Innocence (4 page)

I thought this would all be clearer, and wanting someone would be straightforward, like a bolt of lightning from my heart to my balls.

Slinging his arm around my shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Finn guides me forwards and closes the door.

Once we’re inside, “What are you thinking about?” he whispers against my ear before sucking my earlobe lightly, then leaving me not breathing against the closed door as he crosses the small space into the kitchen area. “You look scared half to death.”

I glance around, trying to collect myself. The caravan is bare and stale smelling, the furnishings old and faded as though they’ve been here for a very long time. As on our boat, a long padded seat curves round the room from one side to the other. A table is bolted to the floor in front of it.

Finn takes a beer and a cider out of the fridge and hands me the cider. “Don’t worry, I didn’t bring you here to fuck. Though….” He laughs—maybe at my expression, I don’t know. “We’ve got some time to kill. Logan and Chase aren’t back yet.”

I swallow uncomfortably. He sits down in the center of the padded seat, holding the can in his hands, and pats the fabric next to him.

Mostly I don’t want to sit down with him. Mostly I want to want to walk out the door and across the sunlit fields until my legs give way beneath me. But I also
do
want to be here, and I want this job, whatever it is.

I try to calm down as he settles his arms around me and leans his face into my neck.

“Relax,” he whispers against my skin, popping the pull of my cider with one hand and urging me to drink it.

I squirm away to down the liquid, feeling how quickly the wooziness races through me, how it smoothes out all the uncertainty into okayness.

I place the empty can on the table and let him pull me back. He puts my hand on the crotch of his jeans to stroke the stiffness there.

His forcefulness is not turning me on, and I struggle up, mumbling something about needing a bit of fresh air. But with the wiry strength evident in his lean frame he pulls me back down and kisses my open mouth, causing some distant fire to flare within me, and in a most primitive way, I find myself not thinking and at last desperately wanting the skin contact as he pushes my T-shirt up along with his own and lies on top of me.

It is nothing like I thought it would be. It’s not so different from being on my own, more like an extension of it, except for the way Finn pants hot, heavy breaths against my chest and moans. We get closer and more naked, and eventually I let him finger me, shifting as he pushes my knees up to my chest while biting his lip and groaning. He jacks himself with one hand and gazes at the spit-slicked finger of the other slipping in and out of my hole. It’s kinda uncomfortable, but nothing I haven’t done to myself before. I jerk myself off as he does it, closing my eyes and thinking how much this reminds me of the few porn shots I’ve seen, one guy seeming more into what’s going on than the other.

After, he lies next to me and his breathing slows enough for me to think he’s gone to sleep. I long to be back by the river. I’ve never wanted to swim and clean away this grime and sweat as much as I do right now. Finn’s come is drying against my stomach, and I just want to wash it off.

An hour later we dress without washing and Finn knocks on the door of the next caravan over. Rectangles of brown cardboard cover all the windows. Without waiting for the door to be opened, Finn lets himself in.

A skinny half-naked guy looms out of the darkness, a fat cigarette hanging between his fingers. He holds it out to Finn, flicks his gaze to me, and nods.

Logan, Finn introduces him as. I’ve not seen him on the building site before.

We’re still waiting for Chase to get back from wherever he’s working, and Finn and Logan smoke their way through several joints while I refuse every offer and pick the hem of my shirt to pieces instead.

Hours pass, though it’s hard to tell how many in this gloom. I’m hungry, and the heavy sweet smoke is starting to make me feel ill, but still I wait and wait, every so often glancing at Finn, who seems to have forgotten why he brought me here in the first place as he shoots shit with Logan as if I’m not even there. Finally, I’ve had enough—I just don’t want to be here anymore.

I stumble outside into the cool evening air, dismayed at how late it is. Dusk has fallen deep blue over the treetops, lighter blue on the horizon. Most of the caravans are now occupied and lit up warmly against the cool summer night, the murmur of quiet conversations taking place in the shadows or between the open doors. I sink down on the step outside the door, my stomach in knots, thinking about Jay waiting on the boat for me, wondering where I am. I tell myself I’m doing this for him, to earn enough money to leave, but the thought of him worrying helplessly about me makes me feel a little sick. There’s no way I can get hold of him to let him know where I am either.

