‘That as well.’
Lucky Bastard grunted and kept his attention on the road.
Elaine was smiling at Rick. ‘I enjoyed it,’ she said. ‘It was cool having everybody thinking we were together, even if it was unofficial.’
‘It felt official enough to me. I didn’t know you were expecting a ring.’
‘A ring!’ She snorted. ‘I don’t think the world would have been ready for my reaction.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘You’d have classed it good at the time.’
‘Go on. Give me a clue.’
‘No chance,’ she said. ‘Moving swiftly on . . .’
Rick returned her latest smile. It was impossible not to.
‘I thought about you the other day,’ she continued, ‘wondering if you’d be at the funeral. I tried explaining who you were to Rob, but he went to Beckfoot. And he’s only a youngster. He’d never even heard about you. He has this silly idea that Sean Dwyer is the hardest lad ever in Bingley.’
‘You mean the card school king? That Sean Dwyer?’
‘Yes. I told him you were in a different league. He wouldn’t believe me.’
‘As far as I remember Dwyer never was hard. He just had a big gob and relied on that mate of his. The rugby player: Pat Something.’
‘I’d watch what you say about Sean Dwyer,’ Lucky Bastard snapped. ‘Whatever he was years ago, he’s hard enough now.’
Elaine rolled her eyes comically.
‘Thanks for the warning.’ Rick tried not to laugh. ‘I’ll watch my step.’
‘Rob,’ Elaine said, twisting even farther around the seat, giving Rick an even better view of her tits. ‘When we were talking the other day, I didn’t make it clear my scary boyfriend was Geoff’s baby brother, did I?’
‘No.’
‘So I won’t have told you I lost my cherry with him.’
The car swerved noticeably.
‘Too much information,’ Lucky Bastard protested.
Rick was surprised. ‘You never said.’
‘You never asked. And I didn’t want to put you off.’
‘It wouldn’t have put me off.’
‘Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me afterwards?’
‘It didn’t seem to matter anymore. All that mattered then . . .’ she stopped short. ‘No, I’m not going to say that. That really would be too much information.’
They were driving into East Morton now, on the hills between Bingley and Keighley. Rick had been brought up in the village and his parents still lived there, only a few doors from The Busfeild Arms, home of Geoff’s Sunday football team, venue for the bun fight.
‘Sign writer was illiterate,’ Lucky Bastard observed grumpily.
‘It’s meant to be spelt like that,’ Elaine said, still not looking at him. ‘It’s an old family name, isn’t it, Rick? That’s why there’s a Busfeild Street down in town.’
Rick grinned. As horny fifteen-year-olds they’d had a kneetrembler in Busfeild Street. Probably not so very long after he’d picked her cherry, come to think about it.
And that really had been news. She hadn’t been his first, but he was absurdly proud he’d been first for her.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘The Busfeilds and the Ferrands were major players in Bingley. One or other used to own St Ives Estate. There’s a memorial up there, I think.’
Lucky Bastard wasn’t impressed. ‘Spare me the history lesson, please.’
Elaine’s hand landed on Rick’s knee before he could kick off. Her eyes were dancing with devilry, completely at odds with the tone of her voice.
‘Sorry Rob. Old times and that. I’ll snap out of it.’
And I’ll snap your stupid fat neck, Rick thought, but kept quiet. He didn’t want to make trouble by putting the twat in his place; he wasn’t worth it. Besides, it was hard to be mad when Elaine’s eyes were dancing at him like that, sending out all the old messages.
She would, he reckoned. If it wasn’t for Lucky Bastard, she definitely would.
And so would I.
Like a shot.
The funeral car was parked outside the main doors. Quite a few funeral-goers were out there too, milling about on the car park, unsure what to do.
‘I’d better get this show on the road,’ he said, letting himself out of the Escort.
‘See you inside,’ said Elaine.
Grunt, grunt, went Lucky Bastard.
Chapter Six
‘Okay Hev, your turn.’
Hauling herself back from her daydream, Heather conjured up a Mary Rose-sized grin. She couldn’t possibly admit Sammy, but there was another card she could play, and a good one at that.
‘How about a merry Xmas below job?’
