by Julia Green
Leah unscrews the bottle and they both take a swig. It burns his throat. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t tell her he’s never tasted gin before.
‘Still,’ Leah says, ‘at least your mum cares about you. She’s nice, Nina. It was good of her to get me that job. She still going out with Matt?’
He shrugs. ‘I suppose.’ Don’t think. Blank it out.
She talks on whether or not he answers. It becomes easy after a while, just to let her go on. The air is fresher in the fields, but it’s still warm. There’s hardly any wind. After a while, Leah takes his arm and hangs on, and he doesn’t stop her. She stops every few minutes for a swig from the bottle. They’ll never get there at this rate.
‘There’s a mist coming in,’ Simon says. ‘Look.’
It curls in over the cliff and rolls over the fields. It’s surprising how quickly it comes, and how utterly it changes the look of things. He can hear the lighthouse foghorn all the way across from the bay. But it’s still warm, even in the mist. They keep walking along the grass track, across the fields and over the stone stiles.
‘What’s that?’
There’s a dark shape ahead of them, towards where the cliff must be, although he can’t see it. He can’t hear the sea either.
‘We must have got to the burial chamber already,’ Simon says.
‘Let’s go in again!’ Leah says.
Does she remember what happened in there? Does she think about it at all? He can’t even look at her now. She sounds so chirpy and oblivious, as if going inside doesn’t mean anything to her.
She sits herself down just outside and gets the bottle out again. ‘Drink?’ She holds it out for him.
He takes the smallest gulp he can get away with. It tastes disgusting.
‘This is what my lovely mother does all day,’ Leah says. ‘She’s an alcoholic’ Her voice sounds suddenly bleak.
‘Sorry,’ Simon mumbles. What else can he say?
‘Well, don’t be,’ Leah snaps. She stands up and lurches forwards, into the mouth of the burial chamber.
Simon doesn’t know what to do. He’s not seen Leah like this before. He waits for ages, then he edges forward. He can just make her out, a dark shape within darkness, crouched over, shaking as if she’s crying. Is it his fault? He goes hot.
He can’t face her, not in there. He waits a bit longer, then he calls out, ‘Leah? Come on. Let’s go to the beach.’
Silence.
He peers inside again. She seems to be standing up now in the middle of the main chamber. What’s she doing? He goes in just a little way.
There’s that weird sensation again, everything being sucked out of you. He can hardly breathe.
‘Leah?’
She takes no notice. He stumbles forward and grabs her arm and she swings round, suddenly close up and real.
It’s like the time before. The muffled sound, the electric charge. A tingling sensation.
He feels Leah’s arms round him, squeezing him tight. He can feel her trembling. She buries her head in his chest. What should he do? But she knows, she’s in charge. He feels her hand reach up and pull his head down, and then her lips, soft on his. Kissing him. He tastes her mouth, scented and sharp from the gin. He puts one hand on her back and finds bare flesh, cool naked skin. She picks up his other hand and places it right on her breast under her T-shirt. He daren’t move. Can’t breathe. She feels so soft and warm. Stop thinking. He lets his mind float off and his body take over.
Warm. Soft. Close.
Her mouth will swallow him up. Her tongue like a fish, like a slippery eel. He’ll suffocate.
He surfaces for air. She tastes of gin, but her hair smells of apple. He strokes it. So soft. He’s spinning, dizzy with sensation.
Leah tugs at his T-shirt, his belt. ‘Take them off,’ she whispers. She pulls away from him just long enough to drag her own top over her head. He hears the purr of the zip on her skirt, feels it slide over her hips. It’s so dark he can see nothing, but he can feel her, naked and so warm, pressing herself against him, pulling his jeans, her hands smoothing his naked sweaty skin. He shivers with pleasure, with fear.
He half wants to stop her, to check her out. Is this what you really mean? Is this OK? Shouldn’t we think what we’re doing? He half wants to stop and work it out for himself. Is this what I want? Like a deep memory, an echo, the thought comes that this matters, that it shouldn’t be like this, not so silent and frantic and fumbling, but suddenly it’s too late to stop, he can’t, she’s pushing him down with her on to the soft heap of their clothes on the earthy floor — and then it’s all over. Too quick. He’s trembling with shock.
