“Well, that was interesting,” John, my husband, said as he came into the kitchen, having seen our friends out of the house.

“Interesting? How is that interesting? It’s fucking perverse!” I said, throwing a wet tea towel at him, hitting him in the face.

I walked out of the room, leaving him to tidy up after everyone, and up the stairs to bed, disgusted. It was after eleven o’clock and I had a presentation to make at work the next morning. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror as I made myself ready for bed.

“Am I the crazy one here?” I thought.

When I had calmed down somewhat, I began to see the humorous side of it. I cleaned the makeup from my face, took a quick shower before bed, put on a fresh clean pair of PJs, and slipped into bed, my mind focused on the next morning and not on the fuck up of an evening we’d just had. John closed the door about thirty minutes later, a cautious look on his face. I held out my hand to him.

“Sorry about that, John,” I said. “That was a weird, fucked up, evening.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Sue,” he said. “I was just as surprised as you.”

I turned on my back as he began to get ready for bed. We’d been married for four years. I was twenty-eight when we married, while John was fifteen years older. We had met in the Law Library of the Four Courts on Inns Quay in Dublin.

John was a practicing barrister and I worked in the firm of Stanley Schiff and Associates, a medium-sized legal practice, where I worked as a junior solicitor at the time. I was assisting the solicitor who was instructing John on a legal case where a claim was being made by our client against a large supermarket chain.

It wasn't one of those memorable, life-altering moments where we fell into a romantic trance as we longed to strip each other naked and ravish each other on the nearest floor. I doubt we even registered the other's existence. The case ran for a little over five months and was settled, in our favour, outside of Court and we had occasion to meet for at least one hour per week, during which time a gradual respect built between us.

He asked me out for brunch one Saturday morning and, because it was such a beautiful day, we went for a drive in the Wicklow mountains in his Classic black Jaguar Mark 2. Once I got over the effect of the constant rumbling, rattling, and roaring of the engine and the overpowering smell of petrol fumes in the cab, I settled in and soon dozed off in the passenger seat.

We dated, I suppose you could call it, for a while before he offered me an engagement ring, totally inappropriately and completely out of the blue, at a dinner party in his brother's house. As I didn't wish to embarrass or admonish him in front of the company we were in, I smiled and accepted it with as much grace as I could muster.

When we left for home, though, I was so angry at the position he had placed me in that I tore him apart. I took the ring off and handed it back to him.

"John, you put me in a terrible position in there," I said. "I don't know how you feel, but I'm not in that place and I'm not sure that I'll ever be."

"Sue, I'm sorry, really sorry," he said, "I just felt that we're not getting any younger and we get on well together."

"And what about that whole, what do you call it, love component, John?" I said, feeling weirded out. "Does that not factor into your thinking? For fuck's sake we hardly even know each other."

He remained with his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead, not feeling the need to expand any further on it. I just sat there and fumed. I left the ring on the dashboard of his car when I got out. I didn't slam the door, fearing it would just reinforce the fiery-tempered red-headed stereotype that everyone aspired to.

So I pulled myself up to my full five foot four inches in height, pushed back my shoulders in an attempt to make my small breasts look bigger than they actually were, and stomped as threateningly as I could under the limitations of my slight physique, into my parent's house, where I was living at the time.

John was on his side of the bed after the party, his hand touching my arm, his method of foreplay.

"Not tonight, John," I said. "I've a big day tomorrow."

"But it's been a few weeks, Sue," he said.

"Is that my fault, John?" I said. "And why tonight, all of a sudden? Has the conversation we had with your friends made you fucking horny?"

"I wouldn't put it so crudely, Sue, but you have to admit that it was stimulating."

"Stimulating?"

"Yes, sexually," he said, "picturing them all swapping spouses and having sex with abandon."

"Do you find the idea attractive?"

"Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say that, Sue," he said, "but it does have something about it."

"So who would you want to swap with if you had the chance? Gemma Thornton or Carrie Gibbons?" I said.

"Well, they're both very attractive but of the two, I'd probably try Carrie," he said.

"Because she has big tits?"

"Partly, but she also has a certain joie de vivre, if you know what I mean."

"I'm sure I don't," I said.

"She's effervescent and a little cheeky," he said, a little smile playing about his lips.

"So I'd be stuck with William?" I said.

"I suppose so," he said, "William is a nice fellow, Sue."

"Are you trying to sell him to me?"

"No, not at all, I was just mentioning it."

"William is fat, he's got red blotchy skin, his trousers don't fit and his breath stinks," I said. "You expect me to fuck that?"

He remained silent as I turned on my side and switched the light off.

