A muffled groan, like a prolonged sigh, came from the next room, through the paper-thin wall. He slowed his breathing, listening. There it was again, louder, more urgent this time. Jed stood up, went across the room and pressed his ear against the cold, white plaster surface.
'Oh God…God, Jon…'
He stepped away, his heart thumping. eyes locked on the wall, wide in disbelief.
'Oh God…yes…YES!'
Breath coming in short, shallow gasps, his mouth went dry as he realised what was happening. In a daze, he fumbled for the door handle and padded out into the little hallway. The door to the next bedroom was slightly ajar, the sounds from within louder, more distinct. He knew he shouldn't, but having no control over his actions, he leaned forward and peered through the crack.
Janet straddled Jon on the bed, moving up and down rhythmically, her head thrown back, her hands running through the tumbled mass of her own hair. As she moved, she cried out, her pace increasing.
Fascinated, unable to tear himself away, Jed watched, aware of his growing erection. Lost in a swirling haze of desire, all thoughts of remaining silent gone, he pushed the door open wide and stepped inside.
She turned to gaze at him and broke into a wide smile, her hands falling down over her breasts, lingering there for a moment, before travelling to Jon's chest, and she increased her movements. Jon brought his hips up to meet her, holding onto the fleshy mounds of her hips; she yelled loudly then, throwing her head back, eyes closed, and he thrust upwards in response, over and over.
Jed, every fibre of his body aching, centred all of his senses on the delicious pain spreading across his loins. He tore away at his jeans and brought himself out. Janet laughed, her tongue running across her bottom lip, “Yes Jed!”
And then he was lost to it all.
It was gone midnight when Larry Meres finally opened his front door. He felt awful, his mouth thick with the taste of the police station interview room, his clothes stinking from the fug of cigarette smoke the detectives insisted on smoking. He'd never smoked, and now his chest felt raw, stuffed with dirty cotton wool, as if he'd gone through at least a dozen cigarettes. Mounting the stairs, he was already pulling off his shirt.
The telephone rang and he turned, rushing down to answer it.
“Dad, where have you been, I've phoned you three times!”
“Sorry Jed…” He daren't tell him what had been happening, not now. His brain was too full of mush to think things through, apart from the overwhelming sense of belief he felt at the sound of his son's voice. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything's great, Dad, We went to Glencoe today and tomorrow we're going to see Culloden. You know about Culloden? Culloden Moor?”
“Er, yes, battle wasn't it?” Larry squeezed his fingers into his eyes. Jed sounded buoyant, full of joy and wonder, almost like he was a little boy again. But there was something else, something Larry couldn't quite put his finger on…
“Dad, everything is all right isn't it? Did I wake you up?”
“Jed – it's almost twenty past twelve.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I've phoned you over and over. Where have you been?”
“I, er, had to see someone. Nothing very, you know, interesting. Look, ring me tomorrow and I'll be able to talk more then. I'm really tired, Jed. But thanks for calling, yeah? I've been worried.”
“No need to worry, Dad. I'm fine. I'll call you tomorrow.”
The line went dead and Larry stared at the phone, twisting his mouth, trying to work out why he felt Jed wasn't telling the whole truth. It wasn't so much what he said, but the way he said it. Not like him at all – different, forced, almost as if he were reading it from a script. But that was stupid. Why would his own son… And his voice. That was different too. Perhaps he was tired, worried …
Larry yawned. It was too late for this nonsense. He'd shower in the morning, freshen himself up, gather his thoughts. If he didn't get to bed soon, he'd be falling down asleep in the hallway.
