by Zoe Strachan
Richard linked his arm with hers. Her skin felt cool against his. ‘You will pass.’
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Right, step it up a bit, I’m bursting for the toilet.’
When they reached Richard’s gate she kissed him goodnight. ‘Hey, that was fun. Thanks. Now, bagsie me first in the bathroom.’
She ran ahead, leaving him to close the gate behind them. He walked up the drive, thinking about what she’d said and wondering, with a slight sense of shame, whether it really was harder than before or whether she just hadn’t wanted to leave badly enough. He noticed that the gate in the hedge that connected his drive to the neighbours was wide open and wondered if the Manbys had called round, possibly to complain about some overlooked piece of hedge debris sullying their garden. As he went to close it, he saw that the door of their shed was also swinging in the breeze, creaking then tapping shut. He glanced up at his bedroom window and sighed, deciding the creak-tap, creak-tap might be enough to keep him awake. Unlike Gerald to be so careless, he thought, must have been one of the kids. Some other, smaller noise made him peer inside as he went to secure the door.
The Manbys had a sleek wooden dinghy, which Gerald seemed to spend a great deal more time varnishing than he did sailing. It took Richard a moment to understand what he was seeing. Loren was lying on a tarpaulin inside the boat. Between her legs was what Richard assumed was the older of the two Manby boys. He saw the back of Loren’s hand go to her face, saw her grasp the skin on the back of her wrist between her teeth. Her eyes were closed and her face looked tightened, as if she was either concentrating very hard or steeling herself against the urgent, awkward thrusts of the boy, whose jeans had slid beyond his buttocks and down his thighs. Richard looked away quickly, the first prickling of envy spreading through his body, then realised that Loren had opened her eyes and was looking straight at him. He spun round, closed the door and walked away.
Back in his office, drinking a bottle of beer that he hadn’t intended to have, Richard considered closing the French doors but then decided it was too warm. He’d just pretend it hadn’t happened, he decided, when he saw Loren the next day. He logged on to the Somme wiki and scrolled through the coding Neil had put up, realising how close they were to a playable iteration.
Hey Neil, looking good, he typed. Will double check that bug in the Ypres chapter AM tomorrow. RE the play testers: I will buy you buckets of beer after crunch if you please pretty please find some 30/40something fathers looking for a serious game to play when the kids are in bed.
After a while, he heard a tap on the glass door. When he turned round, Loren was already standing in the room. She was wearing Stephie’s skirt, he was almost sure, the one with the ribbon stripe that he’d noticed the other day. It hung loosely on her hips.
‘Hiya,’ he said, and she came over and perched on the stool by his drawing board, dangling her feet down. Her eyes were shining and her lips looked puffy, as though she was suffering from an allergy.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘What for?’
She shifted on the stool and he saw a bruise flowering across the outside of her thigh. ‘I didn’t mean for you to see that.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re old enough to do what you want. Though I’m not sure about your friend.’
‘He’s seventeen,’ she said. ‘It showed.’ Her smile was disarmingly toothy and genuine, changing her face. He caught the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in response. ‘Can I have a sip of your beer?’ she said.
He handed the bottle to her and she took a gulp then offered it back to him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You finish it. Stephie and I had enough tonight.’
‘Yeah. I got bored without you.’
‘Oh well. You found something to do.’
His eye caught a corner of the computer screen. The wiki had refreshed, showing that Tuula was online and uploading code. It was midnight, he saw, and he pictured the puddle of light around her booth in the DaCapo lab, the crushed Red Bull cans that she never managed to get into the bin when she threw them over her shoulder.
‘You know what I think?’ Loren said.
He shook his head, wondering if he was missing out, if perhaps he’d go back to Dundee when the lease was up on the house.
‘I think you’re very good at pretending.’
‘And what do I pretend?’
‘That you’re what you seem on the surface.’
He looked at her.
‘You know,’ she said. ‘Workaholic, a loner, a nature lover.’
