Authors: Frederic Lindsay
With
his
free
hand
he
pushed
the
packet
of
potato
sticks across
to
her.
'Have
one,'
he
said.
'Before
they're
finished.’
Chapter 9
'He
was
so
angry,
I
think
he
could
have
killed
her.’
'Viv
flies
off
the
handle
but
it
doesn't
last.
I've
seen
her
incandescent
and
a
week
later
best
friends
with
the
victim.
If
you'd
seen
the
rage,
you'd
have
sworn
it
was
deadly
earnest.
And
permanent.’
He
yawned.
'I'll
smooth
her
feathers.
It
isn't
important.’
The
tickle
of
his
breath
by
her
ear
accompanied
the
low
comfortable
monotone.
She
had
learned
that
the
sweetest
time
for
her
came
after
they
had
made
love.
She
had
not
been
a
virgin
when
they
first
went
to
bed
a
year
ago,
but
at
twenty
she
had
had
only
two
others
with
whom
to
compare
him.
As
a
first-year
student
she
had
been
taken
against
a
wall
after
a
party.
She
had
been
drunk
and
giggling.
'Oh,
is
that
your
finger?
That's
only
your
finger
still,
isn't
it?'
Then
she
had
felt
the
thick
pressure
of
the
boy
nuzzling
his
way
into
her,
and
that
clumsy
entry
intermingled
always
in
her
memory
with
the
sour
clogged
flow
of
his
breath
into
her
face.
In
her
inexperience,
she
had
no
idea
of
how
far
in
he
might
be;
but
she
was
sobered
out
of
any
misapprehension
about
fingers.
Panic stricken,
she
shoved
at
him,
twisting
and
writhing
away
as
he
grunted
with
pain.
A
tall
boy
with
blond
hair,
he
had
told
her
he
was
Norwegian
and
at
the
party
had
spoken
in
broken
English,
encouraging
her
to
say
things
recklessly
in
the
belief
he
would
not
understand.
Now
out
of
his
mouth
in
the
broadest
of
Glasgow
accents
came
the
words
'Ya
cock
teasan
stupid
cunt.’
The
first
blow
stunned
her
with
shock
so
that
the
rest
followed
in
a
single
confusion
of pain
and
terror.
Perhaps
altogether
there
were
no
more
than
six,
delivered
with
the
open
hand
but
each
one
as
a
fully
swung
blow.
The
slap
which
put
her
down
took
her
high
on
the
side
of
the
head,
and
he
caught
her
with
another
one
as
she
fell.
The
whole
thing
took
hardly
any
time
at
all;
his
reflexes
were
very
good.
Crouched
against
the
bottom
of
the
wall,
she
wept
with
relief
as
he
walked
away.
In
the
morning
she
found
blood
caked
at
the
side
of
her
mouth,
but
no
show
of
it
on
her
underwear.
Under
the
circumstances,
it
was
difficult
to
decide
if
she
had
stopped
being
a
virgin.
After
that
she
did
see
him
about
the
campus,
and
it
dismayed
her
that
he
gave
no
sign
either
of
remorse
or
apprehension.
On
the
other
hand,
he
did
not
try
to
approach
her
and
she
was
grateful
for
that.
She
was
the
one
who
suffered
disgust
and
even
guilt.
She
lost
confidence.
She
had
waking
fantasies
of
giving
in
to
him,
of
doing
whatever
he
asked,
of
him
leading
her
into
a
room
of
his
friends,
of
her
humiliation;
but
twice
she
wakened
out
of
dreams
in
which
she
had
killed
him.
He
lay
dead
at
her
feet
and
she
wakened
suddenly
with
a
feeling
of
glory
that
changed
at
once
into
terror.
Because
her
retreat
had
been
into
work
and
hard
study
–
since
she
was
basically
very
sensible,
with
a
sharp
sense
of
the
distinction
between
fantasy
and
reality,
and
an
instinct
for
self-preservation –
she
did
well
at
the
sessional
exams;
and
that
helped
more
than
anything.
In
her
second
year
she
developed
a
social
life
and,
out
of
a
circle
of
friends,
a
recognised
boyfriend
emerged,
a
diffident
redhead
immersed
in
junior
honours
economics.
Urged
on
by
the
habit
of
the
time,
they
arrived
in
bed
together
and
after
several
failures
made
love;
and,
pleased
with
themselves,
did
so
on
a
number
of
occasions
after
that,
even
though
by
some
accident
of
chemistry
the
experience
for
both
of
them
was
disappointingly
humdrum.
All
the
same,
it
seemed
they
were
ready
to
drift
out
of
affection
into
something
they
would
have
called
love;
but
the
habit
of
study
had
stayed
with
her
from
that
unhappy
first
year and
at
the
end
of
the
second
she
won
the
class
prize.
It was
this
which
had
drawn
her
to
Maitland's
attention.