Four
‘Don’t you like beer?’ Jake says.
He’s leaning against the sink in his kitchen and I’m standing too close to him. I’m doing it on purpose.
‘I just fancied some tea.’
He shrugs, chinks his beer bottle against my cup, and tips his head back to swig. I watch his throat as he swallows, notice a small pale scar under his chin, a thin ribbon from some long ago accident. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, sees me staring.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good.’
He smiles at me. He has a nice smile. I’m glad. It would be so much harder if he was ugly.
Half an hour ago Jake and his mate Stoner Boy grinned at each other as they led me and Zoey into their house. Those grins said they’d scored. Zoey told them not to make any assumptions, but still we walked into their lounge and she let Stoner take her coat. She laughed at his jokes, accepted the joints he made for her and got steadily wrecked.
I can see her through the door. They’ve put music on, some mellow jazz number. They’ve turned off the lights to dance, moving together in slow, stoned circles on the carpet. Zoey has one hand in the air holding a joint, the other tucked into Stoner’s belt at the back of his trousers. He has both arms wrapped around her so that they appear to be holding each other up.
I feel suddenly sensible, drinking tea in the kitchen, and realize I need to get on with my plan. This is about me, after all.
I gulp my tea down, put the cup on the draining board and move even closer to Jake. The tips of our shoes touch.
‘Kiss me,’ I say, which sounds ridiculous as soon as I say it, but Jake doesn’t seem to mind. He puts down his beer and leans towards me.
We kiss quite gently, our lips just brushing, only a hint of breath from him to me. I’ve always known I’d be good at kissing. I’ve read all the magazines, the ones that tell you about nose bumping and excess saliva and where to put your hands. I didn’t know it would feel like this though, the soft scour of his chin on mine, his hands gently searching my back, his tongue running along my lips and into my mouth.
We kiss for minutes, pressing our bodies closer, leaning in to each other. It’s such a relief to be with someone who doesn’t know me at all. My hands are brave, dipping into the curve where his spine ends and stroking him there. How healthy he feels, how solid.
I open my eyes to see if he’s enjoying it, but I’m drawn instead to the window behind him, to the trees surrounded by night out there. Little black twigs tap at the glass like fingers. I snap my eyes shut and grind myself closer to him. I can feel just how hard he wants me through my little red dress. He makes a small moaning noise at the back of his throat.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he says.
He tries to move me towards the door, but I put my hand flat against his chest to keep him at bay while I think.
‘Come on,’ he says. ‘You want to, don’t you?’
I can feel his heart pulsing through my fingers. He smiles down at me, and I do want to, don’t I? Isn’t this why I’m here?
‘OK.’
His hand is hot as he laces our fingers together and leads me through the lounge to the stairs. Zoey’s kissing Stoner Boy. She has his back against the wall and her leg between his. When we walk past, they hear us and they both turn round. They look dishevelled and hot. Zoey wiggles her tongue at me. It glistens like a fish in a cave.
I let go of Jake to get Zoey’s bag from the sofa. I rummage around in it, aware of everyone’s eyes on me, the slow grin on Stoner’s face. Jake’s leaning against the doorframe, waiting. Is he giving the thumbs-up? I can’t look. I can’t find the condoms either, don’t even know if it’s a box or a packet, or really what they look like. In my embarrassment, I decide to take the entire bag upstairs. If Zoey needs a condom, she’ll just have to come and get it.
‘Let’s go,’ I say.
I follow Jake up the stairs, concentrate on the sway of his hips to keep myself cheerful. I feel a bit strange, dizzy and slightly nauseous. I didn’t think that walking up the stairs behind a guy would remind me of hospital corridors. Maybe I’m just tired. I try to remember the rules about feeling sick – whenever possible get lots of fresh air, open a window or go outside if you can. Get good at distraction therapy – do something, anything, to keep your mind off it.
‘In here,’ he says.
His bedroom’s nothing special – a small room with a desk, a computer, scattered books on the floor, a chair and a single bed. On the walls are a few black and white posters – jazz musicians mostly.
He looks at me looking at his room. ‘You can put your bag down,’ he says.
He picks up dirty laundry from the bed and chucks it on the floor, straightens the duvet, sits down and pats the space next to him.
I don’t move. Because if I sit down on that bed, then I need the lights off.
‘Could you light that candle?’ I say.
He opens a drawer, pulls out matches and gets up to light the candle on the desk. He turns off the main light and sits back down.
Here is a real breathing boy, looking up at me, waiting for me. This is my moment, but I can feel my chest ticking. Maybe the only way to get through this without him thinking I’m a complete idiot is to pretend to be someone else. I decide to be Zoey, and begin to undo the buttons on her dress.
He watches me do it, one button, two buttons. He runs his tongue across his lips. Three buttons.
He stands up. ‘Let me do that.’
His fingers are quick. He’s done this before. Another girl, a different night. I wonder where she is now. Four buttons, five, and the little red dress slides from shoulder to hip, falls to the floor and lands at my feet like a kiss. I step out of it and stand before him in just my bra and knickers.
‘What’s that?’ He frowns at the puckered skin on my chest.
‘I was ill.’
‘What was wrong with you?’
I shut him up with kisses.
I smell different now I’m practically naked – musky and hot. He tastes different – of smoke and something sweet. Life maybe.
‘Aren’t you taking your clothes off?’ I ask in my best Zoey voice.
He pulls up his T-shirt, over his face, his arms raised. For a second he can’t see me, but he’s exposed – his narrow chest, freckled and young, the dark shine of hair under his armpits. He chucks his T-shirt on the floor and kisses me again. He tries to unbuckle his belt without looking, with only one hand, but can’t do it. He pulls away, looking at me all the while as he fumbles at button and zip. He steps out of his trousers and stands before me in his underwear. There’s a moment when maybe he’s uncertain, and he hesitates, seems shy. I notice his feet, innocent as daisies in their white socks, and I want to give him something.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ I say. ‘Not all the way with a guy.’
The candle gutters.
He doesn’t say anything for a second, then shakes his head like he just can’t believe it. ‘Wow, that’s amazing.’
I nod.
‘Come here.’
I bury myself in his shoulder. It’s comforting, as if things may be all right. He wraps one arm around me, the other creeping up my back to stroke my neck. His hand is warm. Two hours ago I didn’t even know his name.
Maybe we don’t have to have sex. Maybe we could just lie down and snuggle up, find sleep in each other’s
