by Laura Hird
There’s a 33 at the stop. I jump on before noticing Dad’s driving.
‘What y’up to, love?’
Racking my brain for reasons I might be going to Haymarket in the middle of the afternoon, I say I’m meeting Rosie from the doctor’s.
‘What’s wrong with her?’
He’s not supposed to talk when he’s driving, it’s dangerous. I sling him a deefie, in the hope the other passengers think he’s talking to himself.
‘I’ll give you a few quid if the pair of you want to go out on Friday.’
Or maybe I’d just like to stay in and shag her uncle. We pull in to the stop and I escape.
‘Aye, Dad, we’ll see.’
Crossing the road, I walk past the butcher’s and down John’s street. There’s a man in a car outside the stair, reading a paper. He’s probably an undercover cop, but I just stride straight past, praying the door’s still knackered. It is, thank fuck. As soon as it shuts behind me, I suddenly don’t know what I’m doing here. Should I pretend Rosie sent me again, or see if he wants anything from the shops? As I feel my way down to the basement, the voice in my head’s saying he likes you, he likes you.
Knocking four times, I peer through the letterbox. There’s a football-on-telly noise. I whisper through, ‘It’s me, Joni. Can I come in a minute?’ Before I even stand up, he’s pulled me into the flat and slammed the door. The look of terror on his face is not really the reaction I was anticipating, it has to be said.
‘What’re you fucking playing at, eh? Are you trying to get me hung?’
His bedroom door’s open. There’s a purple duvet scrunched at the bottom of the bed. I’ve no idea what to say, I just want to look at him. He’s angry but his eyes are all over me.
‘Is this a fucking set-up? Rosie cannae keep sending you round like this … fuck.’
‘She didnae … it’s just …’ What do I say? Do I just come out with it? I’m going to get thrown out in about five seconds.
‘Just what?’ He’s looking straight into my eyes, like a hypnotist.
‘I … I … I want to do it with you.’
At least it makes him smile.
‘You … you … you want to do it with me?’ he giggles. He has a lovely giggle. ‘Do you say that to all your pal’s uncles?’
‘It’s no like that. I’m no a slag. I’ve never even done it before.’
He leans against the door, amused.
‘And you want to do it with me, in particular?’
‘Aye, it has to be you … no some stupid wee laddie … before I’m sixteen.’
He lets out another gorgeous snigger.
‘Have I got that much of a reputation? Really, you shouldnae believe all you read on bus stops.’
I’ve not noticed anything on bus stops. This is embarrassing. I didn’t expect to have to do so much talking.
‘Look, hen. It’s one of the nicest offers I’ve ever had, truly, but you really better go. I’m in the shit as it is, and I have to say, I’m a wee bit suspicious of your motives.’
The rejection gives me second wind.
‘I don’t have motives. Look …’ and I pull five tenners I nicked earlier, out my back pocket, ‘I can pay you, then nobody can say you forced me.’
He inspects the notes and hands them back.
‘I wish I had a camcorder. This would be great for my defence.’
He has to do it. I’ve gone this far. I’ll never be able to show my face in public again if he knocks me back.
‘John, please. D’you no like me?’
Taking my hand, he squeezes it round the cucumber in his trousers. Oh my God, I think I’m going to faint. I didn’t realise they had bones in them. When he lets go, my hand stays glued there, but he pulls away.
‘You better go.’
It’s all-or-nothing time.
‘Please, John, I winnae say anything about you and Rosie to anyone.’
He smacks his fist off the wall.
‘I don’t fucking believe this.’
It’s not going to happen. I feel every bit of confidence I ever had slipping away.
‘We could meet somewhere else. It doesnae need to be here …’
I’m just saying anything now. The blood’s going round my body in tidal waves.
‘You’d do that? Meet me tonight?’
Fuck, he’s into it.
‘Anywhere, just say.’
He looks deep in thought. I wish I could read his mind.
‘I could pick you up at a bus stop. Would you like that? Take you into the woods and fuck you over the bonnet of my car?’
‘Oh yes, when? Tonight? Definitely,’ I pant.
‘And you wouldn’t tell another living soul? No even Rosie?’
