by Iain Maloney
The sausages and burgers were already burning. The perfect smell of summer, memories of Dad and I outside the tent sitting on folding chairs or blankets on the ground, Dad’s beer and my juice in a bag in the stream to keep cool, mountain bikes chained to a nearby tree and covered in tarpaulin for when it rained, green coils of totally ineffective midge repellent, Dad putting way too much butter on the rolls, the little paint-stained portable radio playing Radio 1 or Radio 2 depending on who got to the dial first, evening drinks in a local hotel bar, lying reading while the rain battered the canvas.
Graeme handed me a roll with two sausages on a paper plate, I added some HP sauce and some tomatoes, a handful of lettuce.
‘Taadaa!’ Mark pulled two Co-op bags out of his rucksack and emptied their contents onto the picnic table. Three bottles of cider, twelve cans of lager and three bottles of Vodka. I checked but the shed roof hid the table from the Galloways’ garden.
‘Mark. Be careful.’
‘Don’t worry, babe, I’ll take the empties with me. No one will ever know.’
Even from the far end of the garden people had noticed what was going on and gathered round, drawn by the drink. In the Easter holidays I went to a party at Ed’s house when his parents were away. People were vomiting in the garden, Mark got his head shaved in the kitchen then someone spilt cider on the floor and it stuck the hair to the tiles. The music eventually brought the police and we all had to jump over the back fence and run for it. I had to take control now. My house. My rules.
‘Okay. You drink from paper cups. All bottles and cans in the kitchen. I don’t want a single can outside where next door can see it. And keep the noise down. If you’re going to be sick, do it in the toilet but don’t pass out with the door locked. And don’t break anything.’
They laughed but they knew me. Mark looked relieved I hadn’t thrown him out or poured his booze down the sink. He blew me a kiss and poured me a cup of cider. ‘In the kitchen,’ I pointed.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Graeme, still at his post with tongs raised. ‘Mark will be unconscious by dinner time. For all his bravado, he’s a lightweight.’
‘I shouldn’t worry about him drinking himself unconscious?’
‘Mark unconscious is a lot less to worry about than Mark conscious.’
I wanted to ask Graeme what he was implying, but Mark was back already. ‘Cheers.’ Mark sipped while watching me over the rim. I drank. His eyes smiled and he took a big gulp, emptying the mug. ‘Refill.’
I loved those summer nights where it hardly ever seemed to get dark.
As the alcohol disappeared they got louder, and I moved further up the garden, into the shadow of the church, the humid richness of the greenhouse seeping out into the relaxing air. The corner, now strawberries, used to be my practice trench. Dad would hide some piece of rubbish, chicken bones, old toys I threw out, anything really, it didn’t matter, then I’d practise excavating them. My own trowels, brushes, pretending Sunday’s chicken was a dinosaur, which it kind of was. I’d spend hours down in the mud, Indiana Jones, while my father sat in his deckchair reading some report from work with a beer or a gin. Mum would do yoga on the grass or join him with a gin and a journal article.
The music surged up. Mrs Galloway was taking in her washing. She looked over the fence and made a face. ‘Sorry, I’ll turn it down.’ She nodded, gestured at her watch, kind enough but I couldn’t trust them not to tell my parents. I took a deep breath and plunged back in. Graeme, Tony, Julie and Kevin were standing around the still-smouldering barbecue, smoking, using a paper cup as an ashtray. Graeme had an arm around Julie, her head on his shoulder, hair hanging soft down his chest. She had a thumb tucked under his waistband at the hip. His hand on her waist, his long climber’s fingers spread on her flat stomach. A lurch of jealousy.
I didn’t have to worry too much about what was happening outside as long as Graeme was there. Inside was less controlled, bodies everywhere. Gleick said order could arise from chaos but I didn’t see it. Order had to be imposed. I leaned over the sofa and turned down the stereo. Something tickled the inside of my thigh making me jump, nearly over the back of the sofa. Mark. He had a cigarette paper stuck to his forehead. It said Kylie. He went to kiss me but the sofa tipped and I pushed him away. ‘Hey!’ he said.
‘Hey nothing. Why have you got Kylie written on your forehead?’
