So here I was. Where I never wanted to be. Always hoping it would be the other way around. Guilt wracked through me, the intensity of which I could never have imagined. The stark reality stared at me from the open door of her wardrobe. Clothes. Tons of them. Shoes too. And handbags. Where would I start? The clothes were too personal. I’d be throwing her away if I dumped them, denying her existence – at least, that’s how I felt today. So, I started – for I had to start somewhere – with the bags. Slender, chic black ones, large brown ones, patent white, mass-produced, designer… mostly leather, because she loved leather… and, underneath them all, one I’d never seen before – a battered floral tapestry bag with almost circular plastic handles. I opened the handles up and peered into the depths – nothing – but on one side there was a compartment with a metal fastener. Its catch clicked smoothly, as if oiled only yesterday and I opened it up to the light. Papers. Folded neatly. And old, yellowed, frayed envelopes. Old bills? Several black and white kodaks slipped from the pages of a blue exercise book. They featured a couple I’d never seen before… leaning on an ornamental metal rail at the seaside, walking towards the camera on the pier, sitting on deckchairs on the sand with a toddler digging at their feet.

She was an orphan and was both the victim and the result of a single tragic accident. Crushed by a runaway lorry. That’s virtually all she told me about her past. The dreadful event that stole her memory almost took her life too. When she miraculously opened her eyes, aged nineteen, she’d had to start again – she learnt to walk, dress, feed herself and struggled with everything she had once taken for granted. After a few months of rehabilitation these everyday skills came flooding back, but her history to that point was lost to her and she began her life anew - unknown, unloved. She was reborn. She even celebrated the day she woke from her coma as her birthday, rather than her actual date of birth, thus acknowledging and proclaiming that her old self had died in the crash. The same hospital in which she passed away just a few weeks ago was also her home for a long time back then. It was, like her, almost new at the time and must have seemed a brighter and shinier edifice than the one we’d spent so much time in recently. After waking, she endured years of reconstruction – operations, counselling and physiotherapy – before she could fully get on with her new life. The scars she carried into adulthood did nothing to diminish her beauty, nor did age - and the childlike enthusiasm and curiosity she acquired as a newborn nineteen year-old stayed with her for the rest of her days. Five years after the accident we met and instantly fell in love.

So whose papers were these? And why had she never shown them to me? I carefully picked up the exercise book, opened it - and opened up a window into another world. A sheet of foolscap covered in love-hearts and scribbled notes fell from the centre pages and into my lap. I quickly scanned it, then slowly read it, over and over. In shock and confusion I stared right through the ranks of coats and frocks hanging before me and painfully replayed her last night on earth.

I rubbed my eyes, yawned, stood slowly, stiffly, then turned and quietly left her bedside. I stopped at the door and took one last look at her: so peaceful, serene - angelic almost, greying hair arranged like a halo around her head. I didn’t want to leave her, but I needed a break. They said it could be any day, anytime and, in order to cope, I needed to look after myself. I couldn’t simply sit there and wait, I’d waste away, in body and in mind.

‘Why don’t you go home? There’s nothing you can do.’ The doctor met me in the doorway and rested her hand reassuringly on my forearm. ‘She doesn’t know you are here.’

‘Yeah, I might. I ought to… but I’m OK. Makes me feel like I’m doing something… though I know it’s more for me than...’ I nodded towards the bed.

‘Eat well, sleep well… well, as best you can. You’ll need all your strength to get through this,’ she advised me as she peered over her glasses and into my bleary eyes. Still, I felt guilty leaving her, even though she was sleeping soundly. I took a deep breath and sighed. I’d take a walk, stretch my legs, grab some food in the refectory, read a paper over a coffee. Wash my face, refresh myself.

I stepped carefully along the polished corridor, out of the ward and into the lift area, where twenty or so people were waiting impatiently. Afternoon visiting was over. They diligently scanned the red LED numbers reporting floor levels and lift direction that glowed above each pair of sliding doors. I eschewed the lift and headed for the stairs. Six flights down to floor D and the refectory. Surely most of them could manage the walk down? I shook my head and forced my first smile of that long day as I passed through the crowd of homeward-bound visitors, most of them too habitually lazy to think of using their legs. Not me. I’d always prided myself with my fitness and youthful appearance, but, as I negotiated the first flight, the toughened glass of the stairwell reflected a different story. I was shocked by my sorry and crumpled state that was so at odds with my mental image: untidy grey hair; creased though expensive suit; tired eyes and pale skin. Despite all my efforts, the tribulations of the last thirteen weeks had taken their toll. I looked rough. The tedious hopelessness and the monotony, the worry and the apathy, the smell of disinfectant and death, all permeated me and conspired to age me. I still tried my best to look good for her, for what it mattered: she never even opened her eyes now.

Then I saw her. I stopped. Huddled in the corner. Young girl. Tanned, bare arms and long legs. Dressed in a blue smock. Head bowed. Long, black hair covered her face. She was crying and she shook with almost silent sobs that nevertheless echoed up and down the whole fifty flights of stepped concrete. I approached her cautiously, adopting an air of empathy and concern in both my body and voice.

‘Are you ok, love?’ She held her breath as my words bounced off the hard, green walls, but then more sobs followed. I waited. They seemed to be abating. My presence was affecting her, calming her. ‘Sweetheart? You ok?’

‘I’m lost…I… I ran away.’

‘Ran away? From where? Where are you running to?’ She was obviously a patient. Why would she run? I squatted beside her.

