by Anna Larner
“Please,” Iris said, the expression in her eyes pleading with Moira.
“Okay.”
“Great. We’ll make you a regular yet, young Burns.” Iris gathered her things and left with a skip of delight.
Packing up her own things, Moira noticed that Iris had left her notebook, open, by the nets. Moira carefully picked up the book. A pebble, which had held the book open, slipped to the ground. The exposed page revealed a poem Iris had called “Highlander.” Moira looked around her; it felt wrong to be reading Iris’s work without her permission. There was no one about. Moira sat amongst her belongings by the side of the river and held the book in her lap. She looked around her one last time and then began to read:
When I close my eyes at night, I think of you, my Highlander.
You take me with you into the hills, to the woodland, into the deep sweet darkness.
When I wake in the morning, I think of you, my Highlander.
You take me with you down to the loch, to the water, into the deep sweet darkness.
Take me with you, my Highlander, how I long to be with you in your deep sweet darkness.
Without reading any more, Moira closed the notebook, gathered it with her things, and headed home to her college room.
*
“Moira?” John offered Moira his tobacco pouch, lit his pipe, and took a deep drag in.
“Oh, no, thank you, I don’t smoke.”
“Good for you, Moira, it’s a disgusting habit,” Iris said, waving her hand to disperse the smoke in the air.
John looked suspiciously at Iris.
Iris averted her eyes from his gaze.
Debbie Harry sung out “One Way or Another” in the background of the Union bar.
“Billy not here?” Iris raised her voice against the music.
“Nah, girlfriend trouble.” John exhaled, in between smoky inhalations of tobacco.
“Another?” Iris lifted the empty beer jug and tipped it, somewhat dramatically, upside down.
“I have a better idea.” With a furtive clink, Hamish sneaked out a bottle of whisky, along with four chipped shot glasses, from his guitar case.
Moira giggled in disbelief. “Do you actually have a guitar in that case, or is there just cigarettes and alcohol?”
“I have the essentials, and my guitar, of course.” To prove a point, Hamish pulled out his guitar and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Give us a tune then, Iris.”
“Nah, I don’t have my songbook tonight, my beauties.” As she said this, she looked at Moira.
Moira took a guilty slug of her beer.
“Moira?” Hamish was handing Moira a shot of whisky. “It’s the good stuff, single malt, early birthday pressie to myself, from myself.”
Moira said hesitantly, glancing at Iris, “Okay. Happy birthday.”
“Good girl.” Hamish leant into Moira, slurring, “My birthday’s not for another seven months.”
“Right.” Moira leant away from Hamish, her shoulder brushing against Iris’s.
Out of view, under the small round table cluttered with their drinks, Moira felt Iris briefly place her hand on her leg.
“Moira?” Iris spoke softly.
Moira swallowed hard and fixed her gaze into the distance.
Iris removed her hand.
“Good health.” Iris raised her shot glass in the air.
As a gesture of togetherness, the group of four drank down their whiskies in one go. Moira suppressed the urge to cough.
“Walk me back to halls?” Iris held out a hand to Moira.
Moira just looked at it. Her gaze traced Iris’s fingers, to Iris’s hand, to Iris’s wrist, to Iris’s bare forearm. She could feel the warmth of the whisky at her throat. She blinked at Iris as Iris used her outstretched hand to straighten Moira’s crumpled collar.
“Let’s go, yes?” Iris picked up her bag.
“Don’t you girls do anything we wouldn’t do.” John said, with a smirk.
Iris winked back at John.
“He’s really creepy sometimes,” Moira said, just out of earshot of John.
“Oh, he’s harmless, Moira.”
“He’s not harmless, Iris. What if he says something to someone else, outside the group?”
“So what if he does?”
“It’s private.” Moira stopped walking. She could feel her cheeks burning.
“Moira?”
“Whatever’s going on with us.” Moira stammered slightly as she spoke. She felt her heart ache. “It’s between us, no one else.”
“But no one really cares, Moira, don’t worry.”
