‘God, you guys are dicks.’
By 6 p.m. the tents were up and the fire roaring, filling the balmy summer air with the unappetising scent of Sonny’s Boy Scout Special lighter fuel. They all took a seat on the benches and Dave rummaged in his pocket for a pack of playing cards.
‘Right, what’re we playing?’ he asked, shuffling them. ‘Strip poker?’
‘Not getting my tits out, David,’ Clarrie said.
‘I’ll get mine out,’ Si said with a shrug.
‘It’s getting you to keep them in,’ Sonny said. ‘If there’s a chance to get your shirt off you’re straight in, aren’t you?’
‘Oh Christ, stop,’ Clarrie groaned. ‘I might just die of testosterone poisoning. Come on Dave, deal. We can play ordinary poker.’
‘For what?’ Sonny asked.
Dave shrugged. ‘You could bet Clarrie a date. Seems to be all the rage.’
‘I’m not betting you all dates,’ she said. ‘You lot can’t just gamble me off like we’re on a Mississippi riverboat, you know.’
‘Don’t see why not,’ Dave said, chucking cards around the circle. ‘You’re the only thing round here worth gambling for.’
She squinted at him. ‘Was that a compliment, Davy?’
‘Could’ve been.’
‘Oh. Well, thanks.’
‘Bet you’re getting nervous now though, Clar,’ Si said. ‘Five matches left and we’re already joint second. Only the third time we’ve made it that far up the table, isn’t it?’
‘Fourth,’ Clarrie said. ‘Last year we were second for that one match, till one of you thickoes buggered it up. Anyway, we’re still ten points behind Les Quiz, that’s a lot to gain.’ She nudged him. ‘So don’t get cocky just yet.’
‘Ah, but I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. Wait and see.’
*
The Flower Arrangers were one campfire curry, several beers and uncountable games of poker into the evening when Clarrie noticed a Lyndsey-shaped silhouette heading towards their pitch.
The sun was just sinking behind the mountain at their backs, Clarrie’s favourite camping time. Friends, fire glow, taste of beer, smell of smoke… the yearly camps were probably the only time she felt completely relaxed and panic-free.
‘Hi, Dave’s friends,’ Lyndsey said when she joined them. She plonked herself down on her boyfriend’s lap and kissed the top of his ear. ‘Hi, sexy.’
‘Hi Lyns. Want a beer?’ Dave asked. ‘Because you’ll have to get off me a minute so I can get you one.’
‘Or how about we just go to bed?’
Dave’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What, again? Jesus Christ, woman! I only saw you last night.’
‘Yep. So you coming or what?’
‘Well yeah, obviously.’ He waved at his friends as Lyndsey stood and led him towards his tent. ‘Er, night, guys. If the tent’s a-rocking, yeah?’
He disappeared after Lyndsey through the flap.
‘Bloody hell!’ Si blinked at the spot that until very recently had contained Dave. ‘I didn’t realise this was a booty call. What’s with him lately?’
‘Making up for lost time maybe,’ Clarrie said. ‘How old was he when he lost his virginity again?’
‘According to him or according to me?’ Sonny said.
‘According to you.’
‘Twenty-two. To Milly Raine. He pulled her in Ritz.’
‘Ha! Si’s seen her knickers, you know.’
‘Yeah, I could’ve seen them that night as well,’ Si said, knocking back the last of his lager. ‘She offered to take me home before she worked her way round to Dave. Didn’t seem to bother him.’
‘Where was I for all this?’ Clarrie asked.
‘I think you were out on a date with that curly-haired bloke, Olly.’
‘Oh yeah. Just started seeing him, hadn’t I? He was nice.’
‘Yeah, we liked him,’ Sonny said. ‘You wouldn’t have caught him with a cafetière.’
‘No. More. Cafetières. Seriously, lads.’
‘I don’t know why you ever let him go, Clar. Seemed like a keeper to me.’
Si shot him a look. ‘Thanks a lot, mate.’ He stood and dropped his can in a cardboard box with the other empties. ‘Right, I’m off to bed.’
‘What, already?’ Sonny said.
