The Couple's Secret

by B P Walter

  I had thought about contacting a couple of school friends to see if they wanted to do something, but, though it pained me to admit it, I really didn’t want anybody to find out about my situation. Seeing the look of, first, confusion, then shock, then pity and concern in their eyes when they found out I’d been left by my parents over the holidays made me feel nauseous. I just knew I couldn’t bear it.

  On Christmas Eve, however, I was forced to confront this horrible reality. As I arrived back home from the corner shop I was alarmed to find a hooded figure standing on my doorstep, knocking loudly.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I said, slightly nervously, and the Adidas-coated black mass turned round. Peering from underneath the hood was a face I recognised.

  ‘George!’ I exclaimed, almost dropping my carrier bag.

  ‘Hol,’ he said, and smiled.

  I looked George Treadway up and down, though there wasn’t much to see other than the oversized coat, jeans and trainers he was wearing.

  ‘You going to invite me in?’

  I nodded and smiled, moving awkwardly past him to unlock the front door. Inside the house, he pulled off his coat and hung it on the hook. Only then did I notice the transformation. George Treadway had been the invisible boy at school for the whole of his time there. Usually seated in the middle somewhere, away from the eager learners at the front and the dickheads messing around at the back, he had managed to always blend in so students and teachers alike never really noticed his existence. This was probably the reason he and I became firm friends. Now, however, I saw he had changed. Though never a bad-looking boy, I noticed a slight coating of stubble on his face, emphasising a now-sharper jawline. His once-skinny frame was firmer, thicker, and his arms and chest showed considerable definition, even underneath his Ghostbusters t-shirt.

  He seemed to notice me staring and grinned. ‘I joined the Territorial Army,’ he said. It was clear he expected me to be impressed, so I returned his smile, then asked, ‘The what?’

  ‘The T.A. Territorial Army! They protect Britain from invasion. Come on, you must have heard of us. You with your Oxford degree and all.’

  ‘I don’t have a degree yet,’ I said distractedly. ‘So do you go off to fight? Are we about to be invaded?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘No, it’s mostly just keeping fit and training exercises. It’s really good, though. Get to hang out with the lads – made so many great mates. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.’

  I smiled again, not sure what else to say. We were still standing in the hallway and it felt weird talking to him like this. He reached up and ran a hand through his now almost non-existent, close-trimmed brown hair. ‘So, do I get a cuppa?’

  ‘Yes, of course, sorry,’ I said, walking down towards the kitchen and starting to fill up the kettle.

  ‘I was going to ring you, but thought I’d just come over. I … I hope you don’t mind.’

  He was clearly starting to feel a bit awkward now, too.

  ‘No,’ I said, trying to make my tone breezy and light. ‘It’s a nice surprise.’

  ‘I’ve brought some Christmas cards. They’re in my coat pocket. I’ll get them in a sec. I got one for your parents, too.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you,’ I said, watching the kettle boil instead of looking at him. ‘I … I was going to call you, too. It’s just been a bit …’

  ‘Bit busy? Well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it? I get you. Don’t worry, Hol.’

  An awkward silence followed. ‘Where are your parents, anyhow?’

  I drew in a breath, buying myself some time as I added the water to the mugs. ‘They’re on a cruise. The Caribbean.’ I hazarded a glance at him now, to see his reaction to this. His eyebrows rose and he looked confused.

  ‘What? Why? They never …’

  ‘Never go anywhere, I know.’

  He nodded. ‘So why have they …?’

  ‘I don’t fucking know, to be honest.’ My own words shocked me, and I suddenly realised I was crying. With a surge of heat in my face, I felt anger course through me. All it took was a quick movement and I sent the two mugs of brewing tea crashing to the floor, the brown liquid and fragments of stoneware going everywhere.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ yelled George. He rushed over to me from the doorway, taking hold of my shoulders as I cried and cried and buried myself in him. He smelt of men’s shower gel mixed with the vague hint of cigarette smoke. I heard his heart beating and was reminded of being held close to Rupert’s naked chest, over a month ago now, as he shivered in the cold and I sobbed as I was doing now. George, however, wasn’t shivering, and the softness of his t-shirt felt better somehow than Rupert’s bare skin. I realised this was the first time George had hugged me – indeed, the first time he’d ever really touched me at all. Neither of us had been very tactile people at school. Some friends would hug each other every day as they greeted one another at the school gates, but he and I, and the rest of the invisibles we hung out with, always kept our distance slightly.

