Bill & Ethel: A Love Story

Bill & Ethel: A Love Story

A Short Story by Damien L Malcolm

This story is available as a downloadable PDF, thanks to Goodle Drive. Click here
Also a part of my recently released ebook, The Tiny 1st Volume: A Short Collection of Short Stories
Available for FREE on Kobo, Smashwords, iBooks, Google Play and other ebook retailers 

I'm here to tell you a story about a boy and a girl. But not just any conventional story.

She was a check-out girl at the local grocery store, with her pink-streaked jet-black hair, charred ash eye-liner and ice-dagger nose piercing. She chewed wistfully on squelching gum while scanning her phone screen, completely ignoring the job she was being paid to do. She glanced up nonchalantly as he approached.

He was a thin lad from Dalby, now living in the heart of Toowoomba, regrettably miles away from his mother's cooking, clothes washing and all-round emasculating mollycoddling. His face was pale and pimpled, bones too prominent, with narrow lips and tousled brown straw for hair. He had that pasty, distant look of a young man who spent far too much time indoors playing video games.

Slowly he shuffled toward her register, too shy to look her directly in the eyes. He placed on the conveyor the standard kit for a young man just starting out away from home: twenty-four packets of

two-minute noodles, four multi-pack bags of flavoured potato chips, a box of cornflakes, long-life milk, a six-pack of pies and a Cadbury crème egg. He was very careful to position the soft-porn magazine face-down and underneath the other items so the check-out girl wouldn't see the tanned buxom model in an undignified spread across the front cover.

After a tense few moments of silence broken only by the incessant periodic bleeping of the scanning device, he finally built the courage to meet her expectant gaze. He was taken breathless at her gothic, unhinged beauty, as he had been every time he had shopped at this store in the last three weeks. She looked at him, passing her striking dark-ringed azure eyes up and down him before opening her mouth to utter the precious words in her sultry vocal rasp...

"That'll be thirty-three dollars forty."

He handed her the money, mostly in ten and twenty-cent coins, gazed longingly at her once more, too afraid to speak, then left the store with his groceries.

He promised himself that next week when he returned, he would find the courage to talk to her. However by the next Friday she was gone. When he asked the floor manager, he was told that she had quit the job on Monday. No notice.

He would never see her again.

But that's ok, because one look at them together in the cold, harsh light and sanitary atmosphere of the supermarket cleaning aisle would have shown how truly incompatible they were. She would have been far too dominant; he too submissive. And boring in bed. And too obsessed with that damned Xbox. Once the novelty of taking his virginity, getting him tattooed and whipping him at random intervals with her studded leather stock-whip had passed, she would have tired of him and moved on, leaving him hurt, alone and irreparably damaged.

So thankfully we're not here to talk about them. No. So sorry for leading you on. Instead, there's another boy and girl I'd like to tell you about, though it would have been quite a while since these two were referred to in such an endearing, youthful way. Close your eyes and think back to that encounter at the check-out last week between the geek and the goth. Look past his whimpering shuffle and her uninterested eye-rolling. Focus instead on the fresh vegetable department across the foyer.

See him there? That elderly gentleman in the checked shirt and corduroy slacks, randomly picking through the apples with no real attention paid to the mottled red fruit in front of him. He too has been coming back the last few weeks, building the courage to approach someone.

His name is Bill. He's a nice old fella: simple, good hearted; only gets a little grumpy when he's run out of bacon for his mid-morning breakfast. Worked at the power-plant from 1948, the year after he left school at sixteen, till the day they downsized the company and retrenched him in 1993.

His life has been full of ups and downs, like anybody else's. But he's always managed to keep himself to a steady rhythm. Never cheated, smoked or been overseas. Margaret had passed away from cancer fourteen years ago, leaving his three adult kids without a mother and Bill without a best friend after a fifty-one year marriage.

Since then the family had gradually moved apart, his kids now scattered around the world with their own families and semi-fulfilling careers, leaving him alone in his two bedroom unit with only a schizophrenic twelve-year-old cat to keep him company.

It may not sound like much, but for the most part Bill was satisfied with his lot. He'd had a good run, and was happy to finally have the chance to slow down. Content to sit in the recliner at night eating his microwaved dinners and watching reruns of sixties TV shows till he fell asleep an hour into the following movie he wasn't interested in.

However everything had changed three weeks before when he wandered down to the shop for his afternoon walk and a bottle of milk.

He had seen Ethel.

Thankfully though, she hadn't noticed him. It had been a nerve-wracking forty minutes that Friday evening, stealthily following her around as she shopped. He saw her name on the Red Cross volunteer tag pinned to her shirt, which he noticed as he covertly cruised past her up the aisle to get a peek at her shopping basket. But there was something else about her that drew him intensely. That's why he was here again this Friday, as he had been for the last three weeks in the hope that she would come again.

The gamble had finally paid off.

She was beautiful. While indeed her eighty-three years were showing through wrinkle lines, and she didn't stand as straight as she used to, Bill could see the pure and honest beauty in every part of her being. Her eyes sparkled and her face glowed; even brighter when she smiled at the man handling the small meats. She seemed, even from this distance, to be so confident, warm and noble. Bill found it increasingly difficult to resist her.

At the same time though, every moment made him that bit more terrified to make the approach. Which for all of his own history, experience and confident demeanour, he found his nervousness around her quite frustrating. In all his eighty-four years he had never been too scared to a walk up to a woman.

It had been that brazen forthrightness in his youth that had won over his first love, a high school romance abruptly ended in '47. And again a few years later, it had impressed Margaret and convinced her to go steady with him. And to marry him at just nineteen. He had always prided himself on having the confidence, even if it was somewhat feigned at the time.

As he watched her now, Bill began to rally himself to the call. He put down the Fuji apple he had been absent-mindedly fondling for the last five minutes and started to crossing the fresh produce section toward her. His knees seemed decidedly weak as he crossed the polished supermarket floor, and he thought for a moment that he wasn't going to be able to pull it off. He was on the verge of chickening out.

