by Simon Bourke
“Oh, brilliant,” Patricia squealed, getting up from her seat.
A couple of seconds later, Seán heard her on the phone.
“Hello, Irene. Yes, I did. He said he’d love to. I know. Is she? Ah, that’s great. Okay, I’ll tell him. Goodbye, Irene. I will. Bye now.”
She returned to the living-room wearing a triumphant smile.
“You’re to go up there in an hour. She’ll be expecting you.”
Fuck. An hour? He hadn’t expected that. He was struck by a sudden bout of nerves. What if she was really hot, like Becky Forde hot? Jesus. Would he be able to cope? He could never control himself around girls he fancied, always sweating and blushing, mumbling and being a fucking idiot. He didn’t want to go, now. He was scared. Why hadn’t he just studied when he’d said he would? He could have avoided all this crap; clandestine dates with mysterious studying partners at number twenty-three, palpitations at the thought of her being as hot as Becky Forde. Fuck’s sake. There was no getting out of it now, though. It was all arranged. She was waiting up there for him. Well, fuck it, if she was waiting for him the least he could do was make himself presentable. He got up from the couch, turned off the TV and headed upstairs for a shower. With any luck his grandfather’s cologne would be in the bathroom.
13
She was all right, but only alright. Small and slim, with porcelain-white skin and eager, inquisitive eyes. She reminded him of a small prairie animal, a shrew of some sort. It was a real shame. He’d hoped for something in between, not as hot as Becky Forde but not a minger either. Someone attainable, who might fancy him and he might fancy back. What he’d got was Pippi fuckin’ Longstocking.
At least she wasn’t shy, though; that was something.
“So what will we start with?” she asked, all business-like.
“I don’t care,” Seán said, shrugging his shoulders.
“C’mon, you must have a preference?”
She sat across from him, nibbling on the end of a pen and gazing at him expectantly. Wasn’t she supposed to be as much of a slacker as he was? Why all the sudden enthusiasm? He knew why: she fancied him. As soon as he’d walked into the door he’d seen it; overt friendliness and big, beaming smiles. Mrs. Tiernan, clearly dubious about allowing a sexually-charged fifteen-year-old boy into the house, had escorted them to a well-lit room at the back where a makeshift study centre had been set up. Seán had instantly decided he didn’t fancy this girl, but he was still disappointed they weren’t going to be working in her room – at least then he might have had a chance to rummage through her knicker drawer when she went to the jacks. Instead, here they were in their ‘study centre’ with nothing but books, pens, and paper to entertain them. Fantastic.
“Well, maths is my worst subject so – ”
“Let’s start with that, then!” She was off like a shot, fishing her book out of the bag and leafing through the pages like a lunatic.
If she had let him finish his sentence she would have heard “ – let’s leave that till last.”
But she had her book out now, and he did need some help with his maths, so he followed suit and took out his own. The difference in the two textbooks was stark. Hers was as pristine as the day it was bound, carefully covered in transparent laminate and with barely a dog-ear in sight; his resembled something an archaeologist might find on a dig in ancient Egypt.
“How are you on algebra? I hate it. I got a C2 in my mocks. Mammy nearly kilt me!”
Seán had failed maths in his mocks; he’d got an NG, same as his Christmas exams.
“Ah, I’m not great at it, to be honest.”
There was a knock at the door, followed by Mrs. Tiernan with a tray of refreshments. She was really here to check up on them though, that was obvious.
“How are the students getting on?”
She was grinning from ear to ear. Seán thought she looked a little bit demented. He reckoned she was in her mid – to late forties, a lot older than his mother. He was used to this when calling to his friend’s houses; their parents were usually older than his and had more in common with his grandparents than his mother.
“Fine, Mrs. Tiernan.”