"No answer, so I guess you do," I said. "Fuck you, John."

He touched my back, so I got out of bed and slept in one of the other rooms that night. I was still fuming as I drove to work the next morning as I thought about the previous night's get-together.

It had started well enough; I had ordered in a massive amount of Chinese food and John had brought home the fancy wines that they all liked. I wasn't a drinker, so that all went over my head completely. I was on a current kick of drinking Ribena, a blackcurrant cordial that my favourite niece drank in copious amounts.

"Fucking William Gibbons," I said to the windscreen. "If I had a garden full of vaginas I wouldn't even let him look over the wall and I'm expected to fuck him just because my fucking husband wants to get his rocks off with Carrie? The prick!"

Surprisingly enough, I would have expected him to go for Gemma. Gemma was built more like me but, once again, Alan, her husband, was a total Shrek. I shivered in revulsion as I thought about it. There was nothing in this for me whatsoever, even if I was in tune with the notion, so they could fuck right off.

The moment that William had let it slip that they were swingers had made my head spin. I couldn’t equate his statement with the actual fact of them sitting in front of me. I had been in the kitchen opening another bottle of wine and, as I returned, I overheard him talking to Alan.

“There's a new party that we’re thinking of trying out on the long weekend,” he said. “The kids will be off glamping with the neighbours, so we have three days to ourselves.”

“Where is it?” Alan said.

“Clonmel. It’s a bit of a trek but even thinking about it makes the blood flow.”

“We had hoped to have an overnight with you two, but if you’re looking elsewhere, we might join you,” Alan said. “Is it themed?”

“No, I don’t think it’s all that established yet. I heard about it through a guy at work who’s only just entered the lifestyle…”

He shut down when Gemma cleared her throat at my return to the room and they all looked shiftily at each other, their discomfiture turning the atmosphere into an awkward silence. I looked at John, who tried not to meet my eyes.

“What are we talking about?” I said, placing the bottle in an ice bucket on the coffee table.

“Just a bit of William’s workplace gossip, Sue,” Carrie said.

“You said the lifestyle,” I said, “are we talking swingers?”

“Yes,” John said, picking up the bottle and filling everyone’s glass.

“Oh,“ was all I said before sitting down in my seat.

Carrie and Gemma exchanged glances.

“I know that sound,” Carrie said.

“What sound?”

“The sound of opprobrium.”

“Does opprobrium generate a sound?” I said.

“Judgment then,” she said. “What people do in the privacy of their own home is of nobody’s concern.”

“Hang on there a second,” I said. “Are you telling me that you and William are swingers?”

They looked at each other quickly.

“We dabble,” she said.

“Fuck,” I said, “I’d never have put that together. Not in a million years.”

“Why not?” William said.

“You don’t look like swingers,” I said, “at least not how I’d imagined that swingers looked.”

“What way do you think they look, Sue?” Gemma asked coldly.

“Do you two dabble as well?” I asked. “Do you dabble together?”

“We have done,” she said, “our initiation into the lifestyle was with William and Carrie.”

“Ok,“ I said, “each to their own, I say. It’s not for me but once you’re all happy, that’s what matters.”

“So you just dismiss it out of hand?” Alan said.

“Is that what I’m doing, Alan?” I said. “It’s not exactly high on my list of priorities, but if you want to be a fucking child about it, then don’t let me stop you.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,“ he said.

“I wasn’t knocking it and I won’t be trying it, Alan, never fear,” I said. “Now, can we change the subject, please?”

“I’d like to hear more,” John said, not looking at me.

That was all that William needed to hear and they spoke of nothing else for an hour. John, his inner barrister questioning them forensically, was obviously a lot more than just curious. I sat quietly and heard everything but had no comment to make.

As I drove to work, I suddenly had a vision of Gerry Reid, a champion swimmer and Olympic Water Polo player. I hadn’t thought about him in a long time. Gerry had died of cancer a year or two beforehand.

*

After the abortive engagement attempt by John, I distanced myself from him completely for over a year. I met Gerry during this time out in Sardi's, a nightclub situated in a hotel overlooking the beach in Portmarnock. I had gone there after a few drinks with friends out in Malahide and, not wishing to end the evening early, we caught a taxi to take us along the coast road to the venue with a plan to drink some more wine and have a dance or two.

Not having much of a tolerance for alcohol, I was quite drunk after a couple of glasses of wine, and I found myself dancing alone on an empty dance floor, the deejay having taken a ten-minute break and leaving some muzak on the speakers for the interval. I stumbled and was caught by Gerry, who was standing, watching me with an amused smile on his face. He was working security at the club that night.

