And the birds kept on singing

by Simon Bourke

  “Seán, what on earth is this?” she asked, pointing to his erection. He couldn’t recall stripping off, but he was naked now.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tiernan. This is for Leanne.”

  “Well, no dessert for you!”

  Leanne shot back into view. She was on the table now, sitting cross-legged among all the cutlery and food. She was only a matter of inches away but still beyond his reach. His penis was throbbing so much he wondered if his bell-end might explode. He didn’t want that to happen.

  She began unbuttoning the shirt. She was bare underneath but, try as he might, Seán couldn’t see what he wanted to see. He had to see them, had to see those breasts. By focusing hard he could see how they gently curved at the teat, pointing upwards and then back upon themselves. It wasn’t enough; he had to see them properly. She reached the last button and popped it open, her mouth opening in faux surprise as she did so.

  “Are you here for me?”

  “I am,” he grunted, on the verge of tears.

  “Okay then, Seán.”

  She opened the shirt and gave him what he wanted.

  He awoke. For the first few seconds he retained that beautiful post-dream feeling, where everything that had just happened was still real and life was perfect. Then he returned to reality. He was in his uncle’s old room in his grandparents’ house. And judging by the dampness in his boxers, he had some cleaning up to do.

  15

  “You got off with her, Lockie, didn’t ya? Ya dirty little fucker!”

  Pegs stood before him, his eyes fixed intently on Seán. He wanted answers; they all did. Their friend had been quiet all morning, moping around like a lovesick puppy, wistfully gazing out the window, lost in thought. It was obvious what had happened; he’d copped off with his little studying partner and was now in love. What other explanation could there be?

  “I didn’t, Pegs, honest.”

  “Ya fuckin’ did, Lockie. Don’t give me that shit.”

  Alan Pegg shook his head, a knowing smile on his lips. He had to hand it to his pal, he’d got the jump on them all. A studying partner – it was genius, really. Some sex-starved convent girl; not allowed out at weekends, never so much as kissed a boy. And here comes young McLoughlin to corrupt her poor innocent soul. He playfully punched Seán on the arm, his way of displaying the deep admiration he had for his friend’s cunning plan.

  “Ow! For fuck’s sake, Pegs!”

  Pegs grinned at him and threw him a wink.

  “Details, Lockie, now,” he demanded.

  “There aren’t any details,” Seán protested in exasperation.

  What was he supposed to do? Nothing had happened; well, something had happened, but not what they thought. There was no way he was telling them about Leanne. She was his, not to be shared with the likes of them. Pegs wouldn’t let up, though; he claimed to have a sixth sense for stuff like this, said he knew just by looking at Seán that he’d got off with Alice the night before. All he wanted to do was to help his friend through this exciting stage in his life, give him a few pointers, show him how it was done. He considered himself an expert in this field, affairs of the heart, as he liked to call it, although the heart had very little to do with it where Pegs was concerned. He viewed the opposite sex in the same way a lion might view a zeal of zebras, something to be hunted, chased down and then devoured. That was his approach and, to be fair, it had served him well. He attributed his success to his innate charm and good looks; his friends put it down to his hulking frame and the fact he was one of the few third years who could grow real stubble. Because, at sixteen, Alan Pegg was already essentially a man. In fact, he was bigger than most men. He was certainly taller than all their teachers, and broader than most of them too. He was a man-child. And, although he liked to portray himself as a gentle giant, that really wasn’t the case. Pegs wasn’t a violent kid and never used his mass to bully or intimidate, but he did like to put himself about; not so much a gentle giant as a wild, slavering bull in a china shop. Seán and his friends were just glad to have him on their side. On days like today, though, when Pegs wished to extract information from him, Seán wished that all his friends could be as meek and unassuming as the harmless, defenceless Ginty.

  “There’s nothing to tell, Pegs, honest,” he said, looking at Murt and Ginty for support.

  Murt shook his head, not buying it. Ginty was trying his best to believe his friend, but his face was masked with doubt. Something was going on here, and it was about time Seán spilled the beans.