But then he noticed her plight at the bread section. Ethel was reaching for the maxi-fibre, wholemeal, multi-grain, light-crust sough-dough loaf at the very top, failing to come close even on tip toes. Bill saw his chance. He sidled up beside her, hoping to God that his voice wouldn't fail him.

"P... pardon me, madam. Would you like me to get that for you?"

She turned, a little surprised to find an elderly gentleman suddenly standing beside her. Ethel was a private woman, and never took too well to strangers. But one look at the adorable twinkle in this short man's eyes brought her to an immediate pause. He seemed at first impression clearly genuine, honest. Still, for the most part her guard stayed high.

A smile played at the edge of her lips though, as she looked down at him and replied rather curtly, "And what would be the point of that? You're almost two whole feet shorter than I am."

"Ah, but," Bill replied playfully, waving his index finger in the air. "Due to my unfortunate stature, madam, I have learned to be resourceful over the course of my lifetime."

And with that he spun on his heel, marched off down the end of the aisle and disappeared. Ethel waited for several moments, wondering what the man was up to. Just when she was on the verge of giving up and summoning the strappingly tall young man four metres away busily restocking the potatoes, Bill reappeared carrying something large and fluorescent orange in his hands.

As he closed the distance between them, Ethel could see that what she had thought was a box was in fact a platform step; one the shop attendants used to stock the higher shelves. Grinning from ear to ear, Bill sauntered up and placed the step down at Ethel's feet. Without hesitation or even a minor creak from his aging bones he bounded onto the step and reached up for her loaf of bread.

He was just stepping back down when a thirty-something blonde woman, clad in an apron and striped shirt, whirled around the end of the aisle, pointing an accusing finger in their direction.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing with that?"

Bill turned to face her, nonchalantly waving his hand, "Well love, you lot will make the shelves so high an average person can't reach even at their full span. Can't blame a fella for making use of your little step here."

"Well, sir, they are for staff use only. You're not trained. You could have fallen."

"Did I fall?"

"Ahh... no."

"Then what's your problem? Here, take your little step, love, and go back to work. Thanks for your help and impressively courteous customer service."

The woman muttered her impolite response as she picked up her platform and retreated down the aisle. Bill turned back to a stunned and speechless Ethel, who outwardly had lost only a little of her prudent air.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes," he held up her loaf. "Here's your bread. I'm Bill."

Ethel took the bread in one hand, and shook his outstretched hand with her other. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Ethel. You're a... well, quite an interesting fellow aren't you?"

"Wouldn't know. I've never met myself. Mind if I tag along for the rest of your shop? Darn shelves are so high, you might just need a hand with something else in here."

Ethel smiled warmly. "Sure."

What for Ethel was normally a half hour late odd-week supplemental shop turned out to be a much longer affair with Bill's "help". Not that he was a hindrance at all; quite the contrary. Bill was witty, clever and had the best sense of humour Ethel had encountered in a long while. He had a funny story relating to just about every item she placed in her trolley, and despite herself she found she was deliberately taking her time moving down each aisle to prolong his company.

She didn't know how, but Bill seemed to bring out an intimate openness Ethel hadn't felt since.... well, she couldn't remember really. It was as if she'd known him for years. In just the hour or so they walked up and down the supermarket, she found herself telling him things she had hardly told anyone else, especially a total stranger. All about her late second husband, estranged son, life as a single elderly woman in a retirement village, and how she still experienced hot flushes every few nights despite passing the height of menopause thirty years prior.

Things were just so easy with him. Ethel hadn't shared time with a man in six years, and in some ways even longer than that. Maintaining and enjoying relationships had always been a strain for her. Long before her second husband passed away with dementia in the local nursing home, deep down Ethel had felt always alone. Left out in the cold. Not that she ever admitted it to anyone, including herself. Being an independent woman, in the past she had done her best to fill the intangible void with a few good friends and a busy social lifestyle.

Though nowadays, after more recently experiencing the almost predatory nature of divorced older men, she had learned to remain guarded and private. She hadn't felt the need for male company at all, nor wanted it. Though now, when they finally reached the end of the last aisle and the time had come to go their separate ways, Ethel found she didn't want Bill to leave. In fact, it almost hurt. She couldn't for the life of her explain why.

"Did you not have anything you needed to buy while you were here?" she asked as her trolley reached the checkout and she noticed his still empty hands.

"No, love. The only reason I came back was to see you again."

Ethel smiled. Not just a polite, courteous smile. The guarded mask had finally let go of its last thread and crumbled. Her entire face broke into a beaming grin as her heart melted from the inside out. Before she even tried to check her tongue, she found herself asking if he would care to meet again for coffee.

"Nah, sorry. No can do." Bill replied, straight faced.

Ethel's expression dropped.

"Haven't drunk coffee since the seventies," he continued, letting a smile creep in. "I could go a tea though, straight black with a bit of sweet stuff. At the park by the creek, say ten tomorrow morning? My shout."

"Sounds lovely," she answered, just a little more enthusiastically than she was aiming for. "I look forward to it."

"Me too. Now let's get these groceries through so you can get home. She's dark outside."

Bill helped Ethel put the groceries on the conveyor belt, then transfer the bags to her Toyota Prius waiting just outside. She offered him a lift home, but he politely declined. She waved as she turned out of the parking lot, watched him standing there with his hands in his pockets, a smile on his rugged old face.

The following day turned out to be a gem. As did the walking date they set up for the day after, and the movie Bill took Ethel to see the day after that. The film was a mature romance, starring older actors long past their heydays but still charismatic enough to fill out the Hollywood stage lighting. The best part for Ethel was about twenty minutes in when Bill pretended to yawn, innocently placing his arm behind her shoulders as he did so. It took all she had not to giggle like a sixteen-year-old girl.

