Another Summer (9 page)

Joe had hidden his rucksack on the porch and by eight o’clock on the morning of Malcolm Dryden’s wedding, he’d already made his escape.  He’d had more than enough of feeling like the poor relation and as he threw his stuff onto the cross country train he felt nothing but smug about getting one over on Steve.

  Maybe he could’ve been more up-front with Evie but he just wasn’t into major goodbyes.  The girl was hot, but Jesus!  She’d been so into him he was seriously spooked.  He was nineteen and he wasn’t going down that route anytime soon, however much he’d fancied her. 

Anyway, York wasn’t that far from Newcastle.  Once the waters had cooled, he might look her up.  She’d be a good bet for the odd weekend when there was nothing else happening.  Meanwhile, putting a few hundred miles between them seemed a better bet right now.

By the time he lugged his rucksack off the train at tea time, he was starving and looking forward to a bit of his mother’s pampering.  He was too broke for more than a snack and if he went back to the empty flat, there’d be nothing in the fridge.  He hoped his mother wouldn’t have her usual house full.

She was always extra thrilled to have him home, being the youngest and the only boy.  He hadn’t seen his four sisters since Easter but he really couldn’t be bothered to compete with too many squabbling grandchildren.

He wouldn’t mind seeing Heather, though.  They were the closest in age and she had plans to be an accountant.  There was money in that.  And prestige.  He liked bragging a bit about her.

But when he let himself into the pebble-dashed house, there was nobody home.  No cooking smells either which was seriously odd for a Saturday tea-time.  So much for being pampered.

He rang Heather at her flat.

“Joe!  Where the hell have you been?  Nobody knew how to get in touch with you.”

“I was in Cornwall, at Steve’s.  Why, what’s happened?”

“Just get over here.  Get a taxi.  I’ll pay.”

There’d be no more pampering.  Irene Marsh had died from a heart attack a few days ago, sudden and instantaneous in the middle of the night.  None of them had even suspected she’d been ill.

The next couple of weeks were a blur.  The nightmare of the funeral, the first one Joe had ever been to and he was expected to man-up and behave like the head of the family.  He kept knocking back beers and chasers, anything to numb the terrifying feeling of having nobody in his corner.

The sisters had to sift through thirty odd years of family trivia, dismantling the family home so the keys could go back to the council.  Joe hovered on the sidelines feeling as abandoned as a small boy.  He kept on drinking.

“Feels weird being orphans at our age,” Heather said a couple of weeks later.  They were in the pub down the street from her flat.

“Yeah.  I’m nineteen but I feel like nine.”

“I wonder if it’s because we’re the youngest and the others have all got their families.  I couldn’t wait to leave home but I always knew she’d be there if I needed her for anything.  Who’s going to do Christmas?  They’ll all fight over it.  It’ll be grim.”

“We could go away?” Joe suggested.  “Somewhere hot?”

“Come into money, have you?  Or even a proper job for the new semester?”

He looked miserably into his beer.  “Just the usual, why?”

“You want to start thinking about your CV.  Bar work won’t cut it on the experience front when there’s all that competition.”

He’d lied about the usual bar job.  Not much chance of going back to Glenda’s if he wanted to keep all his teeth.  He’d sort something else, when he felt up to it.  In the meantime, Steve would be an understanding landlord about overdue rent, even if he was a prick.

“So, who are you bringing to my party?” Heather asked.

“What?  You’re not still having it?”

“Why not?  We could all do with cheering up.  Mum liked a knees-up as much as anyone.  She wouldn’t want me to miss out on my twenty-first on her account.  Why don’t you invite Steve?”

“Steve?  Why?”

“Because I fancy him, that’s why.  He’s only a year or so younger than me and he did put himself out to come to Mum’s funeral.”

Joe had forgotten Steve was one of those rich bastards who’d had a gap year before uni.  But he didn’t like the idea of his mate knobbing his favourite sister.  It could all be awkward enough.

