Once upon a time there was a lorry driver from Bradford called Peter...

Julie walked slowly down the dimly lit road towards her West London home. Nice little 3 bed semi-detached with gardens front and rear. Owned by her parents, constantly invaded by her two older brothers and their ever-increasing broods, and a lodger in the box room called Peter.
It began to rain, the cool droplets helping to ease her puffy eyes and cheeks; washing away the last of her mascara and tears. She had a lot of explaining to do to her parents, and no doubt her brothers were going to want all the details too. Yet she knew the hardest part was going to be explaining to Peter.

Once upon a time there was a lorry driver from Bradford called Peter... Julie mused. Isn't that where all good stories started? Once upon a time....

Her story certainly started there. It started on the day that Peter answered the advertisment her Father had placed over at Heathrow Airport for a lodger. Peter drove lorries, big lorries, but not big enough to have a sleeper cab in them. He often had to wait for long periods, even overnight, between dropping off one load and picking up another. He'd decided, having seen the advertisment, that it would be cheaper for him to rent a small room, than it was costing him in meals and rooms elsewhere. It would also be somewhere he could leave a change of clothes, spare razor, toothbrush and such. Her Mother had been thrilled at the idea. She offered to cook him meals when he was around and wash his dirty clothes while he was back home. Her father had known Peter for some time, and he liked the young man, saw him as hard-working and loyal to his company. Peter's boss had liked the idea too. So much so, that he offered to pay the rent for Peter, if Peter would take on all the Heathrow Airport runs. Peter had agreed and the fine details were ironed out.

However, they had forgotten the finest detail of all, thought Julie. They forgot about me!

Julie was only just 17 years old. She had been spoilt by her family. She was the youngest of three children, and there were eight and ten years difference between her and her older brothers. She had the most piercing blue eyes yet her hair was a deep chestnut brown. It was a striking contrast. Her figure was petite and curvy and her breasts were blossoming nicely. She never needed to pad them out, or buy fancy bras like some of her friends did. She didn't like to drink much, didn't smoke and had kept her virginity. She had a good job as a secretary at the local junior school and was always well groomed. Her exam grades had been good, although not excellent and she had always made her parents feel proud of her.

Not tonight though, she thought. Oh no, they were not going to be proud of her tonight.
As she got to her gate Julie paused, closing her eyes. The last 24 hours flashed before her. The long train ride to Bradford, the ride in the cab to Peter's house, the knock on the door, and the blonde woman with a little blonde girl hiding behind her skirts and a baby boy resting in the crook of her arm.

It had been Peter's third visit to their house when Julie had been watching a late film on the television after her parents had gone to bed. Peter made himself a sandwich and came to join her in the living room. They'd discussed the film while it was on, and then talked until the early hours about anything and everything. Julie had never spoken so intensely with a boy before. She didn't see Peter as a man. Her Father was a man, he was 57; her brothers were men, they were in their late twenties, but Peter was only 22. Only 5 years older than herself. Not yet a man in Julie's eyes. When Julie had eventually gone to bed that night, she had a smile upon her face and dreams inside her head. Over the next few months Julie and Peter had a lot of talks in the late hours of the night. She deliberately started to stay up late when she knew he would be arriving, and her nightwear began to get sexier also.

How had she been so stupid? She thought. It had never occurred to her to ask him if he had a girlfriend, or family. Or perhaps subconsciously she hadn't wanted to know; hadn't wanted to spoil her dreams in any way.

On Peter's last visit he had given her a peck on the cheek as she took herself to bed. Nothing more, just a peck. Yet to Julie it had seemed like the world's most sensuous kiss. In her dreams that night she had their whole future together planned out. The house in which they would live, the new job he would do to keep him local to her and at home every night, the children they would have and the wedding. Oh the big, expensive, extravagant wedding her thrilled parents would organise for her.
In the morning, Peter was gone. He had left early to take his load back to Bradford. Julie had been devastated. She'd wanted to tell him of the dreams she'd had. Share with him her plans for their future and get the approval she was sure he would give to them. All day at work she had thought about him, and by 5 o'clock she had decided she had to see him. Luckily for her it was a Friday. On her way home from work she purchased an overnight ticket from the coach station. She went home, packed a small rucksack with a few bits and pieces, got Peter's address from her Mother's phone book, left a short note for her parents and set off on her long journey.

Julie began to cry again as she recalled the sympathetic look the woman at the door to Peter's home had given her. She had even invited her in. It suddenly occurred to Julie that the woman had known her name. Her Mother must have rung when she'd read the note. They must have had a good laugh at her for this one. That thought made her pause before going through the gate. She couldn't face them, not now.

As Julie had turned tail and run off down the street in Bradford, the woman had been calling frantically after her to come back. She'd been unable to chase her because of the children, but Julie just kept running, blinded by tears. She'd eventually found her way to the shopping centre, and spent the rest of the day wandering around the shops and brooding over cups of hot chocolate. She purchased a return ticket on the coach and during the long journey home she berated herself for being so foolishly naive. She had been living in her dream world and it had suddenly become a reality. One in which she'd not been a party.

As the tears began flowing more freely Julie turned away from her house. She couldn't think of anywhere to go where she wouldn't have to explain herself. She had no real friends, she'd never needed to. She was popular but didn't really fit in with any group, so had never made any lasting friendships. The door behind her opened. She heard her name called. Shivers ran down her spine. She turned back to see Peter standing in the doorway. " Hi." He said. "Hi." She replied meekly. "I hear you met my sister, and my niece and nephew." Peter smiled. Julie froze. Not his wife? Not his kids? His sister? Her kids? " Oh dear." She said. "Understatement of the year." He replied.

They did a lot of talking that night, into the early hours and back out again. As soon as Peter had heard of Julies visit he had jumped in his car and driven back down to West London. He had checked every coach he had passed, without being able to see her on any of them; although he was unsure what he would have done if he had seen her on one. His sister knew her name because he never stopped talking about her when he went home. He lived with his sister and her husband and kids because she didn't charge him any rent. He had already applied for a warehouse job within his company at their Heathrow base. He wanted to be near Julie. To be with Julie.

When Julie finally took herself off to bed, around lunchtime, having had to explain herself to both her parents and then each brother in turn, it was her dream kiss that Peter gave her at the bedroom door. Then he smiled, winked and went off to sort some things out. Funny that, she thought, her family had all been smiling at her too. What exactly had Peter been saying to them while she was away?
Julie climbed into her bed and closed her eyes. Her dreams began again; and like all good stories with happy endings they began.....

Once upon a time there was a lorry driver from Bradford called Peter...