by Simon Bourke
“Sit down, Seán.”
He did as he was told, sitting on the sofa to face her.
“She’s very upset, Seán,” Leanne said, delivering the news as a doctor would the unwelcome results of a long-awaited test.
“I know. I’m really sorry; I never intended this to happen.”
“That’s okay, Seán. She really had a thing for you, though, you know?”
“I do now.”
“Come on, Seán. You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did,” he admitted.
Leanne nodded solemnly. “It’s not easy when someone has the hots for you and you just want to be friends, is it?”
Seán looked up at her in surprise. Was she sympathising with him?
“No, I suppose not.”
She allowed herself a little smile, but it was the smile of someone remembering a joke, a joke which Seán wasn’t privy to.
“Will you tell her I’m really sorry, and that I’m grateful for the help she gave me with my maths?”
Leanne nodded distractedly.
“I suppose I’d better go, then?” he said, rising once more to leave.
She shot him a bemused look, as if the thought of him leaving was the most curious thing in the world. Unsure how to proceed, anxiety rising by the minute, Seán made one final dash for the door. He wanted to be away from this house and its crazy women. But she got there before him, blocking his path, affixing him with that same bemused stare. He couldn’t take any more of this. He felt like throwing himself to the floor, at their mercy. That was probably what they wanted, what they had planned. They lured innocent boys to their lair and then tortured them for their own sick pleasures. Well, at this stage he didn’t care, they could do what they wanted. They could tie him up, flay him, burn him with candles; anything. He just wanted it to be over.
He stood staring at the floor, waiting for – what? He didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, whimpered almost. It was the best he had.
And she giggled. Giggled? Here he was trying to repent his sins, to give himself up, and she was laughing at him.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, slightly aggrieved.
“You,” she said, touching him on the nose with her index finger, lightly bouncing it off him as if it were a magic wand.
Her touch seemed to revitalise him, to bring him to his senses. The love of his life was right here, standing in front of him; if he wasn’t very much mistaken, she appeared to be flirting with him.
He moved a little closer until they were almost face-to-face. She was smaller than he’d thought, a full head shorter than he. He looked her up and down; bare feet, toenails painted bright pink, red jeans which swelled pleasantly at the hips, a striped top, her breasts free and unencumbered beneath, the gentle curves and inclines of her body. He inhaled her scent; strawberries, soap, mint and other womanly smells he did not yet understand. Then he brought his eyes to hers. This was it; he had to have her. He moved his head towards hers, her expression didn’t change in the slightest; she looked both content and imperious. When she didn’t move away, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, casually, without a hint of desire. He pushed his body against hers, his lightning-rod erection rubbing against her lower abdomen. An animal desire consumed him as his lips began frantically to explore her mouth, his tongue sliding in and out, searching for hers, finding it, restful and compliant. Then when he thought he might explode he felt a hand on his chest, pushing him away, removing his mouth and body from hers. His lust denied, the warmth of her body replaced by the cold reality of rejection.
“Leanne,” he gasped, close to tears.
“We can’t, Seán. We can’t.”
For the first time there was genuine emotion in her words; remorse, regret, even a tinge of frustration.
“We have to, Leanne,” he said, moving towards her once more.
“No, Seán,” she said, pushing him back. “Not here, not now.”
She wasn’t rejecting him, not outright anyway. There was a chance.
“Okay, Leanne,” he said calmly. “I understand.”
He hoped he did understand, that if it weren’t for Alice lying on her bed upstairs, gently weeping, they would right now be making sweet, hot love on the living-room floor.
He backed away, took a seat once more and waited for her to speak. She sat down beside him, saying nothing, staring ahead. He needed to know, he would rather die than live with this uncertainty.
“You do want to?” he asked, turning to face her.
She nodded sadly, as if admitting a sin. In a way it was; she was about to betray her sister, her little sister who’d never even fancied a boy before Seán. Alice’s first crush, and along came big sis to wreck everything.
“Can we meet?” he asked.
She sighed. “I don’t know, Seán. I just don’t know.”
He wasn’t going to beg. In a way, it was enough to know she wanted him. They could be star-crossed lovers, kept apart by circumstance. It would be incredibly romantic.
Footsteps sounded upstairs. Seán instinctively got to his feet; this time he really had to go. Leanne went with him to the door, guiding him off the premises as if that would absolve her wrongdoings. He opened the door, the fresh evening breeze soothing his jangling nerves, and turned to look at her one more time.
“The Well at ten o’clock tomorrow night,” she whispered closing the door gently in his face.
A date! A real date. She’d said it, he’d heard her. He hurried down the driveway, not bothering to look back, there was no need. On the street again, he looked towards the heavens. The sky was inky blue, the first stars of the night shining brightly in the distance. For a moment he was completely free of all thoughts, his mind deliciously empty, devoid of feeling or emotion. He slowly began to walk home, his head turned to the skies as if praising the Almighty.
