Tempest in the Sun

Tempest in the Sun
By John Riddle
Part two of the Tenerife Trilogy

"Come off it Jack, you'll never retire, your part of the furniture
here," remarked Jean O?Rouke, my colleague in the newspaper
office.
Jean was confident that I would be carried out of the office in a box
as she felt my whole life surrounded the paper.
She was oh so wrong.
"Oh I will you wait and see and then I?m off to a life in the sun," I
replied.
That provoked a bevvy of laughter in the newsroom where I worked for
the Hartlepool Times,in the north east of England. No one if the Times
office took me seriously that I would retire on 1st October a few
months after my 50th birthday and I was quite happy to let them have
their little joke at my expense.
The Times had served the local communities of Hartlepool and West
Hartlepool in the early years for more than a hundred years and I
joined them as an office boy in 1962 and through the efforts of night
school and university later in life, have risen to the dizzy heights of
senior reporter.
My name is Jack Tempest and for the past twenty odd years I have served
the Times and the people of the town both covering everything from
council meetings to the local football club, Hartlepool United. As I
approached fifty and two relationships that ended in divorce I had made
a conscious decision that I would leave the town, its people and
culture and move to a life in the sun.
My plans rapidly advanced as I approached the big 50 and three years
prior with a colleague and fashion reporter June Johnson came out to
Tenerife on a week?s holiday. It was a working holiday as well as we
covered a trip by 200 or so landlords from the local brewery on their
reward trip for selling umpteen barrels of beer.
Camerons Brewery had been in Hartlepool as long as the Times and in the
Hartlepool area Camerons Strongarm was as famous as Newcastle Brown
Ale. The Cameron family over the years had put a great deal back into
the community and even paid for a meternity hospital to be built.
Seemed only fair to me as Camerons Strongarm must have been resposible
for many a Friday night baby. The men of the town would congragate in
the pubs and workingmens clubs after a hard days work at the Shipyard,
pit or Steelworks and then stagger home to the wife and produce another
Cameron?s offspring.
The Shipyards, the pit and the Steelworks are long gone, and
unemployment is the constant companion of many. The town had the
highest unemployment rate in the region for a long time and despite the
efforts of the council and development agencies bringing work to the
town has always been a constant battle.
Must say though the town is looking grand with the new marina and
shopping centre and Church Street once a decaying dive has been
transformed to its former glory. Even the Times moved homes to a new
building. But I digress.
June Johnson and I arrived in Tenerife and stayed in the Commodoro
apartment hotel, which was one of the few in the Times tight budget. It
was ok and we had a great time.
Each day we ambled around Los Cristianos and in the evening joined the
Cameron?s crew to take photographs of their holiday for a special
feature we were to produce back home. The landlords and their wives or
partners had an all inclusive paid holiday and it was the Times plan to
do a special feature and then approach the respective pubs and clubs
for advertising. It was a well tried method that worked.
June and I on our last day in Tenerife collected copies of all the
English newspapers as it was my plan to write to them all, explain I
was about to retire and try and get a job in the sun. I had done this
in Marbella but nothing came of it.
I visited Barclays Bank were I withdrew some cash from the hole in the
wall and then ambled along the narrow streets that make up Los
Cristianos.
I returned home to the house I bought after my latest relationship
ended and it provided a safe haven. It was a pre war house but after I
installed double glazing and central heating it provided me with a base
from which to work and a haven to relax.
I had been divorced almost ten years and the three children of the
union came to see me usually when they wanted something. I felt that
there was little love and that they had sided with their mother, quite
rightly so after my misdemeanors. No, that?s not entirely true, I love
them dearly but now as the youngest is over 18 years they have to stand
on their own feet. The divorce was messy and my relationship with the
kids suffered as a result. But honestly, I hold my hands up and say it
was my fault. Their mother has since remarried and is reported to be
happy. I truly wish her every happiness.
The weekend was much as usual. I took a taxi to Whitby Street on Friday
evening at about seven o?clock to see my old pal Peter Cockfield who
own a small bar, the Princess Helena. The Helena was built at the turn
of the century and originally had four small bars. When Peter bought it
the pub had been closed for sometime. He was a builder by trade and
knocked the four rooms into one to make a large room, but still quite
small by modern day wine bar standards.
You should go there if you like sixties music as Peter has the best
collection of discs in the town. The Helena is part of the Friday night
trail. People call in for one or two drinks and then move on to the
next pub. At the height of the evening it is bouncing and everybody and
their donkey calls at the Helena. It is a good place for a news hound
to pick up leads and of course stories. People in the north east are
good story tellers.
Early doors just after seven I talk to the bar staff as they are a
wonderful scource of information about what has happened in the town. I
should take more notice and follow up their stories but I just like
talking to Margaret and Sheila because they are sensible.
I perched myself as usual on a stool adjacent to the bar with my back
to the wall facing thedoor. I can see everything here, the comings and
goings, who is shagging who, and most important everyone who comes into
the pub.
Over the years a reporter makes many friends and a few enemies and it
is important to identify each group quickly. My vantage point is the
best in the pub.
The evening?s customers gradually build up and it develops into a four
deep queue waiting to be served. That is the time I leave the Helena
for the first time and make the short walk to the NewMarket, another
pub built in the early 1900?s, remodernised several times. I chat to
the longtime landlord Billy.
I don?t remember his second name, come to think of it I don?t ever
think I knew it. Billy is not a great scource of information tonight
and we chat about nothing in particular.
The New Market has been on its present site since the first world war
but still retains some of its character despite several modernisations.
The telephone for example is housed in an old red authentic telephone
box, it has a pool table, old style juke box, but on Friday nights its
karaoke night.
The karaoke is run by Albert Fletcher, who used to be a bouncer on the
door at the Helena. Albert worked for the gas board for a while and
just enjoys singing. He is one of the characters you meet on the Friday
night trail. His wife Margaret, a time served seemstress works behind
the bar. The crowd from the Helena arrive and the karaoke is in full
swing. There are some good singers in Hartlepool as there must be all
over the country. I soon become bored and drift back to the Helena,
which by this time only has about thirty customers.
I decide to finish the evening off with a gin and bitter lemon and turn
down an invitation to join Peter at the Corporation Club, which is
across the road from his premises.
I have had enough and as soon as the gin has reached the nether
regions I bid Sheila and Margaret goodnight and walk out into the cold
night air. Oh so different from Tenerife where I was yesterday. The
wind always blows up Church Street from the docks, sorry the Marina, as
it is now known. The name have changed but the wind remains the same,
cold and chilling.
I walk to the station and hail a taxi and make my way home via the
Chinese Takeaway, the stable diet of divorced newspaper reporters. This
has been my practice for at least the past three years, boredom
personified.
The next morning I rise early and finish off the remainder of the
washing and peg it out in the back yard. It is a fine morning and I
walk up the street to the papershop to collect my paper. I don?t have
it delivered as I should, but then I would not get any exercise at
all.
"Good morning Senor", quips Peter Halliday the owner, "Enjoy the trip,"
he asks.
"Yes it wasn't too bad thanks, but glad to be back, I don?t think" I
laughed.
"What is it to day Jack," Peter asks.
"I?ll have the Northern Echo and the Daily Mail please, two packets of
gum and;" I ponder looking at the array of confectionery on display and
then decide no. I am a sweetaholic you see, can?t help myself, an
aftermath of rationing I think. "That?s all thanks Peter," I
concluded.
"Oh I better put the lottery on too," I added. I quickly scribbled out
my numbers and put it on for four weeks, Wednesday and Saturday hoping
that Mystic Meg would bring me some luck. I had a few tenners but the
big one always evaded me. I did not dare change my numbers as I feared
that the week I missed they would come up. The numbers 7, 25,47, 22,
30, 49 were a combination of my telephone and date of birth. That way I
could check them without ever referring to the ticket. This was a
practice that would continue for many years and to date no big
win.
Paid my bill and ambled back to the house to read the papers and have
another coffee fix.
Mid morning I paid my usual visit to my eighty one year old mother and
my sister who lives nearby.. My sister was to feature very strongly in
my time in Spain she was my link person and without her I could never
have stayed in the sun. My other sister also helped a lot by storing my
furniture and sending me stamps but I jump the gun somewhat.
Mother is as sprightly now as she was 25 years ago or more when she
became a widow. Dad had worked at Horden Colliery, one of the last pits
in the South Durham Coalfield and the local steelworks with a couple of
part time jobs thrown in as well. He died at sixty, just worn out. My
mother often comments that I should not be retiring at an early
age.
"You?re father would turn in his grave if he knew," she once said. That
was the very reason I decided to go early, I might only live until I am
sixty, although I expected to live a lot longer never having done a
days physical work in my life, unlike the old man.
He died because his body was worn out and thankfully a great many men
in the north east will be saved that because the primary industries of
coal, iron and steel and shipbuilding, have been replaced by high tec
factories. But still unemployment is a curse. I tried to justify my
early retirement by telling myself it would release a job for somebody
on the dole, whther it did or not was immaterial.
Mother was ok. She didn?t like me going away. She would even like it a
lot less when she finally realised I was emigrating.
In the early afternoon I went down the town to do some shopping at
Safeways supermarket. I parked my car, a little red Corsa as near as I
could to the entrance and went in to buy the weeks groceries. I don't
cook as such, my cooker has rarely been used, but I often give the
microwave the hammer.
Picked up the supply of fresh fruit and orange juice, made my way to
the check out, paid, got back home unpacked the stuff and rushed out
again to the match.
Football in the lower divisions if different to supporting the likes of
Manchester United and Arsenal, these people are real supporters. The
ground is only about ten minutes brisk walk, Victoria Park its called
these days, but to me it will always be the Victoria Ground.
I have supported United since 1957 and although not as regular as some
I did try and pack in as many games in a season as I could. I had
travelled away too to Bournemouth, Spurs, York and of course to near
neighbours Darlington.
The match was a predictable end to end affair and I recall we won 2-1.
At the match saw some of my old mates, Mike Wilson and John Cork who I
played tenpin bowling with many years ago, and Kevin Scot my financial
adviser at the bank. I sometimes met my younger son David at the game,
but on this occasion there was no sign of him. He was probably squashed
in at the Town End of the ground with his mates.
Saturday evening was a repeat of Friday but I did not stay out too late
as I like to return home to see Match of the Day. Football has been an
important part of my life from playing in the early days to reporting
with the Mail.
This was the day to day existence I had come to recognise as life.
There wasn?t any life really outside of work but I was determined to
make a fresh start and that fresh start would be in the sun, of that I
had no doubt.
Sunday I put my plan of action into operation by drafting letters and
typing them on my computer to as many English publications as I was
able to find in South Tenerife.
I wrote to the Times, The Sun, The Paper, Canarian weekly, The Gazette
and several others. These would be posted on Monday at work and would I
hoped be the key to a better life abroad. I had to make my c.v.
attractive enough to get them interested but not to attractive to pose
a threat to existing staff. I didn?t want the editors job but a
reasonable wage to supplement the pension I would receive from my
employers.
I have a good life in Hartlepool, my family are here, and I earn more
than twenty six thousand a year plus expenses and the odd trip abroad.
But I have the wander lust and feel that there must be more to life
than this.
On Sunday morning I revisit the newspaper shop and Peter Halliday the
owner and I go through our usual banter. I pick up the papers, return
home and then make the short trip to nearby Stockton on Tees, to see my
son Chris, who is landlord of The Falchion, a pub at the far end of the
High Street.
Chris is married to Kath and they are very happy. He was originally at
University training to be a solicitor, but left and became one of the
youngest licensees in North Yorkshire.
The pub has a big screen and whenever Middlesborough were playing in
the Premiership I went across to give him and them my support.
Chris in my opinion is far to clever to devote his life to the pub
trade but as he is happy what can I say.
Boro win 2-0, the takings are up on a normal Sunday and I bid a happy
Chris and Kath farewell. We don?t talk a great deal but he is a good
lad. Our relationship was soured by the divorce but at least we now
exchange words after a four year gap when I didn?t see him.
I return home to the empty cold house and turn on the heating and draw
the curtains to keep out the cold night air. Nothing on the box, I make
a cup of cocoa in the microwave and indulge myself in a packet of
chocolate jaffa cakes and when they are consumed, its shower and off to
bed, and its only ten o?clock.
Surely there must be more to life than this.

The alarm went off on Monday morning as it had done for many years and
I ambled down the steep stairs, picking up the post in the hall. A load
of junk mail, don?t get anything interesting these days. A shower, and
breakfast of cornflakes, orange juice and coffee and its off to
work.
My motivation these days has to be questioned and as I pulled into the
newspaper office car park, I wondered how much longer I would be able
to do this. I was stale and needed a new challenge.
The day past uneventful and at the conclusion I made my way home having
posted the letters to Tenerife. How I hoped they would come up trumps,
the same kind of hopes I had in respect of the lottery.
Returning home to an empty house is part and parcel of living alone. I
don?t mind Monday night?s though, there is live soccer on Sky, the
Monday night match. Tonights game is a real cracker, Liverpool at home
to Arsenal.
I make a cup of coffee, get out of the suit which I wear for work,
shower and settle down for the match, kick off 8 p.m. there is always
an hours chat by the resident expert Andy Gray, but I try to avoid
that. Andy?s drawl really get?s on my wick.
They game however lives up to the pre match build up and at half time
the score is level at 1-1, with Owens and Tony Adams from a corner
scoring the goals. At half time I nip out to the Chinese and pick up my
statutory take away. I return home the few yards from the Chinese and
wash it down with a can of cheap beer. The second half is brilliant and
I am glued to the tv. The final score remains 1-1 but it is a cracking
game.
Following the match I switch to the movie channel and is my usual
practice fall asleep watching the film. I awake half way through,
shower and off to bed.
This certainly is not the life I would have chosen twenty years ago,
but I recall my former wife telling me on more than one occasion
following our divorce, "you will be a very lonely old man," and she is
not wrong.
Tuesday morning repeat of Monday. I arrive at work as I have done for
the past three decades and park up. As I arrive at the front desk, I am
reminded that today we have an editorial meeting.