Her crying stopped and she sniffed. I felt in my jacket pocket for a handkerchief and passed her the folded, monogrammed fabric. She felt it touch her fingers, held up her hand to push it away, but I insisted and she took it, nodding her head by way of thanks before wiping her eyes. Now she looked up at me through her hair. She was afraid - not of me, but scared all the same.

‘Who are you running from?’

‘I don’t kn… no-one… I… I’m running…’ She chose her words carefully and spoke with purpose, as if rehearsing a tragic punch line. ‘I’m running from a slow death.’

I took her arm, helped her to her feet. Her words confused me. Was she mad? She looked troubled, disturbed even, but not insane. I just held her. She began to crumple into grief a couple of times but each time she steeled herself and soon became more steady on her feet. Then she spoke. Slowly. As if hearing the words herself for the first time.

‘Brain tumour. Just told me the results. They can’t operate. It’s not… ‘operable’. They found it too late. I’ve had pain for months, black-outs… Fucking hell! I kept telling them… telling them. They say it can’t be stopped, it ‘s too aggressive. No-one’s fault. Oh God!’ and she broke down, wailed and fell against me, her tears darkening my jacket. I put my arm around her, held her for what seemed an age. I looked around the cold, reverberating space, searching for words to console her, but found none. ‘It’s not fucking fair, I haven’t lived… so much I want to do… Just passed my exams… I have so many plans… why me? When there’s all these fucking old people in here, kept alive… for what? What? What’s the fucking point?’

I was stung by that, and she must have felt my body instantly tense. I thought of Danielle, so inert, just a few floors above us. What would she give for one more healthy day? What would I give? She had lived every minute to the full, yet we had so much more to do together. I spoke with just a hint of anger, but tried to keep a measured tone.

‘The point is that someone loves them and a life is a very valuable thing.’ As soon as the words were uttered I was again sorry for this girl, sorry for the personal thoughts that had intruded into her grief, yet I was also relieved my response had not been harsh. She was little more than a child and had every right to be bitter. I suddenly felt protective towards her, responsible for her. She could have been the daughter we longed for but could never have. I couldn’t just leave her there. She was breathing like a frightened captured animal and I waited in silence till I felt her heartbeat begin to settle. ‘I’m going for a coffee, bite to eat… fancy anything? Just a bit of company? There was no reaction for a while. As I thought about repeating it, she nodded, even smiled a little.

‘I…’

Another sob shook her, interrupted her. Despite the nod, I was sure it would be a no, but I had to offer.

‘Er… yes. I’d like that.’ She looked down at herself, then back up at my surprised smile and was suddenly brighter, optimistic, transformed. ‘Not like this! I’ll nip and get some clothes on. Get the coffees in – I’ll be two minutes.’

I sat there, cup in hand, elbows on the table, staring forwards at nothing in particular. Quite a few of the staff were passing through here too, recharging, refuelling, all looking tired, washed-out. She wasn’t coming. I swallowed the bitter dregs and prepared to leave. A stunningly beautiful young woman strode confidently in through the swinging doors – wavy, almost curly black hair, tight blue jeans, her white cropped tube top accentuating her golden tan. The scanty top displayed a fair amount of her lovely curved belly and only semi-hid a pair of deliciously pert breasts. Her face was symmetrical, tanned, lightly freckled and her eyes were like dark honey. She headed towards me, smiling with brilliant white teeth.

‘Sorry I took so long!’

The bedlam of carnal thoughts that crowded my head with her entrance dispersed and my instant physical reaction to her appearance started to deflate as I realised who she was. I stood and beckoned her to sit.

‘Wow! It’s you. Scrub up well, don’t you!’ and we both laughed at the hospital joke. Was this really the girl from the stairwell? ‘You look amazing. I can’t believe you… you’re… I can’t believe…’

‘That I’m dying?’

‘No. Well, yes… No. I can’t believe it’s you. You look so much older… with your clothes on,’ and I pulled a fake embarrassed sort of face and she smiled again. I quickly queued for fresh coffees then sat down opposite her at the small, round, fake-pine table. We looked appraisingly at each other.

‘Cheeky! So much older? I’m eighteen… well, in two weeks.’ Then she bit her lip, looked down into the steaming cup and froze. She looked in pain. I rested my hand on her bare arm, hopefully transmitting both my concern and my patience in this one touch. We were silent for two or three minutes, then she pinched the bridge of her perfect nose and spoke as if she’d just remembered something. ‘Regina!’ She looked up quickly, her smile rebuilt, hand held out over the tabletop.

‘Sorry? Oh… sorry. I’m Adam.’ I shook her hand. It was very much alive. I surprised myself by raising it to my lips and kissing its smooth, vibrant skin.

‘You are a gentleman, Adam.’ And she gently pulled my hand to her mouth too and pecked the back of it with her very soft, succulent lips, her eyes laughing all the while. ‘Thanks for taking the time back there. They know where I am now, but they were worried when I first ran off.’ I looked quizzical. ‘The doctors, fucking social workers. Anyway, I’ll be out of their hair soon enough. They thought I might top myself, leap down the stairwell – it’s fucking deep enough. Bet they fucking wished I did - save them a few quid and a lot of trouble if I had.’ Her face was serious now and she lowered her voice. Tears filled her eyes and anger, then resignation flashed across them. ‘I was going to do it. Ten flights. Fucking simple. Eighty feet onto solid concrete? Overkill really. Eighteen would have done it. Anything but this. I don’t want to fucking die slowly. I want to fucking live… I wanted to live…’

‘Then fight it. Give it everything you’ve got. Miracles happen!’

