Ever Fallen in Love

by Zoe Strachan

  His pace quickened, I had to match it and I did, perfectly, wishing it could last forever. When I opened my eyes he was looking at me again, looking at my face with awful wonder in his eyes, and he smiled, as if he would have kissed me. As if he would have pressed his dry lips to mine, touched the tip of his tongue to mine. If she hadn’t been between us. He reached over and stroked my hair back from my face, and his touch, his touch, the feel of him against me, his fingers brushing my throat, my lips, made me shudder and slow, and as I relaxed I saw his beautiful face contort, as if it was the sight, the sound, the feel of my ecstasy that had brought on his own, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood to stop myself saying out loud what it was that I felt.

  19

  Richard ran the tap in the bathroom sink until the water was icy and then gulped down mouthful after mouthful until his chest burned. They’d lain together, afterwards, Richard letting his head rest on Sam’s shoulder while Sam held him with one firm hand on his flank. As Richard leaned back against the wall he noticed the stained grouting around the bath, tried to steel himself to slip away into the grey early morning. There had been a moment when he had closed his eyes and felt Sam’s breathing slowing, and thought he might slip into sleep and stay there overnight. And then Sam had twitched awake and Richard had swung his legs out of the bed, and even when he was dressed and outside in the deserted street, watching the gulls swoop down to peck at discarded sausage suppers, he couldn’t quite shake the low throb of rejection.

  After a couple of sleepless hours lying flat on his back in his room in the DaCapo flat he heard Rupe whistling and crashing around in the kitchen. Richard hauled himself up and into the shower. Just before he stepped under the water he paused, tried to catch the smell of Sam on his skin before submerging the awareness that he was washing it away for good. He’d intended nothing more than a one night stand and yet there had been a moment, standing in the doorway of the shabby student flat, when they had squeezed each other tight and kissed, and Richard thought it would have taken just one word from Sam to make him drop everything and stay.

  When he got to the office he met Tuula. Her glasses didn’t obscure the dark circles under her eyes.

  ‘Hej hej Richard.’ She stuck her tongue out and made a bleergh noise.

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  She nodded. ‘But I had fun. And you?’

  Richard felt a surge of heat flowing from his chest to his throat as he thought of the night before. He wondered if Tuula could see it, mottling above his collar. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I had fun too.’

  ‘Ready for your alpha?’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘Okay, we start with the actual Somme chapter.’

  Neil came in, bearing a cardboard tray of coffees and a large paper bag, the grease spots on which indicated some kind of breakfast. ‘Hey kids, here’s the caffeine and the sugar.’

  ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ Rupe said, emerging cadaverously from his office. ‘Rich, good to see you. I take it you’re not planning to disappear back to Balamory today?’

  ‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’

  ‘Well, as soon as your hands stop trembling, get playing.’

  Richard looked towards Tuula, saw her nod her head. Neil grinned, ‘Let’s do the show right here, eh?’

  ‘I have worries still about that bug,’ Tuula said. ‘Also, Alka-Seltzer, for those who feel as bad as me.’

  Richard raised his hand and she threw the packet over to him. He failed to catch it. Neil stooped to pick it up and said, ‘No offence mate, but with a reaction time like that, you’re going to be one of the first to fall when the shooting starts.’

  ‘I’ll just make a quick call,’ Richard said, and walked over to the window. Outside it was brighter than during his solitary walk back to the flat that morning, but still grey, the Tay trying hard to sparkle in the light. Sam must have been eight years his junior, he thought, any sense of pride giving way to an uneasy melancholy about his own age. A twinge somewhere between groin and stomach seemed to plead that he wasn’t past it just yet.

  Sure. Let me know when.

  Richard’s brain, still hangover-addled, tried to recall whether he’d already texted Stephie to say he wouldn’t be able to drive home that day. Sent at 07:03 am, he read, his pulse skipping over a beat as he saw the unfamiliar number. Had Luke turned into an early riser or reached for his phone while he was still in bed? Aware that Tuula was waiting for him, Richard dialled his home number. Stephie didn’t answer so he left a message saying he needed to stay another night and urging her to call back. As a by-the-by he added, ‘Fancy a field trip sometime?’