This meeting, when the editor and sub editors get together with the
reporters and photographers to look back at the last week?s issues and
how we can make the Times even better. It was limited to one hour and
the agenda structured because the first issue of theTimes, and we have
three a day, has to be on the streets by 12 noon.
The editor, Marvin Williams, opens the meeting by praising the staff
for their efforts over the past week. The Times does not have any real
competition locally, it has become an institution in the town, with
more than 86,000 people from a population of 100,000 reading it at
least once a week.
When the business was almost concluded, Marvin then came to an item
under any other business. He was a determined character at the best of
times but today I could sense he was going to try and push something
through regardless of our opinions.
"The owners of the paper have decided to introduce a programme of
rationalisation to make the Times more cost effective," he
opened.
"What does that mean Marvin," asked Bob Proud, the office
representative of the National Union of Journalists. Bob had heard
those words before and he leaped in straight away. He knew that meant
job loses, redundancies and often other hidden factors which would
erode the lifestyle of his members.
"Hang on a minute Bob," retorted Marvin, "Let me finish."
"The company need to save only a small amount of money, to cut away
some of the fat, and make us a lean, mean, machine," explained
Marvin.
"That?s bullshit and you know it," exploded Bob, not renowned for
temper control.
"Has the chapter been advised of these changes, what about the
consultation process," asked Bob, knowing full well the chapter, the
local branch of the NUJ had not been consulted.
"I was going to see you after this meeting Bob," defended Marvin.
"Well that?s not good enough, and I suggest our members withdraw from
this meeting now, " Bob advised.
"Hang on a minute Bob," I interjected, trying to bring some order to
the proceedings.
"Let us hear what the boss has got to say and then we can go away and
discuss it in the Chapter," I suggested.
I knew this would pull the rug from under Bob, but it would stop him
making a balls of the situation and at least when we got together later
we would know what the management had in mind.
Bob shrugged his shoulders knowing my opinion carried more weight with
the staff than his.
Marvin continued. "The company needs to save about fifty thousand pound
in the current financial year and we hope that saving can be effected
by voluntary redundancy, redeployment, and early retirement. We will
enter into full consultation with the NUJ and nobody will be forced to
do anything they don?t want to do," he concluded.
"A full statement of the proposals will be made avaialble for the Union
and Bob and after you have had your meeting I willl be pleased to meet
you again to finalise the proposals.
This money has to be saved and if anybody can come up with an
alternative as to how we might save fifty thousand and not lose jobs I
would be pleased to hear any suggestions. That concludes the meeting.
Thankyou for your attendance, Good morning," added Marvin.
The office was shocked. Fifty grand meant at least three jobs down the
tubes, possibly five. An atmosphere of gloom and depression
decended.
"Right come on, lets get the show on the road," I announced. "We have a
paper to get out and it won?t do any good sitting around moping," I
added.
"Aye Jack?s right," said Bob Proud,"Let?s get the paper out and we can
have a meeting tonight after work," he announced.
The rest of the day was a none event with every one going through the
motions of getting the paper on the streets. It was a mediocre issue.
During the course of the afternoon I rang the Editor Marvin and asked
if he could spare a minute. He agreed and I made my way to his office
on the top floor.
Dorren, his loyal secretary, who also helped in the library, welcomed
me. She had been at the Times as long as I had and we were old friends.
She had never married and if circumstances had been different perhaps
we might have made a go of it. At staff functions we always seemed to
end up chatting, but then we were the old guard in an every changing
world.
"Ah, Jack, come in," invited Marvin, "How are you?"
"Fine Marvin, just fine," I replied.
"Did you enjoy the trip to Tenerife?" he enquired.
"Yes fine, just fine," I replied with little enthusiasm.
"What can I do for you?" he asked
"Well Marvin, its about the job losses, I think I may have a solution
that will save you the majority of the money you are looking for," I
explained.
"Go on" he said.
"Well, I have been planning early retirement as you know and as soon as
I reach fifty I would like to go," I explained.
"But Jack don?t you think you are being a bit hasty. We don?t want to
lose you, the Times won?t be the same without Jack Tempest," he
replied.
"Oh, come on Marvin we all know I am not as sharp as I was and I think
I need a new challenge. If my going will help save some jobs, I will be
well pleased," I concluded.
I think my statement had come as a big surprise to Marvin but he agreed
to telephone the company headquarters and put my suggestion to them. If
I went with the money they were saving it would perhaps save two junior
reporters jobs and just maybe one or two clerical assistants. I had
worked long enough and I had the ability to get another job, hopefully
in the sun.
I thanked Marvin for his time and he said he would contact me later in
the day.
There I have done it I thought as I left his office and fairly skipped
back to my desk.
I picked up my camera bag, notepad and pen and made my way to the
nearby Civic Centre where the Leader of the Council, Councillor Bryan
Hanson was making a statement on the future economy of the town and how
they had been successful in attracting a cinema to the marina
site.
Hartlepool had more than six cinemas in the heyday of the moving
picture shows but with the advent of television and video all had
closed. Now the council was bringing the cinema back to the
people.
Bryan, an old friend, although we did not see eye to eye on many
political issues, was an astutue politican. He had been leader of the
Council, chairman of the Housing Committee, and every other important
post in local politics including Mayor.
After he delivered his address he invited questions from the media. I
raised my hand.
"Mr. Tempest of the Times," he said acknowledging my signal.
"Councillor Hanson, can you tell me how many jobs the cinema will
create," I asked.
"In the construction stage the cineman will provide work for labourers,
steel errectors, electricians joiners and ancillary trades and when it
is open, we are told by the cinema company, First Leisure, that it will
employ at least twenty people both full and part time," he
answered.
After the other memebers of the media had fielded their questions the
meeting was adjourned and I took the opportunity to have a quiet word
with Bryan.
"Bryan, have you heard any more news about a tenpin bowling centre
coming to the town," I asked.
"Sorry Jack but that plan was shelved at development control committee
last week, while you were sunning yourself in Spain," he laughed.
I was not amused as the Times had been campaiging for a tenpin bowling
centre for the town ever since the Hollywood Bowl chain closed the
centre on the outskirts of town and moved to nearby Teeside Park. That
had been a bitter blow for bowlers in the town and although many
transferred to neighbouring centres in Teeside, Sunderland, Durham and
Newcastle, bowling in Hartlepool effectively died.
I thanked Bryan for the information and returned to the office to write
up the story on the new cinema.
There was a message waiting for me from Marvin the Editor, could I go
and see him.
I arrived at his office and was ushered in by Doreen.
"Right Jack, I have spoken to the people at headquarters and if you are
sure you want to take early retirement they have said it is ok.
Although the final details have to be agreed with you it looks like
they will give you five years added to your length of service which
will enhance your pension and lump sum," he explained.
"Ok, thanks for that," I replied.
"If you are sure there is this form to sign," he said pushing forward a
single sheet of paper. "This will go to headquarters and once the
details are finalised they will come to see you," he added.
"Have you any date in mind to go Jack," asked Marvin.
"Well I thought I would got on 1st October, then that would mean I have
the maximum time in plus the five added years," I replied.
I thanked Marvin for his prompt attention and returned to my desk to
write up the two stories I had secured from Bryan Hanson, the new
cinema and no new tenpin bowling centre. It was a case of good news and
bad news.
After I finished the stories I rang several people connected with the
tenpin bowling scene and told them the bad news. It was not what they
wanted to hear, but it was better coming from me over the telephone
rather than read it in the night?s Mail.
The Times hit the streets that night on time and we adjourned to the
Blacksmith?s Arms, adjacent to Camerons Brewery for our meeting
regarding the job loses.
Bob Proud was his usual robust self and at the outset said we should
fight the company all the way.
"Bob," I said,"Could I just say this. Gone are the days when we can
fight the company over such job losses, the union is like a bulldog
without teeth. Let us look at this constructively, and see how we can
save as many jobs as possible without confrontation," I pleaded.
"Ok Jack, your right," conceeded Bob, again acknowledging the respect I
had in the team.
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
"Well I went to see the Editor this afternoon and I have put in my
papers for early retirement," I explained.
There was stoney silence, the team suddenly realising that my comments
about early retirement where no longer comments but hard facts.
"I shall be leaving the Times on 1st October and that will save half
the money the company are looking for," I added.
"Well I am lost for words," said the usually verbose Bob. A brief
discussion took place on the merits of my gesture, but I insisted it
was no gesture and I was going.
"If we concentrate our efforts on saving the other half of the money
the company need to save, rather than discussing my situation, we may
find a solution," I suggested.
"Is there anybody else who like Jack is thinking of going for early
retirement?" asked Bob.
There were no takers.
The chapter had a last in first out policy which in some respects was
unfair on the bright new people being turned out from the journalistic
schools. Bob took a vote on retaining that policy which was carried. In
the ensuing discussions it look as though the money could be save by
axing one photographers job, one junior reporter, and one
receptionist.
We were all mindful that we could not axe anybody from the advertising
staff as without the adverts we would have a more dificult task.
It was agreed relunctantly after a great deal of debate and heated
argument that the chapter would put the proposals to management that
they would sacrifice the three jobs mentioned plus mine to save the
money need.
Bob, with his trade union head on, asked if it could be amended to
include a clause that as soon as the econmic climate improved the lost
jobs would be reinstated. That was carried but in reality we all knew
that was pie in the sky, as once a job goes it is gone forever.
The meeting ended and the members drifted away. I stayed to finish my
pint and chat with Bob who was putting his union papers into his
breifcase.
"What will you do Jack, you are too young to retire," he
enquired.
"Oh, I have plans to work abroad Bob, and I am getting too old for all
this rushing around in this piss awful weather," I replied.
"You?ll never leave Hartlepool," quipped Bob, "You are dyed in the wool
Monkey Hanger," he laughed with reference to my ancestors decision
during the Napeolonic Wars to try a shipwrecked monkey as a French spy
and subsquently hang him.
"People said I would never leave the Mail, but I am going," I replied
with an air of assurance. I have made my decision and I am going.
"Well I accept you may leave the Times, but go abroad to live. You have
never lived anywhere outside Hartlepool have you?" he asked.
"No, only briefly when I was at University," I replied, "But what have
I got here?"
I asked the union man.
"Well you have a job, a house, family, friends, your kids," he
struggled.
"I am giving up my job, I can let off my house, and as for friends,
well I can make new friends and if the family and kids want to come and
see me, they know where I am," I concluded.
"Well I still think you won?t do it Jack," replied Bob.
"Well watch this space," I laughed.
I bid my colleague goodnight and stepped out into the cold night air.
It was cold and miserable as I made my way to the car. Bob?s comments
whisked around in my head, would I be able to survive abroad, I did not
know anyone, I would be lonely. I am bloody lonely now I thought as I
pulled up to the local fish and chip shop.
The last person I would speak to tonight would be the bloke in the
chippy and the next person would be at work tomorrow morning. That?s
lonely, the lonely life of a very sad divorcee.
Wednesday morning came and the news of my pending departure spread like
wild fire through the office. The usual office banter continued but I
knew now there was no going back, this was something I had to do and I
would do it.
The next few weeks flew by and as the 1st of October rapdily approached
I was given a job that smacked of a thankyou from the newspaper. Would
I go to Canada to cover the Calgary Stampede and the World Games which
were on at the time? Apparently several local people were taking part
in the games, and in addition to interviewing them, could I interview
people from the north east who have perhaps settled in Canada. Of
course I could, I was not going toturn down the chance of two weeks
holiday in Canada, as I had never been there before.
The trip to Canada was with Walter Green, one of the photographers with
the Times and our itinery included an overnight stop in London. Walter
was single too and was a decent sort of bloke.
The next weeks flew by and finally our departure date came. We were
driven to Darlington Station by one of the junior reporters to catch
our train to Kings Cross. The train journey is now down to less than
three hours but it was nevertheless boring. Walter and I had bought
several newspapers and having read them and exchanged we sat back and
waited for the journey to end. As we pulled into the Kings Cross area
we passed the Arsenal Footbal Stadium at Highbury which brought back
memories of when I had taken my three children to a game there.
We stayed in the Great Western Hotel overnight before making our way to
Heathrow and the flight to Calgary. I am not a great lover of flying or
long journies and so the 9 hour flight Canada was not pleasant. I ached
all over when we arrived and all I wanted to do was get to the hotel,
shower and sleep. Walter and I secured a taxi, checked in at the hotel
and agreed to have four hours sleep to recharge the batteries before
venturing into downtown Calgary.
I lapsed into unconsciousness.

Several hours must have elapsed before I awoke. The room was in
darkness and for a moment I was unsure where I was. I clicked on the
bedside lamp which stood on the cabinet adjacent to my bed and checked
the alarm clock, which I had not set. I had been asleep for just over
three hours. I slumped back into the bed.
I lay a while dozing and then decided that I must make the effort to
join Walter.
I showered and shaved. Midway through getting dressed the door bell
rang.
It was Walter.
"Alright Jack, ready to hit the town," he enquired.
"Not quite Walter,," I said as I bekoned him into the room. "Just give
me five minutes," I added.
We chatted as I got ready and decided to take the train from the hotel
into downtown Calgary. Walter had checked out the local transport and
ever conscious of expenses had ascertained from the hotel receptionist
that it was cheaper to buy a weekly train ticket than use the taxis
which tended to be expenses. So what else is new?
We left the hotel and took the short cut across a supermarket carpark
to the nearest station. The train arrived and was pakced with
chattering folk, all anticipating the World Games and Calgary stampede
which we had come to cover.
We had to report to the Games Headquarters in a down town hotel and
collect our press passes for the opening ceremony at the McMahon
Stadium.
The hotel was three times bigger than hours with the top floor
stretching into the clouds.
Next to the hotel was the Calgary Tower which had been erected by the
Texaco Oil Company.
"Oh I would love to go up there," said Walter pointing to the top. "I
think I could get some fantastic photographs from up there," he
exclaimed.
"I think I will wait for you at the bottom when you go up," I replied,
never being a great lover of heights.
We registered at the press desk and were given passes to the Games
opening ceremony, the closing ceremony and press passes which we were
assured would allow us access to all the events. We also received a
"goody bag" which contained written literature about Calgary and a
Calgary tiepin. The hospitality was first class.