But back at the flat, nothing was said about the summer and they settled into their usual lads’ routine.  Evie wasn’t mentioned, not even as a summer shag and if Joe felt any sort of pang about her, he put it down to boredom.  He decided he better get himself out there before he lost his touch.

He met Kat at Heather’s party.  Katriona, as exotic as her name.  Tall, sleek and thirtyish with the longest black hair he’d ever seen.  Her dress was a floaty ethnic affair, just the right side of transparent.  No underwear.  Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She noticed.  Danced in front of him, arms above her head.  When she sat on his lap, he was already straining against his jeans.  She dragged on a joint someone was passing around.  Blew the smoke across his mouth, her tongue trailing after it.

“Do you pose?”

He couldn’t find his voice.

“For life drawing.  Many students do it for extra cash.”  Her voice was husky, a trace of an accent.

“You’re an artist?”

“I also teach.  A good model is like gold dust.  I think you could have it.”

She ran the back of her hand over his stomach and down across his erection.  He was almost panting at the thought of what she could teach him.

“Should I persuade you?”

She placed his hand on her breast, making him play with her nipple.  She moved it down her leg then up, using his fingers to touch herself, there in full view of the dancers.  Nobody seemed to notice or care.

She stood up and pulled him into the bedroom where she fucked him until he could barely move.  He learned that when Kat wanted something, there was no way to refuse.

She wanted him to pose, so he did.  It seemed an easy way to make a few quid, even if it was weird taking your clothes off in front of a bunch of strangers.  But he soon realised that the students saw his naked body as a structure, no more than light and shade and a series of lines.  He watched Kat flitting amongst them, nodding approval, suggesting this or that.  They hung on her every word.  He knew exactly how they felt.

She liked him to stay naked after the students had gone.  Liked sex in the art room, the danger of it.  He was always ready.  She was a drug more addictive than the potent weed they smoked back at her place.  She took over his head.  His life.  Her odd bohemian friends became his friends.  When she suggested he move in, he thought why not?  She paid for stuff and didn’t nag him about getting a job.

He joined a couple of her classes and found he wasn’t half bad.  He was more interested in shagging her than putting in the work but it didn’t seem to matter.  He was having the time of his life.  Who wouldn’t love his life?  It was one long party.  The future was for old people.  It could take care of itself.

What was it with women and bathrooms?  Lisa had been in there ages, leaving Joe with way too much time to think. He loitered by the window, peering out at the miserable night.  How could there be so much rain?  Was it ever going to stop hurling itself down the glass?  Would he ever get to Cornwall?  Would he get through the next few hours without giving in to temptation?

The prospect of bed was lurking in the room, like a test he had to pass.  He was having major doubts.  Maybe he should get back on the road and take his chances in the storm?  It wouldn’t be so difficult now he’d had a rest and a shower.  If all the other drivers had stopped for the night, the motorway would be empty and he could make a run for it.  Yeah and probably kill himself in the process.

Lisa finally came out draped in a white towel.  Christ!  She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, was she?  Couldn’t she have put something on?  He fiddled a bit with the curtains, aware he was adjusting them so the tabs at the top were all equally spaced along the rail.  He was definitely losing the plot.  And she still wasn’t dressed.

“Are there any tea bags left?” she asked.  “I could murder some chocolate and a cuppa.”

He wondered where she was putting it all.  She’d already demolished a carvery meal which had been edible at best.  And a bowl of lukewarm crumble and custard.  But he jumped at the chance of a breather.  He grabbed his wallet.

“I’ll go and see if the shop’s still open.”

“Really?  A flake would be fab if you’re sure you don’t mind going out again in that?”

He was drenched before he’d taken a couple of steps.  The sides of the walkway were open, the plastic roof no match for the driving rain.  But it was a relief to be out of that room.  The room with the big bed in the middle of it.