  When he emerged from his booth several hours later, Richard was too caught up in the various quirks that had emerged in the game to check his phone. When he’d started playing it had almost been a goal in itself, something that could be achieved after an hour or so of successful gaming; text Luke, suggest the weekend. But the game had reeled him in, even with no soundtrack it had worked. There was a strange beauty to the scorched and silent landscape, to the shells blazing noiselessly, to the tarry scraps of trees that clawed the smoky sky above Mametz Wood. And there he was, Officer, loyal to the core but to his men most of all, with enough integrity to question commands from above. Only the small details were missing.

  ‘Did anyone manage to bayonet at close range?’ he asked. ‘It didn’t work for Officer.’

  ‘Nah,’ Neil said. ‘I was Woman and I had a go on the guy in the trench next to me, but it just wasn’t happening. I had to sort of bludgeon him to death instead. There’s a glitch there for sure.’

  Tuula turned her palms upwards. ‘Okay, okay, I’m on it. But get me something to eat, somebody please. I have sugar low.’

  Neil ripped open the side of the greasy bag and hooked his finger through a doughnut, which he held out to her. ‘Did anyone see the bit with the cavalry?’

  ‘Yes. It made me feel a bit sick, actually,’ Richard said.

  ‘Fucking amazing graphics though. Wait until they put sound on that, Jeez.’

  ‘So what’s the verdict so far?’ Rupe asked, peering into one of the Greggs bags and then stepping back as though it contained something he hadn’t expected.

  Richard kept quiet, waited. Tuula, wiping sugar from the doughnut from her lips, said, ‘Okay, old school weapons, no mutants, no flying machines …’

  ‘Until chapter five,’ Richard said, hastily. ‘There’s airborne bombing in five.’

  ‘No flying machines yet,’ Tuula said. ‘But for me, it plays. I had to think. And it’s very … close up?’

  ‘Visceral,’ Neil said, biting into jam doughnut and licking the filling out. ‘It’s like you can see who you’re killing, you can see the expression in their eyes. It’s cool.’

  ‘I like the feeling of comradeship,’ Richard said. ‘In the trenches that was really strong. And you can base tactics on it. Decide on who to sacrifice and who to protect.’

  ‘Yeah, it’ll be good to see how that plays out in the sandbox,’ Neil said, and Richard nodded.

  ‘You want me to go into the code for the bayonets now?’ Tuula asked, and Richard felt a surge of pride; that she’d asked him rather than waiting for Rupe seemed evidence that the game was all right, that she believed in it. Over at the whiteboard Rupe was scrawling a projected date for beta testing.

  ‘Where’s Lisa?’

  ‘Puking,’ Neil said, then coughed. ‘I mean, she doesn’t work on Saturdays.’

  Rupe frowned, as if he’d been exposed to a belief that he found inconceivable; the existence of extra-terrestrial life, perhaps. ‘Hmm. Solange, email her and tell her to get on to production first thing on Monday morning. Check the script guy’s standing by. And pull those character bios off the wiki. We need some names before they cast. Lars likes names, they help him see the big picture.’

  He retreated to his office and Richard heard a shriek from Tuula and turned to see her poking Neil’s chest, backing him into a co
rner until he nodded, shamefaced. ‘Bad karma Neil, bad karma,’ she crowed. ‘You got to work with her.’

  Richard went to the water cooler and refilled his cup. Things were moving quickly, after such a long, lonely slog. Beta testing and voiceovers; sometimes these had seemed so far in the distance as to be unreachable, and now Rupe was talking as if he thought the green light was a formality. Richard felt in his pocket for his phone, coaxed it back into life.

  Neighbours going ape – LOREN – can I give them this no? S x

  Richard sighed, and an unwelcome flash of Loren was supplanted by the memory of Sam, an implausible fantasy of the DaCapo team going out for a drink and bumping into him again, the possibility of an encore. He hesitated over his reply but answered in the affirmative before switching off his phone and returning to his booth, where Officer was poised and waiting, his face streaked with mud and the glare of fire reflected in his blue-grey eyes.

