Too Close

by Hilary Norman

  I told myself back then that the bad things that happened were all Holly’s doing – that I’d just let myself get suckered in. But that wasn’t entirely true. How could it have been?

  I was genuinely fond of Holly during those first few years, but Holly adored me. I guess that at the start I was a little awed by her tragedy, touched by her prettiness and sorrow, and impressed by her swift, clever mind. Holly thought that I was her big brother and best friend and, in moments of fantasy into the future – and Holly fantasized a lot – her husband-to-be and the father of her children, all rolled into one.

  I make no excuses, not now, not from an adult perspective. But to a ten-year-old boy, it was all pretty damned flattering. I had never been one of a gang, not even back in Philadelphia, had always been happiest watching movies or sketching, always a little set apart, and here was this girl next door – a spunky, winning, beautiful girl – who honestly seemed to think I was the bee’s knees. I tell you, it was more than good for my ego. It was, I realize now, intoxicating.

  I guess I should have cut Holly out of my life as soon as she started getting me into trouble. Everyone thought Holly was so damned perfect – no one would have believed me if I’d told them the truth – but the Holly I came to know as we grew up together was a secretive, frantic girl who craved action, excitement and risk. The real Holly played practical jokes on neighbours, smoked in the park and stole magazines, cigarettes and candy. The real Holly also had a great talent for ensuring that she never got caught, and because she was always talking me into coming with her on her adventures, more often than not I was the one who ended up taking the rap. Once it was vandalism at school; another time it was trespassing in a neighbour’s back yard; a couple of times it was trying to sneak into the movies without paying. By the time I was twelve years old, I was that close to getting in serious trouble with the cops, and my parents were miserable about what seemed to be happening to me, but I just couldn’t seem to tell Holly no.

  I got the blame for stuff because I was older and my face fitted. And because I was a prize schnook. One look from those pleading, trusting eyes of hers, and I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to rat on her – and anyway, it made me feel like a hero.

  That was all bull. I know that now – and I had to have known it then too, deep down, since I don’t think I was a complete fool. The truth of the matter is that if I really hadn’t wanted to get involved with Holly’s schemes, I could have refused. If I hadn’t wanted to be her scapegoat, all I had to do was go to my parents and tell them what was going on.

  I wasn’t such a hero. Holly was a girl and a year younger – though, believe me, it’s true what they say about girls growing up faster than boys. But she was definitely smaller and physically weaker than I was. No one was twisting my arm. Holly might have masterminded our adventures, but because I was older and bigger than she was, I guess I ought to have been capable of assuming the leadership in our twosome. In those days, I told myself – and pretty much managed to believe – that it was all Holly’s fault, that I was going along with her because she was vulnerable and a little crazy and she needed me to take care of her.

  It was a lie. I think now that the truth was that I found Holly’s wickedness the most exciting thing I’d ever known. There I was, this artistic, gentle, well-brought-up kid, yet there was a side to me back then that enjoyed all those bad-boy deeds.

  Normal stuff, perhaps, for a healthy, growing kid. Not really harmful, if it had ended there.

  But it didn’t.

  Chapter Nine

  Sex seemed the next, natural step.

  If Holly Bourne had been exciting at twelve, how infinitely more thrilling she seemed to Nick almost three years later, when his own hormones were racing, surging, powering his body and far too much of his mind.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to kiss me now?’

  Holly asked that question on September 25th, 1982. It was a Saturday afternoon, and she and Nick were in the Bethesda Mall hanging out near a lingerie boutique named Angel’s, while Holly debated whether or not she should buy or steal the pair of tiny lacy bikini panties she could see hanging on a rack inside.

  She didn’t wait for Nick’s answer.

  ‘Or maybe you’d rather wait until I’m wearing those new panties before you kiss me.’

  Nick glanced around, felt the heat on his cheeks. ‘Holly, for Pete’s sake, someone’s going to hear you.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Holly said.

  ‘Well, I do. We’re not supposed to even be here.’

  ‘I told my mom I was going to the mall today.’