  “You little fuckin’ liar,” Pegs said, taking a deep breath in the manner of a parent about to spank their child. He grabbed Seán in a headlock and led him towards the bench where they spent their breaks.

  “Lemme go, Pegs, for fuck’s sake.”

  “No. Not until you tell us what happened, ya dirty little cunt.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Seán was getting annoyed now; hot, sweaty and annoyed.

  Pegs perched himself on the table, still holding Seán in his bearlike grip. Murt and Ginty joined him, while Seán was forced to stand at the side, bent uncomfortably as his tormentor held him captive.

  “Let me go, Pegs, ya fuckin’ wanker!”

  Pegs knew his friend was getting pissed off, but he cared not.

  “Details, Seány, details,” he sang, as the three of them laughed in unison.

  “All right, all right. I’ll tell ye, now fuckin’ let me go.”

  “Promise, Seán.”

  “I promise.”

  “What do ye reckon, lads?”

  “I dunno,” said Ginty.

  “Ah, leave him go, Pegs; he’ll tell us,” urged Murt. Good old Murt, always the voice of reason.

  Pegs released Seán from his grasp, and they stared at him while he rubbed at his neck and straightened himself out. Satisfied that he’d had enough time to compose himself, Pegs offered Seán a seat beside him.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Seán didn’t fancy being taken to task again, so he began to talk. There was no way he was telling them about Leanne; it was bad enough coming to terms with the hold she had over him without having his mates tease him as well. And what if they wanted to see her for themselves? He didn’t fancy sharing his obsession with that deviant, Pegs. No, he would tell the truth about what happened with Alice, with maybe a little embellishment to keep them sweet.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, bowing his head and indicating that they should do the same.

  They did as they were told; this wasn’t the kind of stuff you could discuss openly in the school playground. Seán lowered his voice and began recounting the previous night’s events to his rapt audience.

  “Right so, are ye listening?”

  They nodded, solemn now. Grave.

  “So anyway, I get there and Mrs. Tiernan answers the door. ‘Hello Seán, glad you could make it. This is Alice.’ A young wan comes out of the sitting-room, a small, skinny yoke. She’s all right, nothing special; a bit childish, if I’m being honest.”

  “Bet you turned her into a woman, didn’t ya, Lockie? Ya dirty little bastard!”

  “Fuck’s sake, Pegs, will you let him finish!” said Murt, irritated by the interruption. “Go on, Seán.”

  Seán ensured he had the floor once more and resumed his tale.

  “So the mother brings us to this room, like a dining-room or something in the back of the house. And she has it all laid out like a proper study room, table cleared off, pens and markers in little cups, desk lamps, the whole fuckin’ lot. I’m thinking to meself, ‘Fuck this, I was only coming to see if there was a chance of a ride’.”

  Pegs hooted in delight and held up his hand for a high-five. Seán complied before returning to his story.

  “She’s not shy, I’ll give her that; mightn’t be the best looking young wan you’ll ever see but not shy, definitely not. She’s all �
�What’ll we do first?’ and that kinda shit, and I’m wondering if she’s talking about study or something else entirely. I knew straight away I didn’t fancy her, but I figured there was no harm in letting things play out and see where it ended up. Anyway, the books come out and we’re going through algebra and trigonometry and, would you credit it, I’m actually learning a few things.”

  “A proper little swot,” said Ginty, rolling his eyes to heaven.

  “Yeah, she’s a swot alright. But then she starts going on about how it’s too difficult to work together when we’re at opposite sides of the table, and would I not come around and sit beside her.”

  Pegs began hopping up and down on his seat in excitement.

  “I look at her doubtfully but take it at face value. I mean, what can we do with her parents in the next room, right?”

  They all nod in affirmation, eager to find out what you could do with her parents in the next room.

  “I sit beside her and she’s actually right, it’s much easier to work when you’re side by side. I must try it in class sometime!”

  They ignored his joke; this wasn’t the time for jokes.