“Great. That’s grand, now.” She set down the tray on the table; on it were two large glasses of orange cordial and a plate of chocolate digestives. Seán glanced at Alice. She stared daggers at her mother. Ah, bless, she’s trying to impress me and silly oul’ Mammy is cramping her style. Mrs. Tiernan lingered for a few seconds more, continuing to grin manically, then patted Seán on the back before departing with a wave. Seán exchanged glances with his educational partner. “Mothers, eh?”
Alice had flushed slightly. “God, she’s so embarrassing,” she said, glancing ruefully at the glasses of orange.
“It could be worse, girl, believe me,” said Seán, grabbing a couple of biscuits. He tried to imagine how their study sessions might go in his grandparents’ house, and shuddered; but that would still be preferable to bringing her to his mother’s. At least they were guaranteed a warm welcome at his nanny’s. At home, with Daryl around, anything was possible. A couple of glasses of orange and a cheesy welcome was small fare compared to the kind of shit Seán had to put up with. It had reached the point where he no longer invited his friends round. It was bad enough that Daryl spent each and every evening lying on the couch in the sitting-room, the remote control balanced on his chest. The fact he did so in a pair of tatty old tracksuit bottoms and a dressing-gown, could also just about be tolerated. What made it impossible to invite people over was his stepfather’s outright hostility. He remembered when Ginty had come to stay over one Saturday night; poor Ginty, the most harmless fucker you could ever meet. He came in, all buck-toothed politeness, and was met by a pig.
“Hello, Mr. Cassidy,” he’d said, offering Daryl his hand.
Daryl lay on the couch, looked at Ginty’s little paw and grunted in derision. Unsure how to proceed, Ginty looked at Seán, who had turned bright red; he managed to nod towards his room and mumble, “Come on, let’s have a game on the Mega Drive.”
That was how Daryl greeted his friends on a good day. On a bad day, he’d make it clear he didn’t want them there without actually coming out and saying it. This involved waging loud arguments with Sinéad within earshot of Seán’s guests, or, if she wasn’t there, slamming doors and banging pots while muttering expletives under his breath, again ensuring that everything he did and said could be heard by all in the vicinity.
No, poor innocent Alice had it better than she could ever imagine.
After he’d polished off all the biscuits and slaked his thirst, they set about doing some actual work. To his surprise, they made some progress. She explained some of the things he was too embarrassed to ask about in class, and in the space of an hour he’d learned more about algebra than he had in the last year of school. He wasn’t sure what she was getting from it, though. Her maths was fine, way ahead of his. It only seemed fair that they switch to a subject in which he was her superior – if there was one.
“So what did you get in English in your mocks?” he asked, casually.
“B2, in honours,” she replied with a grin.
He said nothing, waiting for the question.
“And you?”
He paused before answering. This would be the only time he could pose as her intellectual superior, so he might as well make the most of it.
“An A1 in honours.”
“Wow! An A1! Janey mac!”
“Yeah, I like English,” he replied bashfully.
“I bet you do. An A1!!
He felt a warm glow in his chest. This girl whom he barely knew had just given him more recognition for his achievements than most members of his family.
“So maybe I can help you with yours, seeing as you did loads for me with the maths and that.”
“Okay,” she said, maintaining eye contact for
longer than was comfortable. Seán darted his eyes away, looking anywhere but at her. He didn’t think he’d led her on. Had he? No, he’d just been himself, and that was all it had taken for her to fall for him. Because it was clear to him that this young girl, with her pale skin and her inferior English grade, was smitten. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t muster even a semi at the thought of seeing her naked, and he could generally muster a semi at the thought of almost anything. She dressed like a pre-teen, for a start, and she didn’t wear any make-up. Seán liked make-up on his women. It showed they had a bit of class. What really put him off, though, was the way her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, exposing a smattering of freckles on her forehead. He hated freckles, hated them. Pale, Irish skin with freckles all over it; there was nothing worse as far as he was concerned. However, this studying session had been very beneficial in terms of his schoolwork, so if and when she tried to take things further, he would calmly explain that he didn’t feel that way about her and hope it didn’t sully this mutually beneficial relationship.
