by Liz Evans
‘Thanks.’ I remounted and started pedalling at walking pace. Carter trotted beside me, his breath coming in short gaspy little ‘hurrs’. It sounded like he had asthma on top of all his other disadvantages.
Since I was stuck with him, I figured I might as well put in a little work on Harry Rouse’s suitability to inherit Barbra’s fortune. ‘This bloke I know was in prison with someone called Harry Rouse. Came from around this way, I think.’
‘What did he do? Something really gruesome?’ Carter’s face was alight with the possibility of some vicarious carnage.
‘Tax fraud.’
‘Boring.’
‘Very. Don’t suppose your Harry Rouse has ever been inside, has he?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. I could find out. Cost you, though.’
‘What’s to find out, Carter? If Harry Rouse had disappeared for a time, everyone’s going to know. His farm wouldn’t run itself.’
‘It’s not his farm. It’s old Mr Rouse’s.’
‘Who’s an ee-eye short of the full Macdonald.’
‘He wasn’t always like that. Hurr. When I was a little kid, he used to let me go up there and play. And he taught me how to drive over the fields in his truck. It’s not his fault he’s got Alzheimer’s.’
We were approaching the twin pubs. The Escort was parked in front of the Bell. To make amends, I decided to sacrifice what was left of my change. ‘Want a lemonade?’
‘That’s a kid’s drink.’
‘Please yourself. Which bar’s best?’
‘Doesn’t make any difference. Mr Benting’s taken over the Bell as well now.’
A girl had emerged from the Royal Oak on our right to clear glasses from the forecourt. Her appearance was the signal for the driver of the Escort to lean on his horn. It blasted out to the accompaniment of shouted invitations to join them from the half-dozen leaning out of the windows.
A shake of her head just made them redouble the noise. She ran across to say something. The tattooed moss-head who’d been clambering through the sun-roof last time reached out and grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her inside. She was struggling and laughing at the same time. For a moment it seemed as if they’d drag her in through the back window.
Then an angry roar erupted from the Royal Oak. ‘Kelly! Get back here. Now!’
He’d come round the corner from the car park, the sinews in his arms bulging under the weight of two crates of mixers. He had the look of the sort of bloke who was capable of pitching the whole load through the Escort’s windscreen if they tried to drive off with Kelly. Evidently the driver thought so too. He let her go and took off in a roar of screaming tyres and blown exhaust.
Kelly smoothed down the belt that was passing as a skirt and sauntered back to the Royal Oak forecourt with a casually provocative butt-sway that said she knew she was being watched. The man - Mr Benting, I assumed - had disappeared inside.
Carter’s breathing was beginning to sound like a steam engine. I glanced round and found that his tongue was on the floor. He managed to reel it in long enough to pant, ‘Hiya, Kelly.’
The girl started to swab up beer spills from the wooden trestle tables. "Lo, Carter,’ she called over her shoulder. Unlike Carter, she didn’t have any local accent. I thought I detected a slight hint of London East End, however.
She finished with a last swipe and turned to face us. Her attractions were obvious - mainly because the tight skirt and silky cobalt-blue slip-top weren’t doing much to hide them. Neither was Kelly. Casually slipping one blouse shoulder down, she adjusted her bra strap, tweaking it up so that we got a brief glimpse of the lacy cup with its dark brown nipple beneath. Carter’s steam engine was threatening to blow its safety valve.
Calmly Kelly replaced her strap. Her face was all wide-eyed friendliness, but there was a glint beneath those lashes and a provocative tilt to her hips that said she knew exactly what she was doing to Carter.
‘What’s it to be, Carter?’ I asked. ‘Tequila slammers all round?’
‘I can’t get yer nothing from the bar,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m not allowed.’
‘What about a soft drink?’
‘Sure. What d’ya wan’?’
‘Carter?’
Squaring his shoulders, Carter delivered his order with what I imagine was meant to be a macho sneer. ‘Coke. No glass.’
‘And leave the tops on,’ I added, entering into the spirit of the thing. ‘We like to take them off with our teeth. Right, Carter?’
‘Yeah.’
