Read The American Lover Online
Authors: G E Griffin
The American Lover
THE AMERICAN LOVER
BY G E GRIFFIN
G E Griffin has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. G E Griffin has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2015
ISBN 978-0-9576745-5-4
Copyright © G E Griffin 2015
Cover design by Lucy Rose Griffin
https://www.facebook.com/gegriffin
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To all my wonderful loyal CG Blog followers, because without them I would never have had the confidence to write my own books.
To Sue B, Renata B, and Laurel Isleb for their editing and proof reading skills.
To Jane Harvey-Berrick for all her help and advice about self-publishing.
And of course a huge thank you to my husband and three daughters for their endless support and encouragement.
Contents
“
D
rew! You left your dirty things in the kitchen again last night. How many times have I asked you to clear up after yourself?” I fumed.
“It was late, I was tired, and it’s hardly a criminal offence to leave one mug and a plate until the morning,” Drew argued back. My husband was a car mechanic, and he’d been called out the previous evening to help one of his customers after they’d broken down. He hadn't got back until after midnight, so I’d gone to bed by the time he’d returned.
“But you know it really winds me up to come in and find a mess like this in the morning. How much effort would it have taken for you to just quickly wash your things and put them away? Then I wouldn’t be nagging you now, would I?”
Drew rolled his eyes as I glared at him.
“I can't help it if you’re obsessively tidy, Faith. It’s not my fault if you can't stand to have a single thing out of place, or that you have to have everything so hygienically clean we could practically eat our dinner off the kitchen floor,” he retorted.
“Well, you may be perfectly happy, working in a dirty, messy pigsty like your workshop, but I draw the line when you bring your sloppy ways into our home,” I persisted.
“For Christ’s sake, Faith, give it a rest will you?” Drew snapped back, which took me by surprise - he was usually so laid back about my nagging that he let it wash right over him. “I’ll see you tonight. I’ve got to go - I’m picking up Yvette’s car for a service this morning and I promised I’d be there early enough to run her to work.”
Drew hardly ever bit back, so it made me realise how tired he must be. I should have been more considerate of the fact that he’d had a long day yesterday, then he’d had a late night, and now he was off out early again this morning.
“Okay,” I sighed.
I watched him pick up his keys and head out of the door, with his thick, light brown hair sticking up all over the place, dressed in his usual scruffy jeans and T shirt. The only suit and tie he owned were what he’d worn for our wedding, and even that had been bought under protest. Unlike the guys at the offices of the Royal London Bank where I worked, my Drew didn't really do smart. But that never bothered me, not when he always looked so yummy in his jeans.
Since setting up his business, word had quickly spread that Drew Jackson was a reliable and trustworthy car mechanic, who wouldn’t rip anyone off by claiming work needed doing if it didn't. This had led to him building up a solid customer base, including quite a few single women, who’d found other mechanics often took advantage of them when they took their cars in, knowing they’d be unlikely to quibble over the bill, if they claimed it was something vitally important that had needed to be fixed.
Drew wasn’t like that. He was honest and dependable, so if he said a job needed doing, his customers could be sure that really was the case. He was very flexible, and would come out to pick up their car from their home or workplace, meaning they didn't have to take time off to get their car fixed. On top of that, his kind nature meant he was a soft touch with the ladies who lived on their own, often ending up changing a plug or a fuse or something else in their homes for them, because Drew was brilliant at fixing pretty much anything.
Although he was a genius when it came to anything mechanical, he hadn't been academic at school, so university had never been an option for him. But his parents had had the good sense to insist he must complete a proper, recognised car mechanic apprenticeship, to ensure he’d be fully qualified in preparation for setting up his own business.
There’d been a couple of close calls as to whether he’d actually complete his apprenticeship or not, but that had only been when somebody tried to get him to cut corners, or do a shoddy job. That was never Drew’s way when it came to fixing cars or bikes, and why he couldn’t wait to set up his own business, so that he could work in his own way, to his own standards.
Running his workshop single handed meant he often worked very long hours, but we’d agreed this was necessary in order to build up the business, especially as we were saving up to move to a bigger place. Much as we loved our little flat near Richmond, on the outskirts of London, it only had one bedroom, so it wouldn’t be big enough when we wanted to start a family in a couple of years or so.
“Once the business is well established, I’ll hopefully be able to take on an apprentice to do a lot of the donkey work, and then I’ll be able to ease back a bit,” Drew promised.
