The Godson

by Robert G. Barrett

  They were down to one bottle of Gosser when the DJ threw on James Reyne’s ‘Hammerhead’. They slow danced to that and the next track then finished the last beer. The dance was beginning to wind down a little.

  ‘Do you want to go now, Al?’ said Les. ‘Have a drink and listen to a bit of music back at the farm?’

  Alison moved her head slightly on Norton’s shoulder. ‘Okay,’ she smiled.

  Propped in the doorway after saying goodnight, Alan couldn’t help but be impressed as he watched Norton strolling off down the street, the garbage-bin esky under one arm and Alison on the other. I wonder just who that red-headed bloke is? he mused. He’s come into town out of nowhere, flattened six of the best fighters in Yurriki plus the biggest bloke in the Valley. Then he arrives at my dance in an army uniform drinking French champagne and imported beer like it’s going out of style. And ups and leaves with the best young sort in the joint. Alan shook his head. Don’t know who he is. But he’s not bloody bad.

  Norton was a little surprised to find the house completely in darkness and Colleen’s car gone when he and Alison pulled up in the driveway at Cedar Glen. He switched off the engine and turned to Alison.

  ‘Just wait here for a sec,’ he said cautiously.

  Norton let himself into the kitchen and nervously tip-toed across to Peregrine’s bedroom. He was relieved to find the young Englishman in bed sound asleep, enough moonlight on his face to tell Les he was all right, just out like a light. He watched him for a few moments then tip-toed back out again.

  ‘Peregrine’s asleep,’ he said, as he opened the car door for Alison. ‘He told me he wasn’t feeling too good.’ Les hit the outside light switch and lit up the barbecue area.

  ‘Hey, this place is really lovely,’ said Alison. ‘It’s so big.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not bad, is it?’ replied Les, placing her overnight bag on the table. ‘I’ll get things organised here, then I’ll show you around.’

  Before long Norton had the ghetto-blaster playing softly on the table, Alison seated comfortably and a bottle of Moet opened. It was quite cool outside, but after the heat and smoke of the dance hall, it was clear and refreshing.

  ‘Well. Here’s to the Yurriki Humdinger Boogie Woogie Ball,’ said Les, clinking Alison’s glass.

  ‘Yeah, reckon,’ replied the little Brisbane waitress, still trying to take in everything around her.

  They sipped their drinks and exchanged smiles.

  ‘Anyway, bring your glass and I’ll give you a quick guided tour of the bottom half of the house.’ Les stood up and got the torch from on top of the fridge.

  While he was showing Alison the house, he told her he was a horse trainer in Sydney. Peregrine was thinking of buying the place and turning it into a horse stud and Les was going to work for him. Alison took it all in.

  ‘And this is some sort of a guest’s quarters, I think,’ said Les, when they came back to the barbecue area. ‘You can doss in there for the night if you like.’

  Alison peered through the double glass door and let out a strange little laugh. ‘Wow. I wasn’t expecting anything as good as this.’

  Norton looked at her beautiful backside squeezed into the stone-wash jeans. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Neither was I.’

  They got stuck into the bottle of champagne, listening to the music, not talking about much in particular. As another glass of Moet went down, Les looked directly at Alison and couldn’t help but grin. She caught the big Queenslander’s grin and a ripple of laughter went through her body. She was more conscious now of Les than she was earlier in the night, conscious not only of his masculinity, but his sense of humour and easygoing nature. It made her relax and loosen up almost like a small wave breaking over her on a beach. Then again, six beers and half a bottle of French champagne could have had something to do with it too.

  Alison looked that good to Les he could have put her on a plate and started eating her there and then, starting with her dainty little toes. They were about to say something to each other when of all things it started to rain. It was only light but steady, making a soothing rhythmic drumming on the timber above their heads.

  ‘Hey, look at that,’ said Les. ‘Rain. I wonder where that came from?’

  The August rain was only gentle but it seemed to put an even more pronounced chill in the air. Alison gave a tiny shiver.

  ‘Ooh!’ she said. ‘It’s starting to get a bit cool out here now.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ agreed Les.