  ‘To buy a book,’ Nick pointed out.

  ‘So I’ll buy a book.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Or steal one.’

  ‘Holly, you have to quit stealing stuff.’ He’d told her over and over. ‘If you don’t stop, I’m going to tell your parents and they’ll do more than stop you.’

  ‘You sound just like Eric used to.’ She was still smiling.

  ‘I’m not Eric.’ Nick tried distraction. ‘Let’s go get a shake.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ She was not to be diverted. ‘I’m going in there now – are you coming?’

  ‘No way.’ Nick was adamant. ‘It’s a bad idea, Holly.’

  ‘So kiss me instead.’

  Holly puckered up and closed her eyes. Nick looked around for familiar faces, saw none, and bent to brush her lips with his own. Holly opened her eyes at the same time as her mouth, and her right hand came up to draw his head closer. He felt the moist softness inside her lips, felt her small, firm tongue pushing against his teeth—

  ‘Holl-ee.’ Nick pulled away.

  ‘What?’ The grey eyes were dancing. ‘Didn’t you like that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Liar.’

  His face was hot again. ‘Okay, so I liked it. Big deal.’

  ‘So do it again,’ Holly urged.

  ‘No way.’ Nick started to move away, but she caught at his hand and held onto him. ‘Holly, this is not the place.’

  ‘So let’s go somewhere else.’

  ‘Like where?’ Nick felt a throb of undeniable arousal down inside his jeans. Holly had been teasing him this way for quite a while now, but mostly she’d been easy enough to divert towards some other kind of game. Lately, however, he was beginning to realize that she meant business. Holly wanted Nick to kiss her properly, the way they did in the movies and on TV and in the books she had taken to reading in bed late at night when Richard and Eleanor thought she was sleeping. Until right now, Nick had wanted to divert Holly because something told him, warned him, that kissing her was not a hot idea. They were like brother and sister, after all, had been for more than six years now. A brother did not kiss his sister, not that way. Everyone knew that.

  Suddenly, though, he found he was not so sure.

  Kissing was only the beginning. Touching came next. Holly enjoyed touching Nick and describing how that felt and what effect it had on her.

  ‘Your skin feels so different to mine. Not as soft, but it’s really warm, and oh, it smells so good – I think I want to kiss that spot – maybe I’ll just lick it, see what it tastes like . . .’

  Her touching moved downward.

  ‘So that’s it. Oh, it’s so soft and sweet . . . you like that? I can tell you like that. Oh, Nick, you’re so bad, and that feels so good, and oh, look, just look at the way it’s growing! It makes me feel almost scared, like it has a life all of its own . . .’

  He preferred not to talk while he touched her – was, in fact, incapable of speech most of the time, partly because Holly and he were kissing, partly because, when he felt the thrust of her little hard nipples against the palms of his hands, or when she let him push his fingers down inside her panties, down into the dark, wet mysteries of her, it was all he could do not to cry out loud.

  They went all the way for the first time on Christmas Day, her fifteenth birthday. They had spent most of the day in their own homes, doing all the traditional family eating and present-giving
and other normal stuff. Ethan and Kate gave Nick a handsome leather portfolio to use when he wanted to maybe start showing his work to galleries or graphics companies or whoever. Nick gave Ethan a new book on Frank Lloyd Wright and Kate a set of acrylic paints and some perfume. Richard and Eleanor gave Holly a fine gold necklace from Tiffany with a small diamond-studded H pendant and the yearbook for her leather-bound set of Encyclopaedia Americana. Holly gave Richard a pipe she’d ordered three months earlier from the Dunhill catalogue, and she gave Eleanor a grey cashmere scarf that she’d stolen from Lord and Taylor in DC.

  Nick had done his best to discourage her.

  ‘What if she wants to change it?’ he’d asked her after the deed had been done and it was too late to change her mind.

  ‘She won’t – she’s too polite. And if she does, I’ll say I lost the receipt.’

  ‘You never lose things – she won’t believe it.’

  ‘She’d believe I stole the scarf even less.’

