This is an edited version of a story I that first wrote back in the 1990's, I believe; or possibly it was a little later. Getting too old to remember now. It has been posted elsewhere under the by-line "The Wanderer" and "Denham Forrest", and possibly another pen name or two before that as well. As far as I am aware there are no significant additions or changes to the text as it was originally written; memory again!
My thanks go to LadyCibelle for proofreading this version for of the tale for me. I'll take this opportunity to point out that I've now discovered -- what appears to be accepted as -- the definitive spelling of the name Ottilie. I've found very many variations of the spelling in the past.
It's funny how your mind works when you see something (or someone) familiar. I had just come out of a shop on the High Street, when something caught my eye on the other side of the road. I looked, and then I had to look again.
"No that's impossible." A voice in the back of my head somewhere, assured me. "No your eyes have got to be playing tricks on you."
Standing there across the street, was Rebecca. But no, it couldn't be! This was a young woman who looked just like Becky had looked, twenty-odd years before. My mind instantly raced back to my first meeting with Becky at a party when we were both about seventeen. God, it was uncanny, that young lady was the image of her.
Suddenly, I realised I was staring at the girl -- I think at around the same time she became aware of me -- and it appeared that my attentions were making the young lady feel somewhat uncomfortable. She turned away and pretended to look into a shop window. But I could see that she was keeping a wary eye on me in the window's reflection.
I couldn't take my eyes off of her; her whole stance everything about the way she carried herself, was my Rebecca.
Then at last, I came to my senses and turned away. There was no way that child could be Becky; it was just a trick of the mind. I walked down the road glancing back occasionally. Yep, she was still there and appeared watching me recede intently. Every-time I looked back, I saw Becky.
I felt very uncomfortable myself, and somewhat melancholy. By the time I came upon the 'Stag Inn', a pint was definitely called for. I went in, got myself a pint, and then I chose a quiet corner table where I hoped I wouldn't be disturbed. Then my mind drifted back to happier times.
I had first met Rebecca at a party when I was seventeen. She caught my eye the moment she came into the place. She wasn't a raving beauty or anything like that, but there was something about her, that attracted me to her from the moment I saw her.
She had come in with one of the usual studs, well that's what he thought he was. He had mummy's car outside and thought he was God's gift. You remember the sort, always bragging about whom they had scored with. Personally I've always thought that guys who have to keep talking about how successful they'd been getting into girl's knickers, must have an inferiority complex or something and the odds were they hadn't scored as much as they would have liked to.
Me, I have always preferred to keep my own council; well there's no point in getting you the wrong kind of reputation. If the girls hear the guys discussing just whom you had laid, they knew it wasn't going to do their reputation too much good to go out with you.
It was the girls you needed to get talking about you, and if you were lucky they would say how nice and trustworthy you were. Then if you played your cards right, you got yourself a nice healthy score count; up to that point in my life, that had been my philosophy and it was working fine.
Something about Becky's body language was telling me she wasn't over enamoured with her escort. When they were dancing to the slow numbers she appeared to be trying to hold him away from herself. Well to be honest, he was trying to grind his crotch into her and she was getting into all kinds of contortions to keep him from achieving his goal.
Okay, maybe little things do please little minds. But I did find it all highly amusing, so much so in fact, that I was not on the prowl myself; if you know what I mean.
Well, maybe I had decided that I was going try and steal Becky from the guy; but I don't think that was a conscious decision at the time. But the Prick was putting it away a bit, stupid if you're intending to drive later. She didn't look stupid, so I was in with a chance.
Anyway around eleven or there-abouts Becky's date went to the little boy's room. On instinct I went for it and before he returned, Becky and me were tripping the light fantastic.
He tried to butt in, but I was having none of it. I did have a little bit of a reputation back then, that I wasn't the kind of guy you picked a fight with.
Not quite sure how I got that, could be that had I never got into a fight that I wasn't sure I was going to win ... and I'd always had the boys around as well, to back me up. Becky's date withdrew and mingled with some of his friends, whilst he looked daggers at me.
Becky explained that she was on a blind date along with her friend. She said, if she had known just whom her date was going to be she wouldn't have come to the party. She was worried about the journey home because she'd notice – as I had -- that the guy bad been putting it away a bit, and besides that he did have a reputation for not behaving himself.
That was just what I was hoping to hear.
"Okay Rebecca, if you're really that worried, we've got the van outside if you want a lift, and we'll be leaving about one. It'll be a bit crowded, but I can promise you'll get home in one piece and with your virtue intact." I grinned back at her. "Alan, our driver, doesn't drink. He's allergic to alcohol or something; one pint and the bugger's out for the count."
"Thanks, that's very kind of you; I'll probably take you up on that offer. But I had better go back to him for the time being; I think he's getting a bit antsy." She replied.
Pleased with myself, I did a quick tour of my close friends to let them know what I was up to, and ensure they were all happy with a one o'clock split. Alan, as usual, was buried under Angela, the second love of his life; the first being his old Thames Trader van. I just said "One o'clock alright?" and an arm appeared from under Angela's skirt I suspect and gave me the thumbs up sign. God forbid they ever break they're snog to actually speak to me.
One o'clock and we were all in the van waiting. Alan in the driving seat, with Angela kind of half-sat on the engine cover and half draped over Alan. How the hell, he ever drove that thing with her draped all over him like that, I was never able to understand. But he never came near having a prang whenever I was with then.
The hoards were in the back, jammed in as best they could, and I was sitting on the passenger seat. Becky came tripping out of the party with a big smile on her face and jumped into the van, landing on my lap.
Now to be honest, she wasn't as careful as I would have liked when she jumped in, and she kind-a took my breath away for a minute or two. Come on fella's, you've all been there a least once in your life. I did talk a couple of octaves higher for a few minutes.
"What did he say when you told him you were getting a lift home with us?" I asked Becky.
"I didn't tell him; he thinks I'm in the loo. I wonder how long it will take him to realise I'm not coming back?" She grinned back at me.
We all laughed as Alan pulled away.
It was a long and convoluted journey, to take everyone home. Each of the guy's girls had to be dropped off and of course there was the necessary snogging session and arrangements for their next date to be made. Then the guy would have to be taken home. So it was gone three in the morning when we finally arrived outside Rebecca's house. She was worried, because there were lights on. Becky had it figured that her parents were still up, waiting for her and they weren't going to be happy.
Now I've always found that if you are prepared to take the bull by the horns, you can achieve miracles, sometimes! So asking the two A's if they would wait for me, I took hold of Becky's hand and marched up to the front door. The door swung open before we got to it and the mountain who was obviously Becky's father was standing there to greet us.
I quickly switched from 'Randy little bugger' into 'Young gentleman' mode.
"Good evening sir, I must apologise for bringing Rebecca home at this ridiculously late hour. But the boy she went out with this evening, had far too much to drink. I thought it would be safer, that she rode home with us, because my friend, who's driving, doesn't drink. I'm sorry but we did have quite a lot of people to drop off on the way. Had I realised you were waiting up, I would have asked Rebecca to call you. You have my deepest apologies, goodnight Sir."
I think I had taken him completely by surprise; Becky told me later that other date's who had brought her home late, had usually tended to leg it when they saw the size of her father. The guy just said thank you and goodnight in reply to me. Then I politely said Goodnight to Becky, turned and walked away.
Of course there was the slight problem that I hadn't got hold of Becky's phone number, but that was easy to rectify; it was that first impression with daddy, which counted.
.... There is more of this story ...