As we moved about the city whether it be on the train, or in a bar or
restaurant, the Canadian people made us most welcome.
One night, which will live in my memory for a long time, we went into
what I suppose the Canadians think is a typical English pub. Called the
Rose and Crown the owners had attempted to recreate an English Bar, but
it lacked that certain something. Maybe it was the statutory drunk or
lager lout, no that?s unfair.
Walter and I took our seats at the table adjacent to the bar so we
could observe the comings and goings of the customers. Both of us are
people watchers.
Before we could even consider ordering, a young girl who was waiting on
the tables, brought us a glass jug full of lager and two glasses.
"Sorry love," I said, "But that?s not ours we have?nt ordered
yet."
"Oh that?s from that gentleman at the bar," she replied.
I looked up and a well dressed man, dark pin striped suit and all the
trimmings, waved across.
"Welcome to Calgary," he said.
I stood up and walked over, extending my hand. "That?s most kind of
you," I said.
"Oh you will be press boys here to cover the games and stampede," he
said with an air of authority.
"That?s right" I said, "but how did you know," forgetting we had the
press badges pinned to our jackets.
He pointed to them and smiled. "Oh right," I remarked, feeling like a
complete fool.
As we polished off the free beer, we asked the same waitress if she
would buy the man at the bar a drink. Well we had to respond in the
time honoured way.
He came across to join us and introduced himself as Constable John
Winship a member of the Calgary Police. He was participating in the
games, tenpin bowling and as we chatted and drank he invited us back to
the Police Club in Calgary. This was turning out to be a great
holiday.
We naturally accepted as we did not want to offend our host and we
returned with John to the Police Club. A good night was had by all and
we had made our first real contact in Canada.
The next morning I had an almighty hangover and over breakfast which
was hard to swallow due to the head constantly banging, Walter reminded
me that we had made arrangements to see our constable friend in action
at the bowling alley. That fitted in with our plans as two of the
British lads who were competiting in the bowling were also playing that
day.
We made our way to the Bowl which was located on an industrial estate
not far from our hotel. The map provided by the Clagary information
office proved invaluable. On our arrival at the bowl we received an
enthusiastic welcome from Constable Winship. I thought at the time
perhaps he was delighted because we turned up and he expected it was
the drink talking, but no his welcome was genuine enough. John
introduced us to the two British lads, but we needed know introduction
as both Walter and I had met them before in the UK:
They were both Hartlepool lads, one Graham Willwright was with the Old
Bill back home, so he and John Winship had something in common and the
second man John Dobson was with a local firm of solicitors. We had done
a premliminary piece on them and now we where here to see them do the
business. Graham had several trophies under his belt in the local
tenpin leagues and John had picked up more than five league
championship titles and a county call up.
We watched the practice and then made our excuses to go and cover some
other event as it was quite warm in the Bowl. We would return later in
the week to cover the actual rounds of bowling. Before we left we
arranged to see John again in the Rose and Crown and invited Graham and
John from the UK to join us.
The remainder of that day we took in the other bowling competition, the
lawn green bowls and was in time to see a Welshman Alan Jones pick up a
bronze medal in a third place playoff with a Malaysian. After that
volleyball, basketball, athletics and boxing concluded our
coverage.
I returned to the hotel to type up the copy to send to the Mail back
home and Walter went to get the shots he had taken developed. We
arranged to meet in an hour to go down to the makeshift press office in
the hotel to E-Mail our copy and photographs back home.
That night we ate in the hotel restaurant before joining the two lads
from home and our Calgary copper for another night of heavy drinking
and entertainment.
It was a real holiday for me. Good food, entertainment and company.
Perhaps it was not too bad being single I thought as the two lads from
Hartlepool queued to phone their loved one?s at home.
I had no one to phone.
The next week flashed by and we had a good story to report when
Willwright and Dobson picked up a tenpin bowling bronze for Hartlepool
and England. That made a good story back home and Walter had the medal
ceremony on film.
That night the two lads celebrated in true north east fashion with the
gold medal winners from Winnipeg and the silver medalists from
Australia. We had one hell of a night and the Hartlepool lads left the
party well oiled with a lady on each arm.
Can?t take these north east lads anywhere.
All too soon the games came to and end and we attended the closing
ceremony which was a big farewell party for all the atheletes. It was
quite emotional with people swopping sweatshirts and badges, as well as
addresses and telephone numbers.
Yes, I did give my telephone number and address to one or two young
ladies who asked for it including one who I had met at the bowl. Joanna
Hurst had worked at the bowl for many years and since her divorce had
been reliant on the job to support herself and young son Bobby.
We got on like a house on fire although I did not summon up enough
courage to ask her to dinner until the penultimate night. "Sorry Jack,
but I can?t tonight, I have a date" she replied. We never did have
dinner as the next night Walter and I flew back to Heathrow.
I enjoyed my stay in Canada but saw little of the stampede apart from
the three hour procession on the opening day.
I did see something of the beautiful countryside including a trip to
Lake Louise, Banff and up Powder Mountain. I had no choice when I was
bundled into the ski lift by my companions and 7,000 feet later I was
at the top looking down on the Canadian countryside that lay below. The
view too my breath away and one day I vowed to return to this part of
North America, but only in the summer.
In one of many many discussions with Calgary folk it transpired that in
winter it drops to 20 below freezing and I couldn?t stand that.
Anyway having said our farewells to Canada a country we almost drank
dry, we were on our way back across the Atlantic to little old England.
The journey was long and one I would not wish to recall. The flight was
long and uncomfortable, the train journey from Kings Cross to
Darlington laborious and the last leg to Hartlepool seemed to take an
age.
I arrived back home exhausted.

I opened the door and dumped my bags on the lounge floor. I just wanted
to get to bed.
I showered, made a quick hot drink which I hoped would make me sleep,
and then it was off to bed. I was suffering from travel lag.
I must have slept for more than nine hours but I needed it. When I
eventually came round again it was dark. I seem to spend a great deal
of my life in the dark I pondered, must have been a mole in a former
life.
I went down stairs, pulled the curtains across and switched on the tv
for some background noise. I couldn't remember what day it was. I
showered and prepared another fix of coffee, before making a few phone
calls to my sister and mother to let them know I was back home.
Home yes back home, but for how long?
My sister advised me that she had collected the post daily and put it
in my desk. This was a prearranged ritual we had devised so that the
local villains did not know I was away. I opened my desk and an
assortment of letters fell to the floor.
Now I have a good system for dealing with a large amount of post and as
you know me better you will apreciate that system play an important
part in my life.
I divided the post into piles a,b,c,d, in order of importance from what
was written on the envelope. Letters from the bank were a priority for
example while junk mail went into pile d before being dispatched to the
waste paper bin.
I always opened the post in reverse order hoping that as I approached
pile a) something would prove to be realy exciting.
Pile "d" did?nt take much sorting with all of it ending in the bin.
Pile c followed likewise although I did retain some travel brochures on
Spain. The remaining two piles contained information that would
eventually change my life.
There was a welcome card from Joanna Hurst. She had written and in the
passage of time we would exchange letters many times. I was pleasantly
surprised as she was a very nice lady and at my time of life I don?t
meet many of them. Plenty of gold diggers, people in search of a meal
ticket, but few genuine girls.
However the most significant letters carried a Spanish postmark and
stamp. Had someone replied to my letters regarding employment in the
sun?
The first one was from the Island Sun. Polite enough but suggested I
called and see them when I retired to Tenerife. That was not the answer
I wanted. I had hoped to get a job in thesun before I emigrated to the
Canary Islands. The Gazette had a similar reply, as did the Tenerife
News. However the fifth letter I opened was from Island Scene who had
described themselves as the biggest English speaking newspaper on the
island.
Their director Steve Hudson had written saying he was intrested in
talking to me about employment and could I telephone him. Yes I
could.
I did it there and then. "Hello this is Island Scene, the office is
close until Monday 9 a.m. but leave your message after the tone" said a
recorded answer phone message. It was then I realised it was
Saturday.
I left a brief message and followed it with a fax telling Steve that I
had tried to contact him on my return from Canada.
Saturday being Saturday I followed my usual routine of washing clothes,
visiting mother, the supermarket, paper shop and the pub in that order.
The weekend seemed to drag. Even a visit to the Helena dragged after I
had reported on my holiday and Sunday was even worse.
I just wanted to speak to Steve Hudson, get the job in the sun and fly
away. The weekend was a fortnight long and I tried everything to keep
myself occupied to no avail.
Sunday night even after I had went to bed dragged and dragged before I
finally fell asleep. I had only been asleep for a matter of minutes,
well it only seemed like minutes when the alarm clock went off and it
was time to go to work.
It was while getting ready for another day at the Mail office that the
telephone rang.
"Hello Jack Tempest," I said upon answering it.
"Hello Jack, this is Steve Hudson from the Islande Scene in Tenerife,
how are you?" he enquired.
"Fine Steve just fine," I replied enthusiastically.
I cannot recall the exact conversation but the main theme was yes
Island Scene would be intrested in taking me on as senior reporter. We
discussed terms and conditions there and then and it quickly became
apparent that I would not attract the salary I did in the UK and I
would have to work longer hours. On the plus side they would help me
with a car, accomodation, residencia, social security and medical
care.
I agreed I would send them articles every week that I thought would
have relevance for the British reader in Tenerife and I would aim to
start work on 20th October, three weeks after my retirement.
Steve agreed to pay me eight hundred pounds a month.
I thanked him for his offer and in the next few weeks planned a move
that would change my life.
When I went into work that morning I asked to see the Editor as soon as
possible to put in my application for early retirement. He agreed to
see me at eleven o.clock and at the appointed time I gave him my
request and finishing date of 1st October. I told him I had secured
employment in Tenerife and that I would be flying out soon after my
retirement.
Life over the next few weeks was hectic. I was working for the Mail 9
a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday to Friday, with the ocaasional night and weekend
work covering for colleagues on holiday and at night in my leisure time
I was knocking out articles for the Island Scene.
In the time I worked for the Island Scene in the UK I knocked out
almost 2,000 pounds worth of work at the freelance rate, but I had not
asked them for any remuneration for this work which was an oversite on
my part. I would rectify that on my arrival in Los Cristianos.
In the last month I worked for the Times there was no winding down. I
spent the entire month saying farewell to people and when the final day
arrived and my colleague assembled in the editors office to make the
presentation, the customary farewell to retired colleagues, I was ready
to leave. I accepted the camera from my colleagues with a witty
acceptance speech but said a simple thankyou when the Editor on behalf
of the owners gave me an engraved Parker pen. My lump sum and pension
followed two weeks later.
Between the 1st and 20th October I had certain things to finalise
regarding my house and car. I decided to sell the car and a local
garage purchased it for less than three thousand pounds. It had seventy
thousand on the clock and was only three years old.
I decided not to let my house through an estate agent but agreed with
my sister that it would stay empty until such time that I decided
whether I was going to return or not.
I wasn?t totally convinced and neither were other people that I could
settle to a life in the sun. Time and time alone would tell whether I
had made the right decision.

"Airtours announce the departure of flight AIH237 to Tenerife, would
passengers please board at gate 17", announced the public address
system at Newcastle Airport.
"Right that?s me," I said to my sister and her husband who had driven
me up from Hartlepool. We said our emotional goodbyes and I waved
fairwell as I disappeared into the international departure lounge.
There was no going back now. I was on my way to the sun and a new
life.
The flight was uneventful and I slept most of the way. I arrived at
Reina Sophia airport in the south of Tenerife quickly collected my bags
and made my way to the taxi rank outside the air terminal building. It
was a Sunday night and reletively quiet. Gave the driver instructions
to take me to Victoria Court 2 where I had secured an apartment for a
week. I hoped in that time I would be able to find long term
accomodation, but as history would prove it would be well into 1998
before I finally settled in a long term let.
I reached my apartment on Victoria Court exhausted, set the alarm for a
seven oclock rise and crashed out.
I was awakened by a loud ringing and it took me sometime to locate the
offending clock.
I showered, could not have breakfast, I had not been to the supermarket
and the only thing in the fridge was a carton of fresh orange juice.
Right lets get to the office I thought I do not want to be late on this
my first morning at a new job.
The Island Scene Office was located in an aprtment block at the top of
the hill that overlooks Los Cristianos, the quieter of the two main
resorts in the south of Tenerife. I walked up the hill on that first
morning, clutching my briefcase, in a three piece suit, sweating like
the proverbial pig. I learned later from the other members in the team
that the hill, I climbed every day, was called cardiac hill, and it was
aptly named.
I arrived at the office and it was closed. What a brilliant start. One
by one the staff arrived and I was introduced to them.
It was strange the first day as the majority if not all the editorial
staff where decidely younger than myself. I felt a bit like a fish out
of water.
Steve Hudson the owner took me on a whistle stop tour of the
office.
"This is the accounts department Jack, but don?t expect you will have
much to do with them. This is Hazel Porter our accountant," he
introduced. "Hello Hazel, I responded extending my hand, "pleased to
meet you." Hazel was more mature than the rest of the staff and I felt
we might have something in common.
"This is the editorial department, Greta this is Jack, This is Fred
Adams our computer wizz kid, and this is Pearl Johnson who helps with
the graphics. This is Willie Palmer, and last but by no means least
this is my wife Barbara, the editor," said Steve. "Everyone, this is
Jack," he concluded.
The remainder of the day was spent familiarizing myself with the
systems within the office and it looked like I was going to enjoy my
time at the Island Scene. The day flew by and before long I was making
my way back down cardiac hill, which was much better than walking up
it. It was a journey I would complete for only six weeks.
That evening upon my return to my apartment I showered and made ready
to eat out. Eating out in Tenerife is often cheaper than eating at home
and a practice I now have down to a fine art. In the early days however
it was more difficult.
That first night I made my way down to central Los Cristianos and
selected a bar restaurant at random, the San Francisco Bar. It was one
of the lonliest meals I have ever eaten and such was the impact of the
way I felt that night, that I have never returned to eat there. It was
a terrible feeling. What had I done. I have come to Tenerife, three
thousand miles or so to find happiness and I was very much alone. I was
all for packing up and going home, but I would not go back until my
return ticket was due, and that was 19 days. Yes I had to give it a
fair chance but boy was I lonely.