‘Challenge!’ the other five shouted together.
‘Okay, okay.’ Heather took a large drag as the weed came round again. ‘He’s called Dan and it was at the Young Farmers’ Disco, last December. And yes, before anyone asks: it was in the back of his Land Rover.’
‘I don’t think we’ve got a Young Farmers in Henley,’ Daffy said, affecting a snooty accent.
‘What did he taste of?’ from Roz.
‘Lager and lime,’ Heather replied, glad she didn’t have to even think about telling a lie.
‘So you used a flavoured johnny?’
‘No, he’d just been drinking a lot of lager and lime.’
‘Very dangerous behaviour.’ Roz was wearing a matching grin. ‘No protection and drinking and driving. This Dan sounds right up my street.’
‘He wasn’t driving. We just went to his Land Rover to . . . well . . .’
‘Get his rocks off?’ Toni suggested.
Heather ignored her. Dan had been the most exciting thing she’d ever done, full stop. But confessing it was nearly as good. In fact scrap nearly, it was better. She was even more turned-on now than she had been actually doing the deed.
‘He wanted to shag,’ she said candidly. ‘So did I, but I’d been subjected to the curse. So I did that instead, for nearly an hour.’
‘Didn’t you feel cheap?’ Maddy looked concerned, as if Heather was talking about being raped or something.
‘No I did not. It was a real power thing. I had him moaning and begging like one of the girls in Jacqui’s videos. Little me, controlling a big farm labourer, just like that. It was great. My panties felt like I’d peed in them too. I had to run them through a mangle before we went back to the disco.’
‘Did you spit or swallow?’ Roz wondered.
‘That’s the confession.’ Heather laughed. She wasn’t at all embarrassed about sharing this. Quite the contrary; sharing it was doing astonishing things for her.
‘I messed up my timing,’ she said. ‘Most of his cum went up onto the Landy’s roof lining, but he still got me a good one smack in the eye. I hadn’t realized how fast it was going to come out. Or how far. I was expecting inches, not yards.’
‘Yuk!’ went Toni.
‘Hadn’t you seen a guy cum before?’ demanded Roz.
Heather repeated the extra-large grin. Videos aside, the honest answer was no. She had, however, groped inside Sammy’s jeans, determined not to be a total coward. Sammy had climaxed but she hadn’t seen it happen. No, he’d splattered over her hand long before she could expose his willy to daylight.
‘Nobody else has been anything like Dan,’ she replied, more or less truthfully. ‘I think the rate of ejaculation must be proportional to staying power. I need to test a few other variables before I write my definitive formula, though.’
‘Dan sounds exceptionally proportional,’ Roz agreed, still grinning with her. ‘You must have got him very excited.’
‘As I said, he had an hour’s worth of excitement. He’d probably have preferred half that. He was whimpering by the time I finally told him he could squirt. Serves me right, I suppose. I’d have got to swallow it all if I hadn’t been such a tease.’
‘So you did get to swal
low some of it?’
‘Yes. But just a little. And that was sort of after the event.’
Jacqui broke the ensuing silence. ‘I know why you’re joined at the hip with Mary Rose now. That could have been one of hers.’
‘Well it isn’t; it’s one of mine. Have I passed the challenge?’
‘Indeed you have. Toni . . . your turn; follow that if you can.’
Toni confessed she’d had sex in the gazebo during a barbeque, when she could have been caught at any second. Roz had gone on top and Jacqui had done it doggie style. Heather was surprised when hers was voted best of the first round. Instead of protesting, she determined to get rid of that pesky virginity as soon as.
It’s like a dirty secret, she thought with a tiny, well-hidden shudder. I’ll never grow up and be a success until it’s gone!
* * *
The cellar was lit by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Something was humming away in the far corner. It sounded like a generator, and a powerful one at that; the light wasn’t flickering at all. Ominously, there was a line of shiny new electric tools on top of a manky old table. Apart from the table and a rickety wooden chair, the place was unfurnished.
Pongo started to cry as Ape-man forced him to sit and tied him to the chair with a nylon rope. He instinctively knew the troll was none other than Harry Williamson, ex-ruler of Shipley, and he’d been wrong: Harry the Troll was much scarier than Sean Dwyer.