A bray of complaint from the rest of the room. They all had Rizlas on their foreheads.
‘Why did you tell him? He’d never have got it.’
‘It’s a game.’ Lesley had Morrissey on hers. ‘We have to ask questions and work out who we are.’
‘Can’t you just ask who am I?’
‘No, it’s yes or no.’ Lesley was a bit tipsy. I was surprised but saw Kim was drinking. That explained it. ‘Do you want to play?’
‘No, I—’
‘Yeah, play!’ A chorus from the circle.
‘I’ll do it.’ Mark hauled himself off the sofa and lunged at the Rizla, ‘I’ll give her one.’
Laughter from the boys. I blushed. Mark slobbered all over the paper and pasted it like wallpaper to my forehead.
‘Oh, that’s cruel.’ Neil was holding Kim’s hand.
‘But fair.’ Kim was pretending she hadn’t noticed. I’d better keep an eye on them. I didn’t want them disappearing into my room. Or my parents’ room.
‘Quite a good match, I think.’ Mark had that smug expression he reserved for when he got something right in class.
Cruel but fair? A musician, no doubt. Someone he thought I should know but didn’t. He crashed down next to me, arm around my shoulder. I leaned forward, breaking out of his grip under the pretence of seeing the other names. Tom Cruise, Tiffany, Rick Astley. Neil was John Major. I couldn’t quite hide my laugh. I bet Kim gave him that one. Few would have believed it to look at her, but she took a big interest in politics. The questions went round. Some got theirs easily, others, like me, struggled. Neil worked out he was a politician. He didn’t know any politicians. When Kim explained who John Major was, Neil realised he had no chance with her. I was stumped. I wasn’t a musician, an actor, an artist or a scientist – not that Mark knew any scientists. I should have given him Dian Fossey. I was a woman, middle-aged and British.
‘Am I Margaret Thatcher?’The cheer told me I was right. ‘Apt?’ I looked at Mark. ‘Fair?’ At Kim.
‘The Iron Lady.’ Kim raised her cup at me. I pulled the cigarette paper off my head, scrunched it up and threw it at Mark. He caught it in his mouth and swallowed. That smug look again.
Nine swirled by. The smokers joined us in the living room. The heat was taken out of the party, folk drifted home. That suited me fine. There were dishes to do and I’d need to hoover. The chat went round. I let it wash over me. I’d only had that one cup of cider but I was tired, the sun had boiled all the energy out of me, evaporated my desire for fun and company.
Kim stretched out on the sofa, her head on Lesley’s lap. ‘I feel like the cinema tomorrow.’
Julie was cross-legged between the sofa and the armchair rolling cigarettes for later. ‘Has anyone seen Coming To America yet?’
‘No! I really want to see that. Eddie Murphy is brilliant,’ said Kevin.
Neil was on the armchair, one leg over the side. ‘Anyone fancy going to the beach?’
‘To the beach or to Codonas?’ Julie was taking the piss. Neil threw up once after being on the roller coaster and he’d never been allowed to forget it.
‘We could go to Café Continental,’ I said.
‘Hot chocolates!’ Kim cried. It was our favourite thing to do as a threesome.
Lesley pushed Kim’s head aside and rubbed the muscle. ‘Let’s watch a film now.’
Mark rolled his eyes. ‘That’ll really kill the party. Carrie’s practically asleep as it is.’
‘I’m not. I’m fine.’
Kim and Lesley called out together, ‘Heathers!’ We watched it whenever they stayed over, could recite all th
e lines.
The party split in two: the smokers – Graeme, Julie, Kevin and Tony – in the kitchen, close to the back door;Lesley, Kim and Neil in the living room. I dotted back and forth between them, checking everything was okay, making sure no one was doing anything they shouldn’t. I quickly washed some glasses, put all the boozy paper cups in a plastic bag so Mum wouldn’t find them in the bin. Mark followed me from room to room. I handed him a towel to dry but he played with it, a pirate, a turban, a bandit.
Maybe Graeme could take Mark home, they lived a couple of streets apart.
It was still warm, still light.
‘We’re keeping our voices down.’ Graeme was raking the charcoal in the barbecue. Julie dropped her cigarette in an overflowing paper cup ashtray.