‘Yeah. Knackered.’ Si pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. ‘Want me to leave these, Clar? I think you hit your smoking point about twenty cans ago.’
‘I am as sober as a devoutly Methodist judge, thanks. And no, you take them. Don’t think I could manage a whole one.’
‘Okay, wake me up if you change your mind. Night.’ He left them and disappeared into his tent.
16
Three games of two-man Irish Whist later, Clarrie was staring into the campfire embers, inhaling the dregs of another beer.
Sonny shuffled unsteadily up to her on the log they were sharing, his head torch waggling a spotlight beam over the campsite. He stretched an arm round her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
‘What’s that for?’ Clarrie asked.
‘You look a bit down, that’s all. Don’t want to lose my title as the team’s chief miserable bastard, do I?’
‘Thanks Sonny.’ She flashed him a smile in the dying firelight. ‘When’d you get so sweet?’
He shrugged. ‘From one set of Daddy Issues to another, eh?’
‘Heard from him lately?’
‘You kidding? I got a text five years ago congratulating me on graduating and asking me to get his Black & Decker workbench couriered over. Since then, nothing. What about you?’
‘Not a word since I turned eighteen. Heard he got married again though.’
‘How many’s that?’
‘Three. Unless he’s notched up any more since then.’
There was a muffled grunt from Dave’s tent.
‘Oh God,’ Clarrie said, curling her lip. ‘We’re not going to have to listen to that all night, are we? It really will start rocking in a minute.’
‘It’s worse than that,’ Sonny said in a toneless voice. ‘Me and him’re supposed to be sharing.’ He looked at her. ‘You fancy bunking up?’
‘Don’t think so, do you?’
‘Fine. I’ll go in with Dewhirst then,’ he said. ‘Honestly though, can you believe Dave’s the only one of us getting any?’
‘I know. Depressing.’
‘Mind you, you’ve only got yourself to blame,’ he said, blinking tipsily at her. ‘You could always go out with Si.’
‘And you could get back with Gem.’
‘She shagged someone else, Clar, I’m entitled to be cautious. What’s your excuse?’
She tried to focus on the dancing blur of the fire. ‘Well. It wouldn’t be fair, would it? On him.’
‘How wouldn’t it?’
‘Because he…’ She sighed. ‘I mean, Si’s like a normal person. He’s clever and he’s funny and pretty much everyone loves him, probably nearly as much as he loves himself. He doesn’t want to be saddled with someone like me.’
‘He does though. For Christ’s sake, you must know he’s been in love with you for years.’
She blinked. ‘What?’
‘Oh, come on. If you haven’t worked that one out by now, you never will.’
‘No. He can’t…’ She stared in the direction of Si’s tent, concentrating hard to bring it into focus. ‘I mean, even if it was true it doesn’t mean – he’s going to want things, Sonny. Future things. Grown-up things.’ She blinked at her empty beer can. ‘Kids.’
‘Did he say he wanted that?’
‘No, but I know he does.’ She thought back to Si looking after Gaz’s little girl, Ellie, at the beer festival; the soft expression on his face as he’d listened to her chatter. ‘He’s a born dad, kids adore him. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give him that stuff.’ She shuddered. ‘God, it scares me to death.’
‘Have you talked to him about it?’
She snorted. ‘The baby talk,
are you kidding me?’
‘Well, what about you then? Don’t you have dreams?’
‘Yeah. I keep having this one where I’m driving cigar-shaped cars into tunnels, what do you think it means?’
‘Life dreams, you div. Things you want in your future.’
‘When I try to think that far ahead, I get panicky.’ She shivered and hugged herself. ‘If I can keep myself alive from one day to the next, that’s a win for me.’
‘So, do that with Si then. Take it one day at a time, the same way everyone does with a new relationship.’
‘And what if I did? What if I went out with him and then we ended up wanting different things and it didn’t work out?’ she demanded, turning glassy eyes on Sonny. ‘We couldn’t go back to how we were, that’d be it. I can’t lose him, Sonny. I can’t lose any of you.’ She patted his hand. ‘I love you, you know, you moody git. Obviously in the strictly platonic sense. That’s between me, you and the Carling, by the way.’