22
It had been a long time since The Well had been used for its original purpose. Built in the late eighteenth century, it had become the primary source of water for the families who settled in the area. It had lasted for over a hundred years, continuing to serve the residents of the newly-formed township of Dooncurra until the advent of running water in the 1930s. Almost immediately The Well and its surrounding area fell into disrepair, becoming overgrown with weeds and wild, rugged greenery. By the 1960s it was hard to believe that it had once been the hub of the community. It was now just an eyesore at the bottom of a deserted laneway. Then Barry O’Flaherty came along. Barry was born and bred in Dooncurra, as his father had been before him, and his before that. He was proud of his little town and wished to restore it to its former glory. So he ran for mayor, centring his campaign on the restoration of several heritage sites dotted around the town, among them The Well. Barry wanted to revive the local well and make it a centrepiece, a place where people could gather. It would no longer be used to draw water, but it could be a local attraction, a place of interest. The project was completed in 1972, a full five years after Barry had been removed from office, and The Well was once more a hive of activity. No longer just a hole in the ground, it was a fully-operational tourist attraction with a grotto, a plaque detailing its history, and the obligatory metal pump for newcomers to yank. And yank it they did, over and over again. Tourists came, got their pictures taken, read the plaque’s inscription and left, feeling they knew a little more about the people of Ireland and their history. Locals took advantage of the new amenity too, using it as a picnic area, a place to bring the kids during the school holidays. The older kids took an interest too; but these youngsters weren’t there to learn more about the history of their town. They enjoyed visiting The Well because its secluded location and spacious seating area offered a perfect hang-out spot, a place to drink and smoke without falling under the prying eyes of their parents. By the early nineties, Th
e Well had once more succumbed to the ravages of time. No longer was it a tourist attraction, it was now solely the refuge of the young and disaffected. The Well was where you went to drink your first can, smoke your first joint, to meet girls, to meet boys and to do things with and to those girls and boys when you’d met them.
Seán had visited The Well on many occasions, but in his case it had only been to drink and hang out. That looked like changing, though. He sat in his grandparents’ living-room, watching the clock crawl its way toward ten and wondered what the night held in store for him. He’d been trying to stay positive, but paranoia had taken hold. He’d started to doubt himself. Had she really said to be at The Well at ten? It was possible he’d imagined it, that she’d closed the door in disgust without as much as a goodbye. Or maybe she had said it, but it was a trap. Seán would arrive at The Well, stinking of his grandfather’s aftershave, a hopeful condom in his pocket, to be met by Mr. Tiernan and his son Gerard. They’d have hurleys, big ones, and not a sliotar between them. Because he was the sliotar, he would be the one getting pucked from one Tiernan to the other. Even worse, it might be Alice, Leanne and their mother, a trio of Tiernans, a coven of them. They’d do unthinkable things to him, things which at first would feel quite pleasurable but would gradually become more painful until he screamed for mercy and then death.
Even in his state of frenzied neurosis, however, he knew these outcomes were unlikely, figments of an over-active imagination. It was the all-too-real threat of being stood up which haunted him most. All day he’d been struggling to understand why a girl like Leanne would have any interest in him. It didn’t make sense. She was two years older, achingly beautiful, and came from a well-to-do family. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was being set up. She’d concocted a plan with Alice, to get him back for what he’d done to her. He’d go to The Well, full of nervous anticipation, take a seat, and wait there quietly; an hour later he’d still be waiting, refusing to go home in case she was just running late. Meanwhile the two Tiernan girls would be at home, pissing themselves laughing. They might even keep an eye out for him as he returned home, heckling him from their window as he finally figured out what had happened.
There was still a slight chance that it was for real, however, that she really did want to see him. He had to turn up, just in case. Therefore, he had to devise a way of getting out of the house at such a late hour. His grandparents may have been loving and affectionate but they had rules, and being out after ten on a school-night would break more than one of them.
“Ah, feck!” Seán said suddenly, as the clock crept past a quarter to the hour.
“What’s up with you, child?” asked Patricia, startled.
“I just remembered,” replied Seán, scratching his head for effect, “I gave Murt my calculator earlier on and I need it back for the morning.”
“Can you not get it off him before class tomorrow?”
“No, Nan. He’s not in my maths class. I won’t see him till after break.”
This was all lies. He and Murt were in the same class for everything, and neither of them actually owned a calculator. It all seemed very plausible to Patricia McLoughlin, though; these youngsters today and their gadgets, they were forever losing them.
“Well, you’d better go and get it, I suppose.”
“Yeah, I really should, Nan.”
“Don’t spend all night there. I’m sure his mother and father have beds to be going to as well.”
“I won’t, Nan, I promise.”