‘Why are you here, Adam?’ She instantly changed the subject, ignored my patronising, though heartfelt statement. So I told her about my wife, my beautiful, loving, dying wife: her accident and recovery; our meeting and our marriage; her illness and impending death. She gently twirled the ring on my third finger as I spoke and her tears audibly splashed onto the Formica tabletop, mingling with my own.

‘Danielle…’ She turned the word around in her head, looked at it from every angle. ‘That’s a lovely name,’ and she quietly sang, ‘I can see Danielle waving goodbye… I hate mine… bloody parents fucked up right at the start. Regina! What sort of name is that? Makes me sound like a right c…’

‘Anyway!’ I interrupted her expletive, ‘I like it. It’s lovely. Means ‘queen’ doesn’t it? Suits you. You have regal bearing, they must have known how you would turn out.’ Her frown quizzed me. ‘When you walked in here… God… you cut a very impressive figure.’ She rolled her eyes and giggled, wrinkled her nose.

‘You’re a bloody smooth talker, Adam.’ Her slightly husky voice and measured delivery were much older than her lovely face. ‘But, I actually meant, why are you here, here now, with me? What made you ask me?’ I wasn’t expecting that one and she threw me.

‘I… I don’t know. Well, I felt responsible back there, I suppose. You were obviously in pain, maybe trouble of some sort… I wanted to help, wanted to be sure you were ok. I couldn’t just leave you there.’ Seeing her now, a better reason stared me in the face, but I couldn’t return its stare.

‘So it’s a … mercy mission? You felt sorry for me?’

‘No, course not.’ I lied. ‘I was concerned, but… but…’ her incredulous expression squeezed the truth from me, ‘yes, OK, I felt sorry for you.’

‘I don’t need your pity, Adam…’

‘Not pity… I was worried, thought you maybe… might just need someone to talk to. And I’m glad I came. Really, really glad.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Er… well… you, er…’ I spread my palms, shrugged my shoulders, maybe even coloured a little. She laughed at that and then merely smiled, half closing her eyes, teasingly.

‘You… you don’t fancy me, do you? Aren’t I too young for you?’ and then she sang, very tunefully, ‘I would have liked to know you, but I was just a kid….’ I looked down at the tabletop, the inability to meet her gaze speaking louder than any words. She was very sweet. Anyone would have fancied her, though I suddenly thought she hadn’t actually worked that out yet.

We talked smoothly for a couple of hours. I soon knew all about her past, from birth to the stairwell: how her family came to this city when she was seven and how she’d run away from home aged twelve to escape the alcoholic father who beat her mercilessly when drunk - probably because she looked so like the mother who had run away with the boss three years previously. She’d also run away from the impersonal children’s homes and the cold-hearted foster parents her damaged, rebellious nature always seemed to attract. As she optimistically neared the age where she would be finally free from the care system, she had slowly become aware that something inside her head was achingly wrong. Her exams were recently over and she was expecting good grades, but that was obviously of no concern to her now. She was going to live one day at a time, squeezing as many years as she could into the few weeks still left to her.

Her fingers were long and slender, her nails meticulously manicured and she kept taking my hand from the table, absently examining my fingers and palm as she meandered through her own lifelines. I was sure it was an innocent, childlike act for her, but it was turning me on. She was simultaneously woman and girl, a child on the cusp of adulthood - a potent combination of worldliness and innocent. She was very beautiful, and looked at me with an expression of total trust - almost of love. I suspected it was natural, simply her manner and though it was a little disconcerting to begin with it became very seductive, strangely addictive. She was open and honest and living in the moment. Very quickly I felt very, very close to her.

Death is a powerful condition to be around: among other things, I’ve found it can create an insistent need to procreate - not necessarily in its victim, but in everyone else in its shadow. I remember being appalled at how I was turned on after an old school friend’s funeral. Appalled and confused. Still, it didn’t stop me: I gave a mutual friend a lift home from the cemetery; she asked me in for coffee; we exchanged a single, knowing look then tore each other’s clothes off; we fucked each other, every way we could think of; over and over. She obviously felt the same natural instinct as me, the drive to create new life out of death. We were passionate, desperate, animal. Between the panting and sighing, the silence and the crying we talked about our remarkable hunger as we tried to alleviate the guilt we both felt. We concluded that Linda, our wonderful friend, would have been pleased to see us being so alive, so human, so loving… and would be looking down applauding us as we simultaneously celebrated both our ‘being alive’ and Linda’s own short life. In this way we confirmed our will to continue to fight against the inevitable.

‘I have to go.’ I didn’t want to leave, but knew I must. I’d been away from Danielle for long enough and knew I ought to be with her. It was unlikely that Danielle could hear me, but I liked to talk to her, reassure her, just in case. Time was suddenly running out for us and was thus growing exponentially more precious by the hour.

‘Oh, really? So soon? OK. Will you be down here later? Listen: I’m going nowhere. Still some tests to do… double-checking. They’re keeping me in. Say you will. I need the company… there’s no-one… no-one else… I…’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Her voice cracked, she bowed her head and suddenly looked once again like the girl on the stairs - lost, frightened, disconsolate. Her scraping chair heralded our parting.