  ‘Maybe you should go and sit in the lounge. Sit by the Christmas tree for a bit while I clear up in here.’ His voice was deep in my ear.

  I nodded and shuffled off in the direction of the lounge. I sat, as instructed, by the tree, a little entranced by the dancing coloured lights in front of me. Pink, green, blue, green, gold. I lay back on the sofa and listened to the oddly comforting sounds of George mopping up the spilled tea and carefully picking up the bits of broken mug and dropping them into a container.

  When he came back into the lounge he glanced at me, seated on the sofa, with a slight air of trepidation, as if I might start torching the tree or ripping up the carpets.

  ‘I’m okay, honestly. I’m sorry for the outburst.’

  He nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Holly, what’s going on? You’re alone at Christmas, you haven’t been in touch for literally months – I’m not criticising – and you seem to be, well, a tad on edge.’

  He perched on the arm of the sofa I was sitting on and I saw a hand coming towards me. Realising he was proffering tea, I reached out and took it, our hands brushing slightly as I tried not to touch the hot part of the mug. ‘I made a fresh batch,’ he said, stating the obvious. We sipped in silence for a few minutes, then finally I attempted a response.

  ‘I don’t really know. To be honest, all of it is just … just so shit.’

  More raised eyebrows. It was the swearing – I know it surprised him. Though no stranger to a ‘fuck’ or even a ‘cunt’ himself, he’d always playfully criticised me for not even dropping a minor expletive. Now, back from grand old Oxford, I’d let two slip out in the space of twenty minutes.

  ‘Have you and your parents had a row or something?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. In fact, that would be easier. All I got was a phone call from Mum saying the two of them were joining family friends – the Searles – on a cruise over Christmas.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were family friends with the Searles.’

  ‘We’re not!’ I said, louder than I meant to. ‘We hardly bloody know them. Well, Mum and Dad do now, apparently. Mum’s wormed her way in over the past year. Anyway, how do you know them?’

  George grimaced. ‘My mum cleans for them. I remember them, as she broke a vase once. She was really upset about it even though they seemed all right about it at the time. But then she overheard the missus telling her husband that the “idiot of a cleaner” had smashed it. Not nice, hearing someone call you names behind your back like that. So she’s had a bit of a downer on them since. The property is lush, though. Six bedrooms. Apparently one of their sons has got this girl pregnant …’

  ‘Yes, I know. That’s why he and his brother dropped out of the cruise and my parents have gone along instead.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said George awkwardly. ‘Yeah, that is a bit shit.’ He nodded to the presents under the tree. ‘Looks like they’ve left you some things to unwrap, though.’

  I made a noise of disbelief. ‘It’s just
guilt, wrapped up with a bow.’

  ‘I’m sure they do care for you. In their own way.’

  I tried to return to the calm I’d felt a few moments ago, but the anger was winning again. ‘No, actually, they don’t. It’s not “care”, it’s something else. Do you know what it is? It’s resentment. It’s insidious, nasty resentment. Most parents would be proud their daughter had got into one of the best universities in the world and was on track to get a first in her first year. But no, not them. They see it as a mark of their own failings. The only joy they get from me going to Oxford is being able to boast about it to the Searles while having cocktails in the Caribbean sun. That’s the life they’ve always wanted – or rather what Mum’s secretly wanted, and now she’s told Dad he’d better sodding well go along with it.’

  George was clearly torn about whether to comfort me or let me rant on as I steadily became more upset. He leant forward but spilt some of his tea on his knee so aborted, looking around nervously for the coffee table on the other side of the room.

  ‘Well, at least you have Oxford,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s got to count for something. Maybe you don’t need your parents any more, Hol. If that’s really what they’re like, fuck ’em. You go and be your own version of brilliant and if they don’t like it, well, it’s their loss.’

  I knew he was trying to be sweet and encouraging, but it just made things worse. ‘Oxford? I don’t have Oxford at all. If anything I feel just as alienated there as I do here.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Surely you have friends?’