As he had fully expected, Bill found himself completely taken with her. He had loved Margaret, his late wife, more than he ever had the chance to tell her. But in truth the start of their marriage had stemmed from the dark well of his own teenage heartache. It began unconventionally, and really never should have lasted. It had been a very long time since he had felt the true and unpredictable crackling tingle of a new personal attraction.

Soon Ethel and Bill were walking together every morning, sharing lunch and spending afternoons resting in Ethel's personal lounge room at her retirement unit. They seemed the perfect match: familiar, harmonious. As different as chalk and cheese, while at the same time as natural as hazelnuts in chocolate.

Their relationship blossomed and flourished more rapidly than a teenage romance. In less than a week Ethel found herself longing for Bill's company every waking moment, light-headed and relaxed when he was around, pining when he left.

One day, while sitting across a garden table from him at the local park, Ethel found herself feeling a sudden wave of emotion. She couldn't identify it, explain it, or even validate its reason for being, but it was there and it was overwhelming.

"Bill," she started saying, having absolutely no idea where her own words were about to take her. "Bill, I've been thinking."

"Oh yes?"

At the hesitant silence that followed, Bill looked up from pouring the thermos of tea to see Ethel in a state of minor confusion. She looked as if she had thirty different thoughts passing through her mind simultaneously, and was desperately trying to grab a hold of just one to see what it said.

Being a male, Bill had absolutely no idea what that felt like, thus couldn't empathise in the least.

"What is it, love?"

"That!" she pounced, scaring him half to death. "That's exactly it."

"What is? For goodness sake, Ethel. Just how many whiskey shots have you had this morning? What in the blue blazes is the matter?"

"What you just said. That's what it is. Bill, from the moment I met you I've been feeling something I haven't felt in probably sixty years. It's like I've known you forever. Honestly, that side of me has been dormant for so long I had no idea what it was or what it meant. For the last four days my thoughts have been so intense they're keeping me awake at night. I've been so confused! But you, just then, put the exact word to it. I know what I've got!"

"What... crabs?"

Ethel laughed softly. "No, you old fool. Love. I think—no I know—I love you. I really do."

Bill slapped the table, making the plastic cups jump. "Well, it's about bloody time."

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"I mean it's about time you figured out you feel that way. Taken you long enough."

"Why?" Ethel said indignantly. "How long did it take you?"

"Ethel, I've loved you from the moment I first saw you. Why do you think I've been trying so hard? I've been fighting to make you see what you're missing over here!"

"My goodness. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I had to let you figure that part out in your own time. When I saw you again in the supermarket I decided that I was just going to meet you. That's all. The rest should be up to you. I was hoping after all these years feeling something for me again may help you remember. But it had to be real, not manufactured."

"Remember? What do you mean, 'after all these years'?"

"Gee, huh? You still don't see it. Ok, you leave me no choice."

As Ethel watched on in embarrassed awe, Bill stood up in the middle of the council park and started removing his plaid shirt.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking around in worry people would see them.

"Giving your memory a little jog."

He tossed the shirt to the grass, standing before her looking as comfortable as if he were in a private room, regardless of the several bemused onlookers and two giggling children hiding behind an adjacent tree.

Honestly, despite the embarrassment crawling up her spine, Ethel did find herself presently surprised by how well Bill had kept his physique in his senior years. He really was an attractive eighty-four year old man, moderately taut and obviously completely comfortable in his own lightly-wrinkled body. His brazen confidence was incredibly alluring.

And she was pretty sure that it wasn't just the rekindling of her aged, probably semi-rusty hormones telling her that.

One look at Bill showed that he too was experiencing a warm rush... most likely of emotions. However even as she stood there watching his chest rise and fall with each heavy breath, gazing into his eyes, Ethel still was not putting together whatever it was that Bill was fighting to make her see.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said forlornly. "I just don't know what you mean."

Bill said nothing, merely stepped toward her and held out his hand. He gently touched her chin, running his hand softly down her neck and to her shoulder. Ethel could feel her heart nearly beating out of her chest as he drew her closer to him; so close she could feel his breath against her.

His hand then ran down her right arm until he reached her fingers, which he carefully grasped, pulling her hand upward toward his body. He placed her hand on his left breast. Instantly she could feel the rhythmic thumping beneath.

"It's right here, love. Over my heart where it has been for sixty-eight years. You."

"Me?" she asked in a whisper.

He patted her hand against his chest. "You."

She drew herself from his eyes to gaze down at where he had placed her fingers. Only when she looked close did she notice it. Written in tiny, narrow lettering was a single sentence. Bill's old skin was stretched with age and wrinkled, but the words were still clearly readable:

Echoes in Time Hold Eternal Love

She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "It's my..."

"It's you. E-T-H-E-L." He touched his hand to her cheek. "They said we were too young, but I loved you with everything I had. And I never stopped loving you, Ethel. Never. That day, I'll never forget it. They drove out with you in the back seat like we were just two neighbour kids who hardly knew one another. Didn't even let us say goodbye."

"Oh my God.... Billy? My Billy? How...?"

Ethel was in total shock. Her knees went to jelly. Bill helped her sit back down. She couldn't speak, only shake her head slowly from side to side. He bent down and picked his shirt up off the grass; started putting it on as he sat back down across from her at the park table.

"It broke my heart," Bill continued after a moment. "Shattered it completely. I left school straight after. No point staying there. I wrote letter after letter to you, but never knew where to send them. My mum tried to find out where your family moved to, but she never could. I still have them, you know; I kept every one."

"I did too," Ethel whispered. "I wrote to you too. But my father... he... he threw them away. Never let me post them."

"Yep, sounds just like him."

Ethel managed a weak smile and gazed into his eyes, finally seeing him for who he was.

"You know," she said after long pause, "we only moved a hundred miles away. But by the time I grew old enough to move out of home and away from my father, you had moved on. I called your mother. But she told me you were about to get married, and I should leave you alone now."