After my meal I wandered down to the Irish Bar which was to become my
local, the Claddagh in San Telmo. I had a few drinks and then made my
way back to the apartment. Along the seafront in Cristianos there were
literally hundreds of people all walking in the night air, mostly
couples hand in hand. People surrounded me and yet I felt so
alone.
The alarm went off the next morning and I rose with less of a spring in
my step than the first day. As I consumed my orange juice I asked
myself over and over again, "What have I done?" Here I was three
thousand miles away from home. No friends, no one to talk to, had I
done the right thing. Yes I had I tried to convince myself. Look at the
plus factors I said trying to convince myself. Wonderful climate and a
job. That's it. At home I had a job, so called friends, and at least
the family would call round now and then. I was beginning to feel as
though I had made a mistake.
The walk up cardiac hill was endless that morning. The sun was searing
and when I reached the Island Scene office I was shattered and I had
not started work yet.
Come on Jack cheer up I said as I threw myself whole heartedly into my
work and that day I must have ground out at least two dozen pieces. The
Editor was delighted.
I dropped several monumental hints about eating out that night, as I
did not want to eat alone. All suggestions fell on stony ground.
At the end of a heavy day's work I returned down the hill but there was
no skip in my step tonight. The thoughts of dining alone again tonight
were just too much. I got back to my apartment took of the suit and
showered, slipping into a pair of boxer shorts.
I switched on the TV, just for company and must have fallen asleep
watching the box. When I awoke it was dark and glancing at the clock I
observed it was ten o'clock.
I was hungry but could not face the thought of another night eating
alone with the only person speaking to me being the waiter. I had
another shower and dressed. I decided I had to make the effort to get
out and the only place I really felt comfortable was the
Claddagh.
I wrestled with myself on the way to San Telmo walking past so many
hundreds of people and yet so alone. I began to think I had made a
great mistake and almost turned back to my apartment. However I kept
going thinking that a couple of drinks at the popular Irish bar would
at the very least make me sleep.
Willie and Keith the resident musicians were playing "The Red Rose
Caf?," as I walked into the Claddagh and they both nodded in
acknowledgement that I had arrived. I made my way to the high back
stools near the bar and position myself with my back to the wall so I
could see everything that was going on in the bar. Eddie and Bobbie
Walsh both greeted me as a regular and I thought well things couldn't
be too bad. Little did anyone know that I was feeling very confused and
downhearted.
At that moment Kay, Willie's wife, who occasionally serves behind the
bar, more for something to do than a wage whilst Willie sings asked me
what I wanted to drink.
"A bottle of Dorada please Kay," I replied.
"Oh by the way Jack," she came back there is someone I want you to
meet. "Linda, Linda this is Jack the newspaper reporter I was telling
you about," said Kay, "and Jack this is Linda," she concluded.
"Hello pleased to meet you," I responded. "Likewise," said Linda.
Linda Baron was from a small village near the Essex border. She had
lived in Tenerife for more than ten years. She was slim; sun tanned as
only ten years in the African sun can, elegant with an immaculate taste
in clothes. But the thing that immediately impacted on me was her eyes.
She had the most gorgeous blue eyes and for what seemed like an age I
just stared at her eyes. She looked away in obvious embarrassment and I
apologised.
"I am sorry Linda, but I just couldn't get over how blue your eyes
are," I explained.
"I get them from my mother," she laughed, which relieved the tension I
was feeling.
Linda was involved in apartment management and we chatted about life in
general and what I expected from my time in Tenerife. I gave some
details of my life and in the course of conversation there was an equal
exchange.
I can't say it was love at first sight but as the evening wore on I
hoped that Linda was single. I had to be careful I did not want to
frighten her away nor did I want to appear over keen. But here was the
first person I had met who had a brain, no that's unkind, but who was
functioning on the same level I was.
All too soon it was time to leave and Linda asked where I was
staying.
"Oh I am Victoria Court 2 in Los Cristianos," I replied.
"What a co-incidence, she replied, "I live on Victoria Court 2 as
well," she added.
It transpired that the apartment I was renting had belonged to Linda at
one stage.
"Do you have a car;" she enquired, "Afraid not," I replied and she
suggested we shared a taxi.
We left the Claddagh and I think a glimpsed a knowing smile from Kay. I
shall ever be in her debt for the initial introduction.
We arrived back at the complex and Linda insisted we shared the taxi
fare. It was only coppers and I could not understand why she was so
insistent. Independence going a little too far I thought.
We reached the pool area and I turned and said, "Well this is where I
go," and extended my hand. Linda leaned forward and gave me a peck on
the cheek.
I turned to walk away and Linda said, "Perhaps we could have dinner
tomorrow night?"
"Oh yes that would be great," I replied never wishing to dine alone
again. "Shall I pick you up?" I enquired.
"Yes, how about eight? Linda replied. "Eight will be fine, what number
do you live? I asked.
"Oh I am at12b," she replied. "See you at eight then," I
concluded.
She disappeared behind the trees that surround the pool and I made my
way back to my apartment.
I went to bed that night a little more settled knowing I still had a
job to go to, I had an apartment for at least a week, and tomorrow I
had a companion for dinner. Maybe Tenerife wasn't going to turn out so
badly after all.

The next day I rose with a spring in my step hoping that the previous
night had not been a dream. No it wasn't I could clearly remember
almost every word I had spoken with Linda and I was looking forward to
eight o'clock that evening. First of all I had the hill to climb to
work and the nine hours graft to get the next edition of Island Scene
on to the streets.
The day dragged but I busied myself writing as much as I could to
satisfy the seemingly insatiable appetite of our editor Barbara.
Six o'clock came and I fairly skipped down the hill declining an offer
to go with the rest of the crew for a drink. How strange it is that one
night you are desperately lonely and the next you have two invitations.
Murphy's Law I am told.
I was two minutes early to pick up Linda and she invited me into her
apartment. Compared with mine it was luxury.
Linda had a two bedroomed apartment overlooking the pool. It was very
tastefully furnished and her love of cats and butterflies was in
evidence all around the apartment. There were black cats of all size
and description and butterflies in abundance.
"I just have to put some war paint on," said Linda, referring to her
makeup. In truth did she need it, she looked beautiful.
At that point a small dark brown Burmese cat came into the room and
made a beeline for my knee. Now I should say that I am not a great cat
lover but as always the feline friends always target me.
"Oh this is Bubbles," said Linda. "She is almost human," added my
new-found

friend.
It transpired that Bubbles had been brought from England ten years
previously and had been a constant companion for Linda especially in
times of stress. It looked like this was going to be a case of love me
love my cat.
"Have you thought where we might go," Linda asked. "Oh I don't know
anywhere," I replied.
"Chinese ok," she enquired. "Fine just fine," I responded.
"Right that's that," she said putting her makeup bag to one side. "A
few biscuits for Bubbles and we can get away," explained Linda.
We left the complex and walked a short distance to the San Marino
complex, which was a little higher up the hill, that Victoria Court
leading to the town centre. We chatted about nothing in particular
until we came upon the Chinese, which was situated in the corner of a
small arcade of shops.
The meal was delicious and tasted oh so good. Was this because I was so
hungry or because I had pleasant company? After the meal we pondered a
while over the remains of the wine and then Linda suggested, "Shall we
go to the Claddagh?"
"That will be a great way to round off the evening," I agreed.
We walked down the main avenue that leads to the promenade and then
through the underpass that leads from the harbour area to the new
beach. Tonight there was many people walking hand in hand and by the
time we had reached the Claddagh, Linda had linked my arm.
I felt comfortable and complete.
"Hello you two," said Eddie, "nice to see you, what will it be?" he
asked.
"Linda," I asked, "Oh Dorada please a bottle," she replied. "Aye I will
have the same please Eddie," I said.
We had several bottle that night and as we walked along the promenade
back to the apartment complex I confided in Linda how I had felt dining
alone and how pleased I was that I had found a friend with whom I could
have dinner.
"Oh you shouldn't rely on me or indeed anyone out here Jack," Linda
explained. "Just take one day at a time, one day at a time," she
added.
"Yes your probably right Linda, one day at a time," I repeated.
We arrived home and Linda invited me up for coffee. I was fairly
bouncing at the thought of coffee but somewhat disappointed when that's
all it turned out to be.
I returned to my apartment leaving my friend and her cat to sleep
alone.
Perhaps it was for the best. I had two disastrous relationships and
rather than looking for love or lust perhaps I should be content with a
platonic friendship. I was kidding no one and especially not myself. If
I could find a lovely lady, like Linda, who I could relate to, love and
cherish, then that was to be my goal.
Our relationship did develop over the weeks as we became closer and I
fell madly in love with this beautiful woman. Once or twice we did
cross the friendship threshold but Linda always stopped short of making
a commitment and one night uttered the words that I really did not want
to hear, "Look Jack, I think you are a smashing bloke, you are one of
my best friends, and I do enjoy your company, but I don't want to get
into a relationship," she explained.
I was gutted. I sat quietly for a minute or so and then Linda said,
"Come on don't get moody on me."
"No, I won't do that love," I said with an air of resignation, "but I
really have become very very fond of you," I explained. I wanted to use
the word love but I was already aching inside and I did not want
further rejection to increase the pain.
My relationship with Linda would never be the same but a remarkable
thing happened. Although we were destined never to become lovers our
friendship grew and grew and we spent many happy months together
including a roller coaster Christmas.
Sometimes after more than a few beers I tried to express how I felt
about Linda, but she had the situation always well under control. If I
used the word love she would explain, "I love you too Jack, but not in
the way you want me too, I love you as a friend."
It was better to have Linda as a friend than not at all. We were always
together and many people thought we were an item. We agreed that we
would always explain to people that we were very good friends and not
lovers but I doubt few believed us.
In any event Linda was carrying a torch for a man she had met on the
island and there was no way I could ever compete with him. She was
besotted but he had made it quite clear he was not interested in her
and I admired his honesty. He could have used her and I felt that I
wanted to thank him for not doing that, as she is a very special person
to me.
As the months went by she became more and more involved in my work at
the newspaper albeit in a voluntary capacity. Linda's mother had been a
professional photographer and her mother's talent had rubbed off on her
beautiful daughter. She took many of the photographs that appeared in
the Island Scene and on occasions they acknowledged that.
At Christmas at the staff dinner, Linda was with me naturally; they
presented her with a framed photographer of the year award, which she
now proudly displays in her apartment.
I was so proud of her that night.
After Christmas our relationship stabilised and I was able to accept
our friendship more and more as the days came and went. After all a
physical relationship, not matter how much I craved for one with Linda,
was not worth sacrificing our friendship for.
We began to spend more and more time together and at the back of my
mind was the thought that perhaps Linda could grow to love me.
We joined the tenpin bowling club and went to many of the shows on the
island. We dined together almost every night and I was becoming more
and more content with my relationship.
Occasionally Linda would say I can't see you tonight and that was when
I decided I must do something to widen my circle of friends. Linda and
I discussed this and she was instrumental in my meeting so many people
on the island.
At bowling I met one of the entertainers on the island Kate Kennedy,
who originally was from my part of the world, near Sunderland. Kate had
been a professional entertainer for almost thirty years and the
professionalism shined through. Linda and I had dinner with Kate most
Tuesday's after bowling and our trio developed into quite a special
friendship.
We regularly took people who visited the island to see Kate's show and
she loved it when we turned up with a party of people. I don't know
whether I imagined it, but she seemed to raise her performance a few
notches.
I called to see Linda one day after work to make arrangements for that
evening. "Jack, I want to ask you a big favour," she said.
"Anything Linda, just ask away," I replied.
"Do you think you could stay in my apartment for a week and look after
Bubbles?" she asked.
"Of course I will what's the matter?" I enquired.
?"I have to go to England on business," she explained.
My heart sunk. In England was an ex-boyfriend who Linda had maintained
contact with via telephone and she had made it clear that if he ever
came to Tenerife on holiday he would be staying with her. I found this
very hard to cope with.
I tried to conceal my disappointment.
"What's wrong," I asked.
"Well you know I told you my property was rented out in the UK, well I
have to go and finalise details to dispose of it," she explained.
"Oh right," I said, "of course I will look after things for you at this
end." I added.
I did not mention Malcolm, the boyfriend at this point, but in the
final few days before she left, I did summon enough courage to ask,
"Will you be seeing Malcolm when you are there?"
"Oh he is working and I don't suppose he will have the time," Linda
replied.
I kept a low profile during the last few days before her departure but
the thoughts of her and Malcolm meeting in England was eating away at
me. Clearly I had not accepted that our relationship was indeed just a
friendship and jealousy reared its ugly head.
I took Linda to the airport and watched her leave the departure lounge
flying back to Malcolm?s arms.
Linda rang everyday while she was away, primarily to see how the cat
was doing. I did a sterling job of looking after Bubbles.
I really missed Linda and was waiting at the airport when she arrived
home.
We embraced not saying too much but there was so much I wanted to
say.
"I have really missed you" I blurted.
"Oh don't," said Linda reaffirming, "we are only friends Jack."
I didn't want to hear that, but alas it was true.
We arrived back at the apartment and helped Linda with her luggage. We
had arranged that evening that we would have dinner with Kate Kennedy
but Linda looked shattered.
I suggested we call it off but Linda would have none of it.
"I will be alright after a little rest and a shower. Pick me up at 7
o'clock Jack would you?" Linda asked.
"Aye right oh pet," I replied, "see you at eight."
Over the next few days I go the full chapter and verse about the UK
trip including the meeting with Malcolm.
Linda still carries a torch for him and although he has a girlfriend in
the UK I am under no illusion that when he arrives in Tenerife it will
be straight into Linda's bed.
That thought sickens me but I have to accept that our relationship is
never going to be anymore than a friendship. That is the mountain I
have to climb and I will only be able to do that if I find someone who
wants more from me than just a friendship.
The search continues.