Their hands on each other. Who was I more jealous of? The thought came unbidden. I pushed it aside. ‘Where are you going this year?’ I asked him.
‘We’re going to France to climb Mont Blanc.’
‘Really? No fair. The closest I’ve been is when we went skiing at Chamonix. I got some gorgeous photos.’
‘I’m going there in November,’ he said. ‘Amateur Championships.’
‘Snowboarding?’
‘Yeah. When are you off to Iceland?’ Graeme offered his cigarettes around.
‘Next week. Dad’s offshore until the end of the week.’ There were more than a hundred volcanoes in Iceland. It was my present for my O-Grade results.
‘Why is he offshore? I thought he worked in the office.’
‘I’m not sure. He has to go off from time to time. This is one of those times.’ Apart from Neil, whose dad worked at the Grammar School, all of our dads worked in the oil industry. Fathers disappearing for weeks was the norm. My dad was a geologist so occasionally he had to go out to where the rocks and oil and gas were. A ‘rock sniffer’ they called him.
‘Are you going into oil?’ Graeme tapped Mark on the head. He seemed to have fallen asleep on my shoulder.
‘What?’
‘The oil industry? You?’
‘Sure. Not much else around here to choose from.’
‘You don’t have to stay in Aberdeen.’ Julie wanted to move to London. She wanted to do something in theatre.
‘Why would I leave? My family is here. My friends are here. The Dons are here. My girl is here.’
‘You’re not staying, are you?’ Graeme raised an eyebrow at me.
‘I might. Aberdeen is one of the best for geology.’
‘But you’re going to apply to others?’
‘Edinburgh. Durham. I don’t know. It’s two years away. You’re going to Glasgow?’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘I can’t imagine you as a lawyer,’ said Julie.
‘Me neither,’ he replied.
‘Hey, it’s summer,’ Mark had got his third or fourth wind, ‘and a party. Fuck the future. Come on,’ he clutched my arm tight, ‘I’ve got something for you.’
His pestering abilities were well-known. It was that non-stop pestering that made me eventually agree to go out with him. After a while it had just seemed easier to say yes. Not having a boyfriend, not ever having had a boyfriend, was starting to become an issue. Going out with Mark would at least stop speculation. Lesley had asked me about it once. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know myself.
To save my shoulder from being yanked out I gave in and followed him. He pulled me into the house like a stubborn dog on a lead, through the kitchen and up the stairs into my bedroom.
‘Mark—’
‘I wanted to show you this.’ He pushed me against the back of the closed door and kissed me too hard, his teeth crashing into mine. He tasted of stale beer and barbecued meat, his wet tongue wriggling in my mouth like a snake in a sack. I tried to push him back a little, get my breath, but his whole weight was pushing me into the door. It was only thin plywood and it might break. I might break. His hands were at work. While his left was massaging my arse like he was kneading dough, his right had already found its way under my T-shirt and was pushing my bikini up. His hard dick was rubbing against me through his jeans and my shorts. I got both my hands up on his chest and pushed. It was enough to break the seal he was trying to form around my mouth. The look in his eyes, like he wasn’t there. He grabbed my arse hard with both hands and picked me up, walked me over to the bed, dropped me on it and fell between my legs, kissing my neck, trying to get my T-shirt up.
‘Mark.’
He shoved my right hand against his dick, rubbed it still holding my wrist, a growl.
‘Mark. No.’
He got my T-shirt over my tits, my bikini top around my neck, bit a nipple.
‘Mark, ow. Stop.’
His weight on me, I couldn’t move. His dick out, he curled my hand around it, his hand holding it in place, started pumping.
‘Fuck yeah.’
‘Get off me. Stop it.’
He lifted himself up, released my hand, I thought he was going to stop but he just needed both hands for the buttons on my denim shorts. I slapped at his hands but he batted them away like they were flies, pulled hard and the buttons popped open. ‘Come on, you know you want it.’ He stepped back to pull them off and I got my feet up onto his thighs and pushed with everything I had. He staggered back, his jeans down around his knees, and crashed into the wall, knocking my fossil display case. It shattered on the floor, rocks and glass and trilobites everywhere. All that deep history lying smashed on the floor.
‘Fuck sake, bitch.’