  ‘You would have thought, wouldn’t you? But actually, I’ve kind of come to the conclusion they’re the biggest bunch of frauds and louts I’ve ever met. Posh-louts, really. Ones who have only ever known an easy life and think it gives them the right to act however they please. They swan about their parties, taking drugs and getting pissed. They have sex in public. Like, on display. And no one seems to care.’

  He gave a small chuckle. ‘Sounds like a good laugh to me.’

  ‘It isn’t a laugh,’ I snapped. ‘Do you know who these people are? These are future judges and MPs and prime ministers. These are the people who will be dictating to others how they should live their lives. They will be at the very top. Or they’ll become semi-fascist columnists for some right-wing newspaper, lying about immigrants or spreading hate about homosexuals while they themselves shag anything with a pulse.’

  I paused for breath. George looked rather stunned. ‘Don’t you think you might be reading just a little too much into it all? From what I hear, most people go to uni to do all those things you’ve just mentioned.’

  This stopped me and made me think. He was right, to some extent. I tried to speak slowly and calmly. ‘I know, it’s just I thought … I thought it would be different.’

  He nodded. I looked over at him. ‘So is it like that in the T.A.? Drink, drugs and casual sex?’

  He blushed slightly. ‘It has been known. Not so much on the drugs front – we take care of our bodies.’

  ‘So that’s a yes to the sex?’ I wasn’t sure why I was pursuing this line of inquiry, but I couldn’t help being interested. Though we’d never talked explicitly about the subject at school, I’d sort of known he was still a virgin like me when he left. I’d certainly never seen him with a girl, nor was he one to go out partying with the types who enjoyed drunken fumblings behind garden sheds.

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, now you mention it, that side of things has got, er, slightly more active since school.’

  ‘Girls in the army?’ I asked.

  ‘Friends of friends, more like. The other blokes I train with seem to have them on tap. Girls, I mean. I never really thought I’d be one for all that but, well … turns out it’s rather fun.’

  ‘All that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, looking a bit sheepish. ‘As in going back to one of the lads’ flats with lots of beers and some girls. Messing around. Having a laugh.’

  ‘What does having a laugh entail?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, y’know …’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I don’t. Do enlighten me.’

  He looked uneasy, but shrugged and said, ‘Threesomes, blowjobs, spin the bottle, that kind of thing. Listen, Hol, I’m not sure we should be talking about this right now. You don’t seem …’

  ‘But I want to talk about it,’ I said. It was true, I did want to. It seemed surprising, if not downright shocking, to me that people – Ally, Ernest, James, Julianne, Rupert, even innocent and quiet George – could treat a subject like sex, a subject I had built up into some kind of behemoth of importance in my head, with such dismissive irreverence. As if it was nothing.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, and it sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. ‘What part of it do you want to talk about?’

  ‘So, when you’re sharing a girl in a threesome with one of your army mates, do you know her name? Does she know yours while she’s being penetrated by you?’

  ‘Jesus, Holly!’ He looked shocked.

  ‘You’re the one who brought it up, mentioning your threesomes.’

  ‘No, Hol, to be honest, you’re the one who seems a bit fixated on the subject. So what if people want to have a good time? This is 1990, not 1890. There shouldn’t be any shame in it. And maybe … maybe …’

  I turned fully to face him. ‘Maybe what?’

  ‘Well, maybe if you were getting some you wouldn’t feel so left out?’

  I stood up, the fury back and raring to go. ‘Oh, so I feel left out, do I? I’m secretly gagging for it, am I? Because all girls must be, is that what you’re saying? We all secretly want it, craving to be dominated by horny young louts?’

  ‘Horny young louts?’ He couldn’t help but laugh. If I hadn’t got myself so worked up, I probably would have done the same, but riding along on the surge of emotion racing through me, lighting me up inside, I walked over and kissed him. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but all of a sudden our lips were locking and I was pressing his mouth open with mine, forcing him to reciprocate, which he did, allowing me entry, my tongue connecting with his, then his arms taking hold of me, pulling me into the embrace. After about a minute he drew away, breathing heavily. ‘Fucking hell,’ he said, looking at me as if he was half-scared, half-impressed. ‘Now, that was a surprise.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be, should it? It’s just sex, after all. Doesn’t mean anything.’ I threw the words back at him, wanting them to hurt, wanting them to upset him, but he just looked at me.