One day whilst on an assignment for the Island Scene I was required to
interview a woman for an article series I had thought of called Women
of Tenerife. Lesley Manhunt had been on the island for some years and
the editor thought she might be an ideal subject for the series.
I arranged to meet Lesley at her apartment in Summerland. I arrived at
the complex and rang her apartment intercom.
"It's Jack Tempest, Lesley, from the Island Scene," I announced.
"Oh yes Jack, I was expecting you," she replied, "Come up."
I heard the electronic lock disengage and I made my way to the lift to
climb to the fourth floor and apartment 456b.
I pressed the bell and the door was opened.
Standing before me was a woman about five foot six, shoulder length
blond hair, sun-tanned. She was wearing a bikini top and a short skirt
that revealed more of her sun-tanned shape. "Hello, do come in I'm
Lesley," she announced.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked.
"Er could I have a glass of water please," I enquired.
"Would you rather have a beer, I have San Miguel," she replied.
"San Miguel is fine," I submitted, "Right I will join you," she
added.
She opened the beers and brought them to the glass-topped table
adjacent to the settee where I had taken a seat.
"There you go Jack, Cheers," said Lesley.
Lesley's apartment was about the same size as Linda's but the
furnishing reflected a different personality. Here was a lady that was
confident, self-assured with expensive taste. The oil paintings with
adorned the walls were genuine, the glasses crystal not glass, and the
furniture outrageously expensive. I took it all in before the
interview.
Lesley had started life in the music world in London working for an
agent who handled many of the top artists of the day, Pink Floyd, The
Who, Marc Bolan and Elkie Brookes to name but a few. She rubbed
shoulders and other parts with the rich and famous, although she had
never married.
Disillusioned with the music business she came to Tenerife and
established an agency for entertainers, although I suspect that many of
her liaisons had left her quite rich, and both her parents now deceased
had left her with a considerable wealth.
It was easy to interview Lesley she had a wealth of knowledge about her
business and the show biz personalities. Some of them came to Tenerife
and Lesley would arrange accommodation for them in one of the nearby
timeshare complexes in exchange for an impromptu performance or visit.
"There is nothing the punter likes more than having their photograph
taken with some personality or other," explained Lesley.
"I don't care whether its Ken Dodd, Bernard Manning or Canon and Ball,
people always want a photograph taking with the stars," she
added.
Lesley then began interviewing me. I didn't mind, I had a story to tell
and perhaps Lesley would be a great contact to have especially as so
many people, famous people visit Tenerife from time to time. I answered
all her questions truthfully.
"Are you seeing anyone Jack," she asked in her direct way.
"Me, no not me, I do have a friend who I go out for dinner with, but we
are just friends," I explained.
"What a waste," she uttered. That was the first indication that Lesley
was remotely interested, although I did not understand why she would be
interested in an over the hill newspaper hack, who couldn't hold a
candle to the stars she numbered amongst her friends.
Perhaps she was lonely. I know it is possible to be lonely even when
surrounded by hundreds of people. I only have to think back as I
constantly do to my first night in Tenerife and the loneliness I felt
that night.
Summing up all the courage that I possessed I asked, "Well perhaps we
should have dinner one night Lesley,"
"What a good idea Jack," she replied, "When?"
I fumbled for my diary as if to give the impression I was fully booked.
Linda and I went bowling Sunday and Monday and out with Kate on
Tuesday's I knew those days off pat.
"How about Saturday evening?" I enquired.
"Saturday's fine for me," she said without hesitation, so perhaps I
wasn't the only person with a diary waiting to be filled.
I concluded the interview and extended my hand to shake Lesley's.
She held it and moved closer and pecked my cheek.
"Right see you Saturday, Jack about eight ok," she asked.
"That's fine Lesley, see you at eight," I replied.
I walked away from the Summerland complex in quite high spirits. I had
made yet another contact on Tenerife and on Saturday I was to have
dinner with another beautiful woman.
I told Linda about my date, hoping it would make her jealous. It did
not and she said she hoped I would have a great time. I should have
expected such a response as she has told me she only wants me to be
happy and enjoy life.
Linda and I went about our business as usual and on Saturday went
shopping in town stopping for a coffee at one of the many bars that are
along the bust seafront. We enjoy stopping there to watch the world go
by, people watching now being Linda's hobby as well as mine.
Later that afternoon I almost apologised for leaving her that evening
but she released me with her much used phrase, "Jack we are only
friends, you go and have a great time."
I rushed home to my apartment and showered. I recall singing in the
shower and I had not done that for a long time.
I dressed and drove the short distance from my apartment to Lesley's at
Summerland. I parked the car and walked into reception. I rang her
intercom and announced my arrival.
"Come up Jack," replied Lesley, pressing the electronic switch that
allowed me access.
I went up the four flights in the lift and pressed Lesley's bell.
""Hello Jack," she said, grasping both my shoulders and embracing me. I
was a little shocked at the informality and must have felt a little
stiff.
"Relax," she said, "I am not going to bite you," she laughed. I wasn't
too sure about that.
We had a pre dinner drink and discussed where she would like to
eat.
"How about the Overseas in San Marino?" suggested Lesley.
"Great by me," I announced.

I had been to the Chinese many times previously with Linda and the
owner and his wife, knew me quite well as I had written a restaurant
review using one of my pseudonyms Josh Rogan. Not very original I know,
but then there is little on Tenerife that is original.
We walked the very short distance from Summerland to the Overseas and
on route Lesley pressed her hand into mine.
I just smiled and gripped her tiny hand. We chatted and when we arrived
at the restaurant the owner looked a little shocked that I was with
another woman rather than my constant companion Linda.
"Good evening Jack," he enquired, "How are you?"
"Fine," I replied, and introduced him to Lesley.
We ordered drinks and selected one of the splendid banquets one offer
from the menu.
Here I was again out to dinner with a beautiful woman, wonderful food,
excellent wine, superb climate, which prompted the question in my mind,
would Lesley be the one with whom I would spend the rest of my time
with in the Canary Islands? Only time would tell!
The evening was a resounding success and Lesley suggested as we
finished the remnants of the wine that we should visit Las Americas and
have a look at what was going on at the various variety and cabaret
bars. I agreed the wine consumed, paid the bill and said our farewells
to the owners we hailed a taxi and Lesley spoke to the driver in
Spanish and we sped off into the night.
Our first port of call was The Wigan Pier in Torres de Yomely where
Lesley introduced me to a drag act she described as an old friend, Miss
Crystal Star. "This is Jack Tempest from the Island Scene, David," said
Lesley. "Pleased to meet you love," responded Crystal. He was dressed
in a sparkling gown that Lesley told me he had imported from the UK and
a he had a pair of legs some women would die for. We chatted for a
while and then Crystal left us to introduce the next cabaret act.
Saturday night is 70's and 80's night and the act tonight was the very
talent Slam. I had reviewed their act at another venue in Los
Cristianos and they were very good.
Lesley soon became bored and suggested we make a move to the Patch.
Catching yet another taxi at the bottom of the road near the popular
Linekers Bar we sped off at great speed to the Patch.
We give the Full Monty a miss and proceeded to the Brewers Droop,
Drunken Duck, Blaydon Races, and Stage International on a sort of
entertainer's pub-crawl before settling into our seats at the Princess
Di?s.
Lesley explained that Di?s was the place to be after midnight, as many
of the artists would go there for a nightcap after they had finished
their respective shows. She introduced me to a great many people that
night including Leno, the owner of the bar, his partner Ray an
Australian, and the compere Les Styles.
Les was from Manchester and had known Lesley for many years. They
embraced more like lovers than old friends although Lesley assured me
the flamboyant Mr. Styles was only a good friend.
I had a great night and had made as many contacts in one night as I
had the previous month.
We hailed a taxi on the corner of the patch and Lesley again gave
directions to our Spanish Nigel Mansell and I heard the words
Summerland mentioned. I said nothing.
We held hands in the rear of the cab and she leaned across and gently
kissed me. It felt good and her perfume lingered long after she had
resumed her position. As I suspected that taxi pulled up outside of her
apartment and I got out and paid the driver.
"Night-cap?" Lesley invited.
"Why not?" I replied.
We walked quietly into the reception area passed the security guard who
just nodded and entered the lift where we embraced again.
Her shapely body was warm and inviting. It had been such a long time
since I had held a beautiful woman so close.
Our embrace came to a sudden halt as the lift stopped and the doors
opened on the fourth floor. We walked hand in hand along the concourse
stopping outside her apartment.
She inserted the key and we entered to embark on our first night of
passion.
(The next paragraph can be inserted or deleted depending on the
publication)
"Let's skip the night-cap Jack," she said slipping out of her dress to
reveal most of her sun-tanned frame.
"Whatever you want Lesley," I submitted.
She grabbed my hand and led into the bedroom and proceeded to undress
me throwing my discarded clothes onto a basket chair in the corner. I
was soon as naked as the day I was born.
I fumbled with her bra eventually realising it was front fastening and
we romped around on the top of the duvet for a while before she slipped
underneath the cover, removing her remaining thong with remarkable
ease.
I could feel my heart beating faster than ever as we kissed
passionately and I stroke her gently which clearly aroused this sensual
woman.
Was this really happening? Oh it was and feelings I had not experienced
for sometime were coming to a head.
Her body was smooth and warm and as I ran my hands over her breast I
could feel the ripples proud and erect. I caressed her neck, her
shoulders, and her panting grew stronger and louder as I moved around
her gorgeous frame.
I was wet, she was too and it seemed the natural conclusion as we
climaxed simultaneously. I lay inside her for a while, kissing and
stroking her. She smiled and then disappeared below the duvet.
"Oh no" I exclaimed, "please you don't have to do that," stopping her
mid breath.
"But I want to Jack, I want to make you happy" she replied grasping my
manhood with both hands.
"You have already made me happy," I protested, but she carried on
regardless and I climaxed again.
I couldn't believe my good fortune. A brilliant night, wonderful sex
and a woman that wanted to please me.
We fell asleep in each other's arms that night, content that neither of
us was alone, for this night at least.
When I awoke there was no sign of Lesley. I stretched out my hand. I
lay there for a while wondering whether to get up or not.
"Come on lazy bones," remarked Lesley as she walked into the bedroom.
She was wearing a pink silk housecoat.
I grabbed her around the waist pulling her on to the bed in an attempt
to repeat the previous nights experience. "Careful Jack, don't bite off
more than you can chew," she laughed.
I removed the silk from around her body and we did just that. It was
wonderful. I climaxed many times during the next hour as did Lesley and
had I at long last found someone who was sexually, physically and
emotionally compatible?
I certainly hoped so.

I returned to my apartment after my night of passion and rang Linda.
She was up and about working as usual. "How are you," I enquired.
"Fine, how did the date go?" she replied.
"Oh very well" I replied.
I made arrangements with Linda to pick her up to go bowling at four
o'clock and then rang Leslie to make arrangements for the rest of the
evening.
"Hello Lesley," I said when she answered the phone.
"What a surprise", she replied, with a laugh.
I told Lesley I was bowling until about 7.30 and arranged to collect
her at 8.30.
"Where would you like to go this evening, "I enquired.
"Could we go to Paraiso, Jack," enquired Lesley. "It's a cheap and
cheerful place in Valle San Lorenzo.
"Yes, why not," I agreed.
The remainder of Sunday dragged until it was time to collect Linda for
our bowling game at Harleys.
She looked immaculate as usual and I briefly reflected on how I wish my
love affair could have been with Linda rather than Lesley, but we were
just good friends.
Enjoyed the bowling and at the conclusion dropped Linda back at her
place explaining I had a date with Linda. I felt guilty about leaving
Linda. She had been my constant companion for months and now I was
abandoning her for my new love. She said she understood and that I
should enjoy myself.
Over the next few months Linda and I drifted apart and we only saw each
other at the bowling centre. I regretted that course of events but I
had to get on with my life.
Lesley was oh so different to any woman I had known and as our
relationship developed I became more and more infatuated with
her.
Work at the newspaper continued and I was beginning to build a
reputation for thorough, professional journalism.
One night, I collected Lesley from her apartment and we drove to El
Cine a small, cheap and cheerful restaurant in the port area of Los
Cristianos. She was unusually subdued.
"What's wrong Lesley?" I asked.
"Oh nothing Jack, I am just a bit tired," she replied. Now this
investigative journalist does not accept such a brush off. There was
something wrong and I needed to know.
"Come on, spit it out," I said, "if there is something that is
bothering you, bring it out into the open and we can sort it
out."
Lesley bowed her head and burst into tears.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped the
engine.
"What's up love?" I enquired, putting my arms around her quivering
waist.
"Oh Jack, everything is going wrong and I don't know what to do," she
sobbed.
"Come on tell me," I asked again.
"You know I told you I was married, well this morning I received a
letter from my ex husband and he is coming to Tenerife," she
explained.
"Well, how is that a problem?" I replied.
"He wants to come and stay with me," she continued sobbing.
"Well just tell him he can't, its that simple," I said.
"If only it was that simple. The apartment is in joint names. Legally
he can walk in as he likes," she said.
"Do you want him to come and stay with you," I enquired.
She hesitated.
It was not the answer I wanted.
"I don't know what I want Jack," she declared.
The bottom fell out of my world, not for the first time and certainly
not for the last.
Suddenly my appetite deserted me.
I fumbled with the car keys and then announced, "I had better take you
home. The journey back to Lesley's apartment was in total silence. I
did not want to say anything to upset her or give her ex husband a way
back into their relationship. I wanted her to say something positive,
something to give me hope that what we had, albeit brief, was
permanent. Permanent that is as anything is permanent on
Tenerife.
We arrived back at Summerland. Lesley squeezed my hand.
I moved to get out of the car.
"No Jack not tonight, I have a lot to think about," she said stopping
me in my tracks.
"I will see you tomorrow, if you want to," she added, giving me some
hope that the pending arrival of ex husband would not signal the end of
our relationship.
I spent a very lonely evening at home that night falling asleep
watching some movie, which has been repeated for the tenth time.
I awoke at 2 a.m. and switched off the t.v. which was playing to
itself. I showered and settled down for one of the most disturbing
nights sleep I have had for some time.