  Holly couldn’t get away until after five, and Eleanor didn’t want her going out at all, but Richard agreed that it was only fair she have an opportunity to exchange gifts with Nick.

  ‘I could always ask him to come over here,’ Holly said to her mother, knowing how much Eleanor would hate any visitor at this time on Christmas Day when her home was still in disarray from dinner and present giving.

  ‘No, that’s all right. You run along, dear.’

  ‘What do you have for Nick?’ Richard asked.

  ‘A pair of gloves.’ Holly held out the package.

  ‘You’d better take something for his parents,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I don’t need to, Mother. They won’t expect anything.’

  ‘If you’re intruding on their Christmas Day, you can’t go empty-handed,’ Eleanor insisted.

  Richard sucked on his new pipe. ‘She could take one of those bottles.’ He nodded at the small stack of pre-wrapped bottles of whisky and champagne that his wife insisted they keep in stock for last-minute gift emergencies.

  ‘Holly can’t give liquor,’ Eleanor said. ‘What would the Millers think?’

  ‘They’d probably think it was very nice and open the bottle,’ Richard said.

  ‘It’ll have to be chocolates.’ Eleanor pointed to another pile of tastefully wrapped boxes. ‘One of the medium-sized ones, Holly. They’re all Godiva – just so you know what you’re giving.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother.’

  ‘You won’t be very long, will you, dear?’

  ‘Not very, Mother.’

  ‘Have fun, Holly,’ Richard said, and winked at his daughter.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Daddy,’ Holly said, and winked back at him.

  ‘Happy Birthday, sweetheart,’ he said.

  The atmosphere in the Millers’ house was sleepy, Ethan having eaten and drunk too much and Kate having worked too hard, and even Matisse, their collie-cross, appearing to be hung over. Holly had told Nick once that she would love to have had a dog, but because both her parents worked right through the week, Eleanor said they couldn’t keep any animal. It wasn’t fair on the creature or the family, she said, and even if Carmelita, their housekeeper, did claim that she would love the company of a dog, Eleanor pointed out that Carmelita was unlikely to stay for ever, and then there would be nothing but trouble for everyone.

  ‘Happy Birthday, Holly,’ Nick whispered at the door. ‘Everyone’s half asleep. We’ll have to go up to my room.’

  ‘Good,’ Holly whispered back.

  From her armchair in the living room, Kate Miller raised her arm to wave limply at her and mouthed festive greetings, while her husband snored gently and Matisse wagged his tail languidly.

  Nick’s bedroom was smaller than the room next door that he used as a studio. There was a writing desk, computer and chair, a walk-in closet, an en-suite shower room, a bookshelf – bowing a little in the centre from overloading – and a bed covered with a patchwork quilt. There being no lock on the door, Nick moved the chair to about an inch away from the handle, not quite close enough to merit an accusation that they were barricading themselves in, but near enough to give them at least a moment’s warning if either of his parents decided to enter the room.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Nick always said to Holly when she asked him to jam the chair right up under the handle. ‘Mom and Dad always knock before they come in.’

  ‘Do you want your present,’ Holly asked him now, ‘or do I get my Christmas kiss first?’

  Nick put both arms around her and kissed her, giving it his best shot, his most practised and deep French kiss. He felt Holly move tight up against him, felt her moan a little as his tongue thrust in her mouth.

  ‘That,’ he said, coming up for air, ‘was your birthday kiss. This is your Christmas kiss.’

  More than a minute passed.

  ‘Just as well,’ Holly said, breathlessly, ‘I chose your present carefully.’

  Nick drew away. ‘I want to give you yours first.’

  ‘Okay,’ Holly said. ‘But we don’t have too much time. My mother wants me home soon.’

  ‘You’ve only just come.’

  ‘I know.’ Holly fastened her gaze on his mouth. ‘But we have a lot to get done.’

  Nick felt a kick down below and knew he was already hard.

  ‘Here,’ he said, and handed her a small square box.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Open it and see.’

  It was a powder compact.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ Holly said.

  ‘That’s just your official present,’ Nick said. ‘My mother was with me when I bought it, so I had to get something safe.’