“I care.” With this she carried on walking, silent and withdrawn.
“Well, this is me.” Iris sighed and leant against the corridor wall as she looked for her keys to her room.
“I have your notebook, songbook, I mean.” Moira reached into her pocket. “You left it by the river this afternoon. I didn’t want to mention it in front of the boys. You didn’t seem to want to sing.”
“No, I want to…” Iris looked into Moira’s eyes. “Go to bed.”
In her angry state, Moira took this literally. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned away to leave.
“Did you read my poem?”
Moira couldn’t decide whether she should tell the truth.
Iris said softly, “I left it for you to read.”
With her back turned away from Iris, Moira spoke quietly. “It seemed quite intense, the darkness bit.”
Iris gently turned Moira around to face her. “The deep sweet darkness,” she corrected.
Moira nodded, only to be startled by two laughing students crashing down the corridor.
Iris reached for Moira’s hand and, opening her door, she led Moira into her room. She didn’t turn on the light. “The deep sweet darkness.”
“You’re being weird,” Moira said, folding her arms against her chest. “You’re making me feel nervous.”
“I’m sorry.” Iris sat on her bed.
Moira stood leaning against the door. Iris’s curtains were open, illuminating the room with a street light glow. Iris’s room was colourful, soulful, and welcoming; it smelt of sandalwood incense. A tissue-thin amber cloth was thrown over the table lamp by her bed. An SNP poster declared Iris’s allegiance to Scottish independence and a CND poster declared her protest against war. An embroidered banner with a labrys at its centre hung next to her bed. Gaelic songbooks were strewn on the floor. Iris’s room embodied Iris: it spoke of nature, politics, patriotism, passion, and performance.
Iris kicked off her sandals and lay down.
Moira suppressed a strong urge to lie next to her. Instead she walked across to the seat by the study table opposite Iris and sat down. She mumbled into her lap, “Am I your Highlander?”
Without speaking, Iris stood. She leant past Moira and lit a single candle fixed onto a white porcelain saucer on the table. She then softly closed her curtains and turned to face Moira.
Moira watched Iris take a long, deep breath, then effortlessly unclip the straps of her dungarees and let them fall to her feet. Iris carefully stepped out of them.
“Iris?” Moira’s mouth was dry and her heart was pounding. Moira could feel her heartbeat choking her.
Iris pulled off her jumper and let it fall to the ground.
“Iris? What are you doing?” Moira held the edges of the chair.
Iris took another deep breath and stepped out of her underwear. She stood naked in front of Moira, just out of reach.
Moira’s heart and head hurt in a crushing ache.
“Do you want to be?” Iris quietly asked. “Do you want to be my Highlander?”
Moira looked at Iris, at her serious face flushed, the prickling rash of pink on her neck and collarbone betraying the depth of the emotion Iris was feeling. Moira looked at Iris’s breasts, her nipples erect, tender. She followed the line from Iris’s breastbone, past the ripples of ribcage, down to Iris’s navel.
Moira gasped—“I
’m sorry, I can’t, I’m so sorry,”—and rushed out of the room. She got as far as the end of the corridor and stopped.
The image of Iris standing rejected and naked upset Moira. She wanted more than anything to hold Iris, feel her close, and kiss her. Moira’s body ached for Iris, each step away from her physically hurt, and with the kind of compulsion that overwhelms reason, Moira turned around and knocked on Iris’s door. The door opened. Iris had put on her dressing gown; a newly lit cigarette burnt at her fingertip. She let Moira back in.
“I couldn’t leave, I’m sorry, Iris. I couldn’t leave you.” Moira leant against the closed door.
Iris raised her hand to Moira’s face, resting her palm against Moira’s cheek.
“Be with me,” Iris whispered into Moira’s ear. Taking Moira’s hand, Iris led her to her bed and took a long last drag on her cigarette.
Moira watched the cigarette tip embers burn and glow, as Iris inhaled and exhaled.
Iris extinguished the cigarette against the porcelain saucer and blew out the candle.