Leah is making the strangest sound, half crying, half laughing, a sort of moaning, crooning sound. He slides over to lie next to her and shuts his eyes. He feels as if he is spinning off into the darkness, that he might disappear completely and forever.
By the time they stumble out into the field it’s completely dark, and the mist has lifted. He can’t see her expression. He’s vaguely aware of her pulling her skirt straight, and brushing soil off, and then she slumps against the entrance stones and swigs from the gin bottle again. She’s had way too much. How’s he going to get her home now? Her speech sounds slurred. She keeps thanking him for something. He doesn’t understand what. He keeps expecting her to shout at him, or swear, or run off or something.
But she doesn’t. None of it makes any sense to him. It’s not like he’d thought it would be. Not that he’s really thought about it, not actually, in detail, not happening for real. Not yet. He’s not ready for any of this. It’s too soon. It’s all spiralled out of his control.
‘You know what?’ Leah keeps saying. ‘You’re lovely, Simon.’
He’s way out of his depth. His head’s aching. He longs to be by himself. Or with someone like Johnny, someone straightforward and undemanding, shooting crows or something simple like that.
It’s not simple though, is it? What happened in there, what they did together, it was the first time, and there’s only ever one first time, and it matters. It connects him with this girl, Leah, however fumbled and awkward and unintended it was.
And there was a moment in there when he felt her: warm and alive, and real, and close to him.
He hasn’t felt like that before, ever.
He wishes Leah hadn’t drunk so much. It spoils it. It’s possible she won’t even remember tomorrow. That it was all a silly drunken mistake.
‘How far’s it to your beach?’ Leah slurs the words, giggles. ‘I need a swim.’
‘It’s too far now,’ Simon says. ‘We’d best go back.’
‘Pull me up!’ she says.
He helps her to her feet. She nearly topples over again. He has to support her with his arm round her and she leans into him. He feels her hair against his face. They make their way slowly back along the path. Leah has a faint smile on her face all the way. She stops at one of the stiles and fumbles at her wrist. ‘My bracelet,’ she says. ‘It’s not here. Got to find it…’
‘Not now,’ he says. ‘You’ll never find it now in the dark. It could be anywhere. We’ll come back and look another time.’
Now that the mist has lifted, the sky is completely clear, studded with millions of stars. There’s Orion, hunter, the three bright stars at his belt. And the Plough, and Sirius. And a bright planet: Mars, perhaps.
Night navigation. Finding your way at night. He knows the pages of the survival guide almost off by heart. But there’s no page for where he is now, no guide from this point.
At Leah’s gate, she turns and hugs him tight. Her house is all in darkness. In his, there’s one light on upstairs: his mother’s room. She’s waiting to see that he’s safely back.
He watches Leah stagger inside.
Such a night.
He creeps upstairs in his own house and shuts his bedroom door. On no account must his mother see him.
He lies on the bed, exhausted.
So many stars.
Gala
xies of them.
Three thousand years ago, when the huge stones for the burial chamber were being hewn and hefted, they would have been just the same stars.
23
The first thing he thinks of when he wakes up is the burial chamber, and what happened. His body goes hot all over, remembering. He can still smell her, the sweet scent of her hair and the bitter smell of gin. He thinks about how soft she felt. How in some way she needed him.
It comes to him like a sudden revelation, how lonely she really is.
He hears a van draw up outside, and a voice. The post! He pulls on a pair of jeans and rushes down to get there before anyone else sees. The postman is getting a long box out of the van.
‘I’ll take it,’ Simon says.
Lucky or what! He lugs it back to his room. It’s heavy. But that’s not the reason his heart’s hammering in his chest like that. He pushes the box under his bed, even though he’d like to rip it open and have a good look straightaway. Better to wait till he knows where everyone is, when they’re all safely out of the way.
Ellie’s in the front room watching telly. Nina still seems to be in bed. Her door’s closed. It must be earlier than he thought. He showers, finds clean clothes, combs his wet hair, studies himself in the mirror. Not too bad. He runs his hands through his hair to mess it up again. Better.
