On Love's Orders

By John Date

On Love's Orders is a novel that charts the ups and downs of a relationship between two unmarried people between their first meeting and their engagement 17 months later. The novel is set in an un-named typical English city about the year 2000. It takes a mad scene in a hospital ward, with the donkeys in the car park below, to convince Sharon that her future is with Peter alone!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Adult
• Release date: Feb 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781849896382

Book preview

happening.

Chapter One

You can pick me up any time you like

The words were spoken as he turned away from the shop counter with his purchases. Her low monotone was in contrast to the loud and cheery remarks of customers on their way home.

She had worked there for some time, he knew, but they had never talked except briefly at the till.

She was an unknown without a name badge. He was a government clerical officer who had contact with majority of humans by telephone or email, rather than in person face to face.

The shop visit was a necessary routine at five fifteen twice a week, to buy milk, groceries and the occasional can of beer.

Without making any sign he had heard, Peter Jackson hurried to the shop doorway to leave as soon as he could. There were a lot of people in the shop, more were coming in, because it was a busy time of day.

It was nearly dark, but a red glow in the west seemed to promise a fine tomorrow. The autumn temperature was dropping fast in the city, the sky was clear of cloud, there was a chance of frosty nights.

As he approached the car park, the noise of commuter traffic disrupted his train of thought. Was that an invitation to a date? A come-on for sex? A suggestion of a relationship even leading to marriage? Always a single man, Peter had never been really seriously involved with a woman.

As for ‘picking people up’, it was not his style, not even in the nightclub he sometimes went to.

He preferred introductions and handshaking, like his father had advised him.

A six-footer, Peter had broad shoulders and long legs. His fair hair was well trimmed and he lacked sideburns, however years of fluorescent lighting in offices had given him a pallid complexion. In good health, he liked to keep fit when not at work. To blend in with a crowd was his preference. Truly, he was a shy individual who lived alone.

Driving home, his car radio was tuned to a popular music station. It had been the same route home for the last ten years since he began driving. Thirty-seven years of age, Peter was on his first house, second car, and had not long finished with his fourth girlfriend. His small house was in the far suburbs of the city, near where his father lived.

To be propositioned in a convenience store, of all places, was a bit of a shock. For a week he avoided the area, but a series of unanswered questions kept presenting themselves. Did he really want to live alone forever? Would it not be better to be with a pretty lady, to kiss and be kissed, every day of his life?

That night he hardly slept, weighing up the options. Eventually he decided to give it, and her, a try. Using the excuse of a dental appointment, the next Wednesday afternoon, Peter left the big open plan office to walk to a specialist chocolate shop in the city centre. At that time of day, three o’clock, he hoped the store where she worked, would be fairly quiet. Placing the chocolates in a colourful gift bag, he added a short note ‘From Peter Jackson, here’s my mobile number’.

Any number of embarrassing scenarios could happen. She might not be there, it could be a day off. The boss might be there, watching him enter. Worse, another man, even an ex-boyfriend might be there speaking to her. But if he phoned, she would not know his voice. Not knowing her name, he would not know who to ask for, anyway the boss might answer. To wait outside the shop until it closed would be silly and impractical. Suddenly he was there, it was a moment to take a risk. For a few seconds he hesitated outside the doorway, then he entered.

Her dark hair was tied back, her fingers busy untying a delivery carton. Nearby stood another, older, shop assistant who looked at Peter ready to serve him. The middle aged man who he presumed was the owner, was nowhere to be seen. He was at the counter before she realised who it was.

Hi, you see me often, don’t you, I’m Peter, he struggled to say. Smiling, he put the gift bag on the counter. She stared, but she did not smile back, as if taken by surprise. Very good looking really, Peter noticed, flawless skin lightly tanned. No rings or earrings, blue eyes, hair touching her shoulders.

Yes, I have seen you she said, You busy?

Not always Peter’s tone was strained. It was a stupid reply to make. Hearing other customers enter the shop behind, he pushed the gift bag forward and rushed the words out.

Would you like to go out for a drink with me some time?

Her hair shone in the artificial light. Other customers were waiting to pay. He felt his face becoming hot.

Call in tomorrow about five. I’m Sharon by the way. Take care. What’s this? Then she finally smiled and Peter saw even white teeth. A man cleared his throat . Peter turned and left without buying anything.

Three days later Peter and Sharon went on their first date. He thought it was a double date when he saw someone standing beside Sharon at the bus lay-by. But that was a friend whose duty it was to write down the car registration number and other details for security. When Sharon waved goodbye to her friend, Peter put the car into gear for wherever.

He wished he could look at her, but there were laws against careless driving. Her hands seemed to point towards him as he drove. She started by asking him how he was, almost as if he might be ill in some way. She spoke about the shop, what hours she worked, and who the other staff were. The area where she lived was unfamiliar to Peter, so he drove to find a bar quiet enough for a get-to-know-you chat and a drink.

Do you smoke? Smoke if you want to Peter asked during a gap in the conversation.

He was a lifelong non-smoker and objected to the habit on health grounds.

I’ll get cigarettes when we stop Sharon said. Then Peter saw a small pub with not many cars outside. We’ll go in there, shall we?

Yeah, that’s cool was her answer.

When the ordeal of waiting to be served drinks was over, they sat in a far corner facing each other on angled seats. Sharon only wanted a small lager, but she smoked a premium brand of cigarettes. He drank from his pint glass quickly. Sharon smiled a lot as she talked. He was impressed with her almost sad beauty, and with her stunning figure.