Jed lay on the bed, Janet next to him. She was sleeping. He looked at her. Her cheeks were red with a rosy glow. Completely satisfied, she had fallen asleep almost as soon as she had rolled off Jon's body. He stood, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and pulled on his shirt. Slumped in the corner, Jed watched him, ashamed, embarrassed, consumed with self-loathing, his mess all over his hand and the front of his jeans. Jon looked at him and didn't say a word before leaving the room. Jed stayed there for a few moments, then crossed to the tiny sink against the far wall, rinsing his hands and face, dabbing the front of his jeans, doing his best to wash away the stains. He hadn't brought another pair of trousers, not thinking he'd need them. Cursing, he pulled them off and lay them over the rim of the sink, then settled down next to Janet.
And that's how he was when Jon returned some time later. He gave Jed a look. “It's nearly half-past midnight, Jed. Time you were in bed.”
That was all. No explanations, nothing about what had happened or why. “Jon. When we were got to the—”
“Not now Jed, there's a good lad.” He pulled off his trousers and stood, as if relishing exposing himself.
“Oh my God,” mumbled Jed, gaping.
“Off you go.”
In a rush, Jed leaped up, grabbed his jeans and ran into his own room. Throwing himself down onto his bed and lay there, eyes open, not knowing what to do or think.
Later, he had no way of knowing how much later, he must have drifted off into sleep, roused again by the sound of the creaking bed next door. And her voice, low but urgent, 'Oh God, Jon…Oh God…'
26
Breakfast time he sat alone at his table. The silent waitress, older than the hills, dumped the plate in front of him and shuffled off. He stared at the offering – two scrawny pieces of burnt bacon, a runny egg and a heap of slimy mushrooms. He pushed the plate away and spread hard butter on cold toast. Sitting back, he gazed out of the restaurant window towards the open grassland beyond. It was raining, in great slanting sheets, darkening his mood still further. He took a gulp of coffee, threw his half-eaten toast onto the plate and went out.
“Are you old enough to be driving that car?”
He turned towards the sound of the voice. A strange little man, glasses pushed back onto a shiny dome, stood behind the reception desk, huddled over a large ledger. Jed frowned, not sure if the man was addressing him or not. He zipped up his coat and went to move away.
“Nothing to do with me what you do, of course, but I don't want the police calling. Bad for business.”
Ignoring him, Jed stepped out into the rain and was surprised to see Janet already sitting behind the wheel. She smiled at him through the misted up window. Jon was nowhere, which was a relief. Jed felt deeply embarrassed by the previous night and, as he clambered in beside her, he tried to make the first sounds of an apology, “Sorry about, you know—”
“Jon's got business,” Janet said, all bubbly and full of joy, seeming to ignore Jed's awkwardness. “So, we can take the time to Culloden. Like we planned.” She smiled, put the car into gear and took it out of the car park. Soon they headed out of the little town. Jed looked at the passing buildings. He had no recollection of arriving at the guesthouse, none whatsoever. Come to think of it, he had little real recollection of anything at all. Except last night. How could he forget that…
“Why are we here?” he asked, without turning.
“Here? What do you mean?”
“In Scotland? Why have we come all this way – for what reason?”
“Well – Jon, he has business. Like I said. And he thought it would be a chance for us to be alone, you know…” She giggled. “Don't you just love him?”
“I'm not…” He peered into the grey mist, the rain obscuring the view. He said quietly, “Do you?” Then he looked at her.
She glanced over to him, frowning. “Do I what?”
“Love him? You said, don't you just love him. Was that literal?”
“Lit – what?”
“You seemed to 'love him' quite a lot last night.”
Her cheeks reddened slightly, “Oh, that…Well – what's a girl to do, eh? He is, you know…”
“No, I don't actually. What is he?”
“God, you're in a bad mood this morning, aren't you? What's the matter with you, with all these questions?”
And why are you so angry, so defensive? Jed looked away again, finding solace in the rain. He liked the way it drained all colour from the land, making it appear so depressing. He spotted a man struggling along the road, no hat, no umbrella, stooped forward against the weather, no doubt already soaked through to the skin, and the sight made him feel better. At least someone was having a worse time of it than he was.
