Then, after a few days, she could see I was getting bored, so she invited me along on a weekly get-together with a friend. They were a group of four and each of the women had lost a husband in the crash when a train derailed outside Norwich. The men had been returning from a football match at Wembley and apparently there was a broken rail, which flipped the front of the train off the track, dragging the rest with it.The afternoon was spent at Dorothy's terraced house in a quiet, leafy avenue. Edna and Grace had made other plans, so it was just the three of us. Dorothy was tall and slim, a retired teacher, with carefully combed quite long hair dyed a very pale orange. She probably didn't call it that, but that's how it looked to me.I had met the other two in town on shopping trips. There was Edna, a rough-and-ready little brunette, the joker in the pack, with a coarse sense of humour, and Grace, a slightly chubby and stilted grande dame who had never done a day's work in her life. Vows could be made not to drink like that again. Things would calm down.So I let her pull me into the bed and lay beside her. I positioned myself on the edge of the bed, and urged her deeper toward the middle. My hands were on her in the dark, and I felt both smooth satin and soft, warm skin, but couldn't tell what I was touching. Her hand gripped my wrist, tugging, always tugging, making sure I did not escape and abandon her to the big, old, lonely bed her inebriated brain was so unhappy about.I thought to lie on my back, so I could just roll out of bed after she was asleep. She reached to pull the covers over us both, and snuggled up against me."You're warm," she cooed.She smelled good.She lifted her body and pulled my arm under her. I felt thick, heavy hair caress every inch of that arm and then her weight settled on my biceps as her cheek came to rest on my shoulder. Her breasts were hot beneath the satin that was the only thing that separated our skin. Her left hand draped over.
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