  Then another genius idea hit him, even better than the one at the dance.

  ‘Hey, Alison,’ he said languidly.

  ‘Hey yes,’ she replied saucily.

  ‘How would you like a nice warm bubble bath?’

  ‘What?’

  Norton looked directly at her again. ‘Well, we can’t take the party upstairs because Peregrine’s asleep. Why don’t we go into my room? I can fill that big tile bath full of warm water and soapsuds. And we can lay in it and guzzle champagne while we listen to the radio. I’ll give you one of my T-shirts to put on. What do you reckon? It’s better than sitting out here freezing our bums off.’

  Alison looked at Les for a moment. The way he put it had a little boy’s simple honesty about it. And it wasn’t a bad idea either. She was still sweaty and her clothes were damp from the dance. There were worse places to be than laying around in that big bath full of warm water with Les.

  ‘Okay,’ she smiled. ‘But bring another bottle of this grouse champagne. It’s beautiful.’

  In his room, Norton placed the ghetto-blaster and the champagne on a table near his bed. He gave Alison a big, floppy white Adidas T-shirt to put on and began running the bath. The water pressure coming straight down from the dam was stronger than normal and before long the huge bath was almost a third full of steaming, crystal clear water warming the room and sending misty streaks down the mirrors. Les watched it filling rapidly for a while. When he turned around Alison had changed into his T-shirt and even though it fitted her slim little body like a nightshirt, somehow she seemed to look even more delectable than ever.

  ‘Jesus, it’s only just big enough,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. I thought I might have had to let the sleeves out.’

  Les returned her smile with a wink. ‘I’ll go and get the soapsuds.’

  The rain was coming down harder now; Les watched it for a while as he had a leak then went into the laundry and got a packet of Fab. It wasn’t quite the bath crystals he’d been intending to get, but it would do. While he was in the laundry another thought struck him. That bit of pot Marita had given him on Sunday night was still in the pocket of his jeans. He’d thrown them in the laundry meaning to wash them, but hadn’t got around to it as he didn’t need them on the farm. He’d almost forgotten. It was still rolled up in the piece of gladwrap. Dare I? thought Norton. Champagne. Drugs. The girl’s barely out of school. You could go to gaol for things like that. He rubbed his hands together. What a way to go…

  The bath was almost full when Les got back. He tipped a liberal amount of soap powder where the water was gushing out of the taps and began beating it with his hand. In no time there were soapsuds two feet thick up the sides of the bath. He turned off the taps, clapped his hands together and blew some suds up in the air.

  ‘Well, what do you reckon?’ he smiled at Alison.

  ‘I don’t believe it. It looks unreal.’

  Norton sat on the edge of the bed and started getting out of his army gear. Alison sipped her champagne while she watched him.

  ‘Alison,’ said Les.

  ‘Yes, Les.’

  ‘Do you smoke pot?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘You feel like a smoke?’

  Alison’s eyes lit up. ‘Have you got some?’

  Les handed her the gladwrap. ‘Here you are. But I got no papers.’

  ‘That’s okay. I got a packet of Tally-Ho’s out in my bag.’

  While Alison went outside to get her bag Norton slipped into
a pair of blue shorts with a cord-pull front. He knew what would happen once he got into that bath with Alison and it might be an idea to have them on rather than have embarrassing things poking out all over the place.

  ‘Ooh, it’s really coming down out there now,’ said Alison, slamming the door shut behind her and throwing her bag on the bed next to Les. ‘I’m glad we’re in here.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too.’

  She noticed him sitting there in his shorts. ‘Hey, you’re really solid, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Les. ‘But I’m just a softy underneath.’

  Alison reached across and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You probably are too.’

  Norton chuckled and couldn’t help a flush come to his cheeks. He watched Alison unwrap the pot. ‘You won’t need much of that,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty strong.’

  ‘Yeah, it looks good. I’ll just roll a greyhound. Where did you get it?’

  Norton shrugged. ‘Peregrine bought it somewhere.’

  The music played in the background while Alison’s tiny fingers deftly rolled a joint. Norton watched her intently. There was a beauty and a magic about her that was more than physical — Les couldn’t quite explain it.