"She never told me that. I never moved on. Not at all. At the time Margaret was just... I don't know." Bill stared down at the table, shaking his head. Then he looked back up and met her gaze, saying firmly, "But I never got over you. I am so sorry, Ethel. If I'd known, I would have called off the wedd..."

"No you wouldn't! I could never have stood in the way of the life you were meant to have with Margaret. I had to let you go. It took me a couple of years, but eventually I accepted it. I got married, then divorced. Then married again. I was only fifteen when my family moved, and after that you had married. I never put a thought to the hope you might look for me one day."

"Well Ethel, that's all in the past now. A week after your father took you away from me in 1947 I went down to the city and I got this done." Bill pointed to the words on his chest, now hidden again beneath his unbuttoned shirt. "I had to have something that would remind me every day of what I had lost. It's funny, even after fifty-one years, Margaret never asked about it. She died never knowing..."

"She would have known, Bill."

Bill nodded, "Yeah, probably." He shuffled his feet, seeming almost nervous. After a moment he chuckled and looked up at her sheepishly. "I bought something else that day too."

Bill got to his feet and started shuffling through his pant's pocket. He drew out a small green velvet case and placed it on the table in front of Ethel. She gasped, brought a hand to her mouth and looked with wide eyes from the box to Bill and back again.

"Even after I married Margaret and life took hold, I never forgot you Ethel. You were and still are the love of my life. It may have taken almost seventy years to come round again, and God knows we may have left it so late now that we probably haven't got too long together anyway. How's your ticker? Mine's crap. But who the hell cares? Ethel, I gotta ask you something."

He opened the box to reveal a ruby and diamond encrusted engagement ring, as clear and sparkling as the day he bought it in 1947.

"I kept this hidden all these years in the hope that one day I'd get to see you again."

Using a hand against the table to balance himself, Bill slowly got down to one knee on the grass in front of Ethel. He picked up the ring and held it out to her. Smiling tears streamed down her face as she gazed lovingly into Bill's eyes.

"Ethel Rose, will you marry me?"

The End

Left At The Altar - Part Two

Left At The Altar

Part Two

A Short Story by Damien L Malcolm

If you would prefer a PDF of this, click here. 
Also a part of my recently released ebook, The Tiny 1st Volume: A Short Collection of Short Stories
Available for FREE on Kobo, Smashwords, iBooks, Google Play and other ebook retailers

This is Part Two to Left At The Altar. If you haven't read Part One, click here first.

I awoke dreamily, revelling for the first few moments in the silken fabric of the sheets wrapped tightly against my almost naked body. My eyes were still closed and I could feel the sticky remains of eye-shadow sticking my eyelids to the pillowcase. It took me a second to realise precisely where I was. Then, with a heavy feeling pressing on my chest and a throb in my head, I remembered. It was the day after what should have been my wedding. I had a hangover, was in my own bed instead of a fancy hotel on the coast... and Peter had left me at the altar.

Bastard. Son of a prick, bastard. Mongrel.

But then as I lay there, silently cursing under my breath at how humiliated and hurt I still felt over that deadbeat, I heard something coming from the direction of my kitchen. A cupboard door, a fry pan. Something sizzling and a waft of bacon. A male voice, humming.

Suddenly it all came back to me in a rush. Richard was here. Peter's brother, Richard. Ohh, and I'd spent last night cracking on to him! My God how had I embarrassed myself like that? What was wrong with me, flinging myself like that at a man I'd only known for a day? He must think I'm such a tramp.

“Hey Susan, you awake?” came his soft English accent through the door.

I pulled the sheets up over my face, hoping that if he couldn't see me when he came in the room, he'd just go away and leave me alone to wallow. It didn't work.

“Susan, what are you doing?” The voice was not muffled now; he must have opened the door.

“Go away!” I yelled though the sheets, wincing from the headache, before whimpering. “I'm not here.”

“Now now, don't be like that. Look, I've made you a scrumptious breakfast, with both coffee and orange juice. No doubt you have a slight hangover from last night and will need all the fluids you can get.”

I could hear his footsteps shuffling up beside the bed, and what sounded like my good silver breakfast tray being laid down on the bedside table. His presence was so intense I could feel him looming over the head of the bed, waiting for me to show myself. Slowly I pulled the sheet down until my eyes were peering out just above them. He was standing just centimetres from my face, wearing nothing besides a pair of boxer shorts. Oh. My. God.

“I'm so sorry for what I did last night,” I mumbled, ignoring the excitement stirring within me as I looked up at him. “You must think I'm such a loser.”

Richard smiled warmly. “The only loser in this scenario, Susan, is my idiot older brother. I can completely understand why you felt the need for affection last night. I would have too if I'd been made to feel that way by someone. Anyone would have.”

His words gave me a little more confidence. After a moment's hesitation I began to sit up properly, making sure I brought the sheet up with me to cover my bare boobs. My head was thumping, but thankfully I didn't feel sick. And the breakfast he'd made me looked yum. He caught me eyeing off the food, and instinctively picked up the tray and went to lay it over my knees for me.

However he stopped when there came a knock at the door to my apartment. Richard looked at me, and I at him, exchanging questioning looks. I had no idea who it could be. I flashed a glance at the bedside clock; it read only half past seven.

“I'll go see,” Richard said, placing the tray back on the bedside table and leaving the room. I wasn't about to stay there. Quickly, I got off the bed, wrapping the sheet around myself as I followed him out into the lounge.

After rounding the corner into the hallway, I looked up to see Peter standing in the doorway. The very man that only the afternoon before had left me on our wedding day was now standing in my bloody doorway. If I hadn't been so amused at his face, I'd have run up and hit him.

He was just standing there with this dumb expression, looking from his shirt-less brother to me, wrapped in a sheet. It was pretty clear I was mostly naked, and it didn't take a genius to imagine what he was thinking.

“What the hell?!” Peter demanded, turning fierce eyes on his brother.

Richard squared his bare shoulders. “What are you doing here, Peter?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? And why are you almost naked in my fiancé's apartment?”

