Free Nobody Loves a Ginger Baby by Laura Marney Page B

round her ankles.
    ‘It’s okay.’
    ‘Do you remember mine?’
    ‘Of course I do. It’s Marianne.’
    ‘Martha.’
    ‘Sorry. Martha. That’s what I meant to say.’
    ‘Pierce?’
    ‘Mmmm?’
    ‘Will you fuck me?’
    Result.
    Pierce prefers a slower more seductive undressing but as they move to the bedroom Martha is whipping her kit off. She steps out of her pants and leaves them, sunny side up, where they fall.
    She smells fantastic and her skin is soft and warm. He considers himself a gentleman and is old-fashioned enough to believe in Ladies First. He always gives it a good twenty minutes, longer if it looks like they’re going to come, before he takes the reins and goes for gold.
    She is pushing his head down and her hand explores his balding crown. Recently Pierce has taken to picking up the shorter lady. But now that she’s found it he must acknowledge it.
    ‘It’s not a bald patch. It’s a solar panel for a sex machine.’
    Martha laughs and he is relieved. He’s still got it. When all his hair falls out and his belly hangs over his trousers and his teeth turn yellow he’ll still be able to laugh them into bed. Except that the balder he gets the shorter the women will have to be. The older and fatter he is the uglier the ladies will be. He’ll have to start taking Viagra, not because he can’t get it up but because the only ladies he’ll be able to pull will be decrepit disfigured midgets.
    These thoughts are having a deflating effect. Pierce returns to thinking about how great Marianne smells and how nice her tits are. This is going to be a quality shag, he can sense it. He hasn’t had sex in three weeks but compared to married guys he knows, Pierce gets plenty. If he could find a nice lady who offered quality sex and was willing to put out on a regular basis, he might even think of going steady. Maybe it’s time. Two weeks ago when the barber showed him it in the mirror, the bald patch definitely looked bigger.
    Pierce is unaware that she has been moaning until she suddenly stops.
    ‘What’s that noise?’
    She sits up, alarmed.
    ‘Somebody’s crying, upstairs, can’t you hear it?’
    Pierce considers pretending he can’t hear it but the soundproofing in the building is non-existent and he’d have to be deaf as well as bald.
    ‘Yeah, it’s Daphne. She cries all the time, she’s mental, don’t worry about it.’
    ‘Oh God, the poor soul, what’s she crying for?’
    ‘I don’t know, I told you, she’s mental.’
    The way this comes out sounds ratty and less sympathetic than Pierce meant and instantly changes the atmosphere. Backpedalling is required.
    ‘I’m sorry; it’s just that I find it upsetting. Poor Daphne crying every night like that. It’s the usual story. Dumped by a man. Bastard. She’s so depressed, you hear of people dying of a broken heart and I think that poor kid might. I’ve talked to her of course, tried to help but, oh I don’t know, what can I do? All I can do is be a friend, I just feel useless.’
    Martha throws her lovely warm fragrant arms around him and holds him tight. The New Man thing is quite effective, and it isn’t entirely bullshit, he does feel rotten for Daphne. But it’s backfiring ; Marianne’s sobbing in his arms now. At this rate he’s never going to get his hole.
    Struggling to catch her breath after every word, she blurts, ‘I’ve been there. Damian left me three months ago. For the guy who sold us the new patio doors. We didn’t even need new patio doors, the old ones were fine.’
    Now he throws his arms around her. How many times has he heard this? Damian or Michael or John left me. It’s always Pierce who has to pick up the pieces, to hold them, stroke their hair, assure them they’re desirable, fuck them, when he knows that what they really want is to be in the arms of Damian or Michael or John. Pierce is their substitute.
    ‘Shh!’
    They listen intently to the silence.
    ‘She’s stopped!’ she whispers.
    ‘Good,’