She turned the car into a rutted road, one that snaked through a massive Forestry Commission area. It grew dark, the great trees on either side reaching up to the sky, blocking out most of the sunlight. Fortunately, they also blocked out most of the rain. Winding down the window, Jed breathed in the fresh scent of pine, closing his eyes, imagining that this must be what Sweden or Norway smelled like. He opened his eye to watch the passing denseness of trees and wondered why everything seemed so quiet.
She swung into a quiet car park, only one other car already waiting there. She stopped and smiled at him.
“Let's take a look,” she said.
He didn't fully understand her words. Take a look at what? “Where are we?” he asked.
“Culloden Moor.”
Culloden Moor. Even the name sent shivers down his spine.
He stood there, a few moments later, coat zipped up against the slanting rain. The moor, a bleak, awful place, its soul ripped away, the wind moaning through the heather seeming to cry out for the fallen. Shivering, Jed sensed what it might have been like on that dreadful day, when the Highlanders met defeat. Lonely and miserable, a grey, washed-out landscape, a place full of death. He could see it, all of it, amongst the heather and the thistle, hear it in the lament of the wind. He watched English redcoats cut down the hopelessly outgunned Scots in droves, their ancient way of life, the life of the Clan, destroyed forever. How many had they lost that day? Hundreds. And the English, a few tens. Thirty, or so. He'd have to check it up in the history books when he got home. He turned a serious, drawn face towards Janet. “Why are we here?”
“I thought you'd find it interesting.”
“I do. But, why would you bring me here? Are you interested in any of this?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I think you should see it. That's all. Jon thinks you should see it.”
“Why? I mean, the crazy thing is, I actually am interested, but how could you know that? How could Jon know that?”
“Why do you always ask such strange questions?”
“Because it's not the usual thing for a girl and boy to do – travel all the way up here, to stand on this dismal piece of land and think about what it must have been like to die here. That's why.”
“Well – Jon thought you'd enjoy it.”
“Jon. All you ever talk about is Jon. Everything is Jon. Do you love him, Janet? Is it him you want to be with?”
Taking in a deep breath, she looked out across the vastness of that awful place, tuning in to the despair of the fallen. “You just don't understand, Jed.”
“Then tell me – make me understand. Janet, I heard you having sex with him last night. And I think you wanted me to hear. I think it was all planned.”
“Planned?” She laughed. “God, you really are naive.”
“I suppose I am, but it's true isn't it? You brought me up here so I could witness you and him do what you were doing.” He looked away, the memory too recent, too fresh. And too painful. “My God, I think you actually enjoyed humiliating me that way.”
She reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of her hand. He flinched, but not too much. He still relished the hope that they could become something more than just friends.
“I adore him,” she whispered huskily. “I can't help it, I wish I could. When I'm with him, I'm in heaven and when I'm not – all I can do is count the minutes until I'm back in his arms.”
Jed heard her words, but he couldn't begin to register them. None of it made any sense; he was beyond wondering how everything fitted together. Bringing him here, stringing him a yarn, letting him believe there was a chance…
A sudden gust of wind brought him out of his reverie. He sighed loudly and turned to go, leaving her standing there, to look out across the desolate moor.
Sometime later she came up to him inside the visitors' centre. He was peering at some displays, positioned over some glass topped viewing cabinets. He didn't look at her.
“What's wrong?”
He snorted. “What the hell do you think?”
“You can't say you didn't enjoy last night…You did, didn't you?”
His stomach turned to water as the memory returned. How she'd held Jon, brought him to orgasm, so slowly, smoothly, unrushed. He closed his eyes, a lump in his throat. “Yes.”
“Well then,” she traced a finger along his arm, “why can't you just be content with that?”
Jed shook himself. “Content? Content with what? It's you I want, Janet, not…” he glanced at the display board again, not taking in the words or the illustrations. “If this is how it's going to be, I'd rather not. Thanks anyway.”
“You don't mean that.”
