Homage To Emma

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Mary and I met after school the next day.

We each drove our own car to one of our usual haunts, the car park of a nature reserve, all screened with trees and usually very quiet at about five o’clock in the evening, an hour before it closed. If the weather was warm we went for a walk and sometimes made love under a canopy of sun-filtering leaves. Now those days seemed far away. We sat side by side in my car.

Mary’s manner seemed indefinably different.

When I tried to fondle her t**s she said, ‘I thought you wanted a serious talk.’

‘I do,’ I said.

‘Well then?’

‘How was your night out?’

‘Okay. Nice meal. What about your night? Did you get any sleep?’

‘Not much.’

‘What’s your landlady like?’

‘Emma. I ended up cooking an evening meal.’

‘Do you – did you – cook at home? I didn’t think you did much in the way of domestic chores.’

‘Cooking isn’t necessarily a chore.’

‘My word, this woman must be persuasive.’

‘It helped to take my mind off things.’

‘What have you decided? Are you going to try to patch it up with Kirsty?’

‘She’s blocking my calls.’

‘Why don’t you go round?’

‘She’ll have probably changed the locks.’

‘She’d have to be quick off the mark.’

‘That’s what Emma did when her husband left.’

‘Who’s Emma?’

‘My landlady. I just told you. She seems quite bitter about him leaving.’

‘Not many wives would be exactly ecstatic, Martin.’

‘You seem pretty displeased yourself.’

‘Do I? I don’t think it changes anything except scrambling your head even more. I don’t think you want to leave Kirsty. She’s forced the issue by throwing you out.’

‘Don’t you think this is our opportunity? You used to say you wanted us to live together.’

‘Not like this. I think you just want a roof over your head and someone to look after you.’

‘No,’ I said, sounding mortally wounded by the very idea.

‘We need time, Martin. You need time. Try to have a chat with Kirsty. She might change her mind after some reflection and take you back. I think that’s what you’d really like to happen, isn’t it?’

‘I want to be with you, sweetheart.’ I put my hand on her leg and began a journey under her skirt.

‘You want s*x you mean?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I’m not really in the mood, Martin. I can’t just go on as if nothing has happened. Are you chef again tonight?’

It seemed I was. Emma had bought two rump steaks and asked me to grill them and serve with oven chips and salad, so nothing too daunting yet in my culinary apprenticeship. This time she insisted I wear an apron to keep marks off my suit.

‘Take your jacket off,’ she told me.

She tied the frilly little apron round my middle.

‘I thought you might give me a hand with the housework after we’ve eaten. I’ve been at work today so haven’t had a chance to do anything.’

‘I didn’t realise you worked.’

‘What did you think I did? Sat around all day painting my nails?’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a prison officer.’

‘Good God,’ I said. ‘Which prison?’

She named the large prison on the outskirts of the town used mainly for prisoners on remand.

‘Isn’t that an all male prison?’

‘It is.’

‘I didn’t realise they had female officers.’

‘You’re behind the times.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘The work in general or having all male inmates?’

‘Both, I guess.’

‘The routine can be boring but I think men are easier to handle than women.’

‘For a woman?’

‘That’s probably part of it,’ she said. ‘They’re generally less confrontational with female officers. More biddable. I think we have a different approach to that used by the male officers.’

‘I expect they all fancy you,’ I said.

‘I see. So we don’t get any credit for the way we approach our work. It’s just that the guys fancy us?’

‘I didn’t quite mean that.’

‘Well say what you mean. I thought you were an English teacher.’

‘I wasn’t trying to belittle you.’

‘I should hope not, young man,’ she said sternly.

I could see she would have the necessary authority. I’d picked that up already. As I said when she gave instructions you felt you had to obey. Perhaps that was it. She was so used to being obeyed in the prison that she naturally expected it from everyone. When you acted as though you expected to be obeyed, obedience normally followed. If there was no doubt in her mind about her ability to command and be obeyed there was no doubt in yours. Some people convey that expectation, others don’t. I saw it all the time in schools. It’s got nothing to do with size or anything like that. I’ve seen some tiny women teachers who have the knack. Most of it is down to confidence and lack of fear. Kids sense when teachers are scared of them. Probably the same with inmates and prison officers.’

‘When can I see you in your uniform,’ I said stupidly. I said silly things like that in those days.

‘I’m going up for my bath. I might come down in it if you’re a good boy and you get on with the meal. Have it ready in exactly forty five minutes.’

‘Yes Emma,’ I said in my obedient tone.