I tossed and turned all night going over the events of the previous
discussion with Lesley, going over the past few weeks and reflecting on
happy I was before the ex husband reared his ugly head.
The next morning dawned as they always do and I showered and got ready
for another day at the newspaper. My head was full of thoughts and my
concentration shattered. I needed to talk and I knew no one at the
paper could hold water so I could not confide in them. In desperation I
rang Linda.
"Hello Linda, " I responded when she answered the phone, "its
Jack"
"Hello Jack how are you," she said. Linda is consistently
reassuring.
"Do you think we could meet for lunch today there is something I would
like to run by you?" I asked.
"Yes I think that should be possible," she responded, "were do you
fancy going, El Cine?" she enquired.
Bearing in mind the previous nights experience at the popular little
Spanish bar I said, "Do you think we could go somewhere else, say El
Carnaval out at Las Galletas," I replied.
"Alright, you pick me up about one," she responded.
"Are you alright Jack, you sound a bit down," Linda asked with that
knowing sound in her voice. She perhaps knew me as well as anyone on
Tenerife.
"Yes, I am ok, just need to talk and I can't do that now because I am
in the office." I explained.
"OK see you at one," said Linda and we said our goodbyes.
The rest of the morning dragged but at least I was able to produce some
work for the next edition. In reality my thoughts were with Lesley and
the pending arrival of her ex husband. I felt sick.
The thoughts of our first night and the following morning flooded into
my head, and now I could lose what I had just found. My head was
battered.
Lunchtime approached and I left the office saying I was going to
interview a potential client for one of the series I had
invented.
I picked up Linda and she pecked me on the cheek. "Alright Jack," she
enquired.
"I am now, Linda," I said and quickly added "Yes I know we are only
friends and that is why I wanted to talk to you. Its about Lesley," I
explained.
"Oh" said a non judgmental Linda, brushing her hair to one side as
though she felt uncomfortable. But I was feeling uncomfortable as
well.
It was easy to explain the situation as we drove to Las Galletas and
Linda interjected with the occasional nod and "I see".
We parked up and made our way to El Carnaval where we were warmly
welcomed by the owner Alan Hay. Alan was one of the many acquaintances
I had met on the island. We had a common interest in football and we
often chatted about the previous day's match on Sky. Alan had been a
professional footballer with Halifax Town; a goalkeeper with over 500
league appearances to his credit before a clumsy centre forward ended
his career.
"Alright Jack, and Linda how nice to see you," he welcomed.
Alan had a soft spot for Linda. She always received what I describe as
a special welcome, but then she did at many of the places we visited on
the island. She had after all been here almost eleven years and knew
everyone and their donkey.
We ordered food and continued to examine the situation I was now
in.
Linda had personal experience as to how it felt to be Lesley and she
had a friend in the UK who, if he ever decided to return to the Canary
Islands we head straight for her h HYPERLINK http://ome.
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" Look at it this way Jack what can you do? She asked.
"Lesley will have to make a choice, does she allow the husband back
into her life, and it sounds as though she has never let go, or does
she go for a man she has just met," she posed the question.
"I don't seem to have much chance then do I," I resigned.
"You know what its like on Tenerife, nothing is permanent, take each
day as it comes, enjoy the relationship with Lesley, and let the future
take care of itself," she advised.
"Its not as easy as that though Linda, if you get used to a person,
enjoy their company, then suddenly it is taken away, and worse still
she is with someone else, I don't think I could cope with that," I
babbled.
"Listen to yourself," said Linda stopping me short. "You are worse than
a confused teenager, get a grip," she demanded.
"Take each day at a time, enjoy Lesley's company and friendship, and
who knows her ex husband might be only coming for a holiday, you don't
know," Linda explained.
Our food arrived, "Let's change the subject," I said, as my head was
going around in circles.
"Ok Jack, whatever," responded Linda. She was indeed a loyal and
understanding friend.
We ate lunch and chatted about nothing in particular, the gossip on the
island, stories that were breaking and the life in the South.
"I will be going up north next week Jack, to see John and Pat Ramsay,"
Linda explained.
I had met Pat and John at the British Games Club in Puerto de la Cruz.
They were a lovely Scottish couple who spent six months of the year on
the island and the remainder back in the UK.
"Would you like to come," she asked.
"That would be great," I replied, "I can kill two birds with one stone,
as I have to see Les Greenaway at the British Games Club about the
Duckworth Trophy.
The Duckworth Trophy was a bowling trophy the members of the Club
competed for year after year. It had been donated by one of the old
colonial families and Pat Ramsay had won it last year. It was one of my
first "scoops" on the island.
I dropped Linda back her apartment and thanked her for the opportunity
to ventilate my feelings about the lovely Lesley. I felt a lot better.
I also had another opportunity to bend her ear next week on our way to
the Games Club.
The British Games Club in Puerto de la Cruz had been there for almost
ninety years and it was like stepping back in time. The Club house was
how I imagined the Raj lived in the days of colonial India. Bamboo
seats, bamboo walls, shield adorning the walls from visiting Royal Navy
ships; this club was indeed a piece of Tenerife history. I always
looked forward to my visits.
I returned to the office to the usual pile of messages including two
from Lesley.
"Seems pretty persistent," said Adam one of the lads in the design
studio in a broad Scottish accent.
"Oh just a friend young man," I replied, which provoked a bevy of
laughter from the amiable porridge gobbler. That was a term of
endearment I used for Adam as he always called me a sasenache. We had a
good relationship.
I rang Lesley.
"Hello love, its Jack," I said.
"Hi Jack, you ok," she replied.
"Fine and you" I replied.
"I am ok, its just you seemed a little distant last night, and I
wondered if I would ever see you again," she said with more than an air
of resignation in her voice.
Was I hearing this right? Wasn't it Lesley who had dropped a bombshell
on our relationship with the announcement of the ex husbands arrival or
pending arrival?
" No I am ok, just my head is full of what you told me last night. I
have had a lot to think about today and," I was abruptly
interrupted.
"Oh Jack, don't, don't say you are going to end it," sobbed
Lesley.
"Hang on love, don't cry," I assured,
"Who said anything about ending it," I reassured.
"Listen, calm down, what are we doing tonight," I asked
"Nothing that I know of " she said the tears stopping as quickly as
they had arrived.
I was always a soft touch for a woman crying and today was no
exception.
"I will come round about eight and we can go from there, ok?" I
asked.
"Ok Jack, I will see you at eight, and I am sorry for crying. It's just
that I am so confused and don't know what to do," she babbled.
"We'll sort it out Lesley, don't worry, see you at eight," I once again
reassured her.
"Ok Jack bye," she concluded.
"Bye", I said replacing the receiver.
"Just friends Jack?" laughed Adam.
I threw a rubber at the smiling porridge gobbler, which missed by a
mile, and nearly clobbered the editor as she came out of her
office.
"Boys will be boys" she muttered with a faint hint of a smile on her
face.
She must have had wind because Kay, the editor never smiled. Miserable
cow.
The days work concluded I made my way down the hill back to my
apartment to make ready for the evening with Lesley which after all did
not look as though it was going to be as traumatic as I imagined.
Some post arrived. A couple of letters from home, a bill for the mobile
phone, and one from a friend at the Hartlepool Times, Debbie
Fields.
This was surprising as Debbie and I only ever exchanged the occasional
nod and smile as we passed in the corridors of the paperback
home.
The letter was pleasant enough, filling me on what was happening in the
north east, enclosing a photograph of a staff night out, in which she
of course figured prominently, and then the bombshell.
The letter went on. "I have been contemplating my future at the Times
for a while and now you have taken the plunge I wondered if there may
be an opening for me? I know you will seem this a little forward Jack,
but we are both unattached adults and I wondered if there was a job
perhaps you and I might get together?"
I was astounded. Debbie Fields and me.
Debbie was 5?4; blonde, blue eyed with a figure to match any I had
seen. She had a succession of relationships, usually with anyone who
looked remotely like Tom Cruise from the editorial staff to the van
driver, or so the rumours go.
But we had never exchanged as I have said more than a few comments and
now this letter.
She went on. I know you will think this forward Jack, and you will be
aware that I have not had a stable relationship for many years and you
may say to yourself. This woman is using me. But please be assured I am
not. Life in Hartlepool for me has run its course and I need a new
adventure. What do you think? Do you think you could get me a job in
Tenerife? Could I stay with you until I found a place of my own? Please
write back.
The letter concluded with Love and best wishes Debbie.
Wow!
Here I was now with women coming at me from all angles. But I would
have to play this one canny.
Debbie was in her late 30?s early forties and was in her relationships
unstable. Taking Linda's advice I should take each day at a time. How
could Debbie stay with me? That was like the Lesley situation in
reverse. What job could she do at the newspaper? I know she had done
some editorial work and photographs but apart from that her history to
me was incomplete.
I switched on the computer, glancing at the clock to make sure I had
enough time to do the work before going to see Lesley.
First the letter to Debbie. Just let it flow Jack I reassured myself,
live one day at a time.
"Dear Debbie, thanks for your most welcome letter and the photograph of
the staff night .out. You certainly all looked as though you were
having a good time. But in all honesty I don't miss Hartlepool at
all.
I was to say the least a little surprised at the remaining content of
your letter. You want to leave a secure job and come to work in
Tenerife? Are you mad? Who do you think you are Me? (laughter). I
always put parenethis in my letters in order that the reader knows when
I am joking.
I maybe able to sort something out but I will need your c.v. and career
history to show the owners. Could I also suggest you write to them
direct as well.
You are more than welcome to come and stay with me but I should tell
you well in advance that I live in a one bedroomed apartment on
Victoria Court. I am trying to be as honest as you have been. (I did
mean forward but I was trying to keep my options open).
It is a long time since I had a relationship with a beautiful woman,
(here I was laying down corn for the lovely Debbie and in an hour I
would be off to see Lesley. This island was turning me into a geriatric
playboy.) and do you really think we could hit it off. After all you
are a few years younger than I am. (This gave her the opt out
clause).
I think a good idea would be for you to spend a week or two on holiday
on the island in order that you can get a feel for the place. I will
arrange for you to spend sometime at the paper, and yes you can stay
with me, if that is what you want. But again I have to tell you I only
have one double bed and the sofa is like a rack in a torture
chamber.
"There that was clearly spelling it out to Debbie, one bed, two weeks
trial" I thought.
I addressed the envelope, attached the stamp.
"My God, look at the time," I exclaimed.
Jumped into the shower and blasted off the cares of the day. While
standing under the shower I thought about the lovely Debbie coming to
the island. Was I doing the right thing inviting her? What would Lesley
say? If her ex husband was coming what could she say? Take each day at
a time Jack; take each day at a time!
I dressed, left my letter to Debbie at reception, and made my way to
Lesley's.
I rang the bell and she immediately came to the door.
"Oh Jack," she said flinging her arms round me, "do come in."
We embraced as soon as the door had closed behind me.
Lesley was still in her dressing gown.
"Aren't you ready," I enquired.
"Well we are in no rush are we Jack," she replied with a sexy twinkle
in her eye, beckoning me to the bedroom.
"Oh I thought perhaps we should talk first," I defended.
"What is there to talk about Jack, you are here, I am here, we are
together, that is all that matters," she replied.
"But what about your ex?" I interrupted.
"What about him?" she said rather angrily.
"Well you dropped that bombshell last night about him coming to stay
with you and I thought we should talk," I explained.
"Let's talk later Jack, over our meal, right now I just want to feel
you next to me," she insisted.
Who was I to refuse?
We entered the bedroom and ecstasy took over once again.
Lesley was a beautiful woman, tanned, firm, sexy and she made me feel
whole again.
We emerged from our pre dinner session and I had to shower again.
"Let shower together Jack," invited Lesley, and who was I to refuse an
offer like that.
The water bounced off our naked bodies as we embraced under the
shower.
Lesley them reached down to the controls and switched it to freezing
cold.
"You bitch," I shouted which provoked a girlish giggle from my
beautiful companion.
We stepped out of the shower, embracing all the while, and dried each
other between embraces.
I had not felt this good for a long while.
We dressed. I watch her every movement as she slipped into her silk
underwear and then the exquisite black dress she had selected for the
evening. She was a beautiful woman and she was with me, for the time
being at least.
We finally made it to the restaurant in Valle San Lorenzo, Paraiso,
which I had once described in a Taste Test article as cheap and
cheerful. I had framed the story and presented it to the owner, Antonio
and he proudly displayed it on the wall.
Paraiso was a long thin restaurant, with grapes vines and all the
trappings one might find in an old finca. A finca is an old Spanish
farmhouse for the unread.
I enjoyed it at Paraiso, it was popular and anybody who was anybody ate
there. On this occasion it was full of strangers though and the only
person I could see was John Brace, the local car hire man. John and his
wife Sheila acknowledged my wave and no doubt my relationship with
Lesley would be the talk of Los Cristianos.
The meal was as good as ever and the wine went down a treat. We just
looked at each other recalling the passionate hour previously and our
exploits in the shower.
"Never shower alone again," I thought as I squeezed Lesley's hand which
she had extended across the table.
She slipped off her shoe and was running her naked foot along the
inside of my leg.
"Stop it" I whispered, "people will see you."
"Don't care if they do," she replied.
"Please," I asked, "please stop."
She looked at me with that boring fart expression-
Our meal concluded I suggested we stop off at a little German bar I had
found in La Camella. I could not remember its name but told Lesley it
was next door to the Scratch bar.
She agreed and we stopped at the bar to be greeted by the owner
Woolfgang. Although I had only been a few times, it was a genuine warm
Bavarian welcome.
"Dos Cerveza, Wolfgang," I ordered.
He nodded and Lesley and I made our way to a secluded corner of this
most authentic bars.
"do you think now might be an appropriate time to talk about you ex
husband," I enquired.
"Oh its been such a lovely evening Jack, don?t spoil it," she
pleaded.
"Well I was just trying to find out exactly where I stood," I
retorted
"But Jack," she was about to continue.
"Look Lesley no but?s just let me have it chapter and verse ok," I
asked.
