Golf Widower


* * * * *

Copyright Oggbashan February 2006

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

* * * * *

I was savouring my after-breakfast cup of coffee when the phone rang. It was Sandra, my next door neighbour.


“Yes Sandra. Good morning.”

“Are you doing anything this morning?”

“Nothing that couldn’t be done another time. Why?”

“I need your help. My car should have come back from servicing this morning at nine o’clock. They’ve just rung to say that it won’t be ready until tomorrow. Something about needing a part for the steering…”


“And I’m supposed to be playing a friendly golf tournament starting at eleven o’clock. I’ve just rung the others. They are already on their way so I can’t get a lift. Could you?”

“Drive you to the tournament? I suppose so. Where?”

The tournament was thirty miles away. Not far, but expensively too far for a taxi if one was available. Of course I obliged. I like Sandra.

We see each other frequently. Sandra is a widow. I am a widower. Our partners died some years ago and both of us are established in our single routines. Sandra has her golf. I have several community interests. We overlap from time to time and seem to spend more time talking to each other than to anyone else. Driving Sandra to a golf tournament was easy. I had taken a book to read if there was nothing else to do.

I didn’t get a chance to read the book. Sandra enrolled me as her caddy. As I am completely ignorant about golf all I did was pull her golf trolley around and hand her the club she asked for.

She explained what each club was for and why she had chosen it. I bahis firmaları tried to follow her explanations but it was too much information to absorb. Sandra’s instructional chat was irritating her opponent, Irene. I could see that it was a gamesmanship ploy that was working. Over the second nine holes Irene became more erratic in her drives and ended in the rough too often. Sandra won easily despite trailing two strokes at the eighth hole. I wasn’t sure of the score but apparently Sandra’s victory had been unexpected and against the expected form.

The points from her round were just enough to ensure that Sandra’s team won the overall contest. As each result was announced and the competition was decided, Sandra hugged me. I hugged her back even though I had no real idea what the scores meant. If they meant another hug that was reward enough for me.

I hadn’t really hugged, or been hugged by Sandra before. I might have had a gentle squeeze of a hand, or a peck on the cheek, but never a full-bodied hug. I was enjoying them. We stood side by side watching the score board with our arms around each other. That felt comfortable and natural. There were a couple of curious looks from some of Sandra’s team mates, usually followed by a broad smile as they saw how happy we were together.

At the end, we all sat down to a meal in the clubhouse. The two teams were mingled. I sat next to Sandra. Irene, her defeated opponent, was next to me. During the meal, while Sandra was deep in conversation on her other side, she asked:

“Why did she bring you, Gerald? Do you really know nothing about golf?”

I explained about Sandra’s car and that I was just the next-door neighbour who had been co-opted as the transport.

“How much did you learn?”

“Not much. There was too much for me to take in during the round.”

“She was talking a lot. She put me off my stride.”

“I regret kaçak iddaa that I think that may have been deliberate. Is that allowed in golf?”

“Yes. At least it is in our form of golf. We couldn’t go round the course without chatting. What got to me was that Sandra’s explanations were precise, correct and a veiled criticism of my tactics. She would say to you something like ‘I’d use a five iron’ when I had already selected another. I knew that she was right, I was wrong, and that made me less confident.”

“I’m sorry that she rattled you, Irene. Do you mind?”

“No. All’s fair in love, war and golf competitions.”

“I see. Then I think I’ll remain a non-player of – golf.”

“Wise man. You are possibly safe from war, but I wouldn’t be so sure about love,” Irene whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I think Sandra claimed you today. She showed her teammates that Gerald is hers. Do you mind?”

I had to think before answering. Did I mind?

“No, Irene, I don’t think I do.”

“Good. Sandra is a mean opponent at golf but from all I know about her she is a great person.”

“I think I’d agree with you.”

“I thought you might. You two looked happy side by side.”

That was the end of our conversation because the presentations started. Sandra won a trophy for best individual performance. Apparently her win over Irene had been against the odds and recent form. Something was said about their relative handicaps. It meant nothing to me.

As we drove back home Sandra asked:

“What was Irene whispering in your ear?”

“She said that all’s fair in love, war and golf. I replied that I knew nothing about golf.”

“She said more than that, surely?”

“OK. She suggested that you had claimed me. Had you?”

“Would you mind if I had, Gerald?”

“Irene asked that too.”

“And what did you answer?”

“I told her that I didn’t kaçak bahis think I minded.”

“You are slow, Gerald. I thought I gave you a large enough hint when we hugged so much. What more do you need?”

“What are you offering?”


“I only asked.”

“What would you like?”

“Some companionship, some company that might develop into something more…”

“I think you have that already. How about a meal with me tonight?”

“Are you sure, Sandra? Is it too much trouble? You played a hard game of golf today.”

“OK. How about a takeaway pizza, in my house, at seven tonight?”

“Accepted with thanks.”

When we got back to our separate but attached homes we both had a shower. I shaved carefully and dressed as if we were going out to dinner. I drove the short distance to the local service station and bought some flowers. At seven exactly I was on the doorstep, flowers in hand. As Sandra opened the door a pizza delivery van arrived. I had to carry the pizza through to the kitchen while Sandra put the flowers in water.

We ate the pizza side by side on her settee, washing it down with a carafe of Chianti. At the end of our meal we took the remains to the kitchen. Sandra pushed me back against the kitchen units and kissed me. I kissed her back.

Her fingers unbuttoned my jacket and removed my tie. I eased my arms out of the jacket and hung it over a chair. Sandra’s arms wound around me, pulling me against her warm breasts. We kissed again. She led me back to the living room and pulled me down to the settee. She pressed a lever on its side. It slumped back to form a narrow bed.

We snuggled together on that bed and gradually shed more and more clothes until we were both naked. Slowly and gently we explored each other’s body with fingers and lips until the narrow settee bed impeded our efforts.

I gathered her up in my arms and carried her through to the bedroom. There we developed from companionship into something much more. That something should keep us happy for the rest of our life…

I never did learn to play golf.

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