Christopher Lee - For The Love Of Sara

Published by Dolman Scott in 2021

Copyright © Christopher Lee 2021

Cover design by Evie Mai Barker

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the copyright owner. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser.

ISBN

978-1-8384967-2-2 – PoD

978-1-8384967-3-9 – iBooks

978-1-8384967-4-6 – Kindle

Dolman Scott Ltd

www.dolmanscott.co.uk

So let us vow a friendship beyond friendship and meet again beyond the stars.

Li Po

PROLOGUE

The pain was no longer intense. A heavy boot crashed into the side of his face and he could hear bone splinter. It echoed around the empty chamber of his head. His head was swollen like a ripe melon, one eye was completely closed. Through the half closed slit of the other eye he could make out the shape of the attacker.

They had flipped her onto her front and splayed her legs into a wishbone. The larger of the two men was kneeling on her arms, pressing her head onto the cold tiles of the church floor. His spade-like hands were tearing at her buttocks. The other man was crazed with excitement. Saliva dripped from the side of his mouth. He shifted on his knees to get a better position between her thighs. Her sobs were quiet now, more like a child’s whimper. Then she screamed a scream so loud as to wake every tormented soul in Hell as her attacker forced the full length of his organ into her. That’s when Grant blacked out.

CHAPTER 1

A thin chink of sunlight broke through the heavy drape curtain making a triangle of light on the nude on the wall. It was only a print, but a limited edition print. Grant had often wondered who she was. It’s how he imagined Helen of Troy might have looked. But why were all Greek goddesses portrayed as tall and willowy with long golden tresses when all the Greek women he had met were small, dark and invariably had a moustache? He smiled and thought about getting up.

It was 5.36 according to the radio alarm perched on a shelf under the picture. The plane was not due to take off until ten and all the packing had been done. Jill had seen to that. In her own inimitable way everything had been packed the night before, only the toilet bags to be included. Toilet bags, what an unfortunate term, sanitary bags? No, that was even worse.

He wondered if any of the children were up. The youngest two had still been awake when he and Jill had eventually gone to bed. They were so excited. It was to be their first time on a plane. Emma and Tim, the elder two, were old hands at flying.

“Don’t worry, Ben,” Tim had chided his younger brother. “If we do crash, you probably won’t feel a thing.”

There was no sound from the bedroom next door, so he guessed the children must still be asleep. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down in to the face of his wife. She was beginning to show her age, but was still an attractive woman. The four children had taken their toll on her 41 year-old body. Her breasts were now spread to either side of her chest. Her nipples were flat, like huge pimpled saucers. There were crow’s feet around the corner of her eyes, those oh so blue, blue eyes. The skin, once rosy pink was now tightly drawn over her high cheekbones and had a slightly yellow hue.

Their lovemaking the night before had not been earth shattering. Sex had become more of a routine for her, but remained a hungry need for Grant. Even when they had married twenty years ago it was never that good. He had never found the right button to turn her on. It didn’t seem to bother her, but it bothered Grant. Maybe if she had made love to someone else? But she never had. They met as teenagers and married four years later, their virginity a wedding gift to each other.

Maybe she should have had someone else. Maybe she will meet someone on this holiday – drink too much sangria and cop off with a couple of waiters. His hand wandered to his groin. Thinking of her with other men had always given him an erection. He was just about to take one of her exposed nipples in his mouth when he heard the bedroom door open. He pulled the duvet over her just as Ben poked his head around the door.

“Is it time to get up yet?” he asked.

Jill opened her eyes.

“What time is it?” She yawned and stretched leaving the duvet in danger of falling. She snuggled it close.

“Is anyone else up?”

“No only me,” said Ben. “Here mum, I had a dream last night and in it the plane did crash and it did hurt, not like Tim said.”

“And where did they bury the survivors?” Grant joked.

“Don’t be silly dad, they don’t bury survivors. I’m getting up,” and with that he disappeared round the door.

“That’s funny,” said Grant, putting his hand under the duvet, around his wife’s waist. I was about to do the same thing just before he came in.” Jill removed his hand, not amused. “I think you need a shower,” she said clutching the duvet tightly, “preferably a cold one.”

CHAPTER 2

In Yorkshire the sun was peeping above Boulsworth Hill, 1700ft up in the Pennines. Sara blinked as her mother pulled the curtains apart, flooding the room with light. The walls were covered in posters. James Dean looked down on her. How often had she imagined his strong arms around her. How often had he whisked her away from the village on the back of his Harley-Davidson. How many times had she wished there were boys in the village like James Dean, not just the spotty yobs who hung around her.

She had only had one boyfriend, Jeff, who worked at the stables where she kept her pony. Sara was crazy about horses and rode as often as she could. Jeff and his family were new to the village. They had moved from Hong Kong where his father had been in banking. Jeff told fascinating stories about life in the former colony. He was like a breath of fresh air from Wadsworth Moor in an environment in which Sara was becoming increasingly bored. None of the village lads had been further than Bradford, let alone Beijing. The other thing Sara liked about Jeff was that he never tried anything on with her when they were alone. The village boys were always trying to grope her. She had once been foolish enough to let Adam Cochrane, the local gang leader, kiss her. The next day it was all around the village that she was “easy”.

She visited the stables every day, mucking out in exchange for free board and keep for the pony her father had brought her – the day he had died.

It was to have been the happiest day of her life. She had nagged her parents to buy her the 14-year-old black and tan pony. The riding school no longer wanted it. She was convinced they were going to sell it to the slaughter house over at Harrowgate. It wouldn’t have been the first time that old horses from the stables had been picked up by the knacker’s van. Sara couldn’t bear the thought of Scout sharing the same fate. With love and attention he would be good for a few years yet, besides, Sara had been riding him for six years. Her mother had said she couldn’t have her own horse, but she had managed to sweet-talk her father. She could always get around him. When he dropped her off at the stables on the morning of her fifteenth birthday and told her Scout was officially hers, she thought he was the most marvellous man in the world.

She had stayed at the stables to groom him. On the drive home, her father’s car was struck by an articulated lorry. He was dead on arrival at Bradford General Hospital. Multiple head injuries they said. Just as well he had been killed outright. If he had survived the crash he would have been a vegetable.