The shop was empty but for the student on the till plugged into an iPod, his head nodding along to some trance-like beat.  Joe wandered round as if he was in a giant supermarket, eventually making a considered choice between two gift boxes of miniature spirits and exactly which flake bar to buy from the five on the shelf.

As he put them down at the till to pay, his elbow knocked over the promotional display.  The deal of the day was a box of pencils and a sketch pad, maybe aimed at bored kids who’d sooner be watching a violent DVD.  He retrieved the one from the floor, saw the wrapping had spilt so paid for it without much further thought.  Then he headed reluctantly back to Lisa.

She was in bed now.  Nothing on by the looks of it but at least she’d pulled the covers up to her armpits.  He switched on the kettle, counting to ten as he stripped off his own wet shirt and kicked his soggy trainers under the little table.  It was stifling in the room.  Couldn’t even open a window.

“I’m glad we’re nice and safe in here.  I was starting to get a bit scared we were going to break down in all that water.”

Safe wasn’t a word he’d have chosen.  He laced his tea with whisky, hoping it would help him sleep.  But he couldn’t take his eyes off Lisa as she sucked and nibbled on the flake.  She couldn’t be that innocent surely?  She must know how painfully erotic that was?  What was the matter with the girl?  Was she asking for trouble?  Why couldn’t she just go to sleep and stop tormenting him?

He stalked around the room, praying that if he ignored his erection, it would fizzle conveniently away.

“What’s wrong?  Aren’t you tired?”

“No, I’m not bloody tired.”

“You’re cross.  Is it because we’re stuck here?”

“Something like that.”

“Are you cross with me?”

Exasperated by the crack in her voice, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  His button popped and the zip slid down like another conspiracy.  He yanked it back up.

“Sorry,” he muttered.  “The rain’s getting on my nerves.  Just go to sleep, yeah?”

“I will if you give me a hug.”

“Definitely no hugs.”

“But hugs are lovely.”

“Not a good idea.”

“It’s me, isn’t it?  I’m getting on your nerves.  You’re wishing you hadn’t helped me now, aren’t you?”

As huge tears welled up in her eyes, he felt like a complete bastard.  He shouldn’t take his mood out on her.  She didn’t need anyone else to make her feel crap.

He sat on the edge of the bed.  He only meant to stroke her arm or something but she threw herself at him.  He kept his hands on the bed.  Tried not to enjoy the feel of her hair against his chest.

“Do you like me, Joe?”

“I think you’re a nice kid.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“Girl, then.  You’re a nice girl.”

“Do you fancy me?

He groaned.  “Lisa, don’t.”

“I fancy you.  Loads.  I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

She lifted her head off his chest.  The duvet slid down.  He tried to get to his feet but she launched herself at him again, the momentum shoving him back against the headboard.  His hands ended up on her hips.  Her naked hips.  Any minute now she’d be completely starkers.

His hand had drifted down her thigh.  He pulled it back into line.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.  “Do it again.”

She snuggled closer.  Her lips found his neck, hesitant and gentle yet her warm breath stirred his blood to flashpoint.  His hand touched her stomach, the piercing of a ruby coloured flower.  What would it look like when her belly got swollen by the baby?  What was wrong with him, that he wasn’t turned off by that?  Then his zip slid down again and her hand started wriggling inside his jeans.  His heart was racing.  Why didn’t he stop her?

“Don’t you want to kiss me Joe?”
“No!”

“Please?  I want to kiss you.  You’ve been so good to me, Joe.”

She kissed him.  He couldn’t move as he drowned in the sweetness of her.  They were lying down now, almost naked.  Her ripe breasts had found their way into his hands, her nipples hard peaks beneath his thumbs.  She was moaning softly, rubbing herself against him.  How could any man resist such a total turn-on?  Who would feel guilty when it was there, on a plate?

So why did he keep hearing Heather?  Heather with her low opinion of him, warning him that Lisa was grateful and his ego wouldn’t be able to resist.  Was he going out of his way to prove his sister right?

