by Mia Dolan
‘I thought you’d agree we should be responsible for our actions,’ Rita said slyly. ‘Pete wanted it. He’s got to pay the price.’
Marcie restrained from retaliating. Besides, Rita had a point. She’d been letting Pete have his way for a while. It was a wonder she hadn’t copped out by now. Her dad getting her the birth pill may have happened just in time. Still, what she was doing was wrong, lying just so she could get Pete to marry her. But lying might not be such a good idea. No wonder Pete was in a mood.
‘That’s not fair,’ Marcie warned. ‘Tell him the truth, Rita. It’s only right.’
Rita tossed her head and folded her arms. ‘I thought you were my friend. I thought you’d understand.’
Marcie sighed. Rita could act childishly at times. And this was certainly one of those times. ‘Look,’ she said, still keeping her voice to a whisper. ‘You could frighten him off. I know you always reckon there’s plenty more fish in the sea, but—’
‘I love him!’ Rita blurted out.
The statement took Marcie by surprise and for a moment she was speechless. Rita was always so brash and full of herself. Even in the dimming light she could see that her eyes were glassy.
‘I’m sorry.’ She gave Rita’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘It’ll be alright … I’m sure.’ She tried to hide her doubts with a change of subject. ‘How about we try and get some music on my tranny?’
Rita sniffed and managed a weak smile.
They sat on the grass, flattening it like a pancake, Marcie got out her beloved pink transistor and turned it on. The batteries were due for replacing but with a bit of manipulation Radio Luxembourg fizzled and crackled into being. Caroline seemed unavailable. With a bit of knob fiddling she got Cilla Black and ‘Anyone Who Had a Heart’.
The lyrics had Rita sighing and moving her head dolefully in time with the music – apt for the occasion.
Marcie looked up at the stars as she listened. She thought about what Rita had done. Would she do that in order to keep a boy? All week she’d thought about Johnnie. Thinking about him blotted out the animosity she felt towards her father. Between serving holidaymakers sticks of rock and plastic shuttlecocks, she’d closed her eyes and dreamed of Johnnie Hawke. Every feature was imprinted on her mind, even the smell of him, a subtle mix of leather, fresh skin and the greasy smell of engine oil.
The boys seemed totally occupied in putting up Johnnie’s tent. Normally they ribbed each other at a volume easily overheard by everybody. Tonight they seemed more restrained, yet they were still speaking, though more quietly as though they too were discussing what Rita had said.
‘There. All done,’ said Johnnie.
Marcie had trouble reading the look on his face, but it was getting dark. Pete had wandered back to his own motorbike, but instead of unloading the tent he was making it more secure.
Rita joined him. ‘Pete? Aren’t you going to put our tent up now?’
Their heads seemed to merge as words were said between them.
Johnnie put his arm around Marcie. ‘Alright, babe?’
She nodded. ‘Is Pete leaving?’
‘Yeah. He wants to camp on the beach, preferably a beach with a pub close at hand.’
There was a catch in his voice. Marcie didn’t believe him. Even though she hadn’t known him that long she’d latched on to the honesty in his voice. She knew when he was lying.
‘We’re going up to Warden,’ Pete said. ‘There’s a nice beach there.’
‘You’ll have to walk down to it,’ said Marcie and frowned. Pete’s motorcycle had a red fibreglass tank, clip-on handlebars and a lot of shiny chrome. He was very proud of the way he’d customised it and rarely let it out of his sight. She couldn’t see that he could get it down to the beach and he certainly wouldn’t leave it unattended.
Rita was all smiles when she grabbed her pink plastic bag. ‘He wants us to be alone so we can talk,’ she said breathlessly. She rushed off. Marcie watched her go, feeling mildly apprehensive.
The throaty roar of the big bike echoed against the ancient walls of the old Abbey.
Something bad was going to happen. Marcie was sure of it. She looked up at Johnnie. ‘Where is he really taking her?’
Johnnie gave her a reassuring hug. ‘That’s their business. Let’s get down to ours, shall we?’
