Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-seven. Jealousy.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

Through the shimmer, he could see everything, the prominent nipples, and the mound of pubic hair. Are you still a virgin John? Sheila's words echoed in his mind 

"I can tell you do."

She couldn't possibly see his erection from such a distance. John instinctively fingered his fevered brow. Gillian laughed and came to stand by his chair. She bent over, expectation etched on her face. John so desperately wanted to touch those glorious breasts. Save yourself for me.  

"I can't Gillian, I really can't." 

"I know for a fact you can silly boy, and there's no excuse this time." She unfurled her right hand revealing a pack of contraceptives.  

"It's not that. I promised Sheila..." 

A muffled shriek, a clenching of fists followed by a stinging blow to his right cheek, as Gillian hurled the packet of condoms in his face. 

"You bastard, John Gregson. You dirty two timing bastard." 

John scrambled to his feet, hoping to hold her and in some way comfort her. She repelled him with a forceful straight arm to the chest. He fell back into his chair. She stormed out of the room, across the hall, and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind. John followed, and placed his ear to the door. He could hear some jumbled mutterings. He knocked. The muttering stopped. 

"I'm so sorry, Gillian. I didn't mean to hurt you. It wasn't meant to be like this. I was going to tell you before this happened but you didn't give me a chance. Please forgive me." 

No response. John heard her sobbing far into the night.  

John, fully expected to be turfed out of the bungalow, but Gillian never raised the subject. Maybe she had forgiven him, at least partially. She was still obviously mad as hell and avoided his company whenever possible. John never attempted to tell her what had happened over Christmas, he didn't need to. The weekly letters from Matlock, and his weekend absences made it obvious.  

On an evening in early March, John, after as usual eating supper at the student union, returned to Dore. He was about to start his studies, when Gillian, for the first time that term, entered his room. 

"John, I was wondering if you could do me a favour." 

"Sure, anything to oblige." 

"I was thinking of having a friend over on Friday night, and I would appreciate it if you could sort of make yourself scarce for the evening?" 

"Why? Do you think my being around would unsettle her?" 

"It's not a her, John." 

"I should've guessed that I suppose. Anyone I know?" 

"No, just a colleague. He's treated me to lunch a couple of times, and I felt I should return the favour. I've asked him over for supper. Is that okay?" 

"Fine." It really wasn't, but John attempted to appear nonchalant. " I'll work late at the library, and maybe go out for a pint or two. I'll let myself in at the side door and won't bother you." 

"Thanks, John. I appreciate that." 

Over the next couple of days, John noticed Gillian making alterations around the house, alterations designed to deny his existence. John didn't object. How could he? He, himself, had never mentioned his living arrangements to Sheila. 

Friday dawned. John sat mindlessly through a couple of lectures, botched a mixed solvent recrystallisation in the afternoon, and for two hours in the evening made a pretence of studying in the library. Far earlier than he had promised, he took the bus to Dore. Surreptitiously, he slinked past the bungalow. The guest had arrived. He drove a Riley. He must be loaded, probably good looking too. 

John made his way to the Fox and Pheasant. Pint after pint of Whitbread Tankard failed to cool his fevered imagination. The barman called time. Inebriated he staggered back to the house. The Riley was still there. Sounds of Frank Sinatra emanated from the lounge. John stole into the solarium desperate to see what was happening. They were dancing, she with arms draped around his neck, he with hands on her buttocks obviously striving to hold her as close as possible. As he watched, they kissed. It was too much. Unheard he made his way to his room, flung himself on the bed, and lay there waiting for the welcome roar of the Riley. Was it possible to love two women at once? 

The next morning they both slept late. The aroma of freshly percolated coffee drew a bleary-eyed John to the kitchen. Gillian was sitting at the table sipping from her monster mug. She looked radiant. 

"Thank you, John," she said. 

"No problem," John grunted. "Did you have a good time?" 

"It was nice. Would you mind awfully if I had Greg over again?" 

John paused. He did mind. He was jealous as Hell, but he was never going to admit it. "Maybe I should move out. I don't want to interfere with your love life. Dave, my lab partner, said there is room for one more in his digs." 

"You have discussed this with him?" 

"Sure. I'm obviously in the way." 

Gillian's face fell. "No need to be so drastic John. Our lease expires at the beginning of August. You can stay here until the end of term then you can decide." 

She, despite everything, still wanted him around. Maybe he could become a Mormon.