  Seán hadn’t intended for the lie to go any further than this, but he looked at their faces, the way they hung on his every word, and knew he couldn’t let them down. He’d got their hopes up now, he had to give them something decent. So he kept talking.

  “We’re sitting there going over the maths, and next thing she puts her hand on my leg.”

  Ginty’s eyes widened, Pegs suddenly became very serious. Even Murt looked taken aback.

  “I look at her and go, ‘Eh what are you doing?’ And she says: ‘C’mon, my parents won’t hear anything.’ Then she grabs my hand and moves it up inside her top; she’s not wearing a bra, so I get a proper handful. There’s not a whole lot to grab but I’m tweaking her nipples and mauling the tits off her. I’ve a proper stalk on by this stage, and she moves her hand from my thigh slowly up my leg until she’s got my cock. She starts wanking me through me pants while I’m feeling the tits off her, and all the while she’s just staring at me with a dirty smirk on her face. Then, just when I thought I was going to blow me load, we hear someone in the hallway. I yank me hand out from under her top, she takes back her own hand, and we sit there full of concentration waiting for the door to open. In comes the mother with a tray of fuckin’ digestives!”

  The bell resounded around the schoolyard, bringing Seán’s story to an abrupt end. His three friends appeared shell-shocked. Pegs in particular, was in a daze. As they trooped back into class, probing for more details, he cursed himself for not finding a study partner of his own. He was going to get one soon, though; no doubt about it.

  16

  Back in class, Seán cursed himself for being so stupid. Why couldn’t he just have told the truth? He wouldn’t have needed to mention Leanne. But no, he had succumbed to his machismo and sullied Alice’s reputation in the process. He doubted she even knew what to do with a cock, never mind forcefully grab one without invitation. He had sworn his friends to secrecy, but it wasn’t enough; there was no chance they would keep this to themselves. As they sat in geography, Pegs winking over at him every couple of minutes, he resolved to come clean at lunchtime. Whatever about clearing Alice’s name, he wanted to be rid of the guilt.

  When lunchtime came, however, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were in awe of him, and he liked it. Between this and the set-to with Sheehan, his stock had never been higher. He was now a challenger of authority, with a side-line in boob-fondling. What next? Turning up for school on a motorbike? Anything was possible in the life of the new, improved Seán McLoughlin. So what if only half the legend was true? They didn’t need to know that, not right now anyway. Maybe later, when the topic of conversation had moved onto something else, he’d reveal the truth; that Alice Tierney was a good Catholic girl and would never dream of behaving like such a strumpet. But for now she was a filthy little whore., and he the grateful recipient of her advances. Pegs was the only one of them to have popped his cherry, and as far as Seán was concerned it was a race between himself and Murt to see who’d be next; Ginty didn’t count, as to the best of their knowledge he’d never so much as kissed a girl. Although his fictional account of last night’s events hadn’t included any actual coitus, Seán had gained crucial ground over Murt, at least in Pegs’ eyes. The big man viewed him differently now, there was no mistaking it. He looked on him with new-found respect, a look that said: We’re men, you and I, not like those other limp-wristed losers. So he kept quiet, revelling in his status as the current stud of the group, taking great pleasure in Murt’s defeated demeanour. And, after a while, it began to feel like he had felt Alice Tiernan’s tits while she wanked him off through his pants.

  *

  “When you seeing her again, Lockie? I bet you can hardly wait,” said Ginty. While Pegs and Murt’s admiration was tinged with jealousy, Ginty appeared genuinely thrilled by Seán’s good fortune, like a proud father basking in his son’s heroics.

  They lay on the grass at the back of the school grounds, near the wall where Seán had made his great getaway. It was warm enough to dispense with their jumpers, but not quite warm enough to go topless like Pegs had. He never needed much of an excuse; as soon as the temperature hit double figures he was stripping off, parading his chest-hair and flexing his muscles like a weightlifter from the eastern bloc. His complaint now was that they were too far away from the main yard for any girls to see his nakedness.

