Diamond

by Justine Elyot

  ‘But it’s not right!’

  ‘That’s life.’

  ‘But …’

  He put a heavily paint-stained finger to her lips.

  ‘I’m serious, Jen. Leave it.’

  She shook her head, her mouth rubbing his finger so that dried paint flaked onto her lips.

  ‘You’re filthy,’ she said.

  He smiled at last. ‘You only just worked that out?’

  ‘I’m going to run you a bath.’

  ‘I’m only getting in if you come with me.’

  ‘Deal.’

  Jenna watched the paint flecks melt in the warm water and lose themselves in the foamy depths. She sat opposite Jason, gazing at his face through the steam, her ankles pressing into his hips.

  ‘You could do with a hair cut,’ she said.

  ‘What for? Disguise?’

  She smiled. ‘Maybe. If you’re going to take the art world by storm, you need to be able to leave the house without getting arrested. What if we dyed it peroxide blond and cropped it really short?’

  ‘Fuck off. I’d look like Miley Cyrus.’

  Jenna burst out laughing. ‘Hardly. Seriously, it was one of Deano’s best looks. The fashion press went mad over it.’

  ‘It’s not for me.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘No, it wouldn’t really suit you. Your carpet and curtains wouldn’t match, would they?’

  He smirked at that.

  ‘I could go for an all-over body wax,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, you could. Back, sac and crack. That was all the rage in LA.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll be moving there any time soon. I’ll keep the hair, thanks.’

  ‘You’re probably better off that way. But what am I going to do, then? How am I going to bring your brilliance to a world that wants to arrest you?’

  ‘When did I ever say I wanted to be a star?’

  ‘Come on. You do.’

  He concentrated on cupping her foot in his hands, lathering it up, heel, instep, toes, before answering.

  ‘It’s a daydream, though. It’s never going to happen for real.’

  ‘I believe it could. I believe in you. You’re talented – more than talented.’

  ‘So says the art critic.’

  ‘All right, I don’t know that much about art. But I have friends who do.’

  ‘Invite ’em round for cocktails, darling.’ He moved soapy hands up Jenna’s calf.

  ‘I’m not joking. I know I can’t exactly show you off, but I can take your work to be evaluated at a top London gallery.’

  ‘Ooh, a top London gallery. Fancy.’ There was a hostile edge to his words, mixed in with the mockery.

  ‘What’s the matter with that? Why are you so chippy with me?’

  ‘Forget about my artistic career, Jen. Leave it. Let’s do up the house and then think about what’s next after that.’

  ‘Well. All right. If that’s what you want. I’m not going to leave it, though, not completely. I want you to get the recognition you deserve.’

  ‘Yeah, well, as far as some people are concerned that’s a front page spot in the court report.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  The abrupt and commanding tone silenced her. She tried to withdraw her leg but he held it tight.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said, more gently, ‘and listen to me. We’re strangers, Jen. We met a few days back. Why don’t we get to know each other properly first?’

  ‘I feel I know you.’

  ‘Trust me, you don’t. I want to show you exactly what you don’t know.’

  There was a look in his eye that convinced Jenna he was talking about sex.

  ‘I have been married,’ she said with a nervous laugh.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘To a man who was more interested in what he put up his nose than what he put up you.’

  ‘Jason!’

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it? You told me yourself.’

  ‘There’s no need to be crude.’

  ‘Yes there is. I’m crude because I’m real, doll. Nothing tinsel-town about me. I know what you need and I can give it to you, simple as.’

  ‘You’re an arrogant prick.’

  ‘And? What’s your point?’

  She pretended to kick at him, but he held firm. He knew, damn him, that she wanted him right now, wanted him to pin her down there in the bath and surge into her, joining their respective energies until they were one. But her pride always made her fight it, even when her desire for him poured through her like liquid light.

  ‘You know, you’ve disappointed me about LA,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I thought it’d all be wild, kinky porno sex out there. Threesomes and orgies and shit. Turns out Bledburn’s got more of that going on.’

  ‘Has it really?’ She laughed.