  0

  Sunday morning wasn’t a normal part of our week, but given the volume of music with which Luke had greeted the day, going back to sleep seemed unlikely.

  You have a febrile glint in your eye, I mumbled, as he slopped a mug of coffee down on my bedside table.

  He perched on the end of my bed, holding his own mug with both hands.

  Nah, just surplus energy. How come you’re alone? I thought you said it would be like shooting ducks in a barrel.

  I could ask you the same question.

  But you don’t know if I am. There could be any number of new friends in my room.

  Are there?

  He laughed. Nah.

  Well then. Don’t cast aspersions on my ability to get lucky.

  After a final screetch of feedback the Jesus and Mary Chain fell silent, and I closed my eyes. I was starting to feel chilly and wondered if I’d be able to drift back to sleep when Luke went away.

  So, aren’t you going to tell me about your big gay party? he said.

  I ignored him until he started bouncing up and down on the bed, then hauled myself upright, tugging the duvet from beneath him and taking care to keep it tucked under my armpits as I sat up and reached for my coffee.

  Can I help you with something? I asked.

  He looked at me and let his lips relax into a pout.

  Stop it, I said.

  What?

  You know.

  After I’d taken a mouthful of hot coffee my breath was visible.

  It’s fucking freezing in here, I said.

  Yeah, but it’s nice outside. Let’s go for a walk.

  When we went outside we passed a staggering figure in a dinner suit, his bowtie unfurled, suckling the dregs from a bottle of Bollinger like an infant. There had been a mid-term ball the night before, and soggy corsages and scraps of ribbon lay trodden into the pavement next to discreet slops of vomit. We hadn’t gone, of course; not really our scene, not even the smug Philosophy Club, with its preference for smoking jackets and vintage prom dresses, more chemical forms of stimulation. As we shivered through the graveyard I thought of how exclusive it had seemed the first time I’d explored it, with its Cambridge-born professors of Arabic and metaphysics, the great and the good whose names transposed so neatly into Latin. They’d matured well, compared to the miners and the sons of miners back home. Here was a man of 89, and another of 93.

  Can’t imagine us all clubbing together to commemorate old Mendelssohn, can you, Luke said.

  I shook my head and we walked on, following the path that would take us down to the harbour. On the way he pointed to a small cross, perhaps made of marble though it was too grimy to tell. Instead of a name, the inscription was the outline of a dove pulling a banner that said LOVED AND LOST. Except that the lettering was worn, and the LOST looked more like LUST. I wasn’t sure whether it was this, or the message itself, that Luke was indicating.

  A plane screamed out over the sea ahead of us, ripping through the sharp winter sky as if it had sliced it into two trembling halves, ready to fall and smash around us. A moment or two later another one followed it, the roar of the engines fading almost as swiftly as it had come.

  That noise, Luke said. It gets me every time.

  Do you think they’re going to Yugoslavia?

  We stood watching as the planes shrank to specks and disappeared.

  Maybe, Luke said. Either that or a mercy mission to Colombia to collect the Honourable Guy’s marching powder.

  Is he still bugging you?

  Yeah. Told him I’d sort him out once more, but then I’m getting my head down for the exams.

  We rejoined the road and continued along the harbourside to the pier. The sea was grey blue, its surface rippling.

  See, Luke said, a sudden gust of wind whipping the words from his mouth. Bet you’re glad that you’re not still stinking in your pit now.

  Hmm, I said, but it did seem as if everything had been sharpened by the cold. A small white boat crept in past us, its engine chugging quietly. By the time we’d strolled to the end of the pier it had docked at the harbour wall and two men in orange overalls were already unloading creels.

  Ever had lobster? I asked.

  Once. You?

  Nah. Don’t fancy it much.