“Your fiancé?” I blurted, stepping forward and almost losing my sheet. “I'm pretty sure you gave up that relationship when you ditched me at the wedding yesterday, Peter!”

“Look, I made a mistake, ok? I'm sorry. I just felt in over my head yesterday, that's all. I panicked. But that doesn't mean you should go shacking up with my brother! I came here this morning to straighten things out, only to find Mr Smooth here already making moves on my fiancé while the bed's not even cold.”

Richard opened his mouth to defend himself, but I cut him off. “We have nothing to 'straighten out', Peter. And no moves were made from Richard, you twit. He's the perfect gentleman, everything you're not. I seduced him.”

Richard stared at me with a stunned look in his eyes. It was technically a lie, of course. Indeed I did instigate the kiss, but nothing further had happened. However, I was quite happy to keep Peter guessing. He deserved it.

Though, I didn't expect what was about to happen. Richard had just started turning back to say something to his brother, when Peter's fist seemed to fire from nowhere. The punch caught Richard right in the chin, sending him back against the wall of my entryway.

“You idiot!” I screeched at Peter as I leapt forward to catch the flailing Richard. But Richard had balanced himself already. He brought a hand up to me, warning me off.

“Susan, I suggest you stay back. My big brother has once again forgotten his manners.” He turned to Peter with seething eyes. “And again I will need to teach him some.”

“Just try it, you wimp,” Peter taunted.

“Richard, no, you don't need to do this,” I pleaded, desperately holding my sheet around my boobs with one hand and reaching for his arm with the other. “Just shut the door on him.”

“I'm afraid that won't do. Not this time.”

Richard lunged forward and punched Peter in the chest, following up with a hit to the face. Peter wasn't backing down, though. He grabbed Richard around the shoulders and the two men fell into a wrestle, pushing each other back and forth across my entryway, grunting in anger.

As I watched them, two separate things occurred to me simultaneously. Firstly, I really did not like violence. It was so childish and pointless. Secondly, having two men fight over me was the sexiest thing ever!

After a few moments struggling, Richard got the upper hand and thrust Peter against the doorway. Peter's back struck the jamb in what looked like a painful thwack. Richard took advantage of his immediate upper-hand and grasped Peter's shirt, using it to throw him out into the corridor. Peter lost balance and fell to the carpet against the stair-rail, holding his shoulder and groaning.

“I've spent my whole life watching you disrespect women.” Richard yelled, pointing an accusing finger down at Peter. “And I've had quite enough.” He then turned and faced me. “Do you have any idea how many women he has been with, Susan?”

I was at a loss for words, all flustered over the fight and excitement.

“Hundreds,” he continued, not waiting for my answer. “Hundreds, Susan. I spent my high school years alone, watching him cruise through his senior years with a new girlfriend every week. Every single one he treated abhorrently. And he has never changed, flitting in and out of relationships, if you could call them that, leaving every single woman hurt and damaged in his wake. Has he ever shown you any respect, Susan?”

I didn't answer, but my eyes said it all.

“As I thought.” Turning to stare his brother down, Richard continued. “You're arrogant, narcissistic and downright cruel. Yet when I heard you had met a girl after running away to Australia, I thought maybe you had finally come to your senses and settled down. News of your wedding was a pleasant surprise, even if a slight shock. I flew in from London yesterday hardly believing I was about to see my big brother getting married. At the airport you seemed fine. And when I met this beautiful woman your were set to marry, I felt proud of you, Peter.”

“Ha! I doubt it,” Peter spat, slowly pulling himself up off the floor. “You've always been jealous of me. Pride? For me? Ridiculous. You're incapable of feeling anything of the sort, brother.”

“You are incapable of showing behaviour that warrants it, brother,” Richard retorted coolly. “And yet again, you did not even have the courage to face up to your own failure. Expecting me to do your dirty work, like I have always done...”

Richard turned to me, eyes sparkling, “However this time covering for him brought something special into my life. I met you, Susan. I got to spend almost an entire day with you. You are... just... I, I have no words to explain it.” He looked down at his feet, shaking his head. Then glanced back at me. His expression was so warm it made me tingle. “I must admit to you, from the very first time I saw you at the house yesterday morning, I felt drawn to you. Though, of course, I let my morals dictate my feelings. And as much as I felt compelled to console you yesterday after the wedding fell to pieces, out of a sense of duty to make up for my brother's failings, I had another more meaningful reason for staying.”

While something inside me knew what Richard was trying to say, still doubt and confusion rattled around in my head. I was staring intently into his deep blue eyes, trying to find some sign that this was pretend, a dream, trick or something. Why? Because the truth was so terrifying and amazing all at the same time there was a danger my head would explode.

He was waiting for me to say something, but all I could squeeze out was a meek, “You did?”

“Yes Susan. I am quite convinced that I have fallen in love with you. In fact, I believe it was indeed from the very moment I first saw you.”

“Oh come on,” came a loud, drawn out protest from Peter outside in the corridor. Richard frowned slightly, then turned, only taking his eyes from mine for a second.

“Do shut up, you imbecile,” he said, as he slammed the door shut in Peter's face.

Turning back to me, Richard took my hand in his. I swear my heart stopped beating. It just stopped. Completely. And I stood there frozen, panicking about what he was going to say... or ask.

No... he could not be about to ask me if I would marry him! I hardly knew him. But what if he did? Nah, he wouldn't. But my God he was so incredible. Should I say yes? But, oh I don't know. Maybe he'll say something completely different. Oh shut up Susan and quickly decide what to answer in case he does...!

“Susan Kemp, you have had a terrible twenty-four hours, yet in contrast my time since meeting you has been the brightest I have ever known. I want to ask something of you.”

“Yes,” I choked, “What's that?”

“Firstly, would you care to come eat breakfast with me on the patio?”

“Hmm mmm,” I nodded pathetically, petty sure I still hadn't taken a breath yet.

