‘Don’t say anything,’ she whispers, ‘you can hear everything in this house.’
‘U-u-m,’ I murmur, only too happy to oblige. Her arm slides round behind my neck and as her mouth seeks my own I make the not unpleasant discovery that the wicked minx is stark bollock naked. Terrible the way some of these birds go on, isn’t it? And to think that all this might have been Sid’s. It is too horrible to dwell on. Behind me my sharp ears can detect the sound of Sid employing gentle force on his door knob.
‘You’re bigger in the darkness,’ whispers Rita. I think she is comparing me with Sid height-wise but there is another dimension in which I am responding favourably to the presence of the lanky curve-carnival. Miss Runcorn is not slow in expressing a desire to exploit it and draws me down onto a pile of bedclothes she has distributed across the floor. Delicately I run my fingers over her lightly stirring body and enjoy her own well-practised digits stroking me like a favourite kitten. I am usually a lights-on performer myself, but I must say that a spot of darkness does tend to heighten the sense of touch and smell. Rita Runcorn pongs as if she has immersed herself in a vat of Carnal no. 5 and my nostrils are twitching like a bunny with hay fever. It is just as well that she seems wrapped up in what she is doing because behind me I can hear Sid losing his temper with the bedroom door.
‘Uu-m,’ I murmur, ‘u-um, uu-m, u-um!’ and like a guided missile Percy zooms onto target.
In the minutes that follow I try and perform as quietly as possible, mainly because being the kind of sensitive person I am, I do not want to hurt Sid’s feelings. Unfortunately, with Rita, it is rather difficult. She is a big girl and obviously likes throwing her weight about. Making love to her is like struggling with a giant conger eel in a small rowing boat at midnight when there is half a gale blowing. Why her mum is not down the corridor I will never know.
At last we lie panting amongst the crumpled sheets and I am relieved that I can hear no sounds from next door. Sidney has presumably gone back to bed to cry himself to sleep.
‘You’d better go,’ murmurs Rita. ‘That was lovely, but I don’t want mum to catch us. Let’s do it again tomorrow.’
‘Alright,’ I whisper gratefully, thinking that somewhere along the line there is going to be a bit of explaining to do. I surrender to a last hungry kiss and drag my bruised body to the door. It is still as dark as an Ethiopian’s inside leg measurement when I get out onto the landing and I start tip-toeing back to my room.
Maybe I am a bit too relaxed or something, but suddenly I hear a door opening and Mrs. Runcorn’s voice whispers into the darkness: ‘Sidney?’
Now, of course, I could say ‘no’ and explain that I have been to the bathroom and lost my way, but I am so wrapped up in my deception that I can only blurt out ‘u-urn’, a phrase that is now becoming the sole item in my vocabulary.
‘Oh, Sidney,’ whispers Mrs. R. seductively, ‘Sidney, Sidney, I was dreaming about you.’
Before I can do anything I feel her nightdress bristling – or, more likely, bristoling – against my chest. Her warm comfortable hands close round my haunches and she pulls me towards her passionately.
‘I’m cold, Sidney,’ she murmurs, ‘come and keep me warm.’
Well, what can I do? I mean, I don’t want to disappoint her, do I? And since she thinks I am Sidney I don’t want to do anything to harm his reputation either. You’ve got to think of other people, haven’t you?
‘Uu-m,’ I say, letting myself be led away.
She is a remarkable woman that Mrs. Runcorn. I have always had a soft spot for the more mature bird and this one is no exception. Far gentler than her daughter and more of a giver, if you know what I mean. A sort of English version of Spring Fragrance.
‘Is that nice?’ she keeps saying to me. ‘Do you like it when I do that?’
My part in the conversation is entirely composed of ‘U-ums’.
After my energetic session with daughter Rita, mum is just what I need and she brings me to the boil at just the right moment for us to enjoy a really refined spot of in-and-out that moves from raindrop to mountain torrent like a beautifully orchestrated piece of music. I am a bit worried about the bedsprings, but Sidney must be getting used to noises off by now. He is probably asleep anyway.
At last our love-making reaches a proud crescendo, and once again I am left gasping on a grateful Runcorn bosom like a fish stranded by a giant wave. I am about to emit my most grateful ‘u-um’ yet when the lights go on.
At first I think that someone must have come into the room, but then I realise that the bedroom light must have been on when Hirohito’s Revenge did its cruel work. One person who does register intense surprise is Mrs. Runcorn. She takes one look at me and snatches the bedclothes over her ample knockers.
‘O-oh ! !’ she screams. ‘Rape! Help!’
‘Hang on a minute,’ I gasp. ‘You invited me in here, remember.’
‘Not you!’ Her face is contorted with disgust. ‘You filthy, dirty beast. Help!’
‘Shut up. You’ll wake everybody! Don’t be bloody stupid. You enjoyed it!’
‘Rapist!’ Mrs. R. gives an almighty heave and pushes me onto the floor as the door flies open and Rita is standing there.’
‘Mother!’
‘He attacked me!’
‘She’s round the twist!’
Rita struggles to take in the situation. ‘I’ll fetch Sidney. He’ll know how to deal with him.’ She looks at me with the same disgust as her mother. I am surprised that Sidney has let a locked door prevent him from being here to enjoy my discomfort. Maybe he has slept through everything. Sidney always was a sound sleeper.
At that moment there is a loud blast on a police whistle, the sound of a man shouting and the crash of broken glass. The loudest sound is the last and comes from directly below us.
‘Oh! !!’ screams Mrs. R., ‘what’s that? We’re all going to be murdered in our beds! Rape! Murder! Help!’
I cross to the window just in time to see a police dog flashing through what must be the Runcorns’ shattered sitting room window. Its departure from my view is followed by a loud bellow which is unmistakably Sid’s.
Now, both the Runcorns are screaming uncontrollably and it is almost in self protection that I go downstairs to the sitting room. Cowering in the middle of a pool of shattered glass is Sidney wearing only underpants and a hang dog expression. The dog he would like to hang is watching him with saliva dripping from its eager jaws.
‘Right,’ says a dark blue voice from just outside the window. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what you think you are doing?’
Fortunately, by the time we have explained to the dog handler, that Sidney was accidently locked in his bedroom and climbed out of the window because he did not want to wake anybody up, thinking that he could climb in through the sitting room window, Mrs. Runcorn has cooled down a bit and decided to abandon her rape charge. Nevertheless, she continues to give me a few very old-fashioned looks and Rita’s expression when she gazes upon me is that of someone putting one and one together and not liking the answer she is getting.
All in all it is not surprising that Mrs. R. suggests that we leave as soon as the window has been repaired and, once again, I find myself making my way to the glazier. I observe to Sid that this might be a better line of business for us if the present trend continues but he does not find this amusing. He does not have much of a sense of humour, does Sidney, though in the present situation his reluctance to laugh may be caused by the sticking plaster which prevents too much facial movement.
We finish mending the window and get to court in time to hear Happy Spirit and the girls being