We hitched a bench out to sit on. Carter’s eyes remained fixed on the door through which Kelly had just wiggled her bottom.
She was leggy without being very tall, with a tumble of dark curls and deep brown eyes to match. Her skin had an olive tone that wasn’t entirely due to tanning. The overall impression was of a more exotic origin than St Biddy’s - eastern Mediterranean, perhaps. I asked Carter where she’d come from.
‘Balham. Mr Benting took over the licence five years back.’ He pointed at a black-and-white plate screwed over the door that informed the world that Keith and Maria Ageneta Benting were licensed to sell intoxicating liquors on the premises.
We’d both been facing the inn. The sudden arrival of something thudding on to the table made the pair of us jump.
‘Sorry,’ Luke apologised. ‘Didn’t mean to pitch it that hard. It’s for you, Carter. Maps and guide books on the States. Thought it might help with some forward planning.’
‘Thanks.’ Rosiness flooded Carter’s freckles at this kindness from his hero. ‘Shall I come round and clean the car again this after?’
‘Please yourself, champ. You know where everything is.’
‘Leave it to me. I’ll sort it.’ Carter drew the rubber-band- bound package to him with both hands, stroking it as if it were any part of Kelly Benting’s anatomy, I guess.
The tease in question arrived with our drinks at that moment. ‘Two Cokes. Hello, Luke. Fetch you something?’
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’
‘He brought me some stuff on the States.’
‘That was really nice of him,’ purred the little minx, slipping her hands on to Carter’s shoulders and lightly massaging them with open fingers. ‘Perhaps I’ll borrow them some time. I’d just die to visit the States.’
‘Sure. Any time. You could come up the house. I could show you loads of stuff about the States if you like,’ Carter gabbled. ‘In fact, I was going to ask ... About Friday. It’s my birthday. I’ve been saving for ages ... We could go out ... anywhere you want . .. I’ll take you anywhere you like. Kelly, will you?’
‘Sounds like a good offer to me.’ Luke had picked up a tinge of American in his accent. Nothing too heavy. Just enough to add an interesting edge.
‘Well, I could fancy going out,’ Kelly cooed. Her fingers slid nearer Carter’s windpipe, whilst her thumbs kneaded the soft base of his neck. ‘A club, maybe.’ She abandoned Carter’s massage. I doubt he noticed. He was floating in a fantasy of his own. ‘I had my sixteenth birthday weeks ago. Dad bought me this.’ She rested both palms on the table top and leant forward to show off the heavy gold rope chain around her neck. The skimpy top didn’t even try to fight gravity. ‘What d’ya think?’
‘Very desirable,’ Luke said, deadpan, as he stared into the valley. ‘But perhaps best kept for a special occasion?’
‘Think so?’ Straightening up, she gave him another one of those sexy-but-oh-so-innocent glances before sashaying over to pick up glasses from the next table.
Watching the performance made me miss what Luke had said to me.
‘I said,’ he repeated, ‘which direction are you heading?’ ‘Seatoun.’
‘Want a lift? I’m going that way myself.’
‘I’ve got the bike.’ I indicated the metal monster leaning against the pub wall.
‘No problem. We could probably lash it on to the trunk. I’ll go get something to fix it with.’
Passing behind Carter, he pinched a handful of to
p arm lightly.
‘Muscle tone’s coming along nicely there, Carter. You still doing those work-out routines I showed you?’
Carter deepened to an even rosier shade. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I am, Luke.’
‘Good.’ He punched the soft flesh. ‘Don’t run off,’ he said to me.
‘I’ll be waiting.’ I toasted him with the Coke bottle, remembered it was still sealed and slammed the crimped top off on the edge of the table.
Kelly pounced. ‘My dad doesn’t like yobs doing that to the furniture.’
‘If I see any yobs I’ll be sure to mention it to them. Cheers!’
Kelly turned her attention to an easier target and asked Carter if he didn’t have some place else to go. ‘Dad doesn’t like people holding on to seats over just one drink, yer know.’
Carter jumped up immediately, nearly knocking over his bench in his eagerness to please. ‘Yeah. Sure. Sorry. What about Friday? Are you going to come out with me?’
