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“That’s crazy talk,” I laugh. “You’re living in cloud cuckoo land. Nobody can control the weather. I think you’re getting a little deluded in your old age.”
“No, I’m not,” she shoots back. “Just last week, when we had that sudden torrential downpour after we argued, I spoke with some farmers from the neighbouring village, and they had no knowledge of a storm of any kind. It would seem it only occurred over this patch of land, and this, I believe, has been happening for years. I am convinced you are behind it. So, I repeat, now that this girl has taken your fancy and given you something to do other than torment me, will we at last have some peace?”
Folding my arms, I smile wickedly, taking great pleasure from toying with her. “That is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. Do you seriously think I can control the weather? With what? Telekinesis? I’m sorry, but I think you’ve been reading too many Stephen King novels. I won’t bother to answer your question because what you are suggesting is so absurd it doesn’t merit a response.”
We argue about it for a while, but in the end, as always, she gives up and admits defeat. It’s a game we’ve been playing since I was ten years old: Beatrix trying to prise information from me to prove Erasmus’ existence, me calmly deflecting every attack to ensure there is always enough doubt to leave the truth just out of reach.
After Mrs Bullivant has cleared away the plates, I instruct my mother to make arrangements for the £25,000 to be transferred to my beauty’s bank account first thing tomorrow morning. Once more, Beatrix says nothing. She can sense where this is all heading but is powerless to stop it. Too late. The horse has already bolted.
The rest of the day drags and all I seem to do is pace up and down, counting down the seconds until I can see her again. I try to distract myself—read a book, compose a new piano concerto, pay a visit to my stables—but it’s no use. Jessica has completely and utterly captured me, and I crave our next encounter like a drug addict craves heroin.
Around five pm, I jump in my car and drive back to London. As it’s a Sunday, the roads are relatively clear. By the time I arrive in Clapham, the sky is pitch-black. As I pull up in front of Jessica’s block of flats, I am delighted to find all the ground floor lights are on and I am presented with a perfect, curtainless view into her sitting room. The place is alive with joy and laughter. I can see Jessica holding hands with her mother and brother, dancing wildly around the room.
From my position in the car with the windows down, I can hear the faint sound of trumpets and drums. Her mum, Cynthia, has a warm, kind face and her brother Freddie looks like a nice kid with a cheeky-chappie smile. With their pale skin and bright, red hair, neither of them looks very much like Jessica, but they all share many of the same mannerisms. For example, Cynthia has a way of tilting her head to one side in the exact same way her daughter does, which clearly indicates their close relation.
As I watch them dancing, I’m flooded with bittersweet emotions. Jessica was right when she said there was more to life than money. The wallpaper in their sitting room is peeling. They have hardly any furniture. They appear to eat their meals on the floor. Yet, none of that matters in the bigger scheme of things. What Jessica has here with her little family is worth more than gold and is something I’ve always found unattainable: the sweet embrace of a loving family who are not afraid to show their feelings. I am particularly struck by how tactile they are with one another, how they kiss and hug each other, how much they laugh, all those little shows of affection that were sadly missing from my life growing up.
Watching them together almost brings tears to my eyes, as I wonder, with a somewhat envious heart, if I could ever be welcomed into their circle. Could they ever embrace me like that? Could they ever look at me like that? Could Jessica? I grew up in a household where money was no object, was given the best of everything by my parents, but when it came to emotional wealth, we were poor as church mice. What I really needed; money could not buy. The tender touch of a kind human being is what I’ve yearned for all these years and witnessing these special, private moments in Jessica’s life makes me realise just how much I have been missing.
And I want a piece of it.Fuck, do I want a piece of it.
For the rest of the evening, I sit concealed in the darkness of my car, watching them go about their business, taking small joys in the most trivial things: Jessica and Freddie playing Jenga, Cynthia painting, Cynthia cooking dinner, Freddie dressing up as a policeman, Jessica filing her nails. For the most part, I’m so enraptured, I have a big, goofy grin perpetually plastered to my face. They’re so cute and adorable it makes me want to cry. The more I see of this happy little family, the more I want to be part of it, and by the time they switch the lights out to go to sleep, my mind is made up.
I want it all. Now, I not only want Jessica’s body, but I also want to be accepted into her world, into her family. I want the three of them to embrace me and I want their warmth to be genuine. I want them to love me. This isn’t just a sexual thing anymore. No, I want to possess my beauty entirely and be a part of every single facet of her life with no exceptions.