"If he comes to Tenerife is he staying with you. How long is he
staying, and where does that leave us, it?s a simple enough question,
isnt it?" I asked.
"He maybe coming to Tenerife. If he does he will be staying with me,"
she replied.
"I see", I said with a firmness I had never used to Lesley before, "and
what about me?"
"Well it probably will be only for two weeks Jack, he doesn't like
Tenerife," she explained, "and then we can continue as though he had
never been", she concluded.
"Well you may be able to, but I can?t. Can you imagine how I will feel
knowing another man is in you bed. What if he decides to stay. What if
you are still in love with him?"
I babbled.
"Look Jack that?s the way it is. It might never happen. He does things
on the spur of the moement and then he is gone again," re
reassured.
"So he may come at anytime and I will be expected to disappear and when
he goes reappear again?" I reiterated.
"That's the top and the bottom of it Jack," she said with a couldn't
care less air.
"That's ok, I understand now fully and I can prepare for that," I
replied.
Already I was thinking to myself just take it one day at a time and if
the old man does turn up, disappear for the duration, and then pick up
again when he has gone.
Also and at this point it flashed into my mind that I should introduce
another woman.
"Of course, if I have a friend or ex wife coming to stay with me, you
will understand," I said.
Lesley just looked across the table. She picked up her glass of beer
and I could see in her face that she wanted me to have the lot. She
composed herself.
"Of course Jack, what's good for the goose etc.," she replied.
I could see she was livid but I had scored an important point.
"Lets change the subject Lesley, it might never happen, lets live for
today," I suggested.
That defused the evening and we finished our beers and drove down from
La Camella to San Telmo, in Los Cristianos.
"Let's walk for a while Jack," Lesley suggested and we did just that
along San Telmo to towards Harlequins passing the numerous pr.'s trying
to pull customers into the many colourful international restaurants
that littered the waterfront.
When we reached Harlequins we turned and proceeded to walk back towards
the stretch between The Boardwalk and Skandi?s bar, and into the
Claddagh, the popular Irish bar for a night-cap.
"Hello Jack," said Eddie the amiable landlord and his wife Bobbie
appeared from the kitchen to add her greeting.
"Hello Jack, Hello Lesley," said Bobbie.
The Singing Willie was performing with Keith one of the bar staff and a
holidaymaker who had made his home in Tenerife John Mack.
Lesley and I did not exchange much conversation and as we left Eddie
gave his usual farewell, "Thanks a million, Jack," he said.
We made our way to the car, which was parked in the lay by, adjacent to
Casablanca's NightSpot, very popular with the Spanish, and Lesley was
very quiet.
I drove through Cristianos to Summerland and managed to find a parking
space at the side of the road.
"Night-cap Jack?" enquired Lesley.
I wanted to say no, because I still had feelings of being used, but the
reply came out "Why not,"
We went up the several floors in the lift and Lesley squeezed my hand
and smiled.
She did not say a word just smiled.
The lift came to an abrupt halt at her floor and we left the life and
walked the few paces to her apartment.
Lesley unlocked the door and we walked in.
"Take off you coat Jack, make yourself comfortable, what would you
like," asked Lesley.
"Oh do you have Southern Comfort," I enquired having had all the beer I
wanted that night.
"Yes, with ice?" asked Lesley.
"Please," I replied.
She came and sat next to me on the settee after having first started
her CD deck.
The music playing was a particular favourite of mine, Billy Holiday
singing a selection from The Legend of Billy Holiday.
The mood was just right, sexy music, a warm drink, and an equally warm
lady.
Lesley rested her head on my shoulder and made herself
comfortable.
"Don't worry Jack everything will be alright," she whispered.
The music, the drink, the warm night all contributed to a very relaxing
atmosphere after what had been in places a tense evening.
"Will you stay Jack, please stay, I don't want you to go," she
pleaded.
How could I refuse, after all it may all come to an end soon and I
would again be sleeping alone.
"Of course I will stay love," I replied, kissing her gently.
Lesley responded and we adjourned to the bedroom.

"Come on lazy bones, time for work," said Lesley in a semi urgent tone.
"Its 830 a.m. and you have to be at the office in half an hour.
I leapt out of the bed, rushed into the bathroom, and showered.
"Sorry can't stop," I said as a gulped down a cup of coffee she had
prepared. "I will ring you later," I gabbled.
I left Lesley as beautiful as the night before and made a detour to my
apartment to change my shirt and underclothes and have another
shower.
I was late for work, but frankly no one noticed.
The day dragged and later in the afternoon I made arrangements to see
Lesley.
We met many times over the next few months, candle light dinners, boat
trips, one wonderful weekend in Gomera, and no mention of the ex
husbands.
However matters would come to a head long before he reared his ugly
one, when Debbie Fields, responded to my letter.
Debbie had taken the plunge and written to me about employment and more
if I read her letter correctly.
The second letter from Debbie arrived.
"Dear Jack, many thanks for you letter which I received ok. Thank you
for taking it so well and I would like to accept the offer of
accommodation, even though you only have one bed. I am sure it will be
big enough for us both, and who knows we may hit it off.
I will be arriving on Friday 30th October from Newcastle at about 12.30
lunchtime. Do you think you could pick me up? I have a fourteen-day
ticket and by the end of the fortnight I should be able to make a
decision as to whether or not I could settle in the Canary
Islands.
Is there anything you want bringing from England that you can't get
over there?
My telephone number is 1429 223049 if you would like to ring me, or you
can email me at the office.
I am really looking forward to seeing you again Jack,
Love Debbie.
Bloody hell the 30th October was only a week away and I would have to
tell Lesley. What would she say? The boot was on the other foot now and
Lesley would have to face the same decisions she asked me to
face.
I told her on Friday 23rd. I had gone round to her place to collect her
for the evening at the Overseas Chines we had planned. As usual she
wasn't ready and invited me in.
She was half dressed in a white thong and a top just thrown around her
shoulders. Drops of water glistened on her tanned shoulders and she
looked a million dollars.
She caught me looking at her.
"Come here Jack," she beckoned.
"Do you really want to go out," she said with that attractive impish
grin.
"Well I do but I could be persuaded to stay in a while longer," I
smiled
She allowed the top to drop from her shoulders to the floor, revealing
the fullness of her beautiful body.
I grabbed her and we embraced.
"Mind you don't get you suit wet Jack," she whispered and then
proceeded to remove first my jacket, and then my shirt and finally she
dropped to her knees and removed my lower garments.
We made love then and there on the lounge floor improvising with
cushions from the settee.
"You are beautiful," I whispered as we embraced.
"I love you Jack," she replied as she climaxed.
We lay together for a while and then made our way to the bathroom where
we showered again.
Her nipples were proud and erect as the pulsating water bounced off our
bodies and we embraced again. I cannot recall how long it is since I
was so happy, but all that might end if I tell Lesley of Debbie's
arrival.
I could not delay, it had to be tonight, but should I tell her before
we had eaten or after.
I decided to tell her before, because I could not have eaten with that
weighing on my mind.
"Lesley there is something I have to tell you," I said as we finished
dressing.
"I have a mate from the newspaper office in Hartlepool coming over next
week. I just got a letter from her today, saying she will be arriving
next Friday," I explained.
"Her, it's a woman?" enquired Lesley, "and where is she staying?"
"Well with me of course," I replied.
"Oh" she said.
The scene went incredibly quiet.
Lesley was not amused. The wheel had come full circle and she was now
feeling what I had experienced when her ex husband was thinking of
coming to the island.
"How long is she here for," said Lesley
"Two weeks, unless she finds a job in the meantime," I replied.
"Will I see you during that week Jack?" asked Lesley.
"Would I be seeing you if your ex was here?" I retorted.
"Touch?" she conceded.
We left her apartment and the atmosphere was electric. I just held my
ground and waited.
We arrived at the Overseas Chinese in San Marino and received a warm
greeting from the owner Tommy and his wife.
Lesley stared at the menu and suggested we opted for a banquet.
The food is always good at the Overseas and good value with the free
bottle of wine.
But the food could not disguise how Lesley was feeling.
Her face was a picture.
A picture of thunder.
We exchanged only a few comments during the meal, paid the bill and
made our way back to the car.
"I think I will walk," said Lesley surprisingly.
"Ok, will I see you tomorrow?" I enquired.
"No I don't think so Jack," she replied.
"If you are having your friend staying, and she may be here full time,
well perhaps we should end it now," she said.
How strange the situation changes? When I was the one to be left alone
and out of the picture because of the arrival of the ex husband, I had
to accept it. Now I would be sharing my bed with another, Lesley was
offended.
I would not argue.
"Ok Lesley whatever, the balls in your court," I concluded and
continued to walk away
towards the car. I did not look back,
I put the key in the lock; Lesley's hand grasped mine.
"I am sorry Jack, that was most unfair, I am sorry, can you forgive
me," she asked.
"Don't worry, what did I tell you take each day at a time," I
repeated.
"Let's go home," said Lesley.
"Ok whatever," I replied.
We arrived at Summerland, parked up and made our way to the
apartment.
A nightcap, soft music and once again we retired for the night.
The night was as passionate as ever. Jealous or not Lesley was on top
form and we fell asleep in each other's arms, with seemingly not a care
in the world.
"Just take each day at a time," I whispered as we lapsed into
unconsciousness.
The next morning came and we went our separate ways. I went to work and
began playing what to say to Lesley and Debbie. Could I keep them
apart?
I need not have worried.
Later that day I received a telephone call from Lesley. She said that
during the visit of Debbie she felt it would be easier for her to cope
if she did not see me. I told her that was a decision only she could
make.
That may be the final call I receive from Lesley but the choice is
hers.
The rest of the week dragged as I ate alone, a scenario I said I would
never repeat but I was not going to ring Lesley.
I did ring Debbie at her home and we had a long chat. My phone bill
will go through the roof this month I thought as we chatted.
"My flight arrives on Friday Jack at 12 noon, will you be able to pick
me up or should I get a taxi," Debbie asked.
"Oh don?t bother with a taxi, the queues will be massive, I will be
there to collect you, no problem," I replied.
The conversation concluded with "See you Friday Jack" and the line went
dead.
I replaced the receiver and wondered if I was doing the right
thing.
On the Thursday morning I had words with the owner and the editor about
employing Debbie and they agreed to offer her an interview with a view
to a week's trial. I knew once she got into the office they would keep
her.
Thursday night was a long night. I ate in the apartment alone and then
walked down to the seafront and along passed the singing Royston Jones,
entertaining the crowds with his country and western songs, passed
Chicago's with Kay Lexis, O?Flahertys with lovely Jade Ash, making my
way to El Cine for a beer with Carlos.
Carlos had always advertised with me and as usual pressed 20,000 into
my hand for the current edition. We shared a beer before I bid him
goodnight and continued my walk along the shore, through the tunnel
that connects the old side with the new beach. I stopped off for
another beer in the Boardwalk (now renamed The Full Monty 2) and
chatted for a while with one of the acts Cy Benson.
Cy?s a great lad from South Wales with a voice better than Tom Jones.
Beer consumed and business concluded I strolled up to the next level to
The Claddagh, which I had made my local since my arrival in
Tenerife.
Willie, Keith and John were well into The Irish Rover as I entered,
dodging the dancers as they moved around the tight dance floor.
"Hello Jack, how are you?" enquired Kay behind the bar.
"I am fine Kay, and you?" I replied above the sound of the Rover.
"Fine" she smiled.
At that Bobbie and Eddie the owners of The Claddagh came out of the
kitchen where they had been preparing Irish Coffees, "Hi Jack are you
alright" enquired Eddie.
"Fine, Eddie, just fine," I replied.
I settled on one of the tall bar stools which adjoin the bar and
chatted a while with John Cassidy, another Irishman who had settled in
Tenerife.
John had recently written an article of international finance for one
of the rival papers and I complimented him on his journalistic
prowess.
He laughed and said, "Don't take the piss Jack, I will never be as good
as you."
"You will in time John, in time you will," I replied.
A few more Dorada and it was time to hit the homeward trail.
A said my goodnights, and walked the two flights of stone stairs on to
the street in San Telmo, where I caught a taxi back to my
apartment.
As I settled for the night I contemplated that this maybe the last
night I lie alone in the king size bed and drifted off thinking of the
lovely Debbie.
My dreams were rudely awakened with the alarm going off.
It was Friday and the weekend lay ahead and of course the arrival of
Debbie at lunchtime today.
I sang in the shower as I prepared for the morning ahead.
The office was a hive of activity as I arrived there had been a
terrific coach crash on the main motorway, the TF1 and the editor had
already dispatched a photographer and junior reporter to the scene. As
the morning went on the full circumstances of the crash emerged and
there were six fatalities, making it one of the worst coach crashes in
Tenerife's history.
At 12 o'clock I made my excuses and headed off for the airport to
collect Debbie. Her plane was due at noon but by the time she passed
through customs and baggage control it would be at least 12.30 p.m. The
crash on the TF1 was to be avoided and I took the scenic route through
the countryside and rejoined the motorway behind the crash site beyond
Parque de la Reina. I pulled into the airport at about 12.20 and parked
up. There were literally millions of people milling around the crowded
terminal buildings.
Representatives from all the major companies, Thomson, Air Tours,
Flying Colours, Vintersol, were all trying to marshal their customers
onto the waiting coaches to whisk them off to their holiday
destinations. It was absolute mayhem.
I was having problems seeing with all the pushing and barging that was
going on, but there she was that beautiful blonde lady I remember,
carrying suitcases, which looked as though they contained the kitchen
sink.
I brushed passed the security guard and stopped Debbie in her
tracks.
"Here let me take those," I said above the noise of the crowded
airport.
"Oh Jack, its wonderful to see," she said thrusting her voluptuous
figure into mine and embracing me like her long lost lover.
"Steady now Debbie," I gasped.
"Let's get you a trolley and into the car," I suggested.
"Oh I have so much to tell you Jack," she babbled, "Everyone at the
office sends their love," she explained and then proceeded to fill me
in on all the gossip from the old newspaper office.
It was interesting for a while to catch up on who was doing what to
whom, but I did not hear a great deal as I drove back the few miles to
my apartment in Los Cristianos.