  ‘Hey, Alison,’ he said. ‘There’s something I’ve got to ask you.’

  ‘Sure, Les.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well.’ She smiled as she licked the gum on the cigarette paper. ‘I will be in January.’

  Norton had to turn away. Ohh, no Les, he said to himself. Seventeen. Christ! What have I become? What sort of a depraved monster am I turning into? Seventeen. If I was any older it’d be nothing more than legalised incest. He watched the rain pattering against the windows and had a hopeless one-sided battle with his conscience when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and Alison had the joint lit.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said.

  There was enough for about four tokes each; but Marita’s dope was that good you didn’t need much more and it soon did the job. Almost immediately the music got better. If it was at all possible, Alison seemed to become more beautiful. The night intensified.

  ‘Hey, that’s a good smoke,’ said Alison.

  ‘Is it what,’ agreed Les.

  They stared at each other for a moment and exchanged ridiculous grins.

  ‘Well,’ smiled Alison, nodding towards the steaming bath. ‘Last one in’s a rotten egg.’

  ‘I hope I don’t drown,’ chuckled Les. ‘That looks deeper than I thought.’

  They slid into the warm soapy water and it was fantastic from the word go. The rain coming down outside made it even better. Alison squealed and giggled with delight. Norton couldn’t help but sigh with ecstasy, the warm natural spring water was like heaven on his body. He ducked his head beneath the surface and splashed around. Alison did the same, running water through her hair and smearing soapsuds over her face. There was a ton of room, the bath was almost like a small pool. Les got the bottle of Moet and placed it on the tiles behind them. They had another glass or two each while they frollicked around like two baby seals, splashing each other and blowing soap bubbles in each other’s faces and doing and saying stupid things you normally wouldn’t if you weren’t stoned and drunk on French champagne. They settled down after a while and rested their heads on the edge of the tiled bath facing each other while they just took in the luxuriousness of it all. Through the water Les could see the wet T-shirt clinging to Alison’s soft smooth body, her delicate pink nipples straining against the wet cotton.

  Maybe it was the undertow or the currents in the pool, but somehow Les and Alison seemed to be inexorably drifting towards each other. Before Les knew it she had bobbed up in front of him. He reached out and took her gently beneath the shoulders. Alison’s arms went around his neck. Their eyes seemed to burn into each other for a few magical moments then softly, tenderly Les kissed her and their hearts did seem to beat as one.

  Alison’s lips were an indescribable delight of softness and sweetness. They gently swept across his mouth and brushed his cheek then she kissed him a little harder and the tip of her tongue crept out like a small jet of flame. He returned her kisses, running his hands through her hair and up and down her back. Alison clutched Les’s hair and wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands slid down over her thighs and around her ted. It felt like a little sugar cube: sweet, soft, inviting. Les stroked and teased it gently while she kissed him. He wiggled out of his shorts and pushed them to one side of the bath and brought Alison’s T-shirt up over her breasts. She straightened her arms and Les slid the T-shirt off over her head. He kissed and ran his tongue over the two delicate pink nipples then lifted her up and went to roll her to one side when she stopped him.

  ‘Stay there,’ she said. ‘I want to get on top.’

  Les lay back against the edge of the bath, Alison wriggled up his chest and her ankles went under his arms. She came down slowly, wiggled her bum a little then Les could feel himself enter her.

  Norton groaned; he couldn’t believe how warm and firm it was. Alison bobbed up and down, the water supporting her weight, and Les could feel himself sliding deeper insider her. She moaned and sighed while they kissed, pumping slowly as they rocked against the edge of the bath. Les’s head swam, he wished this would never end. Then Alison’s backside started going up and down, faster and faster. Soapsuds went everywhere. Their discarded clothes swirled around in the warm water. Les felt like his body was going to burst. Alison was beyond description. It was like kissing honey, holding a dream and making love to an angel. The swirling and bobbing intensified, reached a crescendo then slowed. Alison let out a scream of joy. Norton moaned and buried his face into her neck and their love and affection for each other poured out, almost engulfing them in a wave of exhilaration and wicked abandonment.