One arm followed the other. He embraced her, his hair falling over his eyes as he bent his head and kissed her.
His lips were warm and soft as velvet. She held her breath, luxuriating in his kiss. Boys had kissed her before, but not like this. And what was happening to her body? It wasn’t just that he was holding her tightly against him, it was as though they were merging into one. Except that his body was harder, especially against her belly, and she didn’t care, she just didn’t care. The warnings instilled in her by a Catholic grandmother were overcome by something much older and stronger than religion. For the moment Marcie was lost. But years of being told to ‘look after herself’ were not easily dismissed.
‘Crikey! Are you sure your name’s Johnnie Hawke? Sure it isn’t Johnnie Octopus.’
He laughed when she pushed his hands away. ‘Aw come on, Marcie. It’s just us here and we can do what we want.’
He lunged for her.
She sidestepped. ‘No we can’t. Besides, we haven’t known each other that long.’
Placing a finger on his bottom lip, Johnnie tipped his head back and looked thoughtful.
‘Now let me see. It’s about three months since I first clapped eyes on you. You were sharing a bag of chips with your mate Rita and you were giggling. That was back at Whitsun, I think.’
Marcie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘At Leysdown?’
‘Leysdown. Whitsun.’ His smile was sheepish. No boy could adopt a smile like that unless he was telling the truth.
‘You saw me and I didn’t see you.’
‘Didn’t you?’
He sounded disappointed.
‘Well … not exactly. You had a girl with you.’ He grinned. ‘A blonde with big … blue eyes.’ Marcie laughed derisively. ‘You mean big bosoms! That’s what you mean, isn’t it!’
‘She was just a friend.’
‘But you remembered her bosoms more than her friendship.’
He was cornered. His cheeky grin was enough for her to forgive him anything. She wanted him to want her for more than her body, but that was difficult. Boys just seemed to notice the physical more so than anything else. Girls didn’t, she told herself. They just didn’t, but my, he had the loveliest smile and given the right circumstances she would gladly nibble at his ear and possibly …
He kissed her again, longer this time.
How do I handle this? I want him. I really want him.
Johnnie’s mouth left hers. He regarded her with a look she couldn’t quite interpret. He wasn’t smiling. He was looking deeply into her eyes. She’d thought only the actors at the pictures looked at women like that, as though they were the only girl in the world.
‘Nothing’s for ever,’ he said suddenly. ‘And it’s a lovely night. We could have something to tell our grandchildren.’
She raised her eyebrows. Laying her palms flat against his chest, she leaned away.
‘Are you suggesting we have children?’
He grinned. ‘We have to have children if we’re going to have grandchildren.’
She laughed. That was the great thing about Johnnie. He made her laugh. It was difficult to say no to someone who made you laugh. Easy to relax and think the moment would last for ever.
He took hold of her hand. ‘Come on.’
She willingly went into the tent with him. This was the real thing, she told herself. It really was!
The sleeping bags were soft beneath her. She vaguely thought about getting into one, but what was the point? She was warm enough. Johnnie’s body was covering her. His erection pressed painfully against her abdomen. His hips began to move in a slow rhythmic action – not unpleasant, but his weight
and the angle of his erection grew painful and had a detrimental effect. It reminded her that she was supposedly a good girl.
‘No! No more,’ she said suddenly, her hands pressing against his biceps.
His hand was already beneath her jumper, beneath her bra cup. The feel of his fingers on her nipple was delicious, but she couldn’t let this happen.
‘Not yet,’ she gasped. ‘Please! Not yet.’
He rolled off of her and she sat up.
‘I’ve left my tranny outside,’ she said abruptly and went out to get it. The air was several degrees chillier than it was inside the tent. She took great gasps of it as she fought to regain control of her body. She couldn’t stop trembling and her legs were shaking. When Johnnie’s body had been on top of her she’d wanted nothing more than to give in. Responsibility and concern over the consequences of sexual intercourse – her very first time – had flown out of the window. Aroused to fever pitch, she hadn’t cared about the result of such an act. Had her mother been carried away by passion just as she had been? If so, then her running away might be the truth and her father was innocent of having killed her. After all, what proof – what real proof did she have?