By the time he gets downstairs Ellie and Nina are in the garden. Nina doesn’t say anything about how late he was last night. Nor does he. He makes toast and takes it out to the table under the tree.
‘We’re going to a new beach today,’ Ellie says. ‘And we’re having supper with Matt.’
Nina’s watching his response. Careful.
‘Do you want to come to the beach?’ Ellie asks. She snuggles up close to him on the bench and he lets her, for once.
‘Where?’ he asks.
Ellie doesn’t know.
‘Portheras Cove,’ Nina says. ‘It’s supposed to be beautiful. Want to come?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Simon says cautiously.
‘But you’ll come for supper?’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then. Yes, I guess.’
‘Good. Since he’s invited us all specially.’
‘What time?’
‘Seven thirty? We’ll make sure we’re back from the beach by six. What will you do? You seeing Leah?’
‘No,’ Simon says. Has she guessed? Did she see them coming back last night? What would she say if she knew what he’d done?
‘We’ll take a picnic, Ellie. Want to help?’
Simon watches them go into the kitchen together. He hears them chatting easily together as they make sandwiches. They seem a million miles away.
Two secrets now: the air rifle and Leah. It’s like he’s moved on to a completely different planet, and they’ve absolutely no idea.
When they’ve gone to the cove, he gets the box out and spreads the different pieces on the bed. There’s an instruction sheet about how to fix on the scope using special mounts, and how to line up the scope using the adjusters. The gun’s got a silencer. His heart beats fast all the time. He strokes the smooth wooden stock, practises holding it steady at his shoulder, flicks the safety catch. He reads everything it says about safety and dangers. How never to carry the gun loaded. Always keep the safety catch on. Carry it barrel down.
Nina would have a complete fit if she saw him now. He has never so openly defied her. There’s no going back now.
One tin of lead pellets was in the box with the air rifle. He pours some into his cupped hand and examines them closely. Each one is a tiny mushroom shape, with a curved top.
He examines the rifle slip for carrying the gun. It’s in good nick. You can’t tell any of it is second-hand.
He makes a set of cardboard targets. He can set them up in the garden, since no one will be back till six, and practise shooting.
It goes well. Over a couple of hours, he definitely gets better. It’s more difficult than he expected, though, to aim right. He gets used to the feel of the rifle jerking as it fires, the way your body absorbs the energy.
He gets it all tidied up and away by three, just in case they’re back early from the beach. He hides the air rifle in its slip in the box, wrapped round with an old sheet, pushed well under the bed. He’ll ask Leah sometime whether he can keep it at her house. If she’s still speaking to him.
He’s not seen her all day. There’s no sign of anyone being in. She’s sleeping, maybe. Sleeping off a hangover. Avoiding him? Or she could have gone out when he was shooting. He wouldn’t have heard anything, then. What will he say when he sees her? What if she doesn’t even remember what happened? He doesn’t even want to think about it right now. It’s been a relief, just focusing entirely on the air rifle.
The next hours drag. He turns the radio on while he makes a sandwich. It’s tuned in to Radio Four, and he catches the end of a documentary programme about scientific experiments on soldiers without them knowing. They mention the nerve gas, sarin. Old men talk about what happened to them. How they thought they were being injected with the common cold virus. Now they’re getting cancers and muscle-wasting diseases. Next there’s a news bulletin. Two more Americans shot in Iraq. A bomb on a bus in Israel. A seven-year-old boy recovering in hospital after being swept out to sea on holiday somewhere.
He wishes he’d gone to the beach now. It’s too hot.
At last he hears the car.
Ellie runs up. ‘We went in the sea and I swam without armbands! There was a real live starfish on the sand and we put it back in the water. And there was a dead jellyfish!’
Over her head, Simon sees Leah get out of the car and go into her house without waving or looking at him. His heart starts to thud.
‘Simon?’ Ellie tugs at him again. He wasn’t listening. What was Leah doing in the car?