  ‘Oh yes. Really. You’d be shocked, my lady.’

  ‘I don’t remember anything like that.’

  ‘Well, you’re a bit older than me. But what do kids do when there’s no work and no nothing in their lives? They shag, that’s what.’

  ‘That’s what you did.’

  ‘Of course. I was about the worst, cos I didn’t drink a lot or smoke weed, which were the other popular hobbies round my way. I preferred the other, and so did the girls I knew, mostly.’

  ‘So you’ve spent the best years of your life in bed?’

  ‘I hope the best years of my life haven’t ended yet,’ he said. ‘But yeah, basically. In bed, in sleeping bags, on floors, in fields, in alleyways, in the backs of vans. Threesomes, foursomes, moresomes. Then, when I got with Mia, she had a friend who did those parties – y’know, sexy knickers and vibrators and what not. We got into bondage. I’m good at bondage.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise.’

  ‘I’m good at the kinky stuff, me. I think it’s because I like to be in control – that’s why I never got into the booze or the weed, thinking about it. I hate the feeling of being out of control.’

  ‘And was Mia into it too?’ Jenna could barely speak her name without a sharp pain in her abdomen. Was it jealousy? Or anger at how she had abandoned Jason to his fate?

  ‘Yeah, big time. At first.’ He frowned. ‘Before she started going AWOL.’

  There was a silence. Jason dropped her leg and reached for the shampoo bottle.

  ‘Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about,’ he said. ‘Come here. I’ll wash your hair.’

  She twisted around and settled herself between his thighs with her back to him so he could apply the shampoo with strong, sure fingers. Little shivers of pleasure ran from her scalp to the rest of her body.

  ‘I’m going to give you all the attention you’ve been missing,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I’m going to show you what you’ve never had.’ He took her earlobe between his lips and sucked it like a lemon drop before letting it slip back out.

  His hands clasped beneath her breasts, he began kissing and nipping at her neck while creamy suds slid down her forehead, forcing her to shut her eyes. His palms closed over her nipples, squeezing. She wriggled back against his stomach, inclining her head to encourage him further, showing him that she was his to do with as he pleased. God, he was just so good at it, why deny him?

  He clamped her thighs between his, locking her in his clutches. Behind her, between her bottom cheeks, she could feel the slow inflation and hardening of his erection. That wasn’t going to go down until it had had its way with her, she thought with a thrill.

  She tilted her head to meet his lips and fall into a warm, wet, steamy kiss.

  He stroked her nipples through it, then broke off and grabbed the cup on the side of the bath, plunged it in the water and poured it over her head.

  ‘Lather, rinse, repeat,’ he said laconically. ‘But I think I’ll pass on the repeat.’

  He stood unsteadily, climbed out of the bath, grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around his waist. Still dripping all over the ancie
nt lino, he pulled Jenna up and lifted her into his arms, not even bothering to cover her streaming skin.

  Instead, he carried her down to their drawing room campsite and dropped her on the mattress.

  ‘I’ll get it wet,’ she complained, but he didn’t seem to care at all, although he removed the towel from his waist and laid it down on the bed before putting his back and soaking head on top of it.

  He reached down beside the bed for the condom packet and put one on while Jenna was still groping around for a comb or a bathrobe or anything to take off the sudden chill of being removed from the hot water.

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Jason, pulling her over him. ‘Get on me. Get me up inside you. I want you now.’

  The gravelly urgency of his voice banished all thoughts of damp patches and goose pimples from her mind. He was there, next to her and underneath her, his hot skin against hers, and nothing else mattered.

  She lay on top of him and held him around his neck, kissing him for dear life while he shifted and jolted beneath her, seeking the little slick niche in which to fit himself.

  When he found it, he took hold of her hips and made sure she couldn’t swerve or shy away from his bold ingress. He slid up inside her, lightning swift, filling her until she cried out with satisfied surprise.

  ‘That’s it,’ he growled. ‘That’s what you need.’