‘Marcie?’
Johnnie had followed her out. His voice was soft.
‘It’s here,’ she said, picking up the transistor radio from among the long grass. It had fallen on its back. The music had been replaced by the crackling sound of a radio station that refused to be captured. Marcie turned it off.
Johnnie lit up a cigarette. The smell of strong tobacco drifted skywards along with a spiral of blue smoke.
For a while neither of them spoke. Marcie had expected him to pack up the tent and tell her to sod off and find her own way home. He didn’t. He seemed pensive as though he were waiting for her to make the next move.
‘The moon’s coming out.’
They both looked upwards. She was right. The moon had totally escaped the girdle of cloud that had kept it at half glow.
‘The man in the moon sees everything,’ said Johnnie and laughed.
Marcie turned and looked at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well,’ he said before taking another puff on his cigarette. ‘The man in the moon’s a bit like God, isn’t he? Sees everything and knows when you’ve been a bit naughty. Ain’t that right?’
Her jaw dropped. ‘What?’ He didn’t really believe that surely?
A wide grin split his face in half. ‘And the moon makes men go mad. Or worse still, they change into werewolves.’ With that he tilted his head back and howled.
Marcie burst out laughing.
Johnnie shrugged off his jacket. He grabbed his throat; his legs crumpling beneath him.
‘Oh no! I think it’s happened! I’ve got to get my clothes off before I go all hairy and out of shape. Watch out! Watch out! I’m turning into a werewolf.’
Marcie tried to stifle her giggles as he dropped forward onto all fours. She squealed as he crawled swiftly towards her.
There was a ripping sound as he tore off his black tee shirt. Moonlight silvered his back. He snarled. ‘I’m hungry!’
He rushed at her, grabbed her leg and, snarling, pretended to take a bite out of it.
‘Stop it,’ she squealed, unable to scream properly because she was laughing so much.
Johnnie tilted his head back and howled again.
Still laughing, Marcie attempted to disentangle his hands from her leg. She gave him a push, not vigorous enough to send him sprawling the way he did. Raising himself up onto his elbows he eyed her mournfully.
‘I’m hungry,’ he whined.
‘Well you’re not taking a bite out of my leg,’ she replied brusquely.
He let out a deep heartfelt sigh. ‘That’s a shame. But I’m not fussy. In fact, I could murder a corned-beef sandwich.’
They ended up rolling about laughing. After that they sat inside the tent eating sandwiches, pies and crisps and taking it in turns to swig from a full-size bottle of lemonade.
Marcie’s thoughts turned to Rita and Pete. ‘Pete’s going to dump Rita, isn’t he?’
Johnnie stopped chomping on the pork pie he was eating. He swallowed and appeared to be inspecting its crust.
On receiving no reply, Marcie said. ‘I thought so.’
She got up and made to go outside. Johnnie grabbed her wrist and looked up at her.
‘I wouldn’t do that to you,’ he blurted.
She smiled. ‘That’s nice to know.’
Again she made a move to go outside.
‘Are you leaving?’
She nodded. ‘I need to water the grass.’
He frowned before the penny dropped. ‘Oh! Yeah! Sure!’
By the time she came back he’d tidied up the debris of crisp packets and pie wrappings, and was laying full length on his back, his eyes closed, his hands folded behind his head.
Wary about lying down too close to him, she sat against the wall of the tent, hugging her bent knees.
‘You’re right,’ Johnnie said suddenly, his eyes flashing open. ‘About Pete, I mean. He’s going to dump Rita. He don’t want no kid. Don’t want no wife either. Reckons he’s too young for all that malarkey.’
Marcie bit her lip. Johnnie noticed.
‘What’s up?’
She gulped. It wasn’t nice to betray a friend, but Marcie firmly believed that what Rita had done was wrong. ‘She’s not pregnant. She only said that because she wants to get married.’