  ‘That wasn’t sex,’ he said quietly, slightly rubbing his lip. Had I caught him with my teeth?

  ‘Fine,’ I said, shoving him to the side so he fell off the arm and onto the sofa. I got on top of him. ‘Show me then.’ I started kissing him again, more forcefully than I had before, letting my body rub against him, feeling him growing hard underneath me.

  ‘Holly, is this really want you want?’ he said quietly into my ear.

  I brought myself up so I was pinning him to the sofa with both hands, holding him down. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I want us to do it. Everything you do to those girls, I want you to do it to me.’ I brought one hand down to his groin and started rubbing, feeling his jeans now stretched tight by his protruding erection.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said, glancing down to where my hand was resting. There was an air of defiance in his voice and challenge in his eyes. He didn’t think I would do it. Quiet Holly. Kind Holly. More at home with her books than at a party. She’d never sucked a cock or shagged a boy at school. Well, here I was, going to do exactly that. I moved down towards his waist, slipping off the sofa and kneeling on the floor. I unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down to his knees. He was wearing Spider-Man underpants and I almost laughed at the incongruity of his stiff penis distorting the webbed face of the iconic superhero. I pulled these down, too, and before I could allow myself to be intimidated by what was underneath, I took hold of it and lowered my head.

  The groan of pleasure he let out surprised me;
that I could make someone sound so enthralled, so deeply happy – it was a foreign feeling to me. I went at it for a while, improvising and pretending I knew what I was doing, having never received any instruction on how best to perform the act and only glimpsing it occasionally in films. And being done to James. The image of him seated in that pool cabin flashed into my mind, the head bobbing in his lap, that look on his face. I tried to put it out of my head and focus on what I was doing. When my jaw started to get tired, I pulled myself back up, triumphant and slightly amazed I hadn’t run for the hills when I’d first pulled down his pants. He had his eyes closed and looked slightly sleepy.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ he said. He tried to guide my head down again, but I resisted.

  ‘I want to do all of it. I want you to have sex with me.’

  He made a doubtful noise. ‘I think this is fine … I think this is enough for now. Please, don’t stop.’

  ‘I’m not carrying on,’ I said firmly. ‘You want more, you do the work.’

  He laughed at this and pulled me up onto him, helping me take my top off and pressing his face into my breasts. I tried to reach around to unclip my bra, but he had me down on my back on the sofa before I could get it undone. He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off with my knickers in one swift movement. He then descended upon me, kissing my neck. Part of me couldn’t believe this was happening. This was George: the boy I’d played Scrabble with in the school library at lunch and went round to tea with when we were twelve. George who used to forget his P.E. kit and try not to cry when they gave him a lunchtime detention. And now here he was, positioning his penis so he could enter me, slowly and carefully, then all the way, making me let out a short, sharp noise of discomfort.

  ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘Slightly,’ I said. ‘But it’s okay, I think.’

  He started moving in and out, his weight heavy on top of me, his muscular arms, so different to the bony, weak things I’d become used to seeing, now gripping me tight. I reached my hands down his back and then, in what seemed to me like a daring move, took hold of his bare buttocks as he thrust into me, feeling the muscles under his skin tense and tighten as he pushed. It didn’t go on very long after that. His breathing became shallow and he pushed his face hard against mine, the stubble on his jaw coarse against my skin. I realised I liked it. ‘I’m going to cum,’ he grunted, and he started thrusting deeper and quicker. I wasn’t sure if he was asking permission or just giving me a heads-up, so I let him carry on until I felt him go very tense and he let out a low, deep groan. I felt a warmth inside me, then cold as he pulled out and rolled onto his side. There wasn’t much space against the cushions on the chair, so I got up, staggering slightly as I felt around for my knickers and t-shirt. Once I was dressed I turned to look at him, sprawled on the sofa, his Spider-Man pants in a tangle around his knees, and his jeans draped untidily over the side of the chair, a pool of loose coins and debit cards scattered on the floor underneath them. He was still breathing heavily, lying on his front, his face resting on a cushion, eyes on me, watching, seeing how I’d react. Eventually he asked if I was okay and I nodded. He sat up then and I noticed his penis was still partially erect as he pulled up his briefs and set about turning his jeans the right side out. He kept glancing at me, standing awkwardly in the centre of the lounge. Eventually he spoke.