‘Yes, OK. I’d really like that.’ I nodded and smiled naturally, without effort. I’d smiled a lot in the last hour or so. ‘I’ll be here. What? Seven? Eight? Later? Earlier?’

‘Eight is fine. It’s a date!’ and she laughed away her tears as she turned away, then began whistling as she walked, high heels accentuating the sway of her very tight and desirable arse. I chastised myself for looking, but couldn’t tear my eyes away. Her legs were long and the gap between them was maintained right to the very top. Perfect. The door swung closed behind her and I was left alone but for her sweet perfume and faint receding heel clicks beating time to the music she still made. She was only seventeen. Would I look at my own daughter so, have such thoughts? What if she was my daughter, say from a one-night stand, and we’d only just met? I’d read how long-lost blood relatives could be sexually aroused at reunions, despite all that science and The Bible tell us about such couplings and it had always intrigued me. But no, I wouldn’t fancy my own daughter – well, maybe for a moment or two the first time, but if I saw her every day I would not feel like that. And anyway - she wasn’t my daughter. She was someone else’s, though she’d said she had been abandoned and abused by them. She was a vulnerable girl and I just happened to be there in her moment of need. I felt all the stirrings that sexual abstinence combined with an impending death and a very sexy young woman could engender. I was heady and sweating and very, very aroused. I headed for the same door, subconsciously singing the words to accompany her whistled tune.

‘Someone saved my life tonight... Sugar Bear…’

I sat with Danielle and the time seemed to move even more slowly than usual. A few friends visited regularly at first, but as weeks turned into months their visits got more rare and now I was all she had. She was an only child and never spoke of her parents - who I assumed were long-dead – or any surviving family, and said she just didn’t want to know. Going against all the professional advice, she left them buried somewhere in her mind. She said it was fine. What good could it do? Digging it all up could cause more problems than it solved. It was better the way it was – she felt no loss, they were strangers to her. But sometimes we would go somewhere she said she’d never been and yet she knew what was around the next corner. And once or twice in the car she said something like, ‘Short cut, turn left,’ when she couldn’t possibly have known. Now and then, a strange phrase would slip out, or she would do something so uncharacteristic that one could have thought she had a split personality. It seemed that her early years, locked into a prison by her injuries, were slowly seeping out - through the keyhole, under the door, through the gaps in the windows. As her illness intensified these anomalous events became more and more prevalent, as if the building that housed her childhood and teenage memories was falling apart and setting them free.

Apart from the occasional flutter of an eyelid, there was nothing. I held her hand, played with it as Regina had played with mine. The thought of her touch made me hard and my erection disgusted me. What was I doing? My wife, the woman I’ve loved for so long, lying here, dying… and my mind and body aching to see this young girl I’d only just met. Still, as I watched the clock impatiently, I told Danielle about the girl, how we met, her background, her own terminal illness. It was really good to have something different to talk about - nothing but the timeless drudgery of hospital visits had occupied me for months. I said she’d like her, said I might even bring her up to meet her.

19:45 I went to the toilet, cleaned my teeth, checked round my mouth and my three days’ growth for crumbs, splashed water on my face, smoothed down my short grey hair. Then I washed my cock. Honestly. Washed my fucking cock. What did I think was going to happen? In a hospital? I was really losing it.

19.55 I crept back in and kissed Danielle goodnight. I’d have a coffee with Regina and then go home. Get a proper night’s sleep.

20:00 I paused by the door and then stepped into the refectory, ever so slightly out of breath after my hasty descent. She was there, wearing the same clothes as earlier, but now with a hint of make-up and perfectly messed-up curls. God, she looked gorgeous. I was suddenly seventeen myself, giddy, nervous.

‘Knew you’d be on time – I got them in. It was my round. Latte?’

‘I thought you’d stand me up! Latte is perfect. Thank you.’

We continued where we left off earlier. Our chat came easily and there was never a silent, anxious moment to fill. The coffee went cold. I got some more for us both. The woman behind the counter recognised me. I’d been coming here a long time.

‘Hiya! Got your daughter with you tonight?’

‘Er… yes. She should be studying, but wanted to come. Think I have the right money… there. Quiet tonight?’ I knew instantly the lie was a bad one. Why did I even feel the need to?

‘Studying? I thought the exams were all done with? She’s a lovely looking girl.’ We both glanced across at her and she smiled back. ‘Yeah. It’s very quiet. There’s been a pile up on the M1. Silly buggers, going too fast it said on the radio.’ I remembered hearing the constant wail of approaching sirens. ‘When the nurses are busy, we’re quiet! That’s the way it is ‘round here. Enjoy your coffee, love.’ She smiled and waved over my shoulder to my ‘daughter’ and then disappeared into the back.

I carried them carefully back to where Regina sat, then motioned to a circular table in an alcove by the window. We could see the city laid out before us from there, lots of new steel and glass buildings, but still lots of beautifully grimy Victorian edifices poking through the forests of trees. I loved this northern city, built on seven rolling hills. It was home to me now, despite having not having set foot further north than Birmingham for the first third of my life. Blue lights winking amid the green canopy signalled the approach of yet another ambulance.

‘Adam?’ She raised the cup to her lips, sipped a drop and lowered it again. ‘I’ve been thinking and I don’t have time for too much of that. Can I ask you something?’

‘You can try me. I’ll do my best to answer.’

‘Do you like me?’ I smiled and looked her up and down.

‘Er, yes. Looked in a mirror lately? Seriously? Who wouldn’t? You’re a very beautiful, very charming girl.’