‘What’s wrong with being a nature lover?’ Richard said. ‘I always have been, ever since I was a kid. Ask Stephie.’
‘Okay. But there has to be something underneath.’
‘Yeah. Actually I’m a serial killer,’ he said.
‘My guess is that you’re a bit of a kindred spirit,’ she said, hopping down from the stool and putting the beer bottle down on the corner of his desk. She seemed to be standing too close to him, and he wondered, though his judgement was clouded by drink and tiredness, whether she was coming on to him.
‘Unlike your juvenile friend,’ he heard himself say.
‘Yeah,’ she said, reaching out and placing her palm over his hand. ‘Like I said, that didn’t quite …’
Before he realised what was going on, she’d taken his hand and slid it up her skirt. She didn’t seem to be wearing pants and he felt hair, warm and damp, and then she isolated his index finger and pushed it forward, inside her.
‘Loren,’ he said. ‘You do know that I’m gay.’
‘Does everything have to be that clear cut?’
‘For me it does.’
She was very close to him now, her mouth open. ‘So close your eyes and pretend,’ she said. Her muscles tightened around his finger and he thought of Luke, suddenly, how he wouldn’t have hesitated, how he’d have been able to answer her.
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,’ Richard said, withdrawing his hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise,’ she said. ‘Please.’
He had to bite his lip to stop himself telling her again that he was sorry. She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him sitting by his desk, holding his hand stiffly as though he didn’t want to contaminate anything else with its touch.
0
Luke was warm and dishevelled, seemingly at ease in his skin, as if our impromptu game of football had fed some part of him that had been neglected for a while. He’d kicked a ball back to some boys, quickly become absorbed into their game until he managed to score between two bundles of discarded hoodies that marked the goal. I’d kept up, barely, and although I’d failed to challenge him it wasn’t a bad way to pass a frosty Tuesday afternoon; especially viewed in retrospect, from the corner table in the Earl of Merchiston where we’d retired for a post-game pint.
Admit it, I said to him. You prefer the company of men to the company of women.
Depends on the men.
Look how well you got on with those boys.
Oh come on, wee kick about on a winter’s day? That’s nothing. We used to go up the Meadows all the time, join any game that was going. That and check out the talent, like.
Of course.
Anyhow, they were just boys. Nice boys who play football rather than sniffing glue and slashing tyres.
Yeah, but most of the boys around here hate students and shout wanker at them when they pass them in the street.
That’s because most of the students are wankers. Except for us, of course. He looked down into his pint glass. You’ve offended me now.
Oh yeah?
Yeah. I do get on with women.
You get it on with women, that’s a different thing altogether.
Women, men, it’s all the same.
Liar. You’re straight as a die. Which suggests a total lack of imagination, if you ask me.
Lack of imagination? I refute that.
How?
He laughed. In many an
d various ways, he said. Anyway, how can you say I don’t get on with women? I’m going on a date tonight.
I snorted with laughter, choking on my pint. He slapped me on the back and said, It’s not that funny.
No, I agreed. It isn’t at all funny. What will you be doing, on this date?
Going to the pictures.
To see?
Something with Brad Pitt in it.
Bloody hell, I said. That sounds serious.
Well, she didn’t fancy Natural Born Killers, and that’s the only other thing that’s on.
Who is she then?
That girl Aimee that we met on Saturday, Becca and Marc’s pal.
I paused, trying to conjure up her image in my mind. Hang on, I said. The Irish one?
Yeah.
Oh, I said. He looked at me. Sorry, I added. I thought she was a bit dull.
He shrugged. Pretty, though.
Do you reckon? I said, but thinking back I recalled Luke chatting away to her, while Rebecca told me some interminable story about her brother’s friend who’d gone to Berlin and ended up in a darkroom by mistake.
And it’s an easy mistake to make I’m sure, I’d said, focussing on the little cross around Aimee’s neck and thinking, ah well, he’s on to a loser with that one. But she was laughing at something he said, and didn’t seem as shy as I’d assumed.