“Have you done this before?” Moira spoke hesitantly into the darkness. “Been with a woman, I mean.” Moira felt Iris’s finger cover her lips.
“Shh, what does it matter about what we’ve done in the past? What matters is what we do now, Moira.”
“I haven’t though, I haven’t been with anyone.” Moira could feel herself shaking.
“It’s not important.” Iris lifted Moira’s jumper over her head, letting it fall on the floor. “How does the sun know how to shine, Moira?”
“I don’t know.” Moira could hardly speak.
Iris unbuttoned and unzipped Moira’s trousers, and eased them down. Moira stepped out of them.
“How does the wind know how to blow?” Iris reached around Moira’s back, unclipping her bra, releasing it away from Moira.
“Oh my God.” Moira half breathed, half spoke her words.
“How does the rain know how to fall?”
“It just falls, it just falls,” Moira repeated towards Iris.
Iris eased Moira’s underwear down.
“You’ll know what to do, Moira.”
Allowing her own robe to fall, Iris held Moira close to her. “I know you will.”
Chapter Nine
Sunday morning had arrived far too quickly and brought with it the most awful panic, stifling fear, and nausea. Eve hadn’t slept a wink, worrying about last night, worrying about the hug. What was I thinking? Oh my God, what’s Moira thinking? I can’t believe I did that. What sort of person does that? A person who’s definitely lost it, that’s for sure—
Eve’s phone rang, startling her from her spinning whirlpool of regret.
“Hey, Rox.” Keep it together.
“Hey, Evie Eds. How’s you? I’ve just got off night shift,” Roxanne said, with a loud yawn. “Just back at yours now.”
Eve could hear Roxanne opening the main door from the street and the lift opening and closing. She could just make out muffled laughter.
“Is that my neighbour but one? Rox?”
“Erm…might have been.”
Eve gave a heavy sigh. “Please at least tell me my flat’s in one piece.”
“Absolutely. It’s pretty much just as you left it.”
“Pretty much? Rox?”
“Yeah, not exactly sure what this mark is on your kitchen counter. It’ll probably come off though.”
“What mark?” Eve tried to sound vaguely normal but knew her tone held irritation, turning to alarm. “Don’t use anything abrasive.”
“Sure. Chill out.”
“Chill out?”
“So, Evie Eds, what’s the stalking latest?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You know—your holiday crush on your neighbour, any news?”
Eve was silent.
“You’re not speaking to me from the police station are you? Don’t tell me—they’ve given you a suspended sentence for indecent exposure.”
“What? No.”
“I was joking, Evie. Anyone lost their sense of humour this morning? Or maybe it’s just a bad hair day—although no, that’s every day isn’t it?
Eve heard Roxanne chuckle. “Yeah, whatever,” Eve said flatly.
“So, no news?” Roxanne asked gingerly.
“No.”
“Okay, well.” There was an awkward pause. “You could send me a picture of her. I mean, I will be able to tell in an instant whether she’s one of us lucky few.”
“No, it’s okay, thanks.”
“Sure. Well send one through, if you change your mind. Eve? Anyway. So, well, your flat’s fine. Nothing to report this end either, unless no loo roll classes as a major emergency.”
“I hugged her.”
“Who?”
“Moira.” Eve could hear the flush of a toilet. “Rox, are we having this conversation with you on the loo?”
“No, I’ve finished. So what happened? I mean, what did you do?”
“I just couldn’t leave her, Rox. It was like I was being pulled towards her. Really, it felt physical.”
Roxanne gasped, “You’d been drinking right? Please tell me you were drunk.”
“Yeah, I must have been, ’cause I’ve got a right thumper this morning. In fact”—Eve rummaged around in her suitcase, pulled out a pair of sunglasses, and put them on—“I just feel like staying in bed.”
“Had Moira been drinking too?”
It felt very much to Eve as if she was a patient in A&E and Roxanne was trying to establish the severity of the injury. She was waiting for Roxanne to ask if she could raise both arms above her head. She said defensively, “I don’t know, maybe.”