‘Oh shit! The stupid cow!’
Marcie was inclined to agree with him. What he said next worried her.
‘Then that’s it. She won’t ever see him again. Her fault though. She shouldn’t have lied.’
‘He won’t ever come to Sheppey again?’
‘Not bloody likely!’
‘Poor Rita.’
‘Poor Rita, my ass! She deserves to get dumped.’
‘She only did it because she loves him.’
‘People in love don’t lie to the people they love. I wouldn’t lie to you and wouldn’t want you to lie to me. I’d hate that.’
Marcie stared at him in the flickering light of the paraffin lamp. He’d pulled his ripped tee shirt back on; most of his chest remained bare. But it wasn’t his body that made Marcie stare. It was what he’d just said. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Of course I do! What?’ he added as though the question had only just sunk in.
She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were intertwined and incessantly moving. She couldn’t stop them doing that. Johnnie had sent shockwaves through her emotions. He’d said he loved her. He’d said he meant it.
‘I would never lie to you,’ she said softly.
He brought his hands out from behind his head and sat up. His eyes were fixed on her face.
‘Listen,’ he whispered. ‘I would never lie to you. It’s not in me to lie to you. You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved, Marcie. Honest. I mean it.’
For one starry-eyed moment their gaze seemed to lock together. It didn’t last. She almost smiled as a touching thought came to her: Johnnie had reminded her of Archie and Arnold – tough exteriors but on the inside they were as soft as butter. Boys weren’t good at receiving affection and even worse at dishing it out. Saying ‘I love you’ had taken guts. Throwing caution to the wind, she eased herself close, reached out and stroked the nape of his neck.
‘Do you mean that?’
His eyes were full of longing when he looked at her. ‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’
All the love scenes in all the films she’d ever seen flickered through her mind. Now what did they say in such situations before the big fade out, the big scene when you knew they’d committed for ever and ever.
‘That’s lovely.’
It was hardly the stuff big scenes were made of, but her mouth was too dry and her brain was too dizzy to think of anything else.
They sat staring into each other’s eyes for what seemed minutes but must only hav
e been seconds. Gradually the distance between them lessened until once again his mouth was on hers, his lips warm and moist, his tongue darting between her teeth.
Perhaps it was the scent of him, the hint of fresh male sweat and the warmth emanating from his body like the heat from a fire, but suddenly she reached out and touched his bare flesh.
Her fingers burrowed beneath the torn fabric to explore the slight sprinkling of dark chest hair and the hard nipples. She might not have been so bold if she hadn’t glimpsed his flesh through the rip in his tee shirt. Glimpsing just a portion of his chest was erotically enticing.
Despite all the warnings in the world, she couldn’t overcome her own curiosity and the powerful forces driving her on. She lay down beside him, breathed in his scent and revelled in his hardness.
His hands began to explore her body, tentatively at first, as though he were half expecting her to tell him to stop as she had before. This time she did not.
She winced at the initial pain. The inevitable could not be stopped. A warning voice whispered to her to turn back. Think what could happen!
No! If it hadn’t happened to Rita despite the number of boys she’d gone all the way with, then it wouldn’t happen to her. Besides, hadn’t someone told her that you couldn’t get knocked up on the first attempt?
Closing her eyes she determined to remember this first time, not just him, his smell and his actions, but the process of desire and its ultimate conclusion. Her blood, her nerves seemed to be rushing together like a raging whirlpool, faster, faster and faster … spinning upwards in tighter and tighter circles until forming a pinnacle, until making her feel that she was on top of a mountain and all she could do was jump off and soar …
The sudden glare of car headlights flashed over the hill but dimmed swiftly. Alan Taylor turned off the ignition and glided to a stop. He could see the ridge of the tent above the long grass. The tent shone brightly, bathed as it was in moonlight.
He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His jaw stiffened and he had to take deep breaths in order to control himself. He was feeling angry – very angry. That boy had likely taken Marcie’s virginity. It should not have happened. That right should have been his. He was owed that.