  She couldn’t argue. Already she was bearing down, as if she wanted more of that thick root, enough to stretch her to splitting point. She ground herself over his pelvis, feeling him touch every limit of her tight passage and grant the promise of enough friction to drive her, and her g-spot, over the edge.

  ‘Hot for it, babe,’ he said, moving his hands around to cup her buttocks in a tight grip. ‘So hot for it.’

  She leant down to kiss him again, enjoying the way her nipples brushed his chest hair and his own little nubs. The tickling was exquisite – he should never wax.

  He nipped down on her lower lip and pushed her bum forwards, urging her into the ride. She began a slow back and forth, interspersing with side to side moves, relishing the sense of having every inch of his stalk deep inside her. How good and thick it was, a truly substantial tool. The thought that it had pleasured half the lasses of Bledburn flitted through her mind, giving her momentary pause, but then she drove it out of her consciousness. It was in her, now. She was its quarry and its destination. No other. And besides, there was a lot to be said for experience. A hell of a lot.

  As she bore down on him, he spread her bottom cheeks apart, making her feel wide open and whorish. It bucked her up, spurred her on to greater equestrian heights, making her dizzy with the dirtiness of what he did to her.

  What he had said about threesomes gatecrashed her imagination and she pictured him holding her open for another man, another lover from the dirty streets of the estate, low-voiced and foul-mouthed, knowing her for what she was, knowing what she wanted …

  ‘Get down on me,’ he whispered, but his eyes were glazing now, taking on a faraway look. ‘Work harder. Really work.’

  She was sure she couldn’t work any harder; her abdominal muscles were starting to tighten and ache and she knew she’d be sore inside afterwards. But Jason put the tip of one finger inside her bottom cheeks and she jolted so hard she thought she might crush him. Instead, she came, gripping his shoulders and gasping into his face, her thighs weak and trembling.

  This made him triumphant and ready to release his own climax. He bucked and bucked inside her and she felt sorry that she wouldn’t have his semen to show for it. For a moment, she longed to feel it, wet and creamy on her lips, the proof of the taking.

  ‘Dirty girl,’ he crooned in her ear when she had collapsed on top of him. ‘You liked my finger there.’

  She wanted to deny it but she couldn’t.

  ‘It was novel,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’ve never done anything of that kind, I take it?’

  ‘I suppose you have.’

  ‘You suppose right. I’m an arse man, always have been, always will be.’

  ‘You’re a manwhore.’

  He laughed at that, stroking her damp coils of hair.

  ‘An arsemanwhore,’ he corrected. ‘Phone the Oxford dictionary. A new word for ’em.’

  ‘You’re pure filth,’ she said with happy sigh.

  ‘You’re not so squeaky clean yourself.’ He kissed the top of her head and rolled her gently off him and on to her side. Forehead to forehead, they locked eyes for a while, until his dark gaze seemed to laser through her. ‘I could fall for you,’ he said.

  ‘What about …?’ She couldn’t say the name.

  ‘Hush. That was over anyway. You’ve made me see it. I owe you one.’

  ‘You owe me more than one.’

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry, you’ll be paid in full. In orgasms. Does that sound like a deal?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  She must be mad. This was madness. She couldn’t get embroiled with this no-hope low-life, brilliant, sexy … She yawned. He was asleep already.

  ‘You’re going to have to lay off me for a day or so. I can barely move.’

  Jenna winced her way over to her suitcase to pull out a pair of clean knickers. She and Jason had ignored their sore bits and pieces to have each other again in the dead of night, and after that there had been copious lashings of oral sex until the sun came up and they drifted off again.

  ‘Shit,’ she said, peeking through the window. ‘They’re here already. I’ll have to keep the door shut and make sure they go straight into the kitchen. Do you think you can creep very quietly up the front stairs once they’re hammering away?’

  ‘Hammering away,’ repeated Jason in a slow, sticky voice. ‘I could do that job.’

  ‘You already do.’

  ‘Can’t you just throw a blanket over me and I can stay down here?’

  ‘It’s only for one more day. Besides, you’re so close to finishing that panel you’re working on. Once it’s done, we can make a start on gutting this place.’