"Come on, young lady," he said, taking my arm, "I think you've had enough."

"Let me go, you ape!" I said to him, and he laughed. "Are you throwing me out?"

"No, I'm getting you off the floor before you do yourself some damage," he said. "Do you know where you were sitting?"

He half-led, half-carried me to the table we were sitting at, but all of my friends had been shifted and were nowhere to be seen. I assumed they were fucking someone in some dark corner of the club somewhere. Gerry stood close by, waiting for someone to return, but no one did.

I fell asleep at the table, waking as the deejay played the national anthem to signify that the revelry had ceased. I was still locked drunk when Gerry touched my shoulder and brought me out to his car. He dropped me outside my house and gave me his card.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be grand,” I said. “Thanks for the lift.”

“No problem at all,” he said. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Susan Kelly,” I said. “I’m really sorry about this, I’ll kill my fucking friends for fucking off on me like that.”

“It happens every night, Susan, don’t worry your head about it.”

I nodded and got out of the car, needing the comfort of my bed and a rich blanket of sleep. I woke the next morning feeling like hell. I stayed in bed until noon, summoning my poor, aggravated head to attention. At one o'clock, I got a phone call from Sarah Byrne, one of the friends who had abandoned me the night before.

"Where did you all get to last night?" I asked.

"That'd be telling," she said with a laugh. "How did you get on? I was up in one of the hotel rooms for most of the night."

"Fucking?"

"Just a bit," she said. "It wasn't great though, he was a bit of a needle dick."

"At least it was a dick," I said. "I flaked out and one of the bouncers dropped me home."

"Ooh, did you fuck him?"

"No, I was actually unconscious, and he was a perfect gentleman," I said. "I should call him and thank him."

"What was he like?"

"I don't really remember," I said. "Knowing my luck, he's probably married, in any case."

"So we're going into town later," she said. "Do you fancy it?"

"Where?"

"The Zhivago."

"Why all the way over there?"

"Why, do you want to go to Sardi's again? Do you lurrv the bouncer?"

"Fuck off, Sarah," I said, "to be honest, I'm not all that fussed about clubbing it again tonight."

"Well, if you change your mind, we'll be in the Slipper at 7:00."

"Ok, I'll see how I get on."

I hung up the phone and felt sick at the thought of drinking again that night so, mentally, I settled for a night in front of the TV with a takeaway and my mother's inquisition. I took a long soak in the bath, soothing my aggravated muscles. I must have done a lot of dancing because my legs were killing me. At 3:00, my mother called me for lunch and, although it seemed that every square inch of me was in jep, I was starving.

I passed on dessert and decided to get dressed and take the dog for a walk. I found Gerry's card in my coat pocket and, just for the craic, I dialled his number.

"Hello?" he answered slowly and quietly.

"Hi Gerry, it's Susan Kelly from last night, is it ok to call you?"

"Yes, of course. You can actually speak coherently,” he said, causing me to laugh.

"I can walk coherently too now, although my legs are still sore from my John Travolta performance last night."

"Ah, you're a quiet drunk," he said, "you only told me to fuck off six times."

"Thanks for that," I said. "So I just wanted to call and say thank you for your kindness, you didn't have to do that."

"You're very welcome," he said. "I have sisters and I'd like someone to do the same for them if they got in that state."

"Thanks very much for that, I didn't realise I was in a state."

"Sorry, Susan, I misspoke," he said. "You weren't too bad, just a few sheets to the wind."

"I'm paying for it now," I said. "I don't usually drink to excess, and I'm not used to it."

"You probably need a hair of the dog if you're still suffering at this hour," he said.

"Yes, that's exactly what I need," I said, "another fucking drink."

"It's not called 'The Cure' for nothing."

"And you’re the expert on the cure, are you?"

"I know what I know, that's all I can say," he said. "Hey, why don't you let me take you down for a drink and you'll see if it works or not?"

I thought about it briefly, quickly dismissing the notion, but I told him I'd like to. He offered to pick me up at 6:00. I agreed and went to see what clothes I had left to wear. As it was only a drink, I chose black trousers and a green blouse. I laid them out on my bed and then changed my mind several times before going back to them again. The trousers were part of a suit I sometimes wore to work, so I pulled the jacket out and hung it on the wardrobe door.

When Gerry beeped his horn, I slipped my jacket on and disappeared down the stairs, shouting, “I’m off!” back into the house and pulling the hall door quickly behind me. I hurried down the garden path and jumped in through the open door of the Land Rover that he drove.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” he said with a grin.

“Trying to avoid the interrogation,” I said.

“You look nice,” he said.