‘Okay,’ Harry began cordially. ‘Jonjo tells me you’ve been nicking on my manor. There’s been a lot of that going on while I’ve been away. Now I’m going to put a stop to it. And you are going to help me. Would you like a tongue-loosener, or are you happy to assist?’
Pongo looked at him through misted-up eyes. Harry was wearing a tight white T-shirt that showed off muscles and a mass of tattoos. There were daggers, guns and all sorts . . . although not many flowers or love hearts. Most prominent on his right arm was a large LUFC crest. Just as prominent on his left was SHIPLEY WHITES. Around his neck he had a dotted line; instead of the usual CUT HERE it had ARMLEY 13 written below it.
‘That’s my newest,’ Harry told him. ‘I got it the day I came out. Thirteen months I was in there. Thirteen months for a crime I didn’t commit. It’s a good job all the witnesses disappeared. I might have accidentally got life.’
Ape-man (aka Jonjo) snorted.
‘So,’ Harry went on, picking up a soldering iron, ‘to loosen or not to loosen?’
‘Mmmmmmmm!’ Pongo managed.
‘For fuck’s sake, Jonjo,’ Harry pulled two bits of rag from Pongo’s mouth and dropped them on the filthy cellar floor. ‘The poor lad must be parched. Get him a drink.’
Ape-man went towards the generator and came back with a can of warm Pepsi. The fizz as he popped the can was the most seductive sound Pongo had ever heard. He gulped greedily while Ape-man poured the contents into him, not caring when half of it bubbled back through his nose. By the time he finished he felt a little more human, even though his tongue was still swollen and numb.
‘I’ll talk,’ he said, his voice thick and strange. ‘I’m nobody. But I’ll tell you all I can.’
Harry the Troll cracked on without further delay.
‘Who do you work for?’
‘Sean Dwyer.’
‘Did Dwyer send you out to rob me?’
‘No.’
‘So it was your decision to rob my manor?’
‘No! I . . . Look mate; I was on the nick-to-order, right? Half the lads in Bingley are on it. We don’t know anything about manors. We just do what we’re told.’
Harry had switched on the soldering iron and by now it was glowing infernally. In fact everything about him was infernal.
‘Let me get this straight. Dwyer gets an order for a Sony TV. He tells you the model. You go out and nick it somewhere. He pays you for it and sells it on; right?’
Pongo looked at the glow and had to gulp down a rush of spew. The soldering iron wasn’t anywhere near him, not yet, but he could feel the heat coming off it. And he could smell it burning oxygen out of the unpleasant, musty air.
‘It’s even simpler than that,’ he said. ‘For big things, Sean tells us. You know . . . where to find the TV or whatever.’
‘You mean he gives you an address?’
‘Yeah, and he tells us where to sell it on. We shift most stuff straightaway.’
Harry’s shaven head nodded thoughtfully. ‘He must have scouts out. Window cleaners and the likes. What does he get out of it?’
‘Twenty per cent. That’s twenty quid for every hundred.’
‘I know what twenty per cent means, thank you. How much do you make a night?’
‘Depends. Two or three hundred, maybe.’
‘How many nights do you do?’
‘I did three last week. Sometimes it’s only two.’
‘So you’re giving Dwyer between eighty and a hundred and eighty quid a week?’
‘Yeah. It’s usually one-twenty, one-forty.’
‘And there’s . . . what, ten of you working for him?’
‘And the rest; I must know twice as many.’
‘Two and a half grand a week.’ Harry grinned at Ape-man, his scar stretching alarmingly. ‘Even if he’s taking care of his scouts he must be clearing two grand. That’s a hundred grand a year for fuck all. Why aren’t we doing that?’
‘We haven’t got an order book,’ Ape-man said. ‘If we had, the rest would be a piece of piss.’
‘Thank you,’ Harry said to Pongo. ‘You’ve told me all I wanted. And I’m blown away. If Dwyer hadn’t been using my manor for supplies, I’d applaud him.’
‘Hang on,’ Pongo objected. ‘I never said that.’
‘You told us Dwyer gives you the addresses,’ Ape-man growled, ‘dimwit.’