‘Ha, platonic, right. Bet you’d love to take another crack at me,’ he said with a lopsided grin. ‘And it wouldn’t happen, Clarrie. We wouldn’t let you go, okay?’
‘Then why’s Gem not here?’
‘She brought that on herself. Anyway, you and Si aren’t me and Gem. And you’re not your parents either, or you and Ed or Olly or whatsisname. You two are perfect for each other.’
‘I don’t know when you got so emotionally bloody articulate. When we were at school all you did was grunt.’ She reached under the bench and pulled out a couple of cans. ‘Here. Have another beer. And change the sodding record while you’re at it, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Well I do,’ Sonny said, cracking open his lager. ‘You know why he went to bed early?’
She shrugged. ‘Rough week at school?’
‘Don’t be dim, it’s the holidays. He’s reading them bloody trivia books he bought off you, isn’t he? Look, you can see his torch.’
She squinted at Si’s tent again. Sonny was right, a faint glow was just visible through the thick orange canvas.
‘He is, isn’t he?’ She heaved a sigh. ‘What’s up with me, Sonny? I’m such a bitch.’
‘Yeah. Don’t know what he sees in you.’
He put his arm around her again when he heard her drop a muffled sob into her beer. ‘Sorry, Clar,’ he said gently. ‘Thought that was a joke.’
‘It was. It’s just not fucking funny.’ She buried her head in his shoulder. ‘Christ, how’d I end up such a train wreck? I used to be pretty normal at school, didn’t I?’
‘Dunno if you’ve ever been normal. Your head was in a better place though.’
She made a sudden, lager-fogged decision. ‘I’m going to talk to Si.’
‘What, now? Don’t be daft.’
‘Why not? He’s awake. Anyway, he said I could get him up if I wanted a cig.’
‘Because you’re hammered, that’s why. Talk to him in the morning.’
‘I’m fine, Sonny, honestly.’ She pushed herself up against the bench, feeling a bit wobbly. ‘I’m… fine.’
‘Come on, how many lagers have you had?’
‘Some.’
‘Yeah? How many’s some?’
‘Just… some, all right? I don’t know, I lost count.’
‘It shows, lass.’
‘Bugger off. You’re just as drunk as me.’
‘I’m not the one going into Si’s tent for a fag and a fumble though, am I? You know you’ll regret it.’
Ignoring him, she put her lager on the bench and headed to Simon’s tent.
*
‘In my jeans, pisshead,’ Si said when he heard her unzip the flap, not looking up from his book.
‘Right. Cheers.’ Clarrie fumbled around the groundsheet for his discarded jeans and located the cigarettes in his pocket.
Her head was misty from the alcohol and it had got worse when she’d stood up. Why had she come? She’d wanted to talk to him about… something.
‘You coming out?’ she asked.
‘No, I’m good, ta.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ She looked at him studying his book by torchlight. ‘You’ll ruin your eyesight doing that, you know.’
‘At least I won’t get hairs on my palms as well.’
‘Not still reading them stupid trivia books, are you?’
‘Yep.’
‘Why?’ Clarrie demanded. ‘Why’re you putting so much time into this?’
‘Because I want us to win.’
‘Don’t do it just for me, Si.’
‘Okay, ask me out. Then I won’t need to.’
Clarrie felt her cheeks heat in a blush. God, when did he ever make her blush? That was new…
‘I don’t get it though,’ she said. ‘All the years you’ve been asking me out and I’ve been turning you down, you’ve just shrugged and moved on to someone else. What’s changed?’
‘Maybe I’m getting old, Clar.’
‘What?’
‘We’re not kids any more, are we?’ He finally looked up from his book to make eye contact. ‘I never minded waiting for you when we were young and it felt like we’d live forever. This year… I don’t know, things feel different. And if this is the best way to break through whatever weird thing’s going on in your head, then I’m bloody well going to throw all I’ve got at it.’
‘Si…’
‘Go on, drunkface, out you go,’ he said, turning back to his book. ‘Some of us have got work to do.’
She still had his jeans in her hand, rubbing the coarse denim between her finger and thumb. She looked down, wondering why she was still holding them.