“You okay, kiddo?”

I look up at the sound of the voice and discover I’m being leaned over and, to a certain extent, scrutinized by a man about my height with wavy dark hair, tanned skin, and bare feet. Like the others from the building site, he looks like he spends a lot of time outside, but he seems older than them, maybe thirty. Confusingly, I am attracted to him immediately—he is beautiful. I get the lightning bolt to my chest, my balls, everything—the force of it so hard it takes my breath away. And right now… I don’t want to be attracted to him. It’s as though my libido is fucking with me.

“Whoa,” he says, his eyes going comically wide as I look back at him.

Maybe he sees the gamut of emotions I go through in those couple of seconds. I don’t know.

His serious face breaks into a wide smile, dark eyes crinkling.

I look away.

“You okay?” he asks again, gentler this time.

I want to ask him who he is, but I think I know from the fermented smell of alcohol that surrounds him. This is the guy the dog belongs to.

Miserably I shake my head. “I need to get home,” I mumble, trying not to let the words sound like the desperate plea they are.

This guy is drunk. And Finn is high. And I know no one else in the camp well enough to ask for help.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.

“You live in town?”

I nod.

“Do you want a lift?”

I shake my head. “You’re drunk,” I mutter, and he laughs, the sound as deep and musical as his voice.

“That, I guess, is pretty true. Can you drive?”

“No.”

“I could give you a driving lesson.”

“I don’t even know you.” Or why he’d go to any length to help me.

“That’s right,” he nods sagely. “Don’t talk to strangers.” He hiccups.

His demeanor would be funny if I weren’t so altogether desperate to get home.

He holds out a hand. “Malachi.”

“Christopher,” I respond dully.

He winks. “I know.”

I shake my head. I’m not even going to bother asking him how he knows.

“Come on, Christopher.” He leads me to the full row of cars by the hedge. “Pick a car, any car… though not the Renault, steering’s off, and the Ford has a heavy clutch, so I’d avoid her too…. Any of the others, though.”

Bemused, I point to the saloon Finn brought me here in, and Malachi pulls a large bunch of keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me.

“It’s the key with the gray tag. Can’t see colors too well right now.” He gives me a lopsided, apologetic smile.

And even though I don’t want to because he’s
drunk
—and from what Finn said he’s well known for being drunk—I find myself relaxing in his company. He’s easy to be with. It’s as though he has no expectation of things, and he just accepts things the way they are.

“Why have you got a key to every car here?” I ask as I slip into the driver’s seat and fasten the seat belt in place.

“They’re Bosco’s cars. They break, I fix them,” he answers simply and, holding the passenger door open, he whistles clearly, fingers against his lips. Two seconds later Maisie dashes up and leaps into the car, tail wagging furiously.

He points at the backseat and she lies down across it immediately, calm and quiet as if she’s the most obedient dog in the world, her brown eyes watching me curiously.

“No noise, baby,” he stage-whispers to her. “You can play with Christopher later.”

I like that he keeps calling me Christopher as though he enjoys saying my name, and he doesn’t shorten it to Chris like the rest of them do.

“Now, first things first, you need to… first….” He pauses, thinking.

“Start the car?” I guess, fiddling around trying to find the ignition so I can put the key in it.

“You must have done this before,” he grins.

Rolling my eyes, I turn the key.

I’ve never driven a car, and by the time we’ve seesawed to the end of the bumpy track and to the road, I’m concentrating so hard I feel exhausted.

“Don’t we need lights?” I ask, suddenly panicked.

“Good thinking, lights… would be a good idea.” He nods, sounding tired as he reaches over me to flick a switch, illuminating the road and hedge, though frustratingly not much else. Not the inside of the car and the controls I might need.

Even though the road is empty, I’m terrified of pulling out onto it. “You’re not going to go to sleep on me, are you?”