‘Never mind,’ Harry clicked off the soldering iron and dropped it back on the table. ‘Let’s not fall out. I’ve got what I need.’
‘You mean that’s it?’ Ape-man seemed disappointed.
‘Well, there is one other thing. Dave the Pimp’s been complaining. He says Dwyer’s lads have been hitching free rides. And I don’t mean by sweet-talking the girls. I mean by fucking off without paying.’ He smiled unpleasantly at their captive. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Pongo?’
* * *
Although it must have been six years since Rick’s last visit he still felt a strong impulse to turn left, into The Busfeild taproom. Overcoming it, he turned right and found the principal mourners in the middle bar, waiting for their guests.
‘Where is everyone?’ Mum asked fretfully. ‘Don’t say nobody’s going to come.’
‘I’ll get them,’ he said.
After reuniting the whole group Rick stood and had a couple of polite pints with his parents. For once his chronic lack of contact wasn’t an issue. And neither was the media circus back at Nab Wood. By now Mum had got over that and was looking gloomily forward. There was no point in trying to change the conversation when she was like this. She was absolutely determined to worry and had no intention of being reassured by Dad, who clearly had a lot more faith in Geoff than she did.
‘I don’t see how he can possibly go back to work,’ she carped.
‘It’s all planned,’ Dad replied patiently.
‘I know that. But it’s so . . . so intricate. It’s bound to go wrong sooner or later. And anyway, he doesn’t need to work. He’ll have the insurance. He should stay home with the children.’
‘Nonsense, Hilary. A man needs to work, doesn’t he, Rick?’
‘Don’t drag me into it,’ said Rick.
‘And nonsense to you too, Clifford. He can work when they’ve left school.’
It was always a bad sign when Mum used Clifford instead of Cliff. Rick left them to it and went to the gents’. On the way back he stopped at the buffet to load up with as much meat as he could carry. He’d hardly started piling his plate when Elaine appeared at his side.
‘Chicken . . .
beef . . . ham . . . there’s a definite pattern here.’ She beamed at him, brightening the room. ‘What’s that lone mushroom vol-au-vent doing there?’
‘I like vol-au-vents,’ he said defensively. ‘Where’s Laughing Boy?’
‘In the tap, talking football. By the way, I don’t think he likes you.’
‘Blast! And I thought he was such a nice chap.’
They moved around the table as they spoke, Elaine helping herself to salady things, Rick eating meat to make room on his plate for more meat. Apart from a handful of folk munching their own lunches, this part of the pub was quiet.
‘How long are you back for?’ she asked casually.
‘Until Monday. If I can find something to do with myself, that is.’
‘Amazing, it must be fate. Or kismet or something.’
‘What must be fate?’
‘I don’t believe I’m doing this. But here.’ She passed him a beer mat with a telephone number written on it in biro. ‘Rob’s away in Nottingham after tonight. Ring me in the morning.’
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.
‘He’s leaving first thing,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll be on my own until Monday, wondering what to do with myself.’
‘Fate,’ he said.
‘Kismet,’ she agreed.
‘When do you want me to ring?’
‘As soon as Rob sets off, and he’s going at seven.’
‘Seven it is then.’ They swapped smiles before she headed back to the taproom. Rick watched her go, grabbed three pickled onions as an afterthought, then set off to rejoin Mum and Dad. He was intercepted before he got halfway.
* * *
‘My question,’ Daffy began. ‘I’ll keep this brief. One word answers only. Do you get turned-on by the girl-on-girl scenes in Jacqui’s videos?’
‘Yes,’ Madeleine said.
‘Yes,’ Heather said without hesitation.
‘Sometimes,’ said Toni, blushing furiously.
‘Always,’ said Roz.
‘Always,’ Jacqui agreed.
‘I’ll make it six out of six then,’ Daffy said. ‘Over to you, Mad.’
‘Two parts to this. Have you ever had sex with a girl? And, if not, do you ever intend to?’
It was Heather’s turn to answer first. ‘I haven’t gone all the way yet,’ she said carefully, ‘but I’m definitely going to.’
UNCONSECRATED GROUND Page 7