“Thanks, but I was struggling to find something to wear,” I said, pulling my hair back off my forehead. “You’re not bad yourself.”

“I was going for disinterested, but faintly curious in a toned-down masculine way.”

“I’m just disinterested,” I said, and we laughed.

“So, where would you like to go, Susan? The world is your oyster,” he said.

“I dunno, my friends are at The Slipper,” I said.

“Ah, your famous invisible friends,” he said.

“They’re ok,” I said.

“They’re not,” he said, his hand taking mine. “They abandoned you when you were vulnerable.”

“I know, but my knight in shining armour rode to my rescue,” I said.

He kissed me and I wasn’t expecting it.

“Sorry,” he said, “it felt right.”

“In the middle of the Howth Road?”

“True,” he said, looking embarrassed, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was nice.”

“Yes, it was very nice,” he said. “So where to, my lady, my fair princess, my copper-tinted goddess.”

I looked at him in amusement.

“Too much?”

“Not enough. A bit over the top but the copper thing is different at least,” I said, “a lot better than the ginger minger.”

He laughed.

“So, The Slipper? Is that your venue of choice?" he asked.

“I’m not really into drinking tonight, Gerry. Can we go for a walk along the beach instead? The breeze might clear my head.”

“Sure,” he said, “but it’s going to be freezing cold.”

“If it is, we can drive along it with the windows open,” I said. “That makes scientific sense at least."

“In some dimension, maybe,” he replied with a grin as he turned the vehicle around and headed towards the wooden bridge at Dollymount.

“What do you work at, Susan?” he asked as we drove.

“Solicitor,” I said.

“Fancy,” he said, “but I can see that, now you say it.”

“What do you do, Gerry?” I said. “A bouncer doesn’t get paid enough to be able to drive a fucking Land Rover.”

“It’s sponsored, Susan, otherwise, I wouldn’t have it.”

“By whom?”

“I’m on the Olympic Water Polo team,” he said, “we all have one. Some garage or other sponsors them.”

“You’re going to the Olympics?”

“Yes.”

“Water polo?”

“Yes, why?”

“Where’s your horse?”

“Ah, the old jokes are the best,” he said, “and there was I worrying I’d be in for some deeply intelligent conversation this evening."

I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, making a squeaking sound as I did so.

“What are you doing now?” he said.

“This is the world’s smallest violin,” I said.

“Now I can see why your friends fucked off last night,” he said, and we collapsed into laughter.

As we drove across the rickety-looking bridge, I looked out onto the serenity of the water.

“You must be a proficient swimmer, Gerry,” I said.

“Yes, I hold the Irish record in the 400 metres butterfly.”

“Congratulations, that’s an impressive achievement,” I said. “I can hardly put my toe in the water without coming out in hives.”

“Can you not swim?”

“I can do the basics, but people piss in swimming pools, Gerry,” I said, “I can’t get my head around that.”

“I teach beginner's classes, Susan,” he said, “I can teach you a few things.”

“Where do you teach? Do you get paid for it?”

“Yes, the Olympic Council pays us to take part in their Community Outreach programs,” he said, “I’m based in St. Paul’s Pool.”

“A pool?”

“Yeah, if only there was somewhere else that one could swim,” he said, looking out at the sea lapping against the sand.

“Ok,” I said, “I get it. Just drive slowly along here.”

We opened the windows and a cold, bracing wind howled through the cockpit of the big vehicle. We couldn’t hear each other, so he closed the windows and reversed up between a couple of dunes, facing out to the sea.

“I suppose we still need a solution for your cure,” he said.

“What do you suggest?”

“Well, if madam would care to accompany me to the lounge, I might be able to offer her a facsimile from the not extensive bar menu,” he said.

“Is that a fancy way of trying to get me in the back of your car?”

“Did it work?”

“No. Were you really trying to?”

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think,” he said, looking earnestly at me.

“Go on, explain,” I said, crossing my arms.

“This, my cynical friend, is a Land Rover,” he said. “It’s a vehicle used for all-terrain pursuits, one of them being hunting and shooting in the wilds of Scotland and other places. It is equipped with a cocktail cabinet that contains a snifter of something warming and alcoholic, and convenient crystal tumblers to drink from.”

“And what kind of alcoholic concoction does your snifter contain?”

“I don’t know, I never used it.”

“Well, get it out and we’ll have a look at it,” I said, regretting the words immediately.

“You mean the snifter, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

I registered the look of uncertainty on his face as I leaned over the console to kiss him. He overcame his initial confusion and began to kiss me back.

“Let’s retire to the lounge,” I whispered.

TBC