sleeping soundly.  Then I made my move.

I started by being really nice to her, you know, pouring her a glass of wine, that sort of thing, and then I put my arm around her.  Instead of the rebuff I’d expected, she actually nuzzled into my neck, so I kissed her and then I kissed her some more.  Then in my clumsy teenage way I fumbled with the buttons on her blouse and unhooked her bra.  By the time I slid my hand up her very short skirt and into her knickers she was crying out for it so loudly I thought she’d wake the baby.

I expected to feel guilty afterwards, but I didn’t, although I think she did, because she kept on saying that it should be our little secret and that my dad mustn’t ever find out.  I said that was fine, after all, I knew when I was onto a good thing and that her silence would come at a price.

Oh, I didn’t blackmail her, I just insisted on repeat performances once, twice, sometimes three or four times a week.

I learned a lot from the lovely Linda, in fact, she probably taught me everything I know about women, she has some beautiful moves.  That’s probably why my Dad likes her so much.

She also has a very guilty secret.  She’s pregnant again, only neither of us believes that the baby’s my dad’s.  We’re both almost certain it’s mine, so I think I’ve got my revenge. 

Linda’s left holding the baby, Dad’s got to help with cost of its upbringing and me, I can sit back and enjoy watching them get on with it, knowing that at some time in the future, if I get tired of playing bedroom games with her, I can still resort to blackmail to buy her silence.




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