One Lie Grace's Story by Stephanie Rogers

Author:Stephanie Rogers [Rogers, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

11

Mahoney turned up the volume on his Black Sabbath Heaven and Hell cassette, the new one Verity had got him for his birthday, until the speakers started to distort and the car doors rattled. He sang Children of the Sea, headbanging as he drove. It was one of his deepest regrets that he no longer got to see his favourite bands on a regular basis, having neither the time nor the money. In his younger days, he’d go without food to afford a ticket to gigs with his mates. How he missed those days of freedom. When he turned onto his street, he cursed and banged the steering wheel at the sight of a large van parked outside his house. In his parking spot. That was one of the things he had come to hate about living here. There seemed to be more cars about these days and, also the houses were poky and cold, often prone to mould in certain areas. He’d been in a worse mood ever since he’d seen where Grace lived, the spacious thirties semi in a different league to his own house. Yes, he was ashamed of where he lived. The council houses half a mile away were newer, more spacious, and had bigger gardens. His own house had a tiny concrete yard. Maybe they should put their name down for one of the newer ones.

He got parked a few doors down, turned the engine off and sat for a while, not wanting to leave the warmth of his car, or the music, behind. He wanted to live in his dream for a bit longer. The trip had been great; Grace had been great. She had told him she wasn’t a virgin but she hadn’t known much about sex either. Hardly anything. But she was a fast learner and an eager pupil, one of the better ones he’d had. He’d done this twice before and never got caught. The high he always got from it was off the scale. The girls had been as up for it as he was; it wasn’t like he’d forced them into it or anything. He wasn’t a sexual predator. He hated that sort of man. These girls were seventeen and eighteen, over the age of consent, so where was the harm? His wife’s thirty-four-year-old body didn’t compare to the bodies of these teen temptresses. She had awful stretch marks, and her boobs had all but disappeared after Sam had been born. The younger girls were all taut skin and still-expanding hips although he never picked the ones with budding breasts; they reminded him of children, and he liked more than a handful.

He sighed, grabbed his holdall from the seat beside him, and crossed the road back to his house, glaring at the van parked outside his front gate. No one was in it. It could be at any house. The gate was standing open so, for once, he didn’t have to struggle with it. He unlocked the door and stepped over his threshold, his spirits dipping further.

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