She closed her eyes, coloured a little and nodded, then gathered her thoughts and her courage. ‘Will you…’ she hid her face in her hands, then took them away and blurted it out. ‘Will you be my lover?’

‘Regina!’ I hissed quietly, yet scoldingly, ‘My wife… That’s not funny… not fair,’ but I’d known she was going to say that, however ludicrous it sounds now. She never flinched. Her sincerity was obvious, but it was an affront to my grief, devotion and loyalty.

‘I mean it, Adam. I’ve been thinking about it ever since this afternoon. I’m going to die - probably on my own, probably soon. I want someone I can trust to… so I’m not alone. I want the time I’ve got left to be special. I really like you. You’re sweet… sexy too. I know it’s not the best time… for you… for either of us, but… Do you believe in fate?’ I shook my head. She simply continued, ‘I’ve always thought things are laid out for us, that there are paths marked out for us to follow. Everything happens for a reason. Look. I was lonely, afraid, and you were there. You’re lonely too and you found me. You need someone… to make you feel good, feel alive. And I need someone…now… who can make me feel whole, feel like a woman…or I may never get the chance. We were brought together. We may never get another chance to be happy, either of us.’

‘I’m very flattered, honest I am… tempted too,’ I breathed in through pursed lips, trying to lighten the moment, ‘but…’

My cock was screaming: ‘But what? What? Don’t fucking say no! You’re going to say no, aren’t you? Oh, for fuck sake!’

‘I… I can’t. Sorry, sweetheart,’ but she wasn’t going to give up and, to be honest, I was glad.

‘What if I told you I was a virgin and wanted deflowering before I died? My dying wish. Wouldn’t you help me then?’ She pouted in her sad little girl way and I was hers. I was all but hooked. She saw my face flush. ‘Hey, you randy old bugger! That turned you on, didn’t it!’ It did, but I didn’t admit it. I found it hard to speak.

‘Are you…a…?’

‘Am I what? A virgin? Five years in care and you think I might still be a virgin? Fuck off! I’ve been on the pill since I was fourteen.’ The refectory was empty but I still thought she was talking too loudly.

Her hand moved to my knee and she leaned towards me. Her right breast brushed my arm and I glanced down. Her tits weren’t small but she didn’t need a bra - and her nipples were rising - she was aroused too. ‘I’ve got a good body. I’ve even been told how good I am… at… you know… sex.’ She lowered her head and for the first time looked a little embarrassed. I was shaking my head, but not saying no. ‘You’re a lovely, caring bloke. Good looking, fit too I’ll bet, for an old ‘un.’ She squeezed my leg and laughed, head still bowed. ‘Adam… make love to me… make me… make me… I’ve never had a proper, yer know, orgasm... well, on my own, but never while…’ now she looked at me and frowned, ‘yer know?’

I pictured Danielle once again. It broke my heart to think it, but she was barely hanging on. She was - mentally at least - all but dead. Would she, like Linda, be cheering me on from the other side if I made love to this girl, confirming, glorying in my continuing vitality? Celebrating life, the life Danielle no longer had to look forward to? She’d said find someone straight away. Don’t mourn. Don’t be lonely. Not for a minute. Take every chance. Life is too short. Once I’m gone, go for it. Promise me! We were so unready when Danielle became seriously ill, had no chance to say goodbye properly, passionately, lovingly…

When does life end? With the final breath? Or with the final conscious thought? And if I waited till the inevitable happened, when her already vacated body finally shut down, what would I do, left alone in my fifties. Where was I to find another partner? Where could I find happiness, fulfilment? On some sorry dating site? In a grotty night club? Unlikely. But I certainly couldn’t bear the thought of being alone – even though I was still married I’d already been alone long enough. I needed this. I deserved it. I knew Danielle would agree. But could I live with the knowledge that I’d screwed this barely-legal girl while my wife lay dying? I vacillated, but the index finger stroking my thigh was tipping the scales.

Her eyes bore into me as I thought it through. As I turned to look at her, to give her my answer, Regina made her move. Her palm slid up my thigh, covered my crotch. She squeezed me there and her middle finger drew small circles in the gap at the top of my legs. I remembered the enticing gap between her legs, the one I’d fixed my gaze on as she’d walked away earlier that day. There was no way she was walking away like that again, not tonight, not without me following her. I nodded my head and took her home.

The night outside the air-conditioned building was surprisingly hot and sticky. I threw my jacket onto the back seat and started the engine, shaking with anticipation. As soon as the doors of my vintage Capri clicked shut she leaned over and kissed me gently, lovingly - the first loving kiss I’d received for ages. I was faint from desire and my head was filled with a swirling, heady mix of countless conflicting emotions. I felt overwhelmingly compelled to fuck with an intensity that reminded me of my first fantastic night with Danielle, over twenty-five years ago. That memory engendered a wave of sorrowful nostalgia that threatened my erection, but a solid stone wall of insatiable sexual voracity turned the tide. I could have taken her there, but somehow, through age and experience, I restrained myself, contemplating instead the night of passion that lay ahead. Spurred on by an image of her naked, writhing, hungry body in my bed, I spun the rear wheels on the gravel and pulled quickly out of the car park and onto the road home.