  He grunted and wrapped the duvet tighter around him.

  Jenna left him to it and went to greet her kitchen fitters.

  Once they were fully furnished with mugs of tea and Radio 2, she crept up to the attic, expecting to find Jason there. He wasn’t, and his cat was less than pleased with the situation, miaowing loudly from his corner bed of old dust sheets and the abandoned tracksuit.

  ‘Why didn’t you come downstairs, silly?’ scolded Jenna. ‘The door was open.’

  But Bowyer retained stubborn loyalty to his dwelling, it seemed, and Jenna had to go back downstairs for a tin of tuna before he would be pacified.

  ‘Where’s your dad, then, eh?’ muttered Jenna, watching him dive nose-first into the compacted fish. ‘Lazy so-and-so. Bet he sleeps all morning.’

  She looked around her at the surrounding frieze, now depicting the town’s history right up to the middle of the last century. A happy era of 1960s full employment was the latest panel: the workers enjoying their leisure time in the music clubs and coffee bars that had opened in the town. The swinging, Bohemian element of that decade had passed Bledburn by, but Beatle moptops and huge beehives could be seen on the little figures darting up and down the prosperous high street.

  On the hill, this very house, Harville Hall, stood, decked out with bunting, hosting the annual gala. She had forgotten about that but now childhood memories came back: listening to the colliery band in tears because her balloon had flown out of her hand. It had all ended when she was about five, after the strike, though. Jason was too young to have ever attended one. Perhaps he had learned about them from his mother.

  Bowyer, the tuna can empty, sauntered away from his bed to the attic stairs, intent, it seemed, on stretching his legs outside. Jenna bent down to pick up the tin, noticing as she did so that the old tracksuit comprising Bowyer’s bed rested on top of a big threadbare canvas backpack.

  All of Jason’s worldly goods.

  She cast a s
wift, nervous glance at the trapdoor. There was no sound but the clanking and banging of the kitchen fitters. Jason was apparently still glued to the mattress.

  She knelt and unclipped the front flap of the bag. In the smallest pocket was a provisional driving licence with a photograph of him looking very young and very cocky, staring the photobooth camera in the eye as if challenging it to a fight. A number of old birthday and Christmas cards were held together with an elastic band, but Jenna didn’t investigate those any further. She was more interested in the little square notebook full of sketches.

  In the main body of the bag she found more pads, large ones, filled with watercolour paintings of different local landscapes and people.

  She held her breath, her heart thumping. Was he really this good? She had the feeling she was looking at an urban Constable, his bucolic scenes replaced by blackened bricks and boarded-up shops. There was an urgent quality to the pictures that prevented her looking away, once seen. They demanded close examination, and they evoked emotion. Unexpectedly, she found herself on the verge of tears, looking at a picture of an overgrown front garden with an armless doll and a broken pushchair lying in it. On the page after this still life was a picture that could only have come from Jason’s imagination, with grotesque demonic figures grouping beneath a huge chimney for some kind of ritual. Some of it was teen experimentation, but a lot of it was far more than that.

  It was inconceivable that this wealth of incredible work should remain invisible. Without thinking, Jenna took the pictures from the backpack and slipped back down the ladder with them, hiding them in one of the upstairs bedroom cupboards. As soon as she could, she would take them to London to show Tabitha. This week, if possible.

  She flitted back up to the attic, shoved the backpack under the old tracksuit again and took Jason’s water jar down for replenishment in the bathroom.

  While she swilled it out under the tap he shambled in, half-naked and yawning.

  ‘Ta for that,’ he said, quirking an eyebrow at the jar.

  ‘Did they see you?’ she asked, trying not to be too winded by the sight of him in his masculine, unshaven glory, still warm and dishevelled from sleep.

  ‘The fuck do you take me for? Of course not.’ He reached for his toothbrush, now kept by the sink despite his misgivings. (‘What if someone sees it?’ ‘I’m not about to invite anyone into my private bathroom.’) ‘Where’s Bowyer?’