I was so transfixed on Richard's face, I didn't even notice whether my boobs were still covered or not.

“Then after breakfast, will you fly with me back to London? You could take some time off, away from here. I will show you my home, we'll get to know each other and we can just... see where things take us. Do you feel that is a good idea?”

Every feeling I had been bottling up in the last ten minutes coupled with the trauma of yesterday, and together they all came rushing down on me in a single moment. Anger, fear, happiness, relief, sorrow and twenty-six years of fairytale princess fantasies, all converging in one fell swoop. I flustered embarrassingly for a second, feeling like a giddy school-girl meeting her favourite boy-band backstage at a pop concert.

Finally when I had pulled myself together, I squeezed his hand with both of mine. The sheet fell to the floor unheeded, and with a relieved sigh I gave him my answer.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Haven't had enough? Want to read my best short story yet? Click here.

Bowled Me Over, That's For Sure!!

To say I'm surprised right now would be one of the biggest understatements of my life, simple as that. So no, I won't use the word "surprised" at all. I will however freely use the following words:
*Amazed
*Astounded
*Dumbstruck
*Flabbergasted
*Jiggered
*Astonished
*Stunned
*Stupefied
*A Duh Duh Duh Duh Duh
*Goggle-eyed
*Dumbfounded
*Thunderstuck and
*Startled

See for yourself,

A terrifying picture of an author in its natural habitat.

And why am I currently feeling all these things? From the reaction to my latest book, Essence Of Betrayal. I never thought that little piece of work would cause such a reaction in people. I mean, yeah, I liked it. That's why I wrote the darn thing. The idea, direction and story in general thrilled me to bits every step of the way. But that's me. I felt like I was living the story, hence the reason why I found it so captivating. To have other people describe similar experiences has just blown me away.

It's only been out couple of months, and here's what people so far have said:

Mary said:
"Wow! I have taken advantage of the heatwave of the weekend to step into a world of intrigue! After starting to read "Essence of Betrayal" by Damien L Malcolm on the weekend I found myself pondering the questions, "Do I really need to eat?" and, "Do I really need to sleep?"... I spent every moment I could engrossed in the world of Jack Mullens and enjoyed every twist and turn to the last page! ... What an awesome read Damien! I enjoyed it right from the first sentence that sucks you right into a riveting read! Awesome book and I look forward to reading your next novel!"

Barbara said:
"I stayed up till 1am the first night, then again the next night. I just had to read to the end and find out what happened!" 

John said:
"What a damn rush! Great work mate. Had me going."

Teresa said:
"I just finished reading [the new] crime solving novel, Essence of Betrayal by Damien L Malcolm. It was a nail biting, page turner till the end and I am SUPER impressed! I couldn't stop reading it! Well done, Damien! I loved it!"

And also,

"I want my fingernails back!...It is very funny that book, as well as nerve wracking! You owe me big time, Damien. I had to get acrylic nails to hide my bitten natural nails! I haven't bitten my nails for a long, long time!"

Lorraine said:
"I couldn't put it down! I never guessed who the bad guy really was. Just amazing. From the first page I was hooked. Brilliant read." 

Doris said:
"I have to tell you I really enjoyed your book. I read the first couple of chapters the night I bought it, and said to myself 'Well, looks like I won't be getting anything done tomorrow!' You did a great job. Well done."

Helen said:
"What a book! I think I'm in love with Jack."

It has even had a 4 star recommendation from professional US online book reviewer, blogger and author, Kay Brooks from Confessions Of A Word Addict.

 

"Action and intrigue drove this story from point to point, whether it's following a lead or finding a place to clear his head. Once the first bombshell was dropped, the pace was quickly set. There weren't a lot of places where I found a lull in the action or plot. In fact, it seemed to me like this was twist after twist. When I thought I had a handle on where the book was going, another bombshell was dropped. Before the ending I didn't know what to think about who was on which side. Even the setting of the book provided a few twists of its own. The dialogue and clues didn't give much away before it was time and made the book enjoyable to read...I wholeheartedly recommend this book for anyone who loves a multi-twisting mystery or an action-packed thrill ride through an Australian town."

Read the full review here.

So now do you see why I'm so stunned at the reactions? I'm just a bloke living in a small country town, with now 2 books and a couple of short stories under my belt. Yes, I may have been writing since I was 15, on and off, but in the grand scheme of things I'm a nobody with zero history or exposure and hardly a pinch of decent life-experience to go on. At least that's what I see from inside this shell. There's an imagination, yes. Helped me through a lot, that little puddle of grey matter.

But the words in the opinions you read above are reserved for famous, great thriller authors. John Grisham, Agatha Christie, Matthew Reilly, Patricia Cornwell, and Michael Connelly. Not Damien L. Malcolm. Who the hell is he??

I just can't believe it. And for the first time actually being lost for words to write, all I can say is thank you. From the bottom of my heart, for all the support and encouragement, thank you.

Till next time,

-Damien.

Left At The Altar - A Short Story

Left At The Altar

A short story by Damien L. Malcolm.

For a PDF copy of this, click here. 
Also a part of my recently released ebook, The Tiny 1st Volume: A Short Collection of Short Stories
Available for FREE on Kobo, Smashwords, iBooks, Google Play and other ebook retailers

I never thought this could happen to me. Never.

I mean, in all my twenty-six years I've always considered myself a practical sort of girl. Pessimistic, even. Mainly because bad things had a habit of coming my way. But the idea of having a man actually leave me on our wedding day was not something that had ever crossed my mind before that day.

And through a text message!

To his BROTHER!

The bloody nerve!

And there I was six hours later sitting at the bridal table in my dress—my beautiful white lace goddam fifteen-hundred-dollar dress!—with a vacant chair next to me where my groom should have been sitting, and more empty wine glasses than I would care to count.

“What?” I hear you ask. “What were you thinking, Susan? You still went on with the reception???”