‘What’re you wearing in that sleeping bag anyway?’ she asked.
He looked up again to grin at her. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘I would actually.’ She dropped the jeans and slid over the groundsheet to him. ‘Let’s have a look.’
‘Erm, no. I’m in my boxers, okay? Now bugger off, I’m reading.’
‘Okay, fine.’
But she didn’t bugger off. She just sat by his sleeping bag. His hair looked enticing in the torchlight, sort of shiny and copper-coloured. She started twisting a lock around her fingers.
‘Stop touching my hair, Clarrie, it’s distracting.’
‘Why is it distracting?’
‘Because it turns me on, all right? And I have to read this.’
‘Everything turns you on.’
‘No it doesn’t, you touching me turns me on. Leave me alone, pest.’
She eased herself down until she was lying beside his sleeping bag. Slowly she drew down the zip, reached inside and dragged her fingers along his naked back, then under the waistband of his boxers. She could feel the textured dimples left by the elastic on his firm skin. She could feel him shiver when she touched him.
‘You feel nice, Si.’ Her voice sounded strange to her, thick and slurred. She bit her lip to stifle something between a giggle and a gasp.
Simon sighed and pushed his book away. Rolling onto his side, he pulled her to him.
‘Here, Clar, you’ll get cold. Good thing I brought the double.’ He yanked the large sleeping bag around so it covered them both.
‘When did you get so buff?’ she asked, caressing his toned stomach with her fingertips.
‘I’m just naturally Greek god-like.’
‘And?’
‘And I joined that gym with Sonny in Year Twelve.’
‘Yeah? You guys ever play topless volleyball?’
‘Only on his birthday.’
‘Come here, Si. Give us a kiss.’
Clarrie wrapped him in her arms, pushing her body into his. She covered his lips and moaned a little when his tongue slipped into her mouth to seek out hers.
Her arms slid around his neck and she pushed him deeper, encouraging him to explore her. The kiss was having a strange effect on her body. She felt like she was coming to life, or growing, or bursting, or some other Barbara Cartland bollocks. Whatever… it felt incred
ible.
His fingers drove into her hair. Through the thin cotton of his boxers she could feel him hardening against her thigh, his body getting ready for hers. God, it was really going to happen, wasn’t it? Oh God…
She wished she wasn’t so dizzy.
‘Mm… Clarrie, stop… no,’ Si panted, pulling his lips from hers with an effort. ‘You’re drunk. How much booze have you had?’
‘Some.’
‘Some a bit or some lots?’
‘Some a bit.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay, okay, some lots.’
‘Then I can’t. It’d be taking advantage.’
‘No, it wouldn’t. I know what I’m doing.’
She tried to kiss him again but he held her back. ‘No, Clarrie, please. I want to, you can tell I do, but I can’t, I’m sorry. If it ever happens I need to know you’re right there with me, not half out of it. Not like this.’ He cocked his head, listening to the muffled grunts from the neighbouring tent. ‘Plus the sound of Dave doing it is likely to put me off my stroke a bit. No offence.’
She let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Fair enough. Bet we could’ve drowned him out though.’
‘Easy.’ He laughed. ‘Poor Sonny. Just what you want when you go away camping, your mates bonking in stereo.’
‘We had to go through it with him and Gem. Serve him right.’
‘Where is he anyway? I’m guessing he’s not in with Dave.’
‘Still by the fire probably, drinking and sulking. Those are kind of his things.’
Si wrapped her in a tight embrace. ‘Come here then, gorgeous, I can manage a cuddle. If you think you can keep your hands out of my pants.’
‘I’ll try to control myself.’
She pressed her face into his bare chest and inhaled deeply. He smelled of campfire and his favourite Lynx deodorant.
‘God, Si, I love the way you smell with no clothes on.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really, “I love the way you smell with no clothes on”? Got all the lines, haven’t you?’
She jerked back when she heard the tent being unzipped.
‘Sorry to interrupt, shaggers,’ Sonny said, sticking his head through the flap.
‘No you’re not,’ Clarrie said. ‘Well, what is it, you massive furry gooseberry?’
A Question of Us Page 13