‘Promise, specially not Rosie. Can we?’
He kisses the top of my head. I’m so fired up I’m surprised he doesn’t get an electric shock. He says he’ll pick me up at the bus stop next to St Thomas’s Church on Glasgow Road at eight. I’ve never heard of these places, but he makes me write down directions and tells me to ask the driver to let me off at the church. It better not be Dad or any of his mates. On second thoughts, Dad doesn’t have any mates.
As I walk back to Dalry Road, my hand seems stuck to my mouth. I can’t believe I just came out with it. It was dead brave. Maybe that’s the secret. If you want something, you just need the guts to ask.
I rush home to X2. I’m so horny, rubbing’s not enough and I end up using my roll-on deodorant as a John substitute. I’m so wet, I pretend he’s already done it and this is the second time. If doing it’s half as good as this, I’ll have a breakdown. I’m still peching, when the door bell goes. It’s Rosie.
‘They’re sending me to a counsellor, to make me grass. Sick bastards.’
It gives me a kick, listening to her go on about her and John, not realising they’re already history.
She’s arranged to meet Twiggy at the graveyard to get a sixteenth. I’m still avoiding Daniel, but the thought of doing it for the first time stoned is too much to resist. I say I’m going to my auntie’s at half-seven, so I can’t stay long. We haven’t talked to auntie for years but Rosie’s none the wiser.
They’re all pissed by the time we get up the crypt. Daniel looks pleased to see me and is straight over with the White Lightning. What was I worried about? He’s just a daft wee boy.
Twiggy hands over the teenth. It’s the biggest bit dope I’ve ever seen. I think of getting some for later but end up paying for Rosie’s as she’s forgotten her money. As I’m about to steal her man, though, I don’t make a fuss. I thought a teenth was about seven-fifty, but I get no change from a tenner. Not wanting to look stupid, I say nothing.
They’re dead impressed by my wad. Daniel keeps offering me cider and Twiggy gives me the joint to light. They sit round, smiling at me as I toke – nice, friendly smiles. It’s like I touched John’s cock and suddenly everyone wants to be my friend.
‘If you’ve money to throw around, I know a guy could get you an ounce for 90 quid. You’d sell it dead quick. Fifteen, ten pound bits, no problem.’
Who’d buy it, like? All the folk I know who smoke it get it off Twiggy.
‘I dinnae think so. I’ve only got 40 quid left.’
‘Get another tenner, I’ll get you half an ounce.’
‘Naw, really, thanks, but I’ve got to hold onto it.’
Fact is, she could offer me a room full of ecstasy and I wouldn’t part with the rest of my cash. It’s got John’s DNA on it. I could have him cloned.
‘Honest, Jo, the guy’s desperate for folk to sell it.’
‘Why doesn’t he sell it?’
‘I dunno… he wants to give other people the chance to make a bit money.’
It’s making me the centre of attention. I’m getting offered more booze and spliff than any of them. Plus, the idea is starting to grow on me. I could support John if I was dealing drugs. It’s a pretty cool thing to do anyway.
‘I’ll need to know by the
weekend if you want to do it. He needs folk quickly.’
I have to pledge my birthday money on Friday before she changes the subject.
‘Like your trousers, by the way. What are they? Velvet?’ she says, fingering my bell-bottoms.
‘I nicked them.’
They seem even more impressed.
‘Get eys a pair in an eight and I’ll give you a bit toot.’
Slugging back cider, I feel more villainous by the second. Why have I been avoiding these people? They really like me. Rosie’s being practically ignored. In the course of one afternoon we’ve swapped places. I’m now the popular one, the one that’s going to get shagged by John in … oh fuck, it’s seven o’clock. Giving the auntie excuse again, I say I’ll have to go. Rosie looks confused.
‘I thought you didnae speak to your auntie?’
God, she picks her moments to exercise that huge brain of hers.
‘Naw … no a real auntie, just some friend of Mum’s they don’t think I’m mature enough to call by her first name. She’s in hospital. They think she’ll die any minute.’
Rosie’s face falls. ‘Aw, that’s terrible. You shoulda said.’