Seconds later he was hurrying through the estate and on his way to The Well. He kept an eye out as he walked, hoping to bump into her on the way, but the streets were empty save for the odd group of drinkers and one or two late-night joggers. Arriving in good time, he scanned the area for copulating couples, dope-smoking stoners and cider-swilling scumbags, but there were none. If she came they would have the place to themselves. He took a seat on one of the benches, leaving his back to the entrance so that she might surprise him; then he waited, resisting the urge to pray. The sky hadn’t completely darkened and the pale moon was doing its best to illuminate the scene, but it was still a murky, dispiriting evening. Come summer this place would be throbbing with activity, every kid under the age of eighteen making a nightly pilgrimage there. Now, though, it was just creepy and depressing. A fine drizzle began to fall, not enough to soak him but enough to send him running for cover inside the grotto. The grotto was small, with a cramped archway housing two stone seating areas, between which lay what had originally been the well-hole. It was now a closed-off shaft with a small opening where you could throw your coppers. As children, he and Murt had often discussed opening the shaft and climbing down the well to claim their fortune. Sadly, they had never got around to it.
Seán peered out from beneath the canopy, hoping to see a lone figure making her way towards him, but all he could see was empty benches, the dark laneway and a solitary streetlight in the distance. He glumly watched as the rain grew heavier, huddling inside the grotto, a chill running through him. Then he heard the scrabbling of feet outside the grotto, someone sliding down an embankment. He tensed, expecting to be joined by a couple of ruffians, romance the last thing on their mind. Instead he saw a small person in a hooded coat.
“Hi, Seán,” said a voice from beneath the hood.
Leanne crept into the grotto and stood under the arch, shaking herself dry.
Seán looked at her in awe, scarcely able to believe she was there.
“Which way did you come?” he asked.
“The usual way, why? How did you come?” she replied.
“The usual way too, I think.”
“Through the fields and round the back of the orchard?”
“Uh no, down Scanlon Street and in by the laneway.”
Her smile was barely discernible in the darkness. “Oh, Seán, no one goes that way. I’ll have to show you the usual way on the way back.”
“Okay.”
“Can I sit down?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, pushing over to make room for her. “Did you get wet?”
“A bit, but I’m grand now.”
She pulled down her hood and sat beside him, close, so that their legs touched. He suddenly became very aware of his breathing, of his heartbeat, of the blood running through his veins. This was his moment to act. The time to put into practise all those things he’d dreamed of doing. But he was petrified, afraid to move. Now that she was here beside him, he didn’t know how to proceed. Should he just pounce, or was subtlety the key? He wracked his brain, trying to think of films he’d seen and lines uttered by leading men well-versed in the arts of seduction. Nothing came. All he could do was sit there and try not to throw up.
“Well,” she said, turning to him.
“Well,” he croaked in response.
She stared at him curiously, a half-smile playing across her lips. Without thinking he moved his head towards hers, expecting her to pull away, to mock him and leave, but she stayed right where she was and allowed his lips to meet hers. All tension left his body. He felt serene. At home. At ease. Seán relaxed and began to enjoy himself. She took command, caressing his lips with her own, sliding her tongue slowly in and out of his mouth. He tried to force the pace, to wrestle back control, but was quickly forced back, subjugated and submissive. She was in charge here. The intensity, the outpouring of emotion was too much for Seán to bear. He wanted to envelop her, to hold her so tight they became merged into one, locked in an eternal embrace from which neither could ever escape.
She pulled away. He looked at her in a daze.
“Was that okay?” he asked.
She smiled contentedly. “It was, Seán.”
“Good.”
She moved closer still, wrapped her arms around his waist and then laid her head upon his shoulder. Seán automatically put an arm over her sh
oulder and laid his own head upon hers. They remained like this for some time, Seán once more uneasy, unsure of what to say. Eventually she broke the silence.
“This won’t be easy, Seán.”
“It won’t?” he asked, panicked.
“Well, this is really not a good time for either of us. Don’t you agree?”
He didn’t agree; it was a great time, the best time.
“I mean, we’ve both got exams coming up. And then there’s the thing with Alice.”
Seán remained silent, resigning himself to the worst.
Don’t you see where I’m coming from, Seán? Just a couple of days ago she was all set for a night of romance with you. Imagine how she’d feel if her older sister suddenly swoops in and takes you.”
He liked the sound of that, being swooped upon, taken.
“Can you not just have a chat with her?” he asked.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“It just isn’t, Seán.”
“I don’t mind sneaking around if you don’t,” he said mischievously, trying to appeal to her wicked side. But again he was rebuffed.
“No, Seán, we can’t. I think we should wait until our exams are over and then talk about it again.”
Fucking exams. Everything was about exams.
“Okay then, we’ll wait,” he said with exaggerated sadness. Maybe if he milked this she’d make it up to him in the future.
She squeezed him a little tighter. “We can wait, Seán.”
It was only four weeks, and in fairness she had a point about Alice. There was no way he was going to be introduced to the Tiernan family as Leanne’s new beau any time soon. There would have to be a cooling-off period, enough time so that their coupling seemed entirely unrelated to the time Seán had spent with Alice. They could make it seem like they’d met elsewhere, recognised one another from their brief meeting in the Tiernans’ living-room and got talking; one thing had led to another and here they were. But there were other issues that also needed to be addressed.