LITMIR.BIZ

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was on one of these tan-cultivating days that the idea of Joe providing “additional services” had first been planted …

      Felicity Charrington fitted the profile of Buttersley’s yummy mummies perfectly. A thirty-five-year-old vision of pampered and preened loveliness, with a mane of honey-blonde hair, legs up to her neck and a pair of non-surgically-enhanced boobs that would drive any red-blooded male to distraction.

      When Joe arrived at her palatial home just after lunch to clean the ridiculous number of windows therein, Felicity and half a dozen girlfriends had been frolicking by the pool at the bottom of the garden.

      Joe tried not to look. For one thing it wouldn’t be very professional, and for another, women like that would never be interested in him. But, he soon discovered, women like that were more than interested in him. With the sweltering combination of the unrelenting sun and the back-breaking work, he’d tugged off his T-shirt, revealing a toned, brown torso. Working out at the gym had helped him keep off the booze, and had soon developed into an addiction. The results, Felicity Charrington’s guests discovered, were impressive.

      ‘Hey, gorgeous. Why don’t you come down and join us?’ one of them called to him.

      Show us your shammy,’ preceded another bout of female cackling.

      Joe pretended not to hear. Drunken women had always turned him off, but he didn’t want to offend. The Charrington house was a good earner. Plus, if you upset one client in a place as tightly knit as Buttersley, word would be around the village faster than he could wring out his wash-leather. So he quietly carried on with his work until, an hour or so later, two taxis bowled up at the door and whisked the gaggle away.

      All except Felicity.

      ‘Why don’t you come in and have a drink, Joe?’ she called out the kitchen window. ‘You haven’t stopped since you got here. You must be parched.’

      Joe was parched. And shattered. And he could do with a break from the sun.

      ‘Don’t want you drunk in charge of a ladder,’ she continued. ‘There’s some lemonade here. With lots of ice.’

      ‘Thanks. I will, if you don’t mind,’ he called back.

      Once in the kitchen – the biggest Joe had seen in his entire life – he found Felicity as sober as a judge. ‘Sorry about the girls,’ she apologised, shaking her head. ‘They’re a bit … excitable at times.’

      ‘That’s all right,’ he chuckled. ‘They were just having a bit of fun.’

      Felicity plopped down on a breakfast stool and crossed one long, tanned leg over the other. ‘And what do you do for fun, Joe?’

      Joe almost choked on his lemonade. What the hell did she mean by that? And why was she looking at him like that? All doe-eyed and pouty-lipped.

      ‘Um, the usual, you know,’ he blustered. ‘Going to the pub, the gym. Nothing special. What about you?’ he asked, desperate to deflect the attention.

      She shrugged. ‘I don’t have much fun these days. My husband’s away so often I’ve forgotten what he looks like. My daughter skips from one extra-curricular activity to another. And I rattle around this huge house all by myself.’

      Of all the houses one could rattle around, Joe thought this would top the list. But somehow he didn’t think that was what she wanted to hear.

      ‘I’m sure there are a million things you could be doing,’ he proffered instead. ‘How about charity work? Or a new hobby?’

      A despondent sigh ensued. ‘Tried both but haven’t found anything that really … satisfies me. You know what I mean?’

      By the heavy emphasis placed on “satisfies”, Joe began to suspect exactly what she meant.

      ‘There must be … something,’ he muttered, suddenly feeling awkward.

      ‘Oh, I’m sure there is.’ Felicity smiled coyly. ‘‘And if you’re ever interested in helping me find it, you know where I live.’

      Joe stared at her blankly. Surely she wasn’t … But by the way she gazed at him again … Shit. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead he gulped down the remainder of his lemonade and made a hasty retreat, his head reeling.

      There’d been no sign of Felicity when he finished his work, so he left one of his printed cards on the kitchen bench, saying he’d be back later in the week to collect payment.

      His heart had been hammering so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest when, two days later, he called for his money. He’d given the matter a great deal of thought since the proposition, and had arrived at the following conclusion: they were two lonely, consenting adults who found one another attractive. What, then, was the harm in them having a bit of fun together?

      Of course, he might have got the whole thing wrong. Might be reading far too much into it. Maybe she hadn’t been propositioning him at all. But the minute she’d opened the door, wearing nothing but a short, ivory-silk robe, he knew he’d been right.

      ‘I’ve been wondering when you’d call,’ she said. ‘Would you like to come in?’

      Joe nodded.

      He became a regular visitor to the Charrington house after that. At least once a week. Felicity was right. Her husband was never around.

      ‘Of course, you know this is just a bit of fun,’ she pointed out on every one of Joe’s visits.

      And Joe did know. He’d been in love once and look how that had turned out. No, fun was the order of the day for him from now on. And he and Felicity enjoyed lots of it. Then one day, after a particularly sweaty bedroom session, she’d come out with a surprise comment.

      ‘I’ve been telling a couple of my girlfriends about you. If you’re interested, you could add them to your “rounds”.’

      Joe burst out laughing. ‘You don’t mean …’

      Felicity nodded. ‘Oh, but I do. They’re drop-dead gorgeous. And they’d make it worth your while.’

      Joe had only needed a minute to consider the proposal. ‘Why not?’ he chuckled. After all, a bit more of what he and Felicity got up to could only make life even more interesting.

      So he did. Then, as word spread, more and more “clients” were added to his round. They now totalled twelve. Some he saw more regularly than others. But all were, he ensured, completely satisfied with his services. Because, just as Joe took pride in his window cleaning, so, too, did he in this new branch of “work”. He’d always thought if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well. So he even expanded his knowledge in the more “specialist” areas some of his clients preferred, with lots of reading, and the odd DVD. But he never asked them for money. That would have made the whole thing sordid somehow. The contents of the envelopes that discreetly appeared in his pockets were all donated to his favourite charity – which was precisely how he looked on his “additional services” – as a charity. These women craved love and attention. Something they obviously didn’t receive from their husbands. Joe made them feel special. Wanted. Desirable. But his actions weren’t entirely selfless. Given the event that had brought about the end of his world, his shenanigans permitted him the taste of something very sweet and satisfying: revenge.

      ***

      ‘Oh, my God. Portia!’ In her tiny cake shop, Crumbs, Annie O’Donnell whipped off her oven gloves and dashed round the other side of the counter to embrace her best friend. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

      Portia laughed. Something, she realised, she hadn’t done in a long time. But the image of Annie’s concerned, pretty face, with a smear of flour on her cheek, and her lopsided blonde ponytail, instantly lifted her spirits.

      ‘I didn’t know myself until yesterday.’

      Annie released her friend, took a step back and placed her hands on her slender

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