  With shudders still coursing through his body, Les spun Alison around in the bath and gave her one huge kiss.

  ‘Ohh Christ! How good was that?’ he panted happily.

  Alison drifted back into his arms, smiled and kissed Les’s neck. ‘I’m not saying anything,’ she whispered.

  They drank the other bottle of champagne and Les changed the tape. After a while they made love again in the huge tiled bath. But this time it seemed to get a bit out of control, slipping and sliding on the tiles and bouncing off the sides. So they towelled off and finished it in bed.

  It was pitch black in the room and Alison was curled up into Norton snoring softly. Her damp hair wisped beneath his chin and Les could feel her heart beating against his. The big Queenslander was smiling to himself yet his mind was in a whirl; he didn’t know what to think. There’s no such thing as love at first sight — is there? And grown men don’t go around falling in love with seventeen-year-old girls — do they?

  * * *

  APART FROM HIS mate Greg back at Taree, Carrots was the only highway-patrol cop on duty that night; sitting alone just outside of Cundletown on the lookout for speeders or stolen cars. It was bloody cold and there wasn’t a great deal around, mainly semis or the odd caravan rumbling up the Pacific Highway, destination unknown. He took absolutely no notice of the white Holden sedan and its three occupants as it went past. Why should he? It was well within the speed limit. There was no excessive noise. Tail lights and headlights were working perfectly. He took even less notice of the one that went past about five minutes later. In fact, if all the cars that went past that night drove as safely as those two white Holdens, Carrots could have taken the rest of the night off.

  THE RAIN HAD eased off and the sun was appearing now and again from behind banks of scattered clouds when Norton took his child bride up for breakfast around ten on Sunday morning. They’d woken up earlier, keen for a bit of the other, but the previous night’s romp in the bath had left them both a bit on the sore side so they settled for a long shower together instead. Peregrine was in the kitchen wearing his dressing gown nursing a cup of coffee. Hi
s hair was unkempt and his face was pallid and he was staring expressionlessly into his coffee as though he had as much to look forward to as Quasimodo’s ironing lady.

  ‘G’day, Peregrine,’ breezed Norton. ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Good morning, Les,’ replied Peregrine dully. He brought his head up slowly, gave a double blink despite himself when he saw Alison, looked at Les then back at Alison again. With her hair still damp and no makeup on she looked about fourteen.

  ‘Peregrine,’ said Les. ‘This is Alison. Alison, this is my friend Peregrine.’ Norton chuckled at the look on Peregrine’s face as they exchanged greetings. ‘So how are you feeling, mate? Any better?’

  Peregrine shook his head. ‘Simply dreadful, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Shit! That’s no good. Sounds like you’re getting the flu.’

  ‘I doubt if it’s the flu. It’s all through my back. It’s so sore. I’ve never felt anything quite like this.’

  ‘Mmhh. I’ll have a look at it downstairs after we have breakfast. You might have strained a muscle or something. You hungry?’

  ‘I don’t think I could eat a thing.’

  ‘What about you, big Al? You fancy some bacon and eggs a la Norton?’

  ‘Sounds good, big Les,’ smiled Alison. ‘Do you want a hand?’

  ‘All right. You can set the table and keep His Highness company. Make sure he doesn’t try to commit suicide.’

  Norton soon knocked up a big feed of bacon, eggs, toast and coffee, and they ripped in. Peregrine had a bit of a pick but it was obvious he was ill and off his food. Alison was pretty stoked all round. It had been a good night with Les in the bubble bath drinking French champagne; he’d really looked after her. Now she was getting a hot breakfast on this beautiful big farm. And to think she nearly spent the night in a grungy caravan with no toilet. The bacon and eggs were perfect and Les was getting better all the time.

  Les said to leave the dishes and told Peregrine to come downstairs where he could have a look at his back in the daylight. They took their coffee down to the barbecue area where Norton pulled a chair out and told Peregrine to take his dressing gown off and sit down with his arms over the back of the seat. He put his coffee on the table and walked around behind the Englishman.