She touched and teased me as I drove, whispering all the sweet things she planned to do to me. Her eyes were on me for the whole journey, scrutinising my face for the slightest hesitancy that could have signalled a change of heart. She had no need to worry. We ran from the car to the house and kissed long and hard in the porch. As soon as the front door was closed and we’d kicked off our shoes, her tits were out and I sucked on her delicious, firm flesh, sank to my knees to kiss her delectably soft belly. Then she laughed, freed herself from my grip and ran for the stairs, knocking something over in the darkness, cursing even more crudely than usual. I turned on the stairs’ lights, caught up with her on about step seven, and pulled her jeans and panties down to her knees as she playfully struggled to be free. Her cunt was bare, the first completely shaved female crotch I’d ever seen in the flesh. I was shocked and simply stared in lust and wonder.

She wriggled free, left her nether clothing behind and started to scamper up the remaining carpeted steps, but I caught her ankle and she froze, arse towards me as if in ritual presentation. Her tits swayed slightly beneath her as she breathed, erect nipples pointing down and slightly outwards, her white tube top around her waist. I stared in wonder at the perfect bulge of her vulva and, with my index finger, traced the double-U of its perimeter and slit. Her labia were dark, almost purple, and protruded in swollen whorls and ripples. Her buttocks were taut, rounded and the gap between her naked thighs was even more pronounced than I imagined it could be. I touched her tenderly, savouring the look and feel of her smooth, young skin, then opened her up and pressed the tip of my tongue to the succulent pink flesh within. Impatiently she pushed her arse into my face, sighing and shuddering all the while, and I ate her out from behind, swallowing mouthfuls of her clear, musky fluid. My right hand quickly freed my rigid cock from my pants and I entered her there on the stairs, sliding into her slippery, tight cunt with ease. God she was hot. She escaped again, leaving me breathless and glistening and we clambered, laughing, to the top. There, she turned and pulled me willingly to the floor, tore off my trousers and pants and instantly sank my cock between her soft lips. As she sucked me noisily and fondled my balls, a wet finger slid up my arse and I had to pull away.

‘Oh fuck! I nearly came then! Where did you learn that?’ She merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

Her hands were everywhere on me and soon I was naked. I led her to the guest room. She peeled off her top, flung it into the corner and she was naked too. What a sight, what a body. She’d said she was good. Jesus, how had she acquired all this skill at her age? I fucked her on the floor, penetrating her slowly and deeply. She fucked me on the bed, pushing her tits into my mouth as she rode me fast and hard. Then we sucked and licked each other to the very edge of ecstasy.

As we paused for breath, she whispered that there was something else she wanted me to do before I made her cum. She asked so sweetly, so earnestly that tears began to streak my cheeks. She asked me again as she hugged me, whispering the words into my ear. I pulled away slightly and, as I looked at her, another cloud of doubt must have crossed my face.

‘Adam, I want you to. You’ll be my first… my only one,’ and she nodded, her big, dewy eyes full of the same love and trust she had shown me in the hospital refectory.

I gladly acquiesced and slowly rolled her onto her back, kissed her beautiful face. She smiled up at me, but there was a question in her eyes. I reassured her:

‘We’ll do it this way, so we can watch each other... so I can see the pleasure on your face… as you cum. You will cum. We’ll cum together, I promise.’ I had a sudden thought and quickly retrieved some things from the bedside cabinet in our bedroom. This was something Danielle had loved me to do. I’d loved doing it too. It always worked – often spectacularly. Placing a pillow under her bottom, I positioned myself, on my knees, between her legs and lifted her gorgeous tanned calves over my shoulders. The KY was cold and she jumped with surprise when it first touched her arse and then giggled. I slowly, gently inserted a finger. It was so tight. She sighed. We both looked at the bulbous end of my swollen cock and I doubted this was going to work, but she nodded again. I squeezed the tube once more, smeared myself with the cold, slippery gel and positioned my tip against her glistening, puckered hole. I pushed. She grunted. I pushed again and it gave a little. I applied more weight by degrees, she opened up and, impossibly, the tip slid in. She almost sobbed:

‘Ooooh, God… it hurts.’

‘Shall I stop?’

‘No… oh, oh, oh… no.’ She relaxed a little and I knew the worst was over for her. She would be fine now. I paused there a second. She closed her eyes and noisily sucked in air through pursed lips. Then she heard the buzzing of the vibrator. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Relax. You’re going to love this. I promise.’ I placed my left palm on her pubic bone and pushed upwards, towards her belly. I touched the vibrator to her exposed clit and she nearly jumped out of bed. She was dripping now. It ran from her and around my partially embedded cock and onto the bed. I worked her clit with the vibrator some more, then I parted her perfect lips and slid it smoothly into her cunt. Straight in. I felt the vibrations on my glans as it pushed against me, inside her, separated by just a slender membrane. Up inside her it went. All the way.

‘Fucking hell!!!’