She wore black trousers with an ironed crease, flat shoes, and a patterned jumper high at the neck.

Today her hair was not tied back, but hung lustrously free across her shoulders. Rather than enquire too much about her family history, Peter decided to tell her about himself.

What do you do in that office? she eventually asked, obviously having no idea of the work done in government departments. Peter explained that he was a civil servant, which was a good thing to be due to generous holidays, sick leave, pension plan and so on. He added that all the women who worked there were either married, engaged or going steady.

Oh, that’s a long time in one job Sharon said, after Peter admitted he had been there since he was eighteen. It took several lagers before Sharon said anything about her own family. She was not what you would call bubbly or feisty exactly, Peter realised. It took an effort to drag information from her.

Sharon explained that she lived in a house with her divorced but disabled father, David, 62, and her brother Dennis, 25. Sharon herself was thirty-one. She said that animals were her only hobby, especially the family’s two dogs, also horses and donkeys. The amount of ash from her smoking grew as she talked.

After a third trip to the bar counter to buy drinks, a couple seated nearby went, then Peter and Sharon were in view of no-one. Sharon’s left hand was very close to his right, so he lifted it and squeezed gently, looking away on purpose. She returned the pressure immediately.

What music do you like?

All that’s in the charts, a bit of soul, I’m easy she replied.

Sharon leaned forward.

Just checking your eye colour, Peter. Sort of blue-grey

Not the cornflower blue of yours

Her face was in front of his and there was no-one else around. He moved to kiss her on the lips.

In a bar, a public place, it was out of character for a sober clerical officer. She was having an effect on him without a doubt. The beers had placed him on the boundary of legality for driving but he could not help it.

Soon, seated in his car, they kissed passionately. She said she had a car too. Peter would have been satisfied with two or three on the lips, but it became clear that Sharon wanted more. As he drove her home, his mind was in a whirl.

As he slowed down for a roundabout, Sharon demanded Say something, anything

We could go for a meal one evening he blathered, And the cinema as well

You’re too good to be true. Haven’t you got any bad habits? Sharon’s question was almost hectoring.

I can be boring at times, probably

I’m not bored yet she laughed.

Peter stopped the car at a place where she indicated. They kissed again and she walked away with I’ll call you, Peter.

The next time was the second date. They went to a pub nearer to the city centre. It was a lively, popular venue that had a jukebox to play music of the customer’s choice. After about an hour Sharon said softly I’m dying to see your place. Let’s go, shall we?

What she would think of his modest house troubled Peter greatly. The kitchen was bright and sparkling, but the lounge was narrow and gloomy with a shagpile carpet that was hard to clean.

The two bedrooms and bathroom were small. He did not even have a shower, let alone luxury fittings that women might fancy.

That dark November night they reached his driveway around nine thirty. Other houses faced Peter’s house. Anyone who was interested, could observe their neighbours’ comings and goings from their kitchen windows. Just behind Peter’s lounge wall was next door’s driveway and garage. On the other side, a brick wall was the boundary with the next property. At the back, mature conifer trees formed a barrier between even more houses.

Sharon said little as they arrived and parked the car. When in the lounge Peter switched on the gas fire to warm up the cold house. Sharon looked at everything.

No pictures on the walls, that’s a shame, but I like this carpet

As Peter brought glasses of lager from the kitchen, Sharon asked how long he had lived there.

Ten years, on my own His reply was lowkey and deadpan.

It’s a sentence

I know

You are a perfect gentleman. There’s not many of them left

I suppose it’s my childhood, being an only child. You copy adult behaviour when you’ve no brothers or sisters

"You must have some dislikes.

He could not very well say smokers, or dogs.

Rain, I’m sick of it raining. I’m not keen on snow or ice either

Sharon laughed at his avoidance of the subject.

My last two boyfriends did not have cars. I did’nt know until we went out. They wanted me to drive them, lazy swines. The last one, he used to say ‘Where are we going?’. I hated that. And the last one with his own place was five years ago

I need a car Peter said, otherwise I would have to walk past these people’s gates in this road

But from here I can walk to three bars for a beer"

Boozing beers in three bars, that’s your weekend is it Peter?

Not quite. I do go to see my father every weekend

Peter went to his music centre and rock filled the lounge. After a while Sharon took off her jumper. He saw a flimsy white top and the bulge of her bra underneath.

You’re a turn-on, you know. I do feel randy. It’s getting hot in here now

Sharon yawned and closed her eyes. Soon she went to sleep in his arms, no-one had ever done that before. When the music finished, Peter hardly dared to move.

When she woke she moved to sit pressed against Peter. It was like an earthquake in his quiet life. He remembered stilted, embarrassing encounters with previous girlfriends who clearly had lacked the warmth and passionate nature of Sharon. Even in his own house, previous ones had made excuses not to come back.

‘Good riddance’ had been the phrase he had used, to himself alone, for he told his father nothing.

The heat from the full-on gas fire was almost burning them. Suppose I never see Sharon again, after tonight, Peter wondered.

Would you show me what’s under here, just show me, that’s all? his fingers pointed to her bra.

She smiled and removed her top. Her bra offered a minimal coverage of her breasts. Sharon looked him in the eyes, then she directed his hand to unhook the straps.

Go on, take it off she chided him gently. It won’t bite

Her nipples were of a darker colour than he expected. He breathed deeply for a few seconds.

You are fantastic, Sharon

She used his left hand to cup one breast, then the other. For a minute or two he felt the warmth in his palms. Then Sharon replaced his hands on the sofa . The bra was quickly back in position.

"I’d like another