Yes, of course I did! Couldn't exactly turn away a hundred and forty embarrassed guests and a pre-paid twelve-hundred-dollar hall booking just because my idiot-brain, spineless fiancé couldn't face the music. I mean half of them had travelled from bloody Perth to come to “Peter and Susan's wedding”! The question you should be asking is, why the hell did I stay?

Answer to that is simple. His brother. Yes, yes, the very same brother who had gotten that gutless text from moron-head. He had to come to the back room, five minutes before I was to walk down the isle, to tell me that his good-for-nothing brother had chickened out. Richard Dalton had sat with me while I cried for ten straight minutes, then helped me go out and tell all my friends and family that the wedding was off.

Then he sat with me for another hour while I cried some more. You'd think my mother might have been there for me, but not surprisingly she was too busy wallowing in her own disappointment. She'd never been good at tears. After bawling, when I was about to run home to hide in a corner to drink away my sorrows, he had convinced me to stay. And for some God-unknown reason, I'd let him talk me into it.

But thankfully, he hadn't left me alone to face the hundred-plus guests all walking morosely past me at the table like I was some cadaver lying in an open casket. Instead, he had sat with me all night, fending off their pitiful looks and sad questions. All this, and I'd only met him for the first time that morning, when he had flown in from England for his brother's wedding.

I could see him now, weaving his way back through the half-dancing crowd with a fresh glass in each hand; orange juice for him, white wine for me. Looking at him, even the way he casually and respectfully negotiated the moving people, I saw just how different Richard was from his brother. He actually had manners.

Peter, while I thought I had loved him for the last three years, was the sort of man you couldn't put a finger on. Like, when you ask yourself, “So, what do I really see in him?” you actually have nothing that immediately springs to mind. Sure, he was tall and handsome with an accent like James Bond, good hair and a decent job. And sure, he bought me stuff every now and again, had stayed with me for three years and was ok in bed.

Just ok, that is. I'd had better... and worse.

But when I would ask myself why exactly I loved him, the answer that came back was always vague, abstract somehow. On the other hand, arrogant, pig-headed and somewhat narcissistic were a few words that came to mind when we were fighting and I was trying to find reasons not to like him. He could be all of those. Not really a good basis for a marriage, I know. But come on! It had been three years. Longest relationship I'd ever had. Surely if you've been with someone that long marriage is the only logical conclusion.

Though now I think about it, perhaps my current predicament negates that last statement.

My seat jolted a little as Richard slipped into the Groom's chair beside me, waking me from my thoughts. I turned to him with feigned nonchalance, trying so hard to hide how broken I still was underneath. A broad smile crossed his lips.

“Hey Susan,” he said with his smooth British swagger. “You know, I think I might look too good in this chair. What do you think? Perhaps if I sit here long enough, people won't notice which Dalton brother you married.”

“I'm not going to marry you!” I retorted playfully, sounding a little too drunk and trying to block out the emotional quiver in my voice. “What's to say you won't do exactly what your idiot brother did and leave me at the altar?”

Suddenly his expression changed, a mask of seriousness taking over. He stared into my eyes with incredible intensity and took my free hand in his.

“Susan Kemp, the way my brother has treated you is beyond comprehension. From what I can tell he has been disrespecting you for a long time, hasn't he? I could never condone such abhorrent behaviour, and wouldn't think of doing anything like that to you. I don't believe I could forgive my brother for what he did. Nor will I be in any hurry to talk to him again, in fact. He should never have hurt you like that. You deserve so much more.”

God I loved the way he said my name. He held my stare for so long that even through the on-setting drunken haze gradually filling my head, I felt a strange tingle go down my spine. I knew he meant every word. He was so unbelievably good-looking. So rugged and masculine. I'd only ever seen a picture taken years before, when Peter and him were fishing on a beach in Wales. But the man before me now... just... wow.

Abruptly, the jovial sparkle returned to his eyes and he smiled warmly at me.

“Susan, if there's one thing I know, it's a drunk lady when one I see. Come, I'll take you home now.”

“I am not drunk,” I protested, doubtless with an encroaching slur belying my words, “I'm just a bit tipsy. And I'm no lady, either, mister.” I shook a finger at him. “Besides, I can't leave yet; it's still only early.”

“It is almost eleven o'clock. Plenty late enough. Come on.”

With that, he helped me to my slightly wobbly feet. We went around a few people—close friends, mainly, and my mum—and said our goodnights. Didn't do that for too long, though, because after the first five or six, I just got plain sick and tired of everyone's puppy-dog eyes and cagey words. They must have thought if they said the wrong thing, I'd crack like an egg.

They couldn't have been further from the truth.

By that point, whether from letting it all out with the earlier crying or covering it up with the wine afterwards, I felt beyond caring, past the hurt. Sure, I'd probably have another cry tomorrow, and the next day; maybe all week, even. However after sitting there with my thoughts for the evening, I'd found a way to work through the initial shock. Great tool called anger, actually. I simply pointed every angry bone I had in Peter's direction and instantly I felt so much better.

Peter the slime-ball had made his choice and done a runner. Good for him. May the loser get genital crabs and be itchy for evermore!

I fell asleep in Richard's car on the drive home, leaning across in my slumber and drooling on his shoulder. Yet another thing to be proud of. I didn't vomit, though, so at least that's something. He had to gently shake me awake after he'd pulled up outside my apartment building on the esplanade. We sat there for a moment in silence while I woke myself properly. After a few minutes, he asked me how I was doing.

Bad mistake.

Obviously I wasn't as good as I thought I was, because after stumbling off on a monologue rhetorically asking how I could have been so stupid, with multiple “why me” variants thrown in, I abruptly fell apart again, sobbing into poor Richard's shoulder for only the hundredth time that night. That man was amazing, though, you know. He never told me to buck up, or get over myself like Peter would've done. He didn't once push me away or hurt my feelings further.

Instead, Richard just held me. That's all. Everything I needed. There was only one thing he said the whole time, as barely a whisper in my ear.