  Seán sighed deeply, as if the prospect of seeing this sex-crazed harlot was the least of his worries, which in a sense was true.

  “I don’t know, Ginty, to be honest. We’re supposed to be meeting in my grandparents’ house tomorrow night, but if she starts up that shit again I’ll have to put a halt to it.”

  “WHAT?” Pegs propped himself up on his elbows. “Put a halt to it? What are ya, a faggot?”

  His words stung Seán.

  “I can’t risk it, Pegs,” he said, almost pleadingly. “If my nan catches us up to anything she’ll send me back to my mother’s, and I don’t want that.”

  Pegs considered this.

  “Fair enough, Seány. But when you’re back in her house you’re to go for it, do ya hear me!

  “I’ll try, Pegs.”

  “Do or do not,” said Ginty sagely, “there is no try.”

  They all burst out laughing, even Murt. Ginty’s Star Wars references usually went right over their heads, but on this occasion Yoda’s words seemed entirely apt.

  When the day was over and he’d said goodbye to his friends, Seán reassessed the situation. There was no turning back now. If he told the truth now, the respect he’d gained would be replaced by ridicule; firstly for being such a liar, and secondly for being sad enough to make up a story to impress them. No, he was tied to his lie now, and he’d have to live with it and its consequences. The extent of those consequences depended entirely on his friends’ ability to keep a secret. Ordinarily this would have been an exercise in futility; Alan Pegg couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. And one of a sexual nature? You’d have to stitch his mouth shut. Left to his own devices he’d have the whole class told within the hour and would then begin working his way through the entire year, before moving on to the years above and below. By the end of the week the word would be out: Seán McLoughlin called round to Alice Tiernan’s house to study and ended up riding her up the arse, before giving the mother one too while the father watched on in his Y-fronts.

  Realising the gravity of the situation, Seán had been quick to add a caveat to his story, something to ensure that bigmouth Pegs would have to keep it to himself. It was genius really, and it ensured that the story he’d made up would go no further than his three best mates. He’d told them she had a boyfriend in sixth year. That was enough. Sixth years held no fear for Alan Pegg, he was happy to take on all comers. For Seán, tho
ugh, it was different, and the last thing Pegs wanted was his womanising little buddy being on the wrong end of a hiding from a lad two years his senior. They pressed him for details, begged to know the identity of the poor fool whose girlfriend had been felt up by a lad still in third year. but Sean wouldn’t budge. He had gained a measure of control. His lie had been contained – at least for the time being.

  17

  All this plotting and scheming had at least distracted his thoughts away from the other member of the Tiernan family, the one who made his stomach churn every time he thought about her. As soon as he got home he disappeared to his room, needing time alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t think straight; all he could do was say her name over and over again. Leanne. Leanne. Leanne. Leanne Tiernan. Leanne. He tried their names together. Leanne and Seán. Seán and Leanne. Leanne McLoughlin. Mr. and Mrs. Seán McLoughlin. Leanne. He considered writing them down so he could see how they looked in print, but if he started doing that he might not be able to stop. He’d fill entire copybooks with her name until, having run out of paper, he’d begin daubing their names on the walls of his room, and beyond. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours but she had consumed him; he felt listless and empty, forlorn and detached, yet simultaneously more alive than he’d ever felt. Was this what being in love felt like? It had to be. This was no crush – only girls had them.

  All that evening he moped around the house. He poked and prodded at his dinner, causing Patricia to query his health. It was a Champions League night: Manchester United and Juventus in the semi-final. He and his grandfather had been awaiting this one for weeks. They were both United fans and believed that this would be the year the club finally captured the European Cup, a full thirty-one years after their last success in the competition. They watched every game together, just the two of them. Patricia had learned to make herself scarce for those two hours, deciding it was better to stay out of the way. Once the game kicked off, the two men of the house were free to indulge their passion. So animated did they become during these games that on more than one occasion the neighbours had called round to see if ‘everything was all right’.