I’m in no mood to discuss imaginary sick people. I need to leave now, in case I can’t find this church. Wishing them goodbye, I nash down to the bus stop before she says anything else.
After a quarter-of-an-hour wait, I change at Haymarket then it’s another 20 minutes before a 26 comes. It’s five to eight by the time I get to the church. Could he possibly have picked a more public place to meet? There’s posh houses on both sides with a fucking motorway running down the middle. An old dear’s already waiting. Surely he wouldn’t have arranged to meet here though, if there was a chance we’d get caught. If we do, please make us have done it first.
I stand for ages. The old dear buggers off on the Airport Bus. A car slows down and I get all trembly, but it’s just some guy getting dropped off who waits at the stop till another 26 comes along.
It’s five to nine before it starts to dawn on me that John maybe only arranged to meet me so I’d go away. A hitch-hiker walks past and disappears into a car at the junction. Another 20 minutes pass. Thoughts of shagging are slowly getting eaten up by thoughts of seeing my fucking mother, not having one up on Rosie after all, spending next week (and probably the rest of my life) X2ing.
Twenty past nine and I’m still standing like an arse. I walk up towards the junction, heading anywhere but home. I should stick my fucking thumb out and see where I end up. Whatever happened, it would be better than this. I’m at the crossroads before I work up the nerve. Almost instantly, there’s a mighty screech and a massive, fuck-off juggernaut stops at my side. The door opens and Sinbad from Brookside’s double smiles down.
‘Where you headed, love?’
I’m in shock. It happened so quickly. I repeat his question, over the roar of the engine.
‘Paisley tonight, then up Aberdeen th’morn. Any good?’
Where the fuck is Paisley? Wherever, it sounds better than standing at the side of a motorway, trying to work up the nerve to walk into the traffic. Prince has a recording studio in the park there so it must be quite cool.
As it turns out, Rory, my chauffeur, is a real sweetie. I’m dead shy at first, but he’s really chatty and gives me a half-bottle of Bell’s to slug as we drive along. The Rolling Stones are blaring. I used to think they were shite, but the stuff he’s playing’s just like the Verve. Once I get over the feeling of wanting to gag at the whisky, I start to like it and feel very rock-and-roll.
Rory has a lovely smiley face and twinkly eyes. The more I drink, the nicer-looking I realise he is. He’s so completely into everything I say I’m soon inventing all sorts of nonsense to impress him. Having noticed a Red Hand of Ulster tattoo on the back of his hand, I tell him my parents were killed in the Enniskillen bombing when I was five. He looks confused so I change this to seven. I was brought up by my auntie Terry, an artist, who’s just died of AIDS, so I’ve moved in with my boyfriend, John, a care assistant. Rory seems fascinated, which encourages me to spin wilder and wilder tales as we speed through the darkness towards God knows what.
When we get to Paisley, it’s not the Cincinnati of Scotland I was expecting. The buildings are so old and dirty-looking it’s like being in a black and white film about the war. It’s raining as well, which doesn’t do it any favours. Rory says I’m welcome to sleep in his cabin, but it’ll be a bit of a tight squeeze. He’s not joking, the bed space is so wee I’ll probably have to sleep on top of him. He’s fucking sexy, actually.
We go for a drink in a very seedy bar near the lorry park.
Rory’s the second youngest person in there by about 20 years. I feel proud to be seen with him. He drinks whisky and Guinness and I have a Hooch and a nip. He won’t let me buy drink, even though he knows about my £40. Leaning against his shoulder, feeling beautifully giddy, I start on about my imaginary life again. About the farm where I grew up in Donegal having bullet-proof windows, meeting Princess Di at my parents’ funeral, the celebs that buy my auntie’s paintings, my weekend with Liam and Patsy …
Unfortunately, they call last orders when we’re only on our third round. Rory gets us a nightcap. I watch him come back over with his lovely, lop-sided little smile. Maybe it would be better if John wasn’t my first, so I’d know what I was doing. He doesn’t even deserve me after what he’s done tonight. Besides, if we’re both sleeping in that wee bed, I may not have an option. Rory’s pretty tipsy as we leave the pub and squeezes my hand as we walk back to the lorry. My hyper-horniness from earlier returns.