“Don't I? What the hell do you know what I want and don't want? You tricked me, Janet. You and Jon. You brought me up here for some…reason…And it's got nothing to do with what happened last night. You could have done that anywhere. So, I'm going to ask you again, what the hell are we doing here?”
“Are you all right?”
Jed's head snapped around to find a small, frail looking lady with startlingly white hair raked back from her wrinkled face, staring at him, troubled.
“No, I…” he shrugged, assuming his voice was becoming too loud. “Sorry.”
“This place often makes visitors somewhat distraught. It's the ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” He frowned. “What do you mean, 'ghosts'?”
“Of the men who died here, of course. Their spirits still roam the moor. Can't you feel them?”
He forced a laugh and turned to talk to Janet. But Janet wasn't there; she'd slipped outside. Jed sighed again. Was he ever going to get any answers?
“I'll make you a nice cup of tea, if you like.” Then she did a surprising thing. She took him by the hand and very gently, but very determinedly, she led him over to the far side of the centre, to where there were some tables and chairs. She settled him down, patted him on the shoulder, and stepped behind the counter to prepare the tea.
Jed sat with his chin in his hand and tried to get things straight in his mind. He hated himself for falling under their spell. Both of them. Jon, with that curious hold he had over him. What was it, lust, the desire to experience the unknown? And Janet. Her charms were more obvious; she'd reeled him in like the stupid fish that he was. Eager, blind, driven by his loins, not his brain. God, it was so depressing. If only he could just sit here, in this funny little place, a million miles from every temptation, it would all be fine. Here he could think straight. Here his loins didn't burn with desire.
“There you are,” the old lady settled the steaming cup of tea in front of him and sat down opposite. She smiled. “Sugar?” He nodded and she heaped in three spoonfuls. “Hope that's enough.” She stirred the tea and sat back, satisfied.
It was a wonderful cup of tea, one of the best he had ever tasted. He smacked his lips. “Thank you.”
“Not at all,” the little old lady said, her eyes never leaving his. “I've been watching you. First out on the moor, then in here. You seem – agitated? Is that the right word?”
“Agitated? I don't know. How do you mean?”
“As if you were arguing with yourself. Have you run away, is that it?”
“Nothing weird about it. Young people these days, they have all the pressures and none of the experience to cope. It's a world gone mad, everything so fast. Everything has to happen now – in this instant. There's no time to sit back and relax anymore. I'm glad I'm not young.”
“This place, this moor, do you get many people coming here?”
“To Culloden? Goodness me, yes. The weather is no barrier to them, but today…” she shivered, “Not such a good day today. Mid-week is always quiet, but…” Her voice drifted away. The rain beat against the windows and as he turned to look, he couldn't see more than a few feet across the car-park. Janet must have got back inside the car, otherwise she'd be soaked.
“It was like this on the day, I think. On the day of the battle,” he said.
“Yes. That was an awful day. The Highlanders were soaked through, starving. They hadn't eaten for days. Morale was very low. And yet, they still fought with incredibly bravery.”
“But lost.”
She nodded her head with great reverence. “Oh yes. They lost. But not everything; certainly not their dignity, nor their heroism. You seem like a knowledgeable young man, sensitive too. You've been here before?”
“No, never. I saw a film, on the BBC not so long ago. All about the battle. It was very moving.”
“Yes. I know the one you mean. Interesting you should find it 'moving'. What's your name?”
“Jed.”
“Jed. Yes, of course it is…Now,” she sat upright, surprisingly sprightly for one so old. “I must get back to work. Finish your tea, it'll warm you up.” She paused, reached inside her blue overall and produced a small piece of paper, neatly folded. She pressed it into his hand. “Just in case.”
Puzzled, Jed watched her go back behind the counter, drank down the rest of his tea, then got up, carefully placing cup and saucer on the worktop. “Thank you,” he said.
As he reached the door, the old lady's voice sounded stronger and more assured than ever as she spoke, “You take care of yourself. Remember, things aren't always as they first appear.”
Splintered Ice Page 17