  Luke grinned as if I’d confirmed something he’d long suspected of me, then turned back to face the open water. He clambered up to the flagpole and stood there, nearer the edge than I’d have gone, looking out to the horizon, where the colour of the sea deepened until it met the sky in a perfect line.

  Worth it?

  What? I said.

  The view, twally.

  Yeah, I said. Sure.

  He swung round the flagpole then jumped back down onto the pier and looked up at me.

  Did I ever tell you I thought about joining the Merchant Navy?

  No, I said, walking back down the stone steps to join him. Why?

  My mum used to say my father was in it and that’s how he never came home.

  Really?

  Nah, don’t be stupid. I heard stories, that’s all, from my uncle in Leith. Fancied fucking off out of there and seeing the world.

  So why didn’t you?

  He shrugged. Dunno, like … just thought I could fuck off in a different way, I guess. And here I am. Fucked off.

  He sat by the bollard and took off his gloves. Although we were in the lee of the wall he cupped his hands around his cigarette to light it.

  Want one?

  Okay.

  Here.

  He gave me the one he’d just lit and took another out of the packet. We sat smoking for a moment and then he said, Look.

  Up on the headland where the rocky outline of the early church lay, I saw a flash of red, then another. Students in robes, maybe a dozen of them, some flanked by parents and visitors, all picking their way down the steps in the traditional Sunday morning procession.

  The parents and visitors were left behind as the students grouped into pairs and threes. After a while I noticed that Luke’s gaze was fixed on one figure in particular. I crushed my cigarette out on the stone and threw the end into the water behind me. As they got closer I recognised Lucy. Luke kept staring, and I could feel my thighs tense with the cold. I wanted to move but we couldn’t really, not without pushing our way through the gathering at the end of the pier. Not until they turned and went back the way they’d come.

  Was it, I began, then stopped. I felt nauseous from the cigarette.

  What?

  Was she okay? I said. When we’d left that night, I’d looked back into the small single room and seen her perched on the edge of her rumpled bed, arms wrapped around her knees, hands clasped.

  What do you mean?

  The figures in red were beginning their slow progress along the pier. I turned my palms out towards him in a helpless gesture.

  She was fine Richard. Unless you’ve got HIV or something.

  I punched the top of his arm, quite hard.

  That’ll bruise, he said, rubbing it.

  The surface of the pie
r was cracked and uneven, I noticed, with pebbles and broken shells embedded in the concrete. I hoped I had bruised him, because I’d hardly touched him before.

  Hey, he said, and I turned to look at him, his eyes grey and steady below his dark lashes. She liked it. Couldn’t you tell?

  More your area than mine, I said.

  He smiled. Trust me then. She’ll have been thinking about it ever since, under the covers at night.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe we all relive our darkest, most degrading moments for our guiltiest, most secret pleasure. My eyes were on Lucy’s face when she recognised us, or rather him. Her cheeks were rosy with the fresh air, but there was no mistaking the flush that spread through her skin as she walked towards us. But she had to keep going, playing out the quirky and charming custom that their visitors had come to see. Her parents amongst them, perhaps, cameras at the ready as they waited at the mouth of the pier. Luke, leaning back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, kept on looking at her. I had trimmed the edges of my memory, tried to crop the images I didn’t want to see, but now I could feel it coming back. A burning photograph in reverse, details returning, clarity regained.

  She held herself together well, until they turned to climb up onto the higher part of the pier wall. The stone steps were worn and damp and she slipped, breaking her fall with an outstretched hand. One of her companions hauled her up, and she didn’t look back as they proceeded towards the town. At the beginning of the pier cameras were swapped, and sure enough Lucy posed between two people who must have been her parents, smiling while one of her friends took a picture.

  Are you still interested? I asked.

  Nah, he said. I’ve got Aimee, remember?

  Oh right, I said. And how’s that going?

  Playing the long game, he said, flicking his cigarette end into the oily water of the harbour. Or maybe not playing at all.

  After a few last snaps the cameras were put away and the red clad figures began to disappear behind the harbourmaster’s office and on their way to lunches in restaurants and fond farewells to their visitors. Luke stood up and stretched.