Well she seemed to like you, Luke said. I think you did half the groundwork for me. What were you talking to her about?
She was talking to me. About how she goes to Mass every Sunday evening at the Chaplaincy, amongst other things.
Ah, he said.
You’ve got no chance, I observed. No sex before marriage.
She’s not a slut, that’s all.
Unlike you.
Unlike me. But I reckon I can give her a few impure thoughts.
Point proved, no?
You’re such a cynic, Richard. It isn’t just about sex.
Yeah right.
You should indulge your finer feelings sometimes. You’ve got a one track mind. I suppose it’s because you’re gay.
Luke and Aimee up a tree, I chanted. K-I-S-S-I-N-G …
He tipped his head back and drained his pint then shook a cigarette from his packet and tapped it on the table, as though he was afraid to sit for even a moment without a clear purpose.
Anyway, he said. Want to go to the castle? Get away from the Yahs for an hour or two?
I nodded. Carry out?
Why not? Did Dave drop by earlier?
Yeah, I said. As if I’d been playing at pharmacies, I’d dispensed three tablets of ecstasy, neatly sealing them in a tiny envelope. I wondered if the nice lady at the stationery counter of the newsagent wondered what use Luke found for these envelopes, or if she was pleased to shift some old stock. Dave the Raver had been good for thirty quid; a profit margin which – combined with the Co-op special offer on vodka – could get us drunk for the rest of the week. I opened my wallet, but couldn’t see any cash.
Shit Luke, I think I’ve left the money back at Herrick.
No worries, we’ll swing by on the way.
When we got to Herrick there were a few people in the hallway. Calum was speaking on the payphone, promising his mum that he was still feeling better. He waved at me in what seemed like an agitated way as I walked past, then continued reassuring his mum that he was taking his multivitamins. I waved back. A couple of people were waiting to speak to Parnab, the warden, who was in his little dookit of an office, issuing receipts for rent. They fell silent as we passed. Luke shrugged and we went to the stairs, acclimatising to the mild whiff of damp and school dinners as we climbed.
There was a letter pinned to the door of Luke’s room. University crest on the envelope, his name printed in block capitals. He shrugged again, digging his thumbnail under the drawing pin to remove it. I went to my door and found the same thing. They were eviction notices.
That cunt, Luke said.
Who? I said.
Max, of course. I’m going to fucking kill him.
He turned and ran, but instead of following him I sat on the edge of my bed and read the letter through. Dread crept along the follicles on the back of my neck in a way that it hadn’t since school. The use and distribution of controlled substances couldn’t be allowed on university premises. Parnab was doing his best, I could see that. He was left with no option: we could leave Herrick within the week, or pursue it with the university authorities, who were – he felt obliged to warn us – extremely unlikely to find in our favour given the source of the complaints and their detailed nature.
I went back downstairs, walking slowly and wondering what the fuck I was going to do. Calum was still on the phone, but he put his hand over the receiver and beckoned me over.
I’m really sorry Richard. Really. Look, there’s this third year from astronomy, he’s looking for someone to take over the lease of his flat. I wrote the number down for you.
Cheers, I said, bitterly, scrunching up the piece of paper Calum handed me and stuffing it into my pocket. I was angry at Luke – though much more with myself – and as I marched into town I imagined what I might say: this was your idea, you said there was no risk; if you hadn’t gone off with Max’s girlfriend then maybe he wouldn’t have cliped on us. I wasn’t sure where Luke would have gone, decided to try the Union first. When I got there I saw him soon enough. Michael the barman was throwing him out.
Get him out here, Luke was shouting. Get him out and I’ll fucking show him.
A moment later Michael escorted Max out as well, and I heard him say, Sort it out between yous and dinnae set foot in here again until yous have.
I remembered the playground squabbles that used to bring kids running from all corners of the asphalt. People were gathering in an arc around Luke and Max. I saw Guy, heard him call out something about Queensberry rules.
Fucking faggot, Max spat, circling Luke.