Nina closes the car door and smiles at Simon. She dumps a pile of sandy towels on the path. ‘OK, Si? We had a lovely time. Almost too hot on the beach. But it’s perfect for swimming. You should’ve come.’
‘Did she go with you?’ He can’t say her name out loud.
‘Who? Leah?’ Nina glances over to the house. ‘No! We just gave her a lift back from the bus stop. She’s been at work, at Mart’s. Anyway, I’ll just rinse this stuff out and hang it out to dry and then we can start getting changed and ready to go out. I need a shower.’
Simon scowls. Changed into what? And why?
He goes up to his room and lies on his bed with his eyes shut. He thinks of his new gun hidden underneath.
He’s in a forest in Kamchatka, far east Russia. Forest makes up seventy per cent of Russian territory. It spans twelve time zones. The lungs of Europe. Night’s closing in. He hasn’t eaten for days. But he’s been following the tracks of a wild boar for hours and it’s just ahead of him, crashing through the undergrowth. Now’s his chance. He crouches, waits. His feet are numb with cold, but he hardly notices. His eyes strain through the dimming light. He flips the safety catch. Aims at the dense undergrowth. Waits, senses movement, fires. The animal squeals, runs, stumbles, falls, its huge weight crashing to the ground. Blood seeps on to the forest floor.
‘Bathroom’s free,’ Nina calls. ‘Have a shower and put on those new trousers and a clean T-shirt.’
He builds a fire, ready to spit-roast a leg of the wild boar. He’ll have to hang the rest in a tree, out of the way of other predators. The meat juices will run between his teeth. He’ll tear the flesh from the bones.
She hammers on the door. ‘Didn’t you hear? Hurry up.’
Simon yawns. Opens his eyes. Sun slants through the window on to the dusty floor of his room. He sighs.
Matt Davies serves up oven-roasted organic chicken and Mediterranean vegetables with lemon couscous. Nina’s highly impressed, Simon can see. Ellie’s taken in too. She’s allowed lemonade in an expensive wine glass, and doesn’t have to eat any of the courgettes.
‘They’re all ho
me-grown, the vegetables,’ Matt says.
‘What, even the red peppers?’ Simon says, to catch him out.
‘Yep. And the aubergines. In the greenhouse. You can go and see, if you like, while I clear up here and sort the pudding.’
It’s a good enough excuse to leave the table. Ellie gets down with him and they go out into the garden.
The stone walls trap the heat from the day. Even the paving slabs feel warm. The greenhouse door is wide open. Tiny red and green tomatoes are growing on vines in earthenware pots along one side. On a shelf are pots of pepper plants with shiny dark leaves, an aubergine, cucumbers and a pumpkin plant. It smells amazing, a pungent, earthy smell. Ellie loses interest pretty quickly and wanders back outside to look for ladybirds. Simon stands in the green light of so many leaves, watching her. She’s content; doesn’t mind the way Matt soft-talks Nina, flatters her. He can hear their voices from the kitchen. He’s grilling the pudding he’s made, to caramelize the topping, and setting out coffee cups. Nina laughs at something he’s said. She laughs a lot more these days.
The door to the studio is open. Simon wanders inside, runs his hand along the wooden bench under the window, picks up different tools. He runs the edge of the chisel over the back of his hand to feel the rasp on his skin. A stack of paper is propped up on an easel. He knows he shouldn’t, but it’s like a compulsion he can’t resist, to lift the cover and start examining each drawing. Each one is more damning than the one before. To begin with, it’s his mother in varying degrees of undress, and that’s bad enough. He flicks the pages over more quickly. Mostly it’s her back view, her head and shoulders, the curve of her spine. But then there are new drawings, quick charcoal sketches, a few in oil pastels which have smudged where one page falls over another. It’s Leah. Leah leaning over the sink, with her hair falling in sunlight. Leah reaching up to put cups on the hooks on the dresser. Leah sweeping the kitchen floor, Leah at the doorway, a half-smile on her face. And the last one: Leah with her hair held up in one hand, showing her long neck, the curve of a bare shoulder, the line of her spine drawn so carefully you can see where each bone lies just under the skin.