But Lisa wanted it.  She was making all the moves.  He opened his eyes to look at her.  Hers were tightly screwed up.  She was clearly terrified by what she was doing.  He jumped off the bed, his erection shrivelling as he tugged up his jeans.  She was scared and he’d almost shagged her.

“Shit!  Shit!  Shit!”

“What’s the matter?”

“You, this.”  He gestured at the bed.  “I should never have gone there.  Jesus!  I’m sorry.”

“But I wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You think this is payment?  Because I helped you?  What sort of bastard do you think I am?”

“You don’t fancy me?”

She hurled herself back on the pillows.  Naked.  Gorgeous.  Her arm was hiding her eyes, he couldn’t tell if she was crying.

“For fuck’s sake, Lisa.  Give it a rest.  And get some covers on you, please!”

“I was only being nice.  That Simon was such a prat and you’ve been so great, looking after me and everything.”

“I wouldn’t be looking after you if I’d shagged you, would I?  I do have a daughter, you know?”

“And I bet your daughter wouldn’t be such a disappointment?”

He didn’t need any reminders that in his family, he was the big disappointment.  His daughter worshipped him and he didn’t want to do anything to damage that.  And he didn’t want her hurt by the mess between him and Evie.  But in the meantime, he’d landed himself in another mess  with Lisa.

“You’re not a disappointment.”

“Simon didn’t want me.  You don’t want me.”

“Jesus!  Cut it out!  I do want you, obviously.  You’re gorgeous, sexy.  But we’re not going there, okay?  It isn’t right.”

She nodded, biting her lip.  He thought she looked relieved as she pulled the duvet over herself.  But not half as relieved as he was.  He rummaged in his bag for a dry T-shirt and thrust his arms into it.

“I like your tattoo.”

He glanced down at the cat prowling over his shoulder.  “It was meant to have a mouse or a bird.  But I never went back to get it finished.”

Yet another example of something he didn’t commit to.  He pulled the T-shirt over his head, trying to ignore the ache in his balls.

“So, we’re cool, yeah?  Let’s get some sleep and tomorrow we can get back on the road.”

She fell asleep at once and Joe sat in the chair feeling an odd glimmer of pride.  Not so long ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about a quick shag that was offered to him on a plate.  Alright, maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her.  Or touched her tits.  But they were quite spectacular tits and she’d almost thrust them into his hands.  But when it counted, he had resisted.

Too restless for sleep, he made more tea, using the last two bags to try and get the strong brew he liked.  Channel hopping, he found a documentary about an artist who drew charcoal portraits with his feet.  The guy had such skill, such tenacity, his style reminding him a bit of Kat’s work all those years ago.

God, Kat!  He wondered if she was still painting.  Still teaching?  Did she still have young guys falling over themselves?  She’d taught him plenty, about art as well as other things, but the painful gash she’d left in his life had meant he hadn’t drawn anything since.

He’d been thinking about that a lot recently, wondering if he’d have been any good, if he’d managed to stick at it.  Wondering if he should do something about finding out.  And tonight, some impulse had made him buy pencils and a pad.

Glad of something to do, he picked them up and at first his hand was clumsy and stiff, his unpractised eye unable to make the connection.  But he worked at it, far into the night, until his lines began to flow into planes of light and shade across the paper.

He woke up with a stiff neck and a bursting bladder.  When he’d stretched a bit, he looked critically at the drawing.  It was a good likeness of Lisa sleeping, half child, half woman.  The suggestion of a naked breast.  A secret smile.  He was chuffed with it.

He turned on the TV.  The weather forecast was grim.  The west country especially was about to be deluged.  He just wanted to get there.  To make sure Evie was alright.  To make her listen.  Convince her things would be different.

He lay down on the bed, on top of the covers, as far away from Lisa as he could possibly get.  He was a man on a mission and he needed a few hours proper kip.