“Okay. Good.” Roxanne seemed reassured. “So what exactly were you doing together before you hugged her?”
“We’d been to a dance.”
“What—you went on a date?” Roxanne asked, in evident disbelief.
“No, my family and, well, the whole village really—”
“Intimate.”
Eve sighed.
“No, no, go on, I’m all ears.”
“No, Rox, you’re all mouth.” Eve ignored Roxanne’s guffaw down the phone. “Well, we chatted after the dance, just her and me. It was nice. She’s really nice. There’s something about her. Something special, you know?”
“Right.” Roxanne cleared her throat. “So, okay, how exactly did the hugging come about?”
Eve heard the kettle begin to boil in the background.
“Well, it was about, I don’t know, elevenish maybe, and we’d walked back to our houses after chatting, and then…” The kettle clicked off.
“And then? For God’s sake, don’t stop now.”
“I sort of explained that I didn’t want to go into Loch View, because then that would mean I wasn’t with her.”
“You know you’re behaving like an intense crazy person, right? I almost dread to ask what she said to that.”
“Actually, Rox, she invited me around to hers but I said no of course—”
“What do you mean, of course? She asked you to sleep with her and you said no?”
“No. She asked me around for a hot drink before bed.”
“Yeah, right, some of my hottest sex has begun with the word coffee.”
“Come to think of it, she did seem a bit confused that I said no.”
“Okay and her confusion is surprising, why? One minute you’re telling her you can’t be away from her and the next minute you’re declining an invitation for a hot drink around at hers.”
“My family would have wondered where I was.” Eve walked over to her bedroom door to check that it was properly shut. “It would be like saying I’m just off for an oatcake and an orgasm, don’t wait up.” Eve heard Roxanne snigger.
“Okay. But I still can’t quite see how this leads to a hug.”
“She asked me what I wanted.”
“I bet,” Roxanne said. “Your head checked,” she added in a quiet mumble.
“I hear
d that.”
“You were meant to. Please don’t tell me you rambled on in front of her with some romantic shit.” Eve was silent. “No, I mean, so you said, I’d like a hug please, Moira?”
“Well, not exactly, I just hugged her.”
“Right, okay. So she hugged you back, then?” Roxanne asked with a tone of uncertainty. “I mean, it’s got to have been a bit weird for her surely?”
“I don’t know, I mean, yes.” Eve paused. If Eve was honest, she couldn’t remember whether Moira had held her or not. “I think she held me.”
“You think?”
“I don’t know if it was that she was just being nice though, sympathetic. She didn’t seem that weirded out by it.”
“So what did she say?”
Eve could hear the clinking of a teaspoon against a teacup.
“I can’t remember.”
Roxanne swallowed a large glug of tea, spluttering, “You can’t remember?”
“Really, I can’t remember. It’s all a bit of a blur now.”
“A blur? So do you remember how you left things? Are you seeing her again?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I kind of ran out on her before we agreed to anything.”
“You ran out on her? So let me get this right. You randomly hug her, and then, without warning, you up and leave on her. God, that’s messed up. What’s she supposed to think?”
“Oh, Rox, don’t, I know, I feel like such a tit. What do you reckon I should do?”
There was a pause.
“You may need to let the dust settle a bit, mate. You know, see how she feels about everything. I guess, if she wants to see you again, she’ll be in touch somehow.”
“But what happens if she doesn’t contact me? If I don’t get a chance to see her again, what happens then?”
Roxanne was silent. “Rox?”
“Well, then you come home. We get you blind drunk and then we find you someone a bit nearer to home, yes? Eve?”
Eve wanted to say that she only wanted Moira and if she couldn’t have Moira, then she didn’t want anyone. “I guess.”
“It’ll be okay, mate, I promise. But,” Roxanne said a little more softly, “it’s just, you don’t really know her, Eve, that’s all. You don’t really know what you’re getting into. Perhaps don’t hug her again until you have a bit more confirmation from her that that’s what she wants.”