In order for it to become mutually beneficial, of course, he had to repay the favour. So he ignored her increasingly suggestive stares and took her through the finer points of Dylan Thomas, Oscar Wilde, Tennyson, Shakespeare, O’Casey and Fitzgerald. All the while doing his utmost to keep things strictly professional; he was friendly yet mildly aloof, attentive but strangely distant. There could be no crossing of wires here. At one point his hand brushed against hers as he pointed to the opening line of a stanza and he could have sworn she emitted a moan of pleasure. The best course of action now was to bring this night to a satisfactory conclusion before someone got their heart broken.
“Look at the time, it’s nearly ten!” he said, staring at his watch in amazement as though he hadn’t been counting down the minutes since twenty to the hour.
“It is getting late, I suppose,” Alice replied grudgingly, like a child being told it was bedtime.
Seán quickly began putting his things away, perhaps too hastily, but he didn’t care.
“We got loads done,” he said. “Turned out to be a pretty good idea, after all.”
“Yeah, it was great,” she said perking up a little.
“We can do it at my nan’s next time, if you like?” He was aware of his double-entendre but doubted that she would notice it.
“That’d be brilliant. When? Tomorrow night?”
Steady on love. “I’m busy tomorrow night,” he lied. “How about Thursday?”
“Grand.”
“Well, that’s that then,” he announced, zipping up his bag and hesitantly moving to the door.
“Yes. Thank you, Seán. It was really helpful.”
They stood staring at each other, Sean grateful there was a desk separating them, and Alice waiting for something, what, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, he didn’t intend to give it to her. He couldn’t reach the door without brushing up against her, though, and she hadn’t made any attempt to move. He was trapped, trapped by this sexual predator.
She sighed deeply as if admitting defeat, and led the way out. “You’d better say goodbye to my parents.”
“I will,” he replied, feeling strangely guilty for letting her down.
When they returned to the sitting-room there were two people present who hadn’t been there when he’d arrived, a boy and a girl. The boy was clearly Alice’s brother, he shared the pale skin and rusty-coloured hair handed down by Mr. Tiernan. He was older, though, in his early twenties perhaps. The girl didn’t look like Alice or the brother, or Mr. Tiernan, or anyone in Dooncurra for that matter. She was beautiful. Her blonde hair was wet through as if she’d just emerged from the sea, like a surfer or a mermaid, and she glowed with radiance and good health. Her face also was bereft of make-up, but unlike Alice, this creature didn’t need make-up. She was tanned, almost dusky, her skin that vibrant bronze colour that you saw on models in holiday brochures. But it was her eyes that held him, drew him to her and threatened to turn him to stone. A deep shade of green, they shimmered. They were commanding, mysterious. And yet there was something cold about them; the dead eyes of a predator as it silently observed its prey. It was like staring at the sun; he knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t help it. Only when you’d feasted upon these main attractions did you begin to notice the delicacy of her features: the small, dainty nose, the gently curved jawline and shallow cheeks. Her mouth was set in a slight pout, ready to break into a smile or a sneer at any moment, depending on her mood, conveying a thousand emotions without the need for speech.
Yet, despite her aching beauty, her remarkable, other-worldly refinement, there was something crude about her. Beneath all that elegance and allure lay something else, wanton and lewd. It was this that drew him, more than anything else. If he was to hazard a guess he’d say she was eighteen, but such was her calm self-assuredness she could easily have been in her twenties. She was curled up in an armchair wearing a T-shirt and tracksuit, eyeing him lazily like a cat deciding if and when to strike. Nervously he met her stare, looked away and then looked back, scared but invigorated. She scrutinised him unblinkingly, never taking her eyes off him. Seán felt a tingle in his groin. Rather than the beginning of an unwelcome erection, it felt as if his genitals were shrivelling up inside him. She was toying with him, and despite his confused anxiety he was quite enjoying it. He desperately wanted to be introduced to her, to see if she were real and make sure he wasn’t just imagining her.