Yeah, Luke taunted. That’s what your girlfriend said. When her mouth wasn’t full.
Max lunged and I could see his punch hit Luke in the face as if it was in slow motion. Blood sprang from Luke’s lip and he started laughing, as though this was the release he’d been waiting for. He launched himself on Max, grabbing him by the hair. Max ducked his head down to protect it, so Luke hammered his chest and shoulders with his fist and then they tangled together, so that I had no idea who was in control, if either of them was. This was more brutal than the playground; there were no shouts of fight-fight-fight and no teacher or janny appeared to separate them. They hit the concrete and Max seemed to be on top on Luke but then Luke threw him off and I saw that blood was pouring from Max’s nose. I heard noise then, a girl yelling and someone else shouting about calling the police, and I realised that they were really going to hurt each other.
It felt like seconds later that a siren screamed and a police car skidded round the corner. I suppose in such a small town they didn’t have much else to concern them. They hauled Luke and Max apart and I moved as close as I could, wanting to go and speak to Luke, to see if he was hurt, but it was as if the police had drawn an invisible line that I couldn’t cross. I heard some muttering about breach of the peace and perhaps even the word ‘wanker’, connected to the word ‘students’, but then Guy stepped forward and seemed to be introducing himself to the senior of the two officers.
That one’s got a broken nose, I heard one of them say, pointing to the back of the car where they’d put Max. We’ll drop him at A & E.
Luke was leaning against the bonnet of the car, his chest heaving. They said something stern to him and he stood upright, then nodded. Guy shook their hands and they got into the car and drove away. I could see Max through the window, holding a wad of tissue to his face. Guy leaned close to Luke, said a few words in his ear. Luke nodded again and Guy slapped him on the shoulder then turned and walked back towards the Union. When Luke saw me he grabbed me by the biceps and almost shook me.
Did you see that?
I nodded and he released me. Are you okay? I said.
Yeah, he said, wiping his sleeve over his mouth. He turned back to me and grinned. I told him I’d kick his cunt in.
You broke his nose.
Yeah, he said again, and then he started coughing. He leaned forward and I wanted to place my hand between his shoulder blades to soothe him, but then he spat on the pavement at his feet. I averted my eyes, but not quickly enough to miss the red in his phlegm. He put his finger in his mouth, prodding his teeth to check for looseness, then looked up at me and said, He’ll thank me for it, you know. Girls love that kind of thing.
As he stood upright a trickle of blood from his own nose reached his lip. It must have tickled, because he stretched his tongue up and licked it. Not just girls, I thought, looking at the scarlet against his pale skin, his bruising face.
Are you sure you’re all right? I said, feeling in my pocket for a tissue to give to him.
I cannae tell you how good that felt, he said, using his sleeve again.
What was the Honourable Guy saying?
Dropping names, apologising.
Very nice of him to step in, I said.
Yeah well, he’s having a party. Wants some coke.
Coke?
Yeah.
Oh.
Said I’d sort him out. Now let’s go and get wasted.
I thought you had a date.
He caught my wrist, tilted it to read my watch. I’ll phone her, he said. Call off until tomorrow. I don’t think I can handle quiet and civilised right now.
On the way to the pub, I told him about the number Calum had given me, suggested phoning it and trying to arrange a viewing.
Oh man, you’re a superstar, Luke said, putting his arm round my shoulder. He was still hyper from the fight and I wished I could hold him close to me to stop him trembling.
We don’t know if we’ll get it, I said.
Course we will. Or we’ll get another one. This is going to be fantastic, Richard. Best thing that could’ve happened.
18
Richard looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were still a little bloodshot from staring at his screen all day, even though he’d worn his glasses. He frowned, ran his fingers through his tousled hair, then felt an enormous smile bursting across his face. They’d done it. Crunchtime was an adrenaline rush even without the various pick-me-ups – from guarana smoothies to medical grade amphetamine – that had been circulating at DaCapo, and now at last they had a playable version of Somme. Neil lurched into the bathroom and slapped Richard on the back.