‘Mark, I said stop.’
‘You said “later”. You’ve been walking around like that all day. You’re a fucking prick-tease. You should finish what you started.’
‘I didn’t say later. You did. I don’t want—’
‘Look at it.’ He pointed at his stiff dick, started walking back towards me. ‘You did that. It’s your fault. It’s only fair to do something about it.’ I was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling my bikini top and T-shirt down. He took a step forward, raised his hand. I pushed myself back up the bed, into the headboard as far as I could. ‘Come on, the least you can do is suck me off.’
The door opened and Graeme walked in. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Help.’
‘Okay Mark, how about you put that away and fuck off home, eh?’
‘Fuck off, this is none of your business, get the fuck out.’
‘It is my business. She asked for help. Carrie, do you want him gone?’ I nodded. ‘Then it’s time to go.’
‘You gonna make me?’
Graeme shrugged, stepped forward and smashed Mark hard and fast in the face. He fell to the floor, blood flowing between his fingers. ‘Carrie, go into the bathroom and sort yourself out. I’ll make sure he’s gone.’
I locked the door, sat on the edge of the bath, numb. I shut my eyes and the strongest memory hit me. I was lying on the floor of the cave in Japan looking down into the magma chamber and above me Pele rose. Her heat came again, as strong as it did eight years ago, the fire rousing my blood, baking my bones. I pushed the heel of my palms deeper into my eye sockets, saw red mist, saw Pele, her face ambivalent, a mixture of rage and sympathy. Below me the magma came to the boil, bubbles of escaping gasses umbrellaed the surface, charcoal and sulphur filled my senses. I launched to my feet, ripped the door open.
Lesley and Kim were there, huddled, deciding whether to knock. ‘Are you okay?’
I pushed by them, looking for Mark. I was going to blow up, I was going to explode. He wasn’t in the house, the front door was open, Graeme was sitting on the wall, smoking. ‘He’s gone. I doubt he’ll be back but I’ll wait here a while.’
The cool summer breeze, Graeme’s calm words. There was no one else on the street. Everyone was at my door looking out. They’d want to know details.
‘Thanks Graeme. How’s your hand?’ He showed me a cut in his knuckles. Teeth marks. ‘Thank you. I don’t—’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he looked closely at my
face. ‘He did this, not you.’
‘Aye.’
‘And don’t think about school. He won’t come near you.’ I hadn’t thought about school. ‘He won’t come near you. Or anyone else. Not once the whole school knows.’
‘I don’t want everyone to know. It’s…’
Everyone in my doorway. People crowded round me, hugged, touching my shoulder. I pushed through into the kitchen, lifted the vodka and swigged straight from the bottle. It scorched my throat on the way down, again when I coughed, but it was good, cauterising. I took another swig.
‘Here,’ Graeme handed me a spliff, ‘this is less harsh.’
We went outside, lit, drew, coughed, drew again. He was right, my head disengaged, my muscles untensed, unreeling like a fishing line. I walked over to the lawn, lay back on the soft, scented grass. Another draw. The stars spun, the washing line quivered. Voices receded. I tried to say something but nothing came. It didn’t matter. I drifted. The last thing I saw was Pele watching me from the fierce stars.
I woke with a start, a helicopter chopping overhead, sat up and watched it land at the hospital. Alone in the garden, the house was silent, the lights off. I stood, unsteady, remembered. The bottle and the roach weren’t there. The helicopter lifted again, headed off across the city towards the coast. Was it picking up or dropping off? The hypnotic beat of the rotors through the silent sky. My mind flickering pictures of Mark in my room. Tears came again. Maybe Mark was right and I was a prick-tease. I didn’t want to be. What did I say when he said ‘later’? I knew I hadn’t said yes, but I couldn’t remember if I said no. Thank God Graeme was there. I saw Mark’s nose buckle. School was going to be hell. An endless summer, that’s all I wanted.
‘Caroline? Are you okay?’
‘Mister Galloway, you startled me.’
The fence was low enough that he could rest his arms on it. His white hair was mussed from sleeping and it looked like he was in his pyjamas. Mr Galloway used to work for the same company as my dad but hadretired. They had a big garden party and went on a cruise.