I began to draw it out. As I did so, I slowly pushed my erection into her arse. Again, all the way. It fitted. I couldn’t believe it, but it fitted. My balls jangled against her buttocks. She was almost crying with pain, but I knew she was loving every moment. Out I came, though not all the way, sliding the vibrator into her cunt at just the same pace, one rigid shaft replacing the other. We were both being stimulated by it and I knew we both couldn’t take much more. As she tossed her head from side to side, I saw her find her sweet little nipples and pull them till they stretched to improbable lengths. She started to cum. Just twice I’d entered her, but it was enough. Her belly muscles tightened and she pushed the vibrator out. As that wave passed, I quickly pushed it back into her cunt and slid my cock right up her arse too. I collected her dribbling juice, smeared it on her and rubbed her hard, red clit with my thumb… fast, faster, all the while pushing and holding the two throbbing shafts into her holes. She contracted again and grunted like she was giving birth but I held them forcefully inside her. Her breath was coming in short squeals, then long, loud squeals and finally she shouted as she bucked and arched her back:

OH, OH… OOOOH… FUCKING HELL… YES, YES… I’M, I’M… I’M…OH GOD… I’M CUMMING… NNG…NNG…NNG…

At that point I let myself go. My cock’s own contractions, heightened by the buzzing, pleasure machine that lay parallel to it, sent spasms of ecstasy through me. I kept my eyes on her all the time. She was so beautiful, unbelievably sexy. No longer a girl but a woman, a fucking incredible woman. I felt the most beautifully intense orgasm sweep over my whole body as I squirted and squirted into her tight arsehole.

She sponged me down as we stood under the steaming spray of water. She gently cleansed every surface inch of me and then fell to her knees, looking closely at my flaccid cock. Pulling back the foreskin, she carefully cleaned around the ridge of my glans, turning it this way and that to take in every angle. With a squeeze she opened up the hole and, to her amusement, put on a silly voice and made it answer her questions:

Regina: How was last night, Mr Willy?

Mr Willy: Fucking great. Best I ever had!

Regina: Are you tired now, Mr Willy, or would you like to explore my insides again?’

Mr Willy: Of course I would. I love exploring. I love pot-holing, especially when it’s wet and warm - but I should get a light for this helmet!’

I laughed with her, both at the absurdity of it and her childlike sense of humour.

Then she stroked and stretched the ridged skin of my dangling balls and lifted them, weighed them. Her fascination with my sexual organs was both amusing and lovely to watch and she asked me questions about which parts are most sensitive, are any parts too sensitive to touch, when does pleasure turn to pain and vice versa. She said she’d never had the time to do this - sex had always been so hurried, so sweetly sordid, always in the dark. She lifted my limp cock and let it fall. A stream of hot water ran down my chest to my crotch, flowed from the soft end and into her face, like hot, clear piss.

‘I hope you have something left?’

‘I should hope so. What did you have in mind?’

‘That was fucking and it was great. No, it was fantastic! You’re a wonderful fuck, Adam – Christ, when I think of the dickheads – little boys - I’ve had. You’re generous, considerate, gentle… and you know when to be rough… you played me like a fucking piano. Christ! I never thought I could cum like that, ever.… so long, so hard…’ Again I knew what she was going to say next. ‘But now I want you to make love to me, as if… as if… you love me.’

Her mouth closed around me. I looked down at this beautiful young girl sucking my cock to hardness in the shower and I did love her. At that moment I honestly loved her. I started to swell and she looked up at me and winked. I laughed. Her finger moved to my arse.

‘Ah! No babe. Not just yet… I’m not ready for that just yet.’

‘Hey, I’m only learning! What about this?’

She virtually swallowed the head of my cock and started to fuck me with her mouth, two fingers rubbing the muscular section of perineum between my legs painfully hard, digging her long nails in. A sweet tingling in my gut told me I was ready for that level of stimulation, but I wouldn’t have believed it till she started. I reached down and toyed with her nipples, then I grabbed her hair and pulled her head away, fixed her eyes with mine.

‘Let me take you to bed. Before it’s too late…’

I dried her fantastic body and she, in turn, dried me. Without hesitation I led her to our room. I motioned to the bed and she lay on her side. I joined her there and we kissed. She looked around.

‘Are you sure, Adam?’ She furrowed her brow and her eyes were moist.

‘I fuck in the guest room. I make love in here.’ She knew me well enough by now to understand that the wry humour told her to trust me. I was OK.

‘I love you. Adam… I fucking love you.’

‘I love you too, Regina.’ We kissed. ‘How are you? The headaches I mean… is there anything I can get you?’

‘No…I’m fine. Can’t believe it. To be honest, since I’ve been with you… the pain has almost gone. No black-outs, nothing… just a dull ache that, after what I’ve been through, is a godsend.’

When Danielle’s illness first struck her down, I never imagined we would not, could not, make love again. Since then, so many times I had lain alone in this bed, replaying our last time, wishing I had taken more care and really shown her how much I loved her. I recalled other nights we’d spent together, sometimes cumming and crying simultaneously as I did so, praying we would get one more chance. It was not to be. Regina looked up at me and smiled, as if reading my mind. Love and desire filled her eyes to overflowing.

‘Make love to me, Adam.’

I nodded, closed my eyes. She was suddenly my wife and I made love to her one last time. I positioned myself between her legs and touched her lips with my penis tip. It slipped easily up and down her slit and I knew she was ready. I instantly found her hole and slid inside her, lowering myself gently into her, though never resting my weight on her. As I moved slowly, we kissed passionately and she sighed, just as Danielle used to sigh.

‘Touch yourself. I’d like that.’ She looked a little abashed. ‘It’s OK. It doesn’t mean I’m not satisfying you. A cock doesn’t stimulate that part while we’re fucking. Touch yourself. Make yourself cum with me inside you. No need to speak, my love, unless you want to - I’ll feel you tighten and make sure we cum together.’

I maintained a gap between us, taking the weight on my knees and arms and I felt her hand slide down there. Her knuckles brushed my belly as she masturbated and nearly took me over the edge. Her wet hair formed a halo around her head, stuck to her face, and I thought of Danielle in the hospital.

