Lexington Black

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writer’s imagination. Any resemblances to persons living or dead,
or actual locales, is purely coincidental.

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This book contains graphic sexual scenes
between two consenting male adults. If you find such content
objectionable, please do not read this book.

The book has been written as a romance
erotica, therefore practicalities like protection against HIV and
other sexually transmitted diseases are dispensed with. In reality,
please always practise safe sex.

Stay safe and enjoy!

The first sign that something was amiss was
the sight of his grandfather clock on the driveway.

Rob paused as he drove between the tall brick
pillars that signaled the entrance to his house, and took in what
was in front of him. The clock was not on its own. It stood sentry
over five black plastic sacks and two battered suitcases, together
with an even more well-worn rucksack. Rob recognised it as being
one that had seen him around most of Europe when he was in his
twenties, not so very long ago.

It was mid-November and the rain had been
coming down all day, icy, spiteful needles that soaked within
moments everything and everyone unfortunate enough to be outside.
As Rob parked the car, he saw that the clock had to have been out
there for a good few hours. The mahogany was stained far darker
than usual.

He felt a stab of anger at Sandy, his wife of
five years. She had always hated that clock, yet he would never
part with it because it was one of the last reminders he had of his
father. It seemed as if she had ridden rough-shod over his feelings
yet again and had taken matters into her own hands.

Looking at the forlorn, rain-stained clock
and bulging, neatly-tied black sacks, his anger grew. Sandy had
obviously been clearing out again, knowing he could not challenge
her about it as she was flying out to Hong Kong that night. No
doubt she was already in the First Class departures lounge,
drinking champagne and feeling satisfied with herself. She hated
clutter, something he could sympathise with but not when it meant
throwing out his beloved possessions. He found his phone and called
her number, but was not surprised when it went directly to
voicemail. Sandy wasn't one to avoid confrontation, but she would
not waste her time on futile conversations either. As far as she
was concerned, the deed had been done and that was the end of
it.

He pushed his key in the lock, weary and not
looking forward to having to manhandle the clock out of the rain.
The timepiece was over two hundred years old and needed loving
care.

The key was stuck. As he pulled it out and
fumbled around again, he couldn't see much under the porch as the
bulb had blown two weeks previously. Sandy had been nagging at him
to fix it but like a lot of things recently, he just hadn't got
round to it yet.

He sighed and tried again. Nothing.

'What the hell?' He frowned at the key, then
the lock. Peering at it, he thought he would need to get some WD40
on that lock mechanism. It meant he would have to hunt around in
the garage in the dark for it, when all he wanted was to sit down
in the warm and have a glass of Scotch.

The key wasn't going to work, however hard he
tried. Frustrated, he walked around the side of the house. His
footsteps crunched on the gravel as he headed to the back door. The
security light switched on, bathing him in its accusatory glow. The
rain intensified as he fumbled for the key. Rivulets of cold water
trickled down the back of his neck and spattered on his glasses,
blurring his vision.

Then he noticed something else that was odd.
The door was different. It was new, its whiteness stark in the
harsh lighting. The lock did not match the old-fashioned
long-stemmed key he had in his hand. It needed something else
entirely.

Now furious, he pulled his phone out of his
jacket and dialed Sandy's number. Voicemail again. He left a
blistering message but it didn't make him feel much better.

Footsteps approached, crunching on the
gravel.

'Rob?' It was his next door neighbour, Mrs.
Bellamy. She was wearing her raincoat and huddled under a large
umbrella. 'Are you all right?'

'I can't get into my house.' Rob forced a
laugh, pushing his anger back down so it would not show on his
face. He took off his glasses and shook the rain away. When he put
them on again, he could see the sympathy written on the old woman's
face.

'There was a locksmith's van here today. It
was here quite a while. Then Sandy came round and asked me to give
you this.' She held out a long white envelope. Rob took it with
numbed fingers. 'I would have called you, especially after I
noticed your beautiful clock outside, but I didn't have your
mobile. Would you like a cup of tea? It's very cold out here.'

'Thank you. I'll be there in a moment. Go
back into the warm while I put the clock in the car.'

As he opened the envelope and read the short
letter, Rob felt sick, thinking of the row he and Sandy had had the
previous evening, over her announcement that she had booked to go
to Mauritius for Christmas, because she couldn't stand anyone in
his family, the exception being Sara, his youngest sister, with
whom she was inexplicably best friends. He couldn't stand his
family either, apart from his twin sister Geri, and she had shown
Sandy nothing but kindness since they first met.

He was also pissed off that his wife had
decided he wasn't worth her company either. In fact, there was so
much wrong with her decision that he had ended the row with a
parting shot before he left for the pub, saying if she didn't want
to be married any more, that was fine by him.

He went back to the front of the house and
opened the boot of his old Volvo estate. After flattening the seats
as far as they would go, he struggled with the clock, being as
gentle as he could as he laid it down. The old mahogany was thin
and could splinter with the slightest wrong touch. Then the
mechanism, which was also very delicate, went in. By the time he
had packed the suitcases, rucksack and black bags around it, he was
soaked to the skin and exhausted. Before closing the door, he
unzipped one of the suitcases.