As his income varied from week to week, he constantly worried about covering all our bills, as well as investing in some of the necessary tools and equipment the business desperately needed, such as a tow truck.
“We’re okay, don't forget we have my income as well,” I tried to reassure him.
Maths and figures were my strong point, which was why I’d ended up working for the Royal London Bank after completing my combined economics and computer science degree. When Drew had set up his business, I’d also taken an extra accountancy course so that I could do all the books, which meant I always knew the exact state of our finances. Accountancy was also something I could do from home in the future, something I could combine with having a family. We had it all mapped out - we wanted at least two kids, maybe three…
“Yes, but that’ll all change once we have a family and lose your income won’t it? That’s why we need to make sure we have enough savings put away, as a buffer for leaner times,” he insisted. We’d agreed I’d be a stay-at-home mummy, even if it meant money would be tight, as we didn't want anyone else looking after our children.
Saving money was his excuse for using his beloved vintage Triumph motorbike to get around, leaving me free to use our car for getting to work, even though I would happily have taken the bus instead. Truth was, Drew just loved riding his bike, so he always dismissed my concerns about his safety.
“You know I’m a careful rider, Faith. I don't take risks, and I always wear full protective gear. You worry too much, and anyway, I’ll be able to use the tow truck as soon as we can afford one, then you can have the car for ferrying the rugrats around,” he said.
I had to admit I’d always felt very safe whenever I went on the back of his bike, as he’d been riding since he was sixteen, so he was very experienced. I also understood the thrill he got, because I loved riding too – it just wasn’t always very practical.
To a lot of people, Drew and I probably seemed an unlikely couple. I was an academic, a maths geek, a computer nerd.
Drew, on the other hand, was a biker, a greaser, and the only books he ever studied were the engine manual kind.
And he was good looking in a messy, scruffy kind of way, unlike plain Jane me.
But it was just one of those weird kismet things. We’d met at a party when we were teenagers, we’d clicked, and that had been it, we’d fallen madly in love and been inseparable ever since. We married young, as soon as I finished university, and for whatever reason, we just worked as a couple.
For the most part anyhow - messy dishes aside. Everyone has their ups and downs, don't they?
That morning as I went and had my shower, I decided I’d make things up to him that evening with some hot sex, to compensate him for being married to such a shrew.
I’d fallen so crazily in love with Drew that I’d had no doubts whatsoever about losing my virginity to him just a couple of weeks after we met. Although the first couple of times hadn't been that amazing, after some enthusiastic practising at every possible opportunity, we’d soon got the hang of things, and I'd been surprised to discover that I was no prude, that I really loved sex, and that I could be pretty uninhibited about it. All this meant we had a very passionate and quite adventurous love life.
Yep, I definitely liked sex, no question. Apart from the physical satisfaction, I also loved the intense closeness of being with Drew in this way. Seeing how turned on he always got whenever he looked at my body made me feel special and empowered, and I think that was what made me lose my inhibitions when we were alone together in our own private world.
That’s how I knew he was ticked off with me that morning, because normally he couldn’t keep his hands off me, but he hadn't kissed me or tried to squeeze my bum or boobs before he left, as he usually did.
Well, make up sex was the best kind, wasn’t it?
I wasn’t going into work until lunch time that morning, because I knew I was going to have to stay late again that evening. Recently, the Royal London Bank had been acquired by the American Western Bank, and the time difference with their head office in San Francisco meant I kept having to stay behind for various conference calls, as I was heavily involved in finding ways to bring our systems into line with theirs. They were currently incompatible, and it was a going to be a massive and very challenging project that certainly wouldn’t be achieved overnight.
Seeing as I didn't get paid any kind of overtime, I really didn't see why I should keep putting in all these extra hours. I’d decided I didn't care if this was interpreted as not being very committed to the job, because the truth was, although I was very good at what I did, I’d never really considered myself a career girl and I couldn’t wait for the day I’d be leaving to have a baby.
But if I hadn't been going in late, I wouldn’t have been there when the doorbell rang. I would have had a few more precious moments of blissful ignorance, instead of opening the door to find two policemen with grim expressions standing there.
They asked if I was Mrs. Faith Jackson, the wife of Andrew Callum Jackson. Once I’d confirmed that I was, they said they needed to come in and talk to me.
I don't remember very much of what came next. Not after hearing the words,
“Mrs. Jackson, we’re very sorry to have to tell you that your husband has been involved in a fatal accident…”