I got ridiculously anxious about timing everything to the second, putting the chips in the oven at just the right time and not starting grilling the steaks too early. I gave the steaks a good beating to tenderise them which helped to relieve some of my tension. I made a nice dressing for the salad and set the table to look as attractive as possible. Emma had bottles of wine in a rack built into her kitchen unit and I selected a red that looked to be the best of the lot. I suddenly thought about flowers and remembered there was a garage near the junction of Emma’s crescent and the main road. There was just time for me to dash along there before grilling the steaks.

By the time Emma came down the flowers were in a vase on the table and the steaks were ready.

Emma was dressed in her uniform with her blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail, short sleeved crisp white shirt with prison epaulettes, top buttons undone, sort of tank top jumper in navy blue, black or navy blue trousers which were quite tight round her bottom and thighs, shiny black shoes.

‘Very smart,’ I said.

‘Glad you like it,’ she said sitting down at the table.

Just as she pulled back her chair I noticed a pair of handcuffs hanging from her belt and wondered if they came with the uniform or had been acquired from some other source. Seeing them sent little flickers of sensation through my loins. The thought struck me that she might not be a prison officer at all and that she might have hired her uniform in order to play some power game with me or perhaps it was a relic from her days with her husband. Perhaps he’d broken under the pressure or finally rebelled.

She glanced at the flowers but didn’t make any comment.

The steak was succulent and the dressing enhanced the salad even if I say it myself; even the oven chips tasted fine if a little dry. Hardly a gourmet feast but tasty.

‘Get me the English mustard,’ she said.

I was up in a jiffy looking in her cupboards.

‘Right hand cupboard, middle shelf,’ she said.

When I fetched it to the table she told me to put some on the side of her plate. As I bent over her I took in the smell of whatever she’d added to her bath blended with the fresh smell of soap and I felt my c**k harden.

‘Back in my place sitting opposite her, I looked at her admiringly.

She returned with the same slightly disdainful expression.

I realised some people would call her hard faced.

Emma was in her forties, I guessed, with laugh lines around her eyes. She must have been quite good looking as a young woman and she was still handsome now. Although she was older than me, that didn’t really matter. I was beginning to find her more than a little interesting.

‘If you wash up, I’ll show you the housework that needs doing.’

‘What did your last slave die of?’ Another example of the stupid things I say.

‘I beg your pardon?’ she said fixing me with a stare.

‘Sorry. Just the old joke. Mistress and slave…you know.’

‘Do you begrudge doing a little to help?’

‘I don’t, Emma, really. It was a stupid remark.’

‘Does it make you feel you’re a slave?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Would that be so bad?’

‘What?’

‘Being my slave,’ she said. If she was joking there was no trace of a smile. ‘Some men might enjoy it.’

I cleared my throat, not knowing what to say, and collected the plates and cutlery from the table. The butterflies fluttering in my stomach heralded probable indigestion coming so soon after I’d eaten. I might have dismissed the whole thing but there was the evidence of the uniform and the handcuffs to consider.

‘Put your pinafore on,’ she said.

Once again she tied the apron round my waist.

I washed and dried the dishes, tidied away, and wiped over the sink surround and the table. Emma sat on a stool making a list. When I’d finished, I handed the little apron back to her carefully folded. When she gave me her list it read:

Mop the kitchen floor

Clean out bath, shower, sink and toilet bowl

Dust and vacuum clean the stairs, hallway and landings

Dust and vacuum clean my bedroom

‘I’ll show you where everything is.’

She took me to a cupboard under the stairs and revealed the vacuum cleaner and a bright plastic box with a handle which was crammed with cleaning materials of every type.

‘Martin,’ she said.

‘Yes, Emma?’

‘You don’t want to get those clothes dirty, do you? You need them for school.’

‘No, but I don’t have anything else to wear.’

‘Do you need to wear anything? The house is pretty warm.’ My stomach lurched again and suddenly my mouth was dry.

‘I’d give you Malcolm’s gear but I cut everything up and burnt it in a bin in the garden. Strip off and you can use the apron if you’re coy. That way your clothes don’t get ruined. I’m not easily shocked. Pop upstairs and undress in your room and come down naked. Quickly.’

I must have looked rooted to the spot and probably my mouth had fallen open.

‘Martin!’

‘Yes. I’m sorry…’

‘Be quick about it. Leave your clothes in your room neatly folded and get your ass down here pronto.’

‘Emma, couldn’t I just leave my boxers on?’

‘What a wimp,’ she said. ‘What’s to hide? I’ve seen it all before.’