Inside were a mass of papers, old CD's, vinyl
records, photographs, his bank statements, his passport and birth
certificates. Frantically, he tore open the other sacks before
staring at the wreckage. This was his whole life and she had thrown
it out. It confirmed what her curtly-worded letter had said.

Their marriage was over.

******

'I can't believe she's done something so
horribly callous,' Geri said heatedly as she poured more wine.
'What does she expect you to do? Live out of a cardboard box?'

'She knows I have savings. She mentioned them
in her letter.' Rob pulled the creased piece of paper out of his
pocket and opened it up.

I have filed for divorce. I doubt it is much
of a surprise as we've barely exchanged a civil word for months.
I'm not going to draw this out or make it any more painful than it
has to be, but you must know that the house is in fact mine. You
will be entitled to the deposit you contributed when it was bought,
but you have no more claim upon it. You lost that privilege when
you refused to obtain a decent wage after your redundancy. I won't
allow you to feed off my income any longer. It is time you stood on
your own two feet. You have enough money to start again, so you
won't need any more from me.

'Ouch,' Geri said grimly.

Rob looked at his twin over the top of his
glasses before continuing.

I have engaged my solicitor to facilitate the
necessary procedure. His advice is to go ahead quickly and get it
over with as soon as possible. You will be hearing from him
shortly.

Rob sighed and tucked the letter away. He was
sitting in his sister's comfortable, messy sitting room, surrounded
by high bookshelves bursting with books, music scores and DVD's.
From another room, a piano could be heard; Chopin with
attitude.

'He's had a bad day in the classroom,' Geri
explained. 'He always plays Chopin for an hour if he's had a bad
day, but we were talking about you. Does anyone else in the family
know yet?'

'Why would they, unless she's told them.'

Geri reached over and ruffled his hair, just
like she used to when they were children. Arriving in the world
five minutes before him, she had assumed the role of older sister
from day one and played it step by step.

'How can you be so calm about it?'

'What do you expect me to do, run round the
garden screaming my head off? I'm calling my lawyer in the morning.
Right now there's nothing I can do.'

'No, but you don't even seem that
surprised.'

'I told you last year we were ... not having
problems exactly but ...'

'I think the word you used was "dreary."'

'That was Sandy's word for me, yeah.' It
still hurt, although a large part of him knew there was some grain
of truth in it. Since his redundancy he had played things safe,
working nine to five in a job which required little more than light
book-keeping and dealing with customers buying petrol.

'The spark had gone, I admit that, but that
doesn't give her the right...'

'No,' Geri said quickly. 'She's out of order
and what she's done probably isn't even legal.'

'As I said. I'll call him in the
morning.'

'And if he says you've a right to stay in the
house?'

Rob threw up his hands. 'Why would I want to
if she obviously doesn't want me there? It will be hell on earth.
Besides, we put the house in her name when I was made redundant. At
the time it seemed like the sensible thing to do.'

'You mean, she thought it was the sensible
thing to do.'

'Yeah, but if she doesn't want me to get hold
of her money, it won't happen. To be honest, I don't want to lose
dignity trying.'

The phone began to ring ominously. They
looked at each other in that way only twin siblings have.
'Bridezilla,' they said as one.

Rob could hear his youngest sister's voice
from the other side of the room. Sandy had obviously called her. As
she was to be Sara's Matron-of-Honour in nine months time, the
complications brought about by the separation had just increased
exponentially.

'She wants to speak to you,' Geri said,
holding the phone aloft.

Rob took the phone gingerly, as if it were
about to bite him.

'How could you!' Sara's voice was like a
yapping dog. 'Sandy's just emailed me, saying she won't be able to
be Head Bridesmaid. Now what am I going to do?'

'Oh, I'm sorry. If I'd have known, I would
have postponed the breakdown of my marriage until after your
wedding.' Rob loaded his voice with sarcasm. He had never seen eye
to eye with his younger sister.

'You're so selfish. You made a vow, you know!
For richer, for poorer? What on earth is Mummy going to think?'

'Oh, for Heaven's sake, you're twenty-eight
years old. You should have stopped calling her Mummy years ago! And
I don't give a damn what she thinks.'

'Well, you should! You should be a man about
it instead of running to Geraldine like the crybaby you always
were! Our father died twenty years ago. It's about time you got
over it, Robin. Everyone else in the family has.'

Rob felt his face freeze. 'Two words, sis.
You and fuck. Rearrange them how you like.' He cut the connection
and threw the receiver back over to Geri.

'What the hell did she say to you?'

Rob shook his head, too angry to speak. He
got up and went out into the garden. He wanted to punch something
and pretend it was either Sara or Sandy's smug faces.

He stopped, shocked at himself. He was not a
violent person. He was laid back to the point of being horizontal
most of the time. Calm, not given to impulsive gestures or
exuberance, yet right then he roamed around like an incarcerated
lion, his fists bunching and releasing.