Laughing lightly, he shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. Christopher, you are going to be a great driver one day, but I think you might need a few more lessons.”

Relieved, I sit up straighter and take a deep breath.

He stretches in his seat. “Just remember, if we get stuck, Maisie can always take over. She’s a great taxi driver.”

Refusing to go above 20 mph, I’m thankful it’s dark, and I’m thankful there are few other cars on the road until we get into town. Malachi is patient and calm every time I panic or stall or take a left instead of a right. Nothing fazes him, even though I fuck up constantly.

When we finally arrive at the Tavern, I lay my head against the steering wheel, breathing steadily until my heartbeat slows. The time on the dash says 23:07. I know I should get out now and go see Jay so that he can stop worrying, but I just can’t move.

“You did really well, Christopher,” Malachi says sleepily.

“How are you going to get back?” I ask suddenly, pushing myself upright.

It never even occurred to me until this second, and now I feel awful. I consider inviting him on board, but I know that would cause more trouble than it’s worth with Dad. And he can’t drive. He’s still drunk.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep here.” He clicks his fingers, and Maisie steps between the seats and lays her warm body across his lap. Gently I rub my knuckle across her head, and she licks my hand.

“Thanks… for this,” I say, feeling awkward.

Reluctantly I open the car door, the night air deeply cool against my skin.

“You look like her, you know,” Malachi says quietly as I’m climbing out. His voice is wistful and a little sad.

I bend back down to look at him. Not sure if it’s just the alcohol talking. “What?”

“Isabella.”

My mother
. My heart contracts painfully.

“You’re so very like her…. He’s hard on you, isn’t he?”

Numbly I nod. I know he means Dad. I don’t know
how
he knows, though. I sink back down into the car seat, utterly deflated, but by the time I’ve collected my feelings enough to speak, Malachi is asleep.

“W
HERE
THE
hell have you been to this time of night?”

Dad doesn’t even let me step aboard before he starts yelling at the top of his voice.

Less than twenty meters away, the Tavern is raucous and full, and no one bats an eye in our direction. They’re probably used to shouting and too drunk to care.

I sit down heavily on the towpath, exhausted beyond words, my head banging like a firework display. I didn’t notice how bad it hurt before. I was concentrating on other stuff, like how not to crash the car.

“Answer me!”

“Driving lesson,” I mumble, picking at the moss growing between the cracks in the concrete as if his question is unimportant and he’s being unreasonable, but really, I know he’s not.

The silence is thunderous.

When I look up, for one awful second, I think he’s going to hit me. He looks at the mercy of some wild emotion, anger beyond the boundaries of its normal reaches.

I steel myself. There will be no going back from this.

But as quickly as it peaks, the moment passes.

“Stay there. Don’t move,” he spits out instead and disappears back down into the cabin.

Through the lozenge-shaped cabin window, I see Jay curled on the sofa hugging his knees, face hidden, body shaking as though he’s crying, and I just… throw up. The reaction takes me by surprise, and I try to aim into the water, but I’m not quick enough and end up covering the ground in front of me. I’ve not eaten since lunch, so it’s mainly watery bile. I feel so completely empty and sorry for myself, I just want to lie down and go to sleep.

When I look up, Dad is standing on deck again peering at me with a mixture of pity and revulsion. He has an armful of blankets and a pillow. He’s probably going to make me sleep up here as a sort of punishment.

But it wouldn’t be.

“Are you drunk?” he asks in a distant voice.

More and more I feel I’m a stranger to him, and he no longer knows what to say to me. “No.”

“Are you sick?”

I shrug, wiping my mouth, feeling pretty low and disgusting.

“I’ll put the shower on,” he says, turning away with his armful and disappearing inside again.

Bemused, I stare after him. The shower is something reserved for emergencies or special occasions. It’s expensive, and the water heater is terrifyingly old. Jay and I used to refuse to use the hot water when we were small, when Mum was still around. When the water is on full, the naked flame from the heater has a tendency to flare out into the room, like a spirit trying to escape the confines of its metal body and set the world alight.