  ‘Where’s my unofficial present?’ Holly looked around.

  ‘Under my pillow,’ Nick said.

  Holly wasted no time tearing it open. When she saw the tiny, lace-trimmed silk panties, her eyes brimmed with tears.

  ‘You remember,’ Nick said. ‘In the mall. Our first kiss.’

  ‘Of course I remember.’ Her face lit up. ‘Did you steal them?’

  ‘No, I did not steal them! God, Holly, you’re terrible.’

  ‘But you love me.’

  ‘More than ever,’ Nick said, meaning it.

  ‘Now your present.’ Holly got her package from the writing desk. ‘Your unofficial one is inside the official one.’ She handed it to him. ‘Be careful how you handle it.’

  He tore off the paper, found the gloves. They were brown suede with sheepskin lining. He lifted them to his nose, sniffed them with pleasure.

  ‘These are great. My old ones are shot.’

  ‘I know.’ She had been with him when he’d dropped one glove in the street after they’d gotten off the school bus one November morning and a truck had run right over it. ‘I was with you, remember?’

  ‘Sure.’ Nick was looking in the torn paper.

  ‘I said inside the official present.’

  Nick looked intrigued. ‘Inside the gloves.’

  ‘The left one.’

  Nick felt inside the glove and pulled out a gift-wrapped parcel no more than an inch square.

  ‘Be careful,’ Holly said again. ‘It’s fragile.’

  He squeezed the little package, puzzled. ‘It’s soft.’

  ‘Open it.’

  He took it out of the paper and stared at it, lost for words.

  ‘You’re blushing,’ Holly said triumphantly.

  ‘Jesus,’ Nick said, softly.

  ‘It’s a condom.’

  ‘I know what it is,’ Nick said.

  ‘Don’t you want to?’

  Nick’s throat was tight and dry. It was not the first time he had held a condom in his hands. At school they’d all fooled around with them any number of times. A lot of kids claimed they’d used them. Nick thought a few of them probably had.

  ‘They’re weird looking things, aren’t they?’ Holly said.

  ‘Sure are.’

  ‘I don’t mind—’ Holly stopped.

  ‘What?’ Nick looked at
her.

  ‘I was going to say, I don’t mind if we don’t use it. I just thought you’d say we should wait until we had one. Knowing you, Mr Better-Safe-Than-Sorry.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Nick admitted. ‘I would have.’

  ‘So now we have one.’

  Nick was silent.

  ‘Don’t you want to make love?’ Holly’s voice wavered a little for the first time, hurt getting ready to make its entrance.

  ‘Sure I do,’ Nick said. He swallowed. ‘More than anything.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I think about it all the time.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’m just—’ He hesitated.

  ‘Scared?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘You don’t have to be,’ Holly said. ‘Not with me.’

  Nick looked into her face. ‘No. I guess I don’t.’

  ‘I love you, Nick. So much.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘How about it then?’

  ‘Now?’ He was startled. ‘Here?’

  ‘It is my birthday,’ Holly said. ‘And that is my Christmas present to you. Don’t you think this should be the day?’

  ‘Yes. In a way.’ Excitement began to shove anxiety out of Nick’s mind. ‘But what if someone comes in?’

  ‘You said they won’t.’ Holly was confident.

  ‘They might come upstairs.’ Anxiety returned in full force. This was not a good idea, Nick decided. It might, in fact, be one of Holly’s worst ever, but he didn’t have the nerve to tell her that in case she got too upset. ‘My mom’s bound to come up any second now and ask us if we want anything.’

  ‘Then we’ll tell her we don’t.’ Holly sat on the edge of Nick’s bed and patted the quilt. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Holly, it’s crazy.’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ She looked at the door. ‘Just jam the chair under the handle. That way the worst your mother could get is suspicious.’

  Nick looked at the chair and back at Holly, at her beautiful eyes with their enormous black pupils, at her lips. A sudden, curious, rushing, physical kind of hope shot through his body like a flame. ‘Maybe you’re right. Just this once.’