I interjected Debbie's chattering with the occasional, "Oh Yes and
Right", allowing her to tell me everything she has obviously been
rehearsing for weeks.
As she caught her first glimpse of Los Cristianos as we left the main
road, she gasped "Oh Jack it's beautiful."
Los Cristianos in the afternoon sun, with the new golf course
stretching towards Playa las Americas, did look a fine example of Spain
in the sun.
"Oh it's not a bad place, once you settle into the routine," I
explained.
"Oh it's beautiful," she repeated.
We dropped down into Los Cristianos, through the afternoon traffic,
passed the famous Princess Dacil hotel and up towards my complex on
Victoria Court.
I parked the car and look at my beautiful if verbosant companion and
said, "We are here."
"This is it," she exclaimed.
"Disappointed," I replied
"Oh Jack, its beautiful really beautiful," she replied.
Picking up her bags we walked along the corridor that links the
apartments and Debbie just took in her first glimpses of Victoria
Court, which was to be her home for the next two weeks at least.
"That the pool," I pointed out. "The bar and restaurant is in that
corner, next to the laundry, and this is my little place," I explained
as we arrived at 171B
"It small, but its home," I said before we entered.
17B1 had been a storeroom, but the Community had converted it into a
studio, and the President of the community, Jackie Turner who also
hailed from the north east of England had offered it to me.
It is about 35 foot long, eight foot wide with two windows at the far
end. A new kitchen with all the essentials had been built, and the
bedroom furniture separated the lounge area. There was a simple but
private bathroom.
"Oh Jack, you have kept it so nice," remarked Debbie.
She ran to the windows and threw them open revealing a view towards the
sea.
"Oh its beautiful" Jack she remarked.
"I you say beautiful one more time I will scream," I thought.
But Debbie was just overwhelmed with Tenerife and she had been here
less than an hour.
"Coffee or would you prefer something stronger," I asked pointing to
the well appointed wine rack, "or there is beer in the fridge."
"Oh a nice cold beer would be great Jack," said Debbie as she kicked
off her shoes and plonked herself on to the settee.
I removed the cans from the fridge and poured out two large
beers.
"Here we are, happy holidays," I toasted.
"Happy holidays be buggered," replied Debbie. "I am staying," she
laughed.
As we consumed our cold drinks she continued to chatter away.
"Don't you ever stop for breath," I laughed.
She placed her glass on the nearby table and leaned across and said,
"It's great of you to have me Jack".
"But I haven't yet," I laughed.
"Well let's put that right now," she replied.
"Whoa, hand on a minute, let us have a shower first I have been at work
since early morning," I suggested.
"Ok, where is the bathroom," Debbie replied as she removed her blouse,
then her skirt, then her bra and pants. She just stood there.
"Well?" she asked again.
I was conscious that I was staring at this naked, beautiful woman,
standing in my apartment.
"The bathroom Jack," she laughed.
"Oh yes, its here," I replied opening the door to the facilities.
"Well," she said again.
I look puzzled.
"You are not going to join me," she invited.
"Oh yes, if you like," I stuttered
"No if you like Jack," she replied throwing a sponge at me.
I stripped off.
By this time the water was bouncing off her curvaceous body as I
slipped between the shower curtains and into the cubicle.
I grabbed the shower gel and proceeded to wash my hair.
Debbie didn't grab the shower gel, but I was aware of what she had
taken hold of.
She pressed her body against mine, and we embraced for the first time
in the shower.
"Oh Jack this is paradise," she moaned as she proceeded to wash first
her body and then mine.
"Yes this is paradise, " I submitted.
"We embraced again and again, and eventually stepped out of the shower
to dry off.
I took a soft blue towel from the rail and began to rub her gently. I
slipped my hands onto her shoulders and patted her naked breasts.
We embraced again and the towels dropped to the floor.
Taking my hand Debbie walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom
area were she lay on the double bed naked and glistening with the
residue of the shower.
"Take me Jack," she said, "I am all yours."
Debbie was as I had imagined, wild, exiting, teasing, loving, a real
contradiction, but a lady that knew how to make a man feel whole.
We made love several times that day and each time we both climaxed.
Could this be heaven, but wait Jack what was it someone said, "Take
each day at a time," I was enjoying life and Debbie was very
accommodating.
We lay for a while just looking at each other. I was amazed; here was
the lovely Debbie in my bed, making love with me. She smiled as if she
knew what I was thinking.
She had a lovely body, not one-inch of fat, unlike yours truly, and
when it was tanned, she would be an absolute stunner.
In that case I should enjoy our time together, as inevitably I thought,
some big hunk would come along and Debbie would trade me in for a newer
fitter model. Oh how wrong I was to be.
"Where would you like to eat tonight," I enquired.
"Oh Jack, I don't know, you suggest somewhere," she replied.
"Well what do you fancy," I suggested, which was a mistake.
Debbie grabbed me again, and said, "You know just what I fancy."
"Yes but we have to eat," I protested, to no avail.
"That can wait," she insisted, and we repeated our love making
again.
Debbie did eventually agree to eat and we showered again, separately,
as I could not cope with another session of lovemaking.
We dressed and kissed again and again. Was I dreaming? I kept pinching
myself.
We decided we would walk as Debbie had chosen The Overseas Chinese,
which suited me, as I love the banquets.
Tommy the owner welcomed us as he always does, and winked at me,
obviously not recognising my new companion.
"Oh Tommy, this is Debbie a friend from England," I said.
"I am very pleased to meet you Debbie," said Tommy extending his
hand.
They shook hands and I proceeded to order drinks.
"I will have a Dorada, Tommy please, and you Debbie," I said.
"Oh I think white wine please, " she replied.
Tommy duly obliged bringing the wine and Dorada in seconds.
I had suggested that we have a banquet and Debbie agreed adding, "I
could eat a horse."
Why was I not surprised, after all the exercise she had that afternoon
and then the flight and all.
"You must be shattered," I enquired.
"Not at all," said Debbie, "Don't need a lot of sleep, never have
had."
Oh so it was going to be one of those nights, I thought. Chinese,
entertainment at some bar, and then a night of passion.
My bits were still sore from the afternoon's activities and I would
have to perform again.
You can get too much of a good thing can't you I asked myself.
I just smiled at Debbie.
"You happy Jack," she asked.
"Couldn't be happier Debs," I replied, and smiled.
She reached across the table and held my hand.
"Oh Jack thank you for helping me come to Tenerife. How can I ever
thank you enough," she asked.
She had gone a long way to thanking me earlier in the day.
"That's nothing," I explained.
During the meal, which was the Overseas usual excellence, we chatted
about Debbie expectations about living on Tenerife.
" I have fixed up a meeting with the Editor for you on Monday," I
explained
"And then its up to you," I added.
"If he does offer you a job or you find something else, you can then
decide whether you want to stay or not," I said
Debbie looked at me.
"You need to ask whether I want to stay or not after this afternoon
Jack." She replied.
"I have admired you for years, and now I have you all to myself," she
smiled.
"Jack, didn't you know that I fancied you something rotten back in
Hartlepool," she added.
"You must have gone round with your eyes closed, call yourself a
reporter," she laughed.
"I had no idea," I stammered.
The meal was wonderful and as we progressed I felt warmth towards
Debbie that went beyond the realms of sex or passion. Be under no
illusion our session that afternoon was sex and more sex with a little
passion, but no love. I didn't know her well enough to say love, but
the months ahead would confirm or deny that.
We left the Chinese fed and watered and I suggested we walked to The
Claddagh, my local where I could introduce Debbie to the
regulars.
We walked down towards the harbour past the bustling restaurants, past
the Palacio where another good friend Ray Karlson and his wife Valerie
offered one of the warmest welcomes on the island, past El Cine where I
would take Debbie another night, through the underpass that connects
the old side to the new beach.
Debbie was amazed. She chatted away merrily and her chattering made
conversation easy if a little one sided.
We arrived at the Boardwalk where Cy Benson was just entering the
club.
"Hello Jack how are you" enquired Cy.
"Fine Cy, how are you. Oh this is Debbie and this is Cy," I
introduced.
"Hello Debbie," replied Cy, "By you know how to pick them Jack,"
laughed Cy in that deep Welsh accent that is a familiar feature of his
act.
We moved on to pass George's Bar where Paul Stone was performing his
Billy Idol act.
Paul waved as we passed through and we walked hand in hand up the stone
stairs to The Claddagh.
Willie was well into his act and winked as we entered the bar, which
was full to the brim as usual.
"Hello Jack, and who is this fine specimen of a woman," quipped Eddie
Walsh, the Irish owner.
"Oh Eddie, this is my friend from England, Debbie," I explained.
"Well welcome to Tenerife Debbie," said Eddie planting a big kiss on
both her cheeks.
"It's a fine man you have here Debbie," laughed Ed.
We moved to the bar and squeezed on to two stools at the top end
adjacent to another regular Colin Kirkby who was occupying his usual
seat next to the telephone.
"Alright Colin" I acknowledged.
"Alright Jack," he replied, and then kept his ears peeled to see who
Debbie was.
Colin wasn't nosy, but interested to meet new people.
"What will it be Debbie," I asked.
"Oh its my turn Jack" she insisted.
"Look Debbie what's yours is yours and what's mine is yours," I
laughed, but she insisted on standing her round.
A liberated, freethinking, gorgeous woman.
We had a good night in The Claddagh, listening to Willies Irish songs,
later joined by Keith and John on the fiddle.
"I can see why you have made this your local Jack, its warm and I feel
well at home here," remarked Debbie.
It was just as well as I spent many an evening here. It was a good
place to pick up the news.
As we left and walked the two flights of stairs to the main street
outside the San Telmo complex, Debbie held my hand, stopped, looked at
me, and said, "Jack, I love this place, I love you too."
I was a little taken aback, perhaps it was the drink, perhaps she was
tired, and perhaps I was dreaming.
"I love you too pet," I replied.
We caught a taxi and returned to the apartment.
"Like a night-cap, or anything, Debbie," I asked.
"No not for me Jack, but you have one," she uttered, slumping on the
bed.
"Wait don't go to sleep with your clothes on," I insisted.
"Well you take them off," she replied standing up.
I needed no second invitation.
I removed her blouse, her skirt, and then fumbled with her bra, but
managed and then moved down her body to remove the remaining
underwear.
"Thank you Jack for a wonderful first day," she whispered
She then began to undress me.
"Just a moment," I insisted after removing the final garment. "I need a
shower,"
I went into the bathroom and showered. My only thoughts were for Debbie
who was waiting for me in the bed.
I dried off and returned to the main room.
Debbie was asleep.
I slipped into the bed, extinguished the lights and snuggled up to this
beautiful creature.
She was aware I was there and turned to embrace me.
We fell asleep in each other's arms.

I was awake long before the alarm went off and spent some time just
looking at Debbie.
She blinked in the bright sunlight as I drew back the curtains and
summoned me back to bed.
"I have to go to town this morning Debs," I explained and she agreed to
come with me.
I made breakfast, which was something of a treat for me, and we chatted
about nothing in particular as we made our way around the apartment
getting ready for Saturday in town.
Debs put her arms around me and again expressed how grateful she was
that I had offered to put her up and arranged an interview with the
editor. I only hoped that the first day on Tenerife would not be an
anti climax for her.
We walked down the road that connects Victoria Court to the sea front
and along the promenade, which looks so different in the
daylight.
Several black traders were plying their wares along the front but I
explained to Debbie that if she showed the slightest interest they
would hound her.
We visited Barclays Bank were I withdrew some cash from the hole in the
wall and then ambled along the narrow streets that are so typical of
Los Cristianos.
"Oh Jack," exclaimed Debbie there are some wonderful shops and it
transpired that my beautiful companion was a shopaholic.
The mornings shopping concluded, I carried her bags, as I would do on a
hundred Saturdays thereafter containing, sun dresses, underwear and a
variety of other miscellaneous items. This lady could shop.
We stopped off at El Cine near the port for lunch as this lady with the
hour glass figure was always hungry. I don't know where she puts it
all!
A warm welcome was forthcoming from Juan Carlos the owner. Carlos
looked at me and winked. I spoke very little Spanish and likewise his
English was limited. So funny how a wink says it all.
Debs ordered hake and I opted for my usual favourite at El Cine, the
deep-fried chicken wings with mojo sauce.
It was a beautiful day, the food was splendid as always and the wine
flowed freely.
This is a brilliant place to be I thought as I looked across the table
at the delightful Deb.
Now all I need is that big win on the lottery I thought.
"Penny for them Jack" interrupted Debs.
"What?" I replied, "Oh sorry love, was miles away," I added.
"What were you thinking about," she enquired.
"Oh it was just the lottery, I was thinking my life would be complete
if I won the lottery," I laughed.
"Do you still do the lottery Jack," asked Debbie.
"Oh yes, I send a cheque every month to my sister Mavis and she puts it
on for me," I explained.
"I also do the Spanish lottery as well", I added.
We then had the first of many discussions on the virtues of being rich
with Debbie concluding, "We don't need millions to enjoy ourselves
Jack."
After lunch we made our way back to the complex and secured two sun
beds by the pool to soak up some of the African sunshine that beats
down on Tenerife and the other Canary Islands.
"Take it easy the first day Debs," I advised, "only stay out for about
an hour," I added.
After an hour she had enough in any event and we adjourned to the
apartment.
I explained to Debbie that I had a routine but she would have to devise
her own.
"Let's go with the flow, Jack," she said, "we don't need a
routine."
I yawned and she needed no second invitation to adjourn to the
bed.
That was one of the best Saturday afternoon's I had enjoyed for
sometime and when the football results came through on Sky Sport, and
Hartlepool had beaten Scarborough 3-0, well that was the icing on the
cake.
Saturday night is special in Tenerife and after our afternoon's nap,
which was not so restful as when you spend the time alone, we showered
and dressed for dinner.
"Tonight I think I will take you to another restaurant Excalibur de la
Rosa," I said with an air of confidence and that established a pattern
that would continue for the foreseeable future.
Debbie and I enjoyed great sex; she was bouncy and full of life. But
had I truly found happiness on Fantasy Island?