When we get back, he pulls a big curtain round the windows and we drink more whisky. It’s dead cosy, like a wee Wendy house. Flashing me his smile, he leans over and kisses me. ‘Time for bed, d’you think?’ Here we go, here we go, here we go.
We get undressed in the front. I’m so pissed and turned on I’m not embarrassed stripping in front of him; in fact, I do it as sexily as the space will allow. Rory’s got a freckly back and tattoos up both arms, dead masculine. Once he struggles out of his underpants, his willie’s a bit disappointing, but it’s maybe better to be broken in gently. Leaning down, he starts sucking my nipples. I’m worried they’re too sticky-out but he moans his head off, really into them. It feels immense. I’ve not had a shower for two days, so my fanny smell’s really obvious but it’s like a magnet to him. He vibrates his hand against it, as he sucks my tits. He’s almost as good as me at it. Then he tells me to crawl through to bed and climbs on top, kissing and licking my ears, neck, face. It’s the best thing ever. Just me and this big, sexy man, alone in the middle of nowhere.
‘Do it now,’ I moan, unable to wait another second. He gently spreads my thighs with his knees. It’s cramped, but I manage to get my legs round him, till my feet rest on his arse. His willie’s right against me, prodding, trying to get in, then he suddenly thrusts forward and I feel a pain, the most gorgeous pain. It goes right into me and makes me yell. I feel his balls on my arse. He pulls out, in, out, in, out, in, and wails as his whole body starts quivering. He’s just so good. Rolling off, he lets out a groan.
‘You’re some girl.’
Why’s he stopped? It was wonderful. Was I rubbish? Was I hurting him by doing it wrong?
‘You got me too excited,’ he whispers, cuddling up.
What, is that it? Reaching between my legs, I feel his stuff running out. I can’t believe that was it. Do they just lie about how long it lasts in films? I’d ask him to explain, but I don’t want him to think I didn’t enjoy it because I really, really did. I just expected there to be a lot more of it.
‘You’re some girl,’ he whispers again. Five minutes later he’s snoring.
When I wake up, it’s light and we’re completely entwined in a hot, sticky, gorgeous way. I study Rory’s face, arms, chest, every detail, as he sleeps. I’ve never watched someone wake up before, especially not a big, sexy man that’s fucked me the night before. I’m hoping we’
ll do it again, but we just have a bit of a kiss then he takes me for a bacon roll in a greasy caff. As I sip on a mug of hot, sweet tea, he tells me how sexy I am. I just gaze at him, thinking we’ve done it, we’ve done it. It feels like we belong to each other. There’s no way I can leave now, so I decide to chum him up to Aberdeen. I expect him to be pleased, but he can’t take me ’cause he lives there with his family. He says it so matter-of-factly I think he means his mum, but he explains.
I’m stunned. How could he do that to me if he was married? He seems so decent.
As he walks me to the station, I go quiet. He’ll think I’m some silly, wee, huffy lassie, but I can’t help it. He holds my hand again. It feels lovely but I don’t know why he’s doing it, if he’s just going to dump me. The Edinburgh train’s arriving as he buys my ticket so I don’t have time to give him my number or arrange to meet him again, or even find out what his second name is.
We say goodbye as the guards bang the train doors shut. He gives me a long, warm kiss and a big squeeze and tells me I’m some girl again. I’m crying when I get on the train, so I run in the toilet so he can’t see me. I don’t believe it. He won’t even be able to come looking for me when he’s in Edinburgh,’ cause I told him complete lies about myself. Why did I say that stuff? He would have liked the real me. How can I possibly never see him again after all that? If I even had a wee photo or something to remember him. He didn’t even know I was a virgin, for God’s sake.
Chapter Twenty-Six
VIC
WHERE’S MY BABY? I’ve phoned Accident and Emergency, on the hour, since four this morning. The same woman keeps answering and she’s really starting to sound pissed off. I woke Rosie’s entire household to try there, but Joni supposedly left at seven last night to visit a dying auntie. What’s she on about? We haven’t seen Jean for over a year but the last I heard she was, regrettably, alive and well. Oh, and I woke Jake up as well. He’s not seen her since Sunday.