Once I am satisfied everyone is asleep, I sneak around the back of the flats, climb over a high crumbling wall and drop down into the large communal garden. From there, I creep over to Jessica’s bedroom window on the ground floor but find she has sensibly put up curtains. I’m a tad disappointed but pleased when I notice the lock on the window is old and rusty, meaning should I ever need to force an entry, it will be a piece of cake. Closing my eyes, I imagine what she would be like undressing. I salivate over the thought of her succulent naked body, just waiting for me to devour, piece by piece. There are so many things I want to,need todo to her, if only she would let me. Whilst it’s true I’ve never made love to a woman, I know with the power of Erasmus flowing through my veins, I’ll have thousands of years of sexual experience at my disposal.
Despite being a novice, I know that when the time comes, the secret knowledge I am privy to will ensure I am more than able to satisfy Jessica. I know I will be able to make her come, over and over again, and take her to levels of unimaginable pleasure that will have her begging for more. I will start by being gentle, take my time to see how she responds, and once she opens up to me, there is nothing I would not do to please her. She’ll be eating out the palm of my hand.
One night.One night is all I need to fuck her senseless, and my beauty won’t ever want any other man but me. Once she’s had a taste of the demon dick, there will be no going back. I know she will become addicted, and once that happens, she will be mine forever, body and soul. I just need to be patient and bide my time…
Returning to the Range Rover, I stay parked in her street until daybreak, never once taking my eyes off the target. Then at six-thirty am, Jessica emerges from the glass communal doors, dressed in an old grey duffel coat, black skirt and tights. She carries a knitted bag over her shoulder and from her smart clothing I presume she’s going to work. My heart beats faster. The morning light filtering through the trees reveal Jessica to look even more gorgeous with no make-up, so fresh, so innocent. Also, she appears much younger without it and in the cold light of day, it’s easy to see she is barely out of girlhood. With lipstick and powder, she could easily pass for twenty-five, but not today. Today, she looks every one of her nineteen years.
Patiently, I wait until she has walked a good distance towards the bus stop at the end of the road, then, revving my engine, I start the car and follow her to work. Fifteen minutes later, we arrive outside a slightly ramshackle eatery on the high street named Sloppy Joe’s American Diner.So, this is where she works…
Parking directly outside, I put myself in position to get a full view through the window of all the comings and goings of the restaurant. In a state of bliss, I spend the next couple of hours just watching her work. I watch her sweep the floor, serve the customers, ring up orders on the till, laugh and joke around with her pretty shaven-headed female friend. The more I see of her, the more enchanted I am. She is everything I could want in a woman and more. So fun, so vivacious, so hardworking. She has it all. During her coffee break, she goes to the local cashpoint to check her balance and I witness her joy when she finds I have deposited the money as promised.
Then, sometime around two-thirty, Jessica finishes her shift and makes her way hurriedly down a network of residential streets to pick up Freddie from school. Parking across the road from an old Victorian building that houses Ravensbourne Primary, I watch my beauty mingle at the gates with the other parents who are keen to catch up on gossip as they wait for three o’clock to arrive and reunite them with their precious offspring. After enduring what is clearly excruciating small talk, she says her goodbyes and heads into the playground.
A short time later, the bell rings and a steady stream of parents and children flood out onto the pavement. Their energy is contagious, and I wonder fleetingly, what it would have been like for me to attend a school like this. Very soon, I spy the object of my affection emerging from the gates, holding hands with Freddie who is chattering excitedly about his day.
My heart melts at the sight of them. Already I am daydreaming about a time when I could join hands with them and spend a day fooling around in the park. From what I’ve observed of his behaviour, I strongly suspect Freddie is autistic, and I admire how kind and patient Jessica is with him. How she takes the time to answer every one of his questions, never showing exasperation. She truly is an angel.
As they continue walking down the street, I’m about to follow, when suddenly I hear the low beep of a car horn. Turning my head, I spy a red Lotus Esprit parked a short distance from the school with two men sitting in the front. Jessica and Freddie are heading straight for it, and at first, my beauty pays it no mind, but when the car beeps again, she cranes her neck and looks towards the driver’s seat. In no time at all, one of the men gets out and jogs over to her.
Blonde, tall and nauseatingly good-looking, he has the confidence and swagger of one who has never been told no in his life. He has the athletic build of a track star and the kind of face you would never tire of punching.
Hastily, I wind my window down so that I can hear and lip read every snippet of conversation.
“Hey Jessica, how you doing?”
“Oh, hi Jack!”
Jack? Who the fuck is Jack?
There’s an awkward pause.
“Me and Tom were just driving around the area killing time before football practice…”