‘I’ll think about it. Push off now. I’ve got work to do.’
Clutching his Coke bottle to his damp shirt, Carter pushed.
I wandered inside in search of the loo. It was an inviting sort of bar room. Plenty of brass and farm implements which seemed to be genuine local mementoes rather than having been bought as a job lot from olde-worlde-pubs-are-us. And a good selection of personal items: old family photos; Kelly’s ‘best pet’ rosettes; judo cups and trophies that sent out the unspoken message that Keith Benting wouldn’t have any problems dealing with drunks; and an assorted collection of Arsenal football memorabilia. I would have lingered there longer if certain areas of my anatomy hadn’t been indicating that another three-mile bike ride wasn’t a great choice at present.
I could see what looked like a beer garden out the back with yet more tables. A big sign on the back door announced: ‘Delicious cream teas served in our secret garden from 3.00 p.m.’.
A woman bustled out of a door to my right, her hands full of dishes of thick cream, ruby-red jam and still-steaming scones. There was enough resemblance in the coarser middle-aged face to let me peg her as Kelly’s mum. ‘You want something?’ she asked.
‘Looking for the Ladies’.
She dipped her forehead at the door behind me, backing up the corridor to manoeuvre the garden door open with her backside.
The wash-basin mirror was opposite the door, so I got the full horror as soon as I stepped into the tiled room. Staring back at me was a wild-haired woman with two large black stripes of bike grease smeared from the corners of her mouth to her ears. Why the hell hadn’t anyone mentioned it? Did they think I normally made up like this?
Snatching down a handful of paper towels, I lathered liquid soap down my arms and over my face. The door swung open as I threw a final handful of hot water over my face.
Leaning against the door, Kelly removed a stick of chewing gum from her pocket, fed the wafer into her mouth, and watched me.
‘Something bothering you?’ I asked.
‘No.’ She chewed open-mouthed whilst I dried myself. From somewhere in the pub, her mother was calling for her. Kelly ignored the shouts. ‘You live in Seatoun then?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wish I did. This place is dead boring.’
‘So Carter was saying.’
‘Carter’s a real dork. Don’t see how he could find anything more boring than himself.’
‘You think so?’ I said, balling the sodden towels into the rubbish can. ‘Personally, he’s just the sort of cutie I’d adore to have as my love slave. All that soft white flesh ... Grrrr ...’ I snapped in a tigerish snarl. ‘Don’t you just long to sink your teeth into it?’
Her mouth hung open for at least a minute. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
I held my hands up. ‘OK, I admit it. Carter is all yours. He’s obviously crazy about you.’
‘Yer’ve got to be joking. Do you know, he used to wear short trousers to school until he was twelve? And now he wears a suit. From Marks and Spencer. I mean, my God . . . Sad or what?’
I was tempted to go all sanctimonious on her and point out that looks aren’t everything - let’s consider personality, sincerity, reliability, and half a dozen other ities. But I couldn’t do it. Any girl who went out with Carter might as well be wearing her ‘Totally Desperate’ T-shirt. ‘He could be a good long-term investment. He reckons he’s going to university in the States. High-powered science degree of some kind.’
The expected snort of derision didn’t come. Instead, Kelly said that he probably would.
‘You mean he really is bright? I thought he was talking himself up.’
‘No. He’s a nerd but he’s dead brilliant at all that maths and physics stuff. The teachers say he’ll get into Oxford or Cambridge easy. They’re always showing him off when the inspectors come snooping.’
A teacher’s pet as well. Life really had stacked the odds against Carter. No wonder he wanted to leave the country.
‘So he could be living in a luxury condo in California in ten years’ time?’
‘Yeah. I ’spect he could.’
‘You’ll probably like him then.’
Kelly bit her bottom lip, thought about it for at least two seconds, and then agreed with me. ‘Yeah. I expect I will.’
I left just as Kelly’s mum finally figured out where she was hiding. ‘Kelly. What you doing? There are customers.’
‘Coming, Mama.’ With a weary sigh, Kelly levered herself from the wall and slouched in the direction of the back garden.