‘This is for you, my love. I love you.’

With those words she started to grind herself into me, her pelvis thrusting up to meet mine and we pounded together urgently, though we somehow kept the same smooth rhythm. Her noises were sweet, soft and sighing, a series of tiny cries and sobs. This was how I wanted to remember Danielle – my gorgeous wife, my wonderful lover, not the wasted body in the hospital - and my heart and mind swelled with my love for her. But now I acknowledged the beautiful girl I was with at that moment. I felt her need, as I needed to make this special moment all she had ever dreamed of.

‘Open your eyes. Regina! Open your eyes. Look at me. I’m making love to you. I love you.’ Her eyes met mine and I felt her deep solitude, her desperation. ‘I’m here, my love. Cum for me.’ Now her eyes were wide, fearful, full of pain. Then they softened, she relaxed and her anguish dissipated with every thrust. She felt my love wash over her, as I felt waves of love emanate from her, and she started to cum. I sensed her cunt tighten around my shaft as her sighs grew faster, deeper, louder. A beatific look transformed her face and then she came. Her orgasm went on and on and I stared in wonder at this vision beneath me. Now I let myself go. I closed my eyes and let everything go - the grief, the anguish, the pain, the bitterness, all of it, and emptied myself into her. I held her and we kissed and cried and cried and cried ourselves to sleep. At some point in the night I rose from the treacle depths of the sweetest dream to feel her spooning me. She wrapped her arm around my chest and pulled herself closer to me, all the while whispering over and over:

‘Someone saved my life tonight… someone saved my life tonight…’

In the morning she was gone. I searched the house, shouting her name, but to no avail. She’d mentioned some more tests, so I assumed she probably had to be back at the hospital and wouldn’t want to disturb me, knew I needed a good sleep. I was sorry not to wake with her, bring her breakfast in bed, make love again… I looked down at my crusty, battle-weary penis and the reality hit me. What a fucking night! What a fucking woman! What a fuck! Amazingly, at that moment, I felt no guilt at all, just freedom. Freedom from the crushing weight that I’d carried around unknowingly for so long. I showered again and dressed, had a quick bowl of muesli and clambered into the car to make that familiar journey - this time feeling like a different, younger man: alive, renewed, reborn.

They said they’d tried ringing me. My home phone was off the hook – it turned out Regina had accidentally upset it last night as she ran for the stairs. I didn’t answer my mobile either – well I wouldn’t have, it was in my jacket in the back of the car. I was so totally absorbed with the night before, so full of myself after my conquest that I hadn’t even checked it for missed calls. At four a.m. Danielle had passed quietly away. Alone. She had died while I lay in our bed with another woman. I was totally, utterly abject, devastated. They took me to see her and I cried and cried.

‘I’m sorry, forgive me. Oh, my baby, my baby, I’m sorry, please… forgive me…’

I left the hospital in a daze and lived the next few days, but don’t remember them. I thought of Regina, but the pain and guilt now associated with her was simply insurmountable and the memory of her was too much for me to bear. I could never see her again. Over the following week I buried them both and tried to pick myself up and carry on, alone.

The rail of clothes reappeared before me, smeared by the tears, out of focus. I had to sort through her things. I’d picked today to do it, chose the handbags as the least sentimental items. I’d made a start. Now I had different, more difficult, less tangible things to sort out. Because it was still in my hand, I started with the foolscap sheet.

It’s Danielle, Danielle, Danielle!

’And I can see Danielle waving goodbye
God it looks like Danielle must be the clouds in my eyes’

Regina? She wrote this and hid it in here? When I was asleep? How did she know I’d ever find it? Changed her name to Danielle? What sort of sick mind would pull a stunt like this? My brain was spinning in my aching head with so many unanswered questions. This didn’t make any sense. But the sheet was never a couple of weeks old, the edges were too frayed, faded and fusty. I looked at the black and white photos again and then turned to the blue exercise book they’d slipped out of. It had an inscription inside the front cover:

Stuck inside the back cover was a photo titled ‘Class of 76’. Sitting in the middle of the front row was Regina. She was unmistakably my Regina, the beautiful, vivacious girl I’d made love to - half a lifetime after this photo was taken. I thought I must be going mad. What was I to believe? A girl, or the ghost of a girl, crossed thirty years to meet me on the hospital stairs? I frantically read the chronologically compiled clippings. They were dated the same year as the class photograph.

Holdsworth? Regina Holdsworth? That was Danielle’s maiden name. Confusion numbed me, dulled my thinking. The next heart-breaking headline was dated less than six weeks later.

I skipped a few pages. Tears blurred my eyes, while reality and incredulity waged a raging battle in my head. My heart leaped as I found this clipping, dated a year later, the missing piece that finally convinced me.

I finished reading and sat stunned for ages, running it over and over in my head. The crushing guilt I had endured since my Danielle had died was slowly lifting and I began to understand. It had been so easy for me to fall for Regina - the attraction was so strong and compelling because she was my wife. I can only explain it thus: in her last hours, the prison in Danielle’s mind totally fell apart and her life before the accident escaped from its confines. Regina was free again. She came to find me, to show me the girl she had been before the runaway lorry took her. She couldn’t rest till she had. Danielle finally rediscovered and accepted her painful, forgotten past and made herself whole; then she quietly and contentedly slipped away, knowing I had fallen in love with all of her - and all of her had fallen in love with me. Danielle and Regina: my wife, my lover. One and the same.