“You are worth so much more than him, Susan. Remember that.”

The words were lovely, and exactly what I needed to hear. Though my only reaction was to cry even louder.

When I finally did settle down, Richard pulled back and studied my face. I must have looked like a melting raccoon by then. He reached up with one gentle hand and brushed his palm across my cheek, wiping tears and running mascara.

“You look a mess, Miss Kemp. About time we get you some rest, I think.”

“Yeah.” I sounded the way I felt; like a lost little girl. His fingers pushed aside a length of hair from my face, ran to the tip of my chin, then softly fell away.

He got out and came around to my side, opened the door and helped me out of the car. I could hear the waves crashing behind the small sand-hill across the road as the cool sea-breeze caressed my face. Crickets chirped in the bushes, probably laughing at me like they did every time something stupid had happened in my life. Little bastards, I thought with a hint of pointless vindictiveness.

I had some trouble negotiating the stairs to my floor, and Richard had to help. Only problem was the one place he could lay a hand to balance me was around my lower back and upper-right butt cheek. He didn't mean anything by it, of course, and ordinarily such a thing wouldn't have caused too much fuss. Except it did. The way Richard had been so caring all night, and shown me such respect and attention, stirred an odd set of feelings inside of me. His hand felt hot, and sexy.

I had never experienced such a thing before. My track record with men had been nothing if not a wobbly path from one disaster to the next. Peter hadn't exactly been a catch, proven nicely by today's abandonment, and the one thing not one past boyfriend had ever done was treat me with respect. I had felt loved before, sort of, and lusted after, but never respected. Not until tonight.

We only had two flights to climb up to my room, but by the time we reached the door my cheeks were burning, I was breathing kinda heavy and starting to break into a sweat. None of that was from the walking. Everything Richard had said or done since I had met him that morning was filtering slowly though my groggy mind, turning me on like I couldn't believe.

I fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. The moment it was open, I spun around and grabbed his shirt collar. He was surprised, but didn't stop me from pulling him into my apartment. My back hit the opposite wall of the entryway. I held him fast and drew his lips to mine. I knew it was crazy, however I was suddenly so aroused that controlling myself simply wasn't an option any more.

His lips were soft and warm, and knew exactly where to go and what to do. I could feel the fire rising up from my loins as he kissed me, and I instinctively pushed my hips outward to drive closer to him. With one hand gripping my waist tightly, his other hand dropped from the side of my face, where it had been gently caressing my hair-line and neck, and started moving slowly down my shoulder, then arm, before crossing over and brushing my left breast one finger tip at a time. I could feel him swelling against my upper thigh. I wanted him so bad. Oh god, the tingling from my nipples was electrifying!

Then it stopped. One second it's on, the next he'd backed away and was standing against the opposite wall, half illuminated in the light from the hall outside the still-open door. Hot to cold in an instant. I knew at once what was wrong. The look on his flushed face said it all.

“We can't, Susan.”

“Why?” I asked despite knowing the answer, with every feminine chemical loose in my body giving my voice a shaky quiver. “Why not?”

“We just can't. You got left at the altar this afternoon. No great loss, because my brother is an idiot, but it is still affecting you. You've had a terrible day, and far too much to drink. You're maybe not thinking right, and I certainly know I'm not. We both need sleep. We should talk again in the morning.”

I stared at him for a long while, trying in all honesty to do two things at once, firstly attempting to cool myself down a little, and secondly willing him to change his mind. I mean, I knew he was right. I knew that. But damn it if that didn't make me want him even more. What man turns down a chance to get a woman into bed because it goes against his morals? None I'd ever met before. Not least Peter. But this man had so much honour and respect for me as a person, he was willing to hold back and not take advantage.

It was the sexiest thing that'd ever happened to me!

Then the idea struck me that he was most likely going to leave now. My heart sank. With tears welling in my eyes at the thought, I looked down at my feet and asked, “So what now?” I knew his answer would involve him going back to his hotel. I so didn't want that, but had no idea how to say it.

“What now, you ask?” Richard smiled and stepped across to me. He wrapped his strong arms around my shoulders and hugged me warmly.

There was no way to tell what exactly I was feeling at that point. Confusion was about the strongest. All I knew was it felt so good to be supported and cared for by him. Too good. Could it just be leftover feelings from my ordeal that day, or was I starting to feel something for this man? Couldn't be real, surely. I'd known him less than fourteen hours. No, must just have been feeling needy again; clinging to anyone who seemed to care the slightest bit.

My therapist says I do that because my dad left mum for a bikini model when I was ten. I think it's just because actually all men are pigs, but when one shows a little heart I draw too much into it because I refuse to believe the truth.

Richard's breath right next to my ear rumbled like a sleeping lion, and it threatened to rekindle my passion for him. I struggled so hard to keep my hands on his back, not drifting downward. Finally he pulled back just a little and whispered.

“What we do now is, I help you to bed. You fall unconscious and dream away today. I sleep on the couch. In the morning, I'll make us breakfast and we'll talk, ok?”

Oh thank God, he's not leaving. He's not going to leave me. I let him pull out of the embrace and gently lead me down the hall into the living room. It must have been from the sudden excitement, but I was completely exhausted. It just fell on me like a weight. Once in the bedroom, Richard helped me get out of my wedding dress like a total gentleman, never touching me unnecessarily despite my still totally wanting the opposite. Then carefully removed the bulk of my smeared make-up with some wipes I kept on the bedside table. He lay me on my bed, kissed me softly on the forehead and wished me a goodnight, then he quietly left the room.

For a little while I could hear him quietly shuffling around in the kitchen and living areas, probably getting his own bedding sorted. But soon I was fast asleep and dreaming of the morning. The start of a new day, a new life.

With any luck, I could stop the constant hoping for something better to come along.

Richard was here now, and better than anything I could have wished for.

Don't feel like you've had enough? Click here for Part Two