Luke had already lashed the bike to the sports car’s boot and was waiting for me to join him.
‘Hop in. If you’re ready?’
I hopped. He cruised up to the junction at a prowling pace, signalled left and roared out on to the main road. The wind caught our hair and whipped strands at my cheeks. The sun had bleached strands of gold into Luke’s brown shade and they wove and danced together in the slipstream. The throaty note of the engine settled to a steady sexy purr. ‘Great car!’ I shouted.
‘Thanks,’ he yelled back. ‘It was my uncle’s. He had it from new.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘He left it to me. Along with the house in St Biddy’s and . .. well, just about everything else.’
‘Lucky you. I don’t have rich relatives - at least not that I know of.’
‘You live in Seatoun?’
‘Yes.’
‘With your family?’
‘No. I left home a long time ago.’
‘I meant husband, live-in lover, kids?’
‘None of the aforementioned. How about you? What do you do in the States?’
‘Film studies. I’m putting together a project for my own production company at present.’
‘Sounds impressive.’
He shot one of those chocolate-fudge-sundae smiles at me. All irresistible smoothness. At least the dental segment of it was. I couldn’t see whether it reached his eyes since he’d put the sunglasses back on. They were the designer-wrap-around style: very now and very, very expensive.
‘It does, doesn’t it? Mind you, I have to confess that everyone in LA has a project. That’s why I come back here; to do a bit of real quality-time boasting. And to sell up in St Biddy’s.’
‘You’re moving out there permanently?’
‘No choice, really. It’s where the work is. Besides, I need the money from the house sale to get the film off the ground.’
‘I thought the British film industry was hot?’
‘Distribution isn’t. Anyway, my script is centred out there.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘Life. Death. Good. Evil. Redemption.’
Not a comedy then. ‘Isn’t it difficult to get work permits or visas or whatever?’
‘I’ve got dual nationality. My dad was a Yank.’
‘Is he in the film business?’
‘Owned a meat company. Supplied a lot of the big restaurant chains. He’s dead now. Mom too.’
‘Did you grow up in Los Angeles?�
��
‘Chicago. I was a kinda wild kid who ran with the gangs. In the end, my folks packed me off to this rehab place in the Midwest. Thought it would sort my head out - getting in touch with the roots of the country.’
‘And did it?’
‘Amazing doesn’t even begin to cover it. Lying out there under the stars with just the sounds of the desert - no cars, no electricity, no phones. And the dark so tangible you almost feel you can reach out and touch it. Have you any idea what that feels like?’
‘Like being in an X-Files episode just before the alien ship hovers into view?’
He laughed. ‘You’re not one of the world’s great romantics, are you, Grace?’
‘I tend to prefer the great outdoors when viewed through the windows of a five-star hotel.’
‘I’ll sure keep that in mind.’
For what? I nearly asked.
The exterior sights were changing as we left the open countryside and entered the beginnings of the ribbons of development along the coast to the west of Seatoun.
‘How about you?’ Luke asked. ‘What’s your story? A student, Carter said. What are you studying?’
‘Urban development and decay, rural trends - that sort of thing.’
‘Are you aiming for some special field?’
‘Not really. It’s for my own personal growth.’
‘So what line are you in? For paying the bills, I mean?’
‘This and that.’
‘Don’t give much away, do you?’
I was aware I sounded uptight. But my natural instincts were always not to confide too much in strangers - mainly because in the past some of them had turned out to be very strange indeed. ‘I’ve only known you for two minutes. It’s too early to be getting in touch with our feelings, don’t you think?’
‘We could always fix that.’
‘I guess we could. Except I don’t have any plans to move across the Atlantic at present.’
‘No sweat. I’ll be around for a while yet, if you fancy a drink or something?’
I made a noncommittal noise to see if he’d push it. He didn’t. Instead he concentrated on steering through the small shopping area of West Bay. The weather had brought the strollers and gawpers out in force, and the traffic was being forced down to walking pace by wandering holiday-makers with drooping shorts, peeling sunburns and melting ice-cream cones.