“Where are your manners, Alice?” asked Mrs. Tiernan as her daughter dragged Seán towards the front door.
“What?” she replied, irritably. But she knew what she was doing. Alice Tiernan had seen the effect her older sister had on boys before. And she was determined to get this boy, her boy, out of the room before he fell under the spell.
“Introduce your friend to your brother and sister, and don’t be so rude!”
“Okay,” Alice muttered, now very much a stroppy teenager.
“This is my brother, Gerard,” she said, indicating the mass of arms and legs on the chair furthest from the door. Gerard waved a greeting and returned to the TV.
“And this is my sister, Leanne,”
The vision in the other armchair rose to greet him, taking his hand in hers before he could proffer it.
“Hi, Seán. I hope you’ve been looking after my little sister in there.”
It was a fairly innocuous remark, the kind of thing any big sister might say, but coming from her mouth it acquired added meaning. The glance that accompanied it added to the intrigue. She looked into his eyes, a small smirk playing over her lips. Was she suggesting they’d been up to something in that little room? Perish the thought. He wanted to let her know that they hadn’t done anything, that he would never do anything in any room unless it were with her.
“I – yeah, we got some great work done.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, releasing his hand and returning to her chair. He looked to see if she was still watching him but, like her brother, she had returned to the TV, apparently finished with him. The disappointment was crushing. He would gladly have sold his soul to have her attention for a few moments longer.
Introductions over, he was finally propelled towards the door by Alice, who had ceased to exist in his mind, and after a terse goodbye, he was outside alone. Instead of walking the short distance to his grandparents’ house, he decided to take a little stroll. He needed some time to digest what had just happened.
14
He dreamt about her that night. They were in the Tiernans’ study room: Seán, Leanne, Alice, Mr. and Mrs. Tiernan, Rosie Power, and his uncle Patrick. Mrs. Tiernan had just served up a plate of roast beef for everyone except Seán, who had his maths textbook in front of him.
“No dinner for you until you’ve finished studying,” said Rosie mockingly, as she skewered a roast potato and planted it in her mouth.
Seán looked at Patrick for support, but he couldn’t see his uncle’s face behind the biker’s helmet he wore. There was nothing for it, he would have to study. He flipped open the book in the hope of getting his work done before his dinner got cold, but all the pages were blank.
“Mrs. Tiernan, my book – ”
“No dinner for you until you’ve finished studying,” said Mrs. Tiernan, as Rosie nodded approvingly.
He looked at Alice, showing her the blank pages of his book, but she was too busy cosying up to Patrick to notice. She was stroking his thigh and whispering in his ear, or to be more precise, the side of his helmet. She occasionally glanced back at Seán, making sure he was watching before redoubling her efforts. Seán wondered if Patrick liked it.
Leanne sat directly across from him, but whenever he tried to look at her his sight became blurred. He squinted in desperation but it made no difference; all he could see was a shimmering outline, a blue-green hue where she should be. It was her, though, it had to be. His heart was beating fast and his palms were clammy with sweat. He moved his eyes in her direction once more, slowly now, hoping his sight would adjust if he made no sudden movements, and little by little she came into view. It was incredible. Her bee-stung lips pouted at him coquettishly, and her eyes, thick with mascara, spoke of things he dared not imagine even in his dreams.
“You came,” she said.
“Yes, I was always going to come,” he replied.
“For me?”
“Yes, for you. Who else is there?”
She smiled at him. His words pleased her. This made him happy. He would do anything to please her.
“What about my sister?” she asked.
He gazed at her indulgently. “Forget about her.”
She stood up from her chair. Now everyone else was a blur and Leanne was the only one he could see. She wore a checked shirt, the kind often worn by lumberjacks and fishermen, and beneath it he could see the swell of her breasts. He tried to stand up to go to her, but he couldn’t move. A whinny of frustration rose in his chest. He needed her so badly, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t move. Mrs. Tiernan came back into view. She sat beside him now, looking at his groin.