Love's Cold Burn

by Harry, Jessica

  ‘Every time you get a pie piece, the other three take off an item of clothes.’ Brian was making it up as he went along, but got nods of approval from everyone.

  ‘Go on then,’ Anita was keen to start.

  ‘You should all take something off now. I’ve already got a pie piece,’ said Tom hopefully.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Sarah. ‘We should all start again.’

  ‘That’s fine, as long as I can start.’ Tom took out his pie piece.

  Shake Your Body by The Jacksons played in the background.

  ‘Orange. Which bird is fair game from August 12?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘Grouse,’ said Tom as he rolled the dice again.

  ‘Yellow. Whose kidnapping started the Trojan Wars?’ Sarah didn’t think he’d get this one.

  ‘Helen,’ said Tom as he rolled again. ‘Wooah,’ shouted Tom with delight. ‘Brown question for a pie piece please.’

  The other three groaned.

  ‘Which bit of a newt goes into the witches’ brew in Macbeth?’ asked Sarah. ‘No chance. You’re not getting this.’

  Tom had done Macbeth at school. He sang along with Lipps Inc. ‘Don’t you take me to, Funkytown. Clothes off. Eye of newt. Thank-you. I’m so clever. Pie Piece please.’

  The girls squealed. Brian groaned.

  They each slipped off one shoe.

  It was Tom’s turn to groan. ‘Three questions in a row and I only get three shoes. That was worth a dress.’

  Sarah, Brian and Anita both got their questions wrong. Tom won another pie piece and got three more shoes.

  The wine was all gone, but the girls had some vodka. Donna Summer was next on the tape; I Feel Love.

  Sarah got two questions right but no pie piece. Brian got one right and landed on a blue pie space. ‘Come on baby. Hit me with a blue. Your dress is coming off.’

  ‘Which canal flows through Gatun locks?’ asked Anita with an anxious frown, which returned to a smile when Brian didn’t answer straight away.

  He didn’t have a clue. The only canals he knew were Panama and Suez. He took a guess. ‘Panama?’

  Anita screamed. He looked like he was guessing and got lucky.

  Her reaction told him it was a good guess. He cheered and clapped. ‘Dress next,’ he encouraged her.

  She slipped her tights off. So did Sarah. Tom took off one of his plastic shoes.

  Anita then got one question right but no pie piece.

  Back to Tom. The drink had slowed his movements down but his mind was still sharp. Two correct answers put him on a green pie space.

  Sarah knew another pie piece would cost her a dress. ‘Do pigs suffer from sunburn?’ she asked.

  Tom had no idea. ‘Yes?’ he asked.

  Sarah smiled demurely, stood up, slipped her red dress slowly over her head, sat back down on the rug by Tom’s feet, took a sip of her vodka and leant back against Tom’s legs with just her pink chiffon bra and knickers left.

  ‘What an excellent game.’ Brian couldn’t hide his appreciation. ‘Your turn Anita.’ She did the same. Brian took his sock off, quietly pleased that he hadn’t been too lazy to have a shower that morning.

  Tom and Sarah smiled at each other.

  ‘Starting to get interesting,’ Tom said, trying to be cool, but unable to hide a smile. The soft flicker of candle light glowed on Sarah’s deep brown flesh. She had Tom’s full attention now.

  ‘I’m getting the next ten pie pieces though. Just watch me,’ she said defiantly.

  Sarah rolled the dice, got a blue question right, then landed on an orange pie space.

  ‘Which head of state opened the 1976 Montreal Olympics?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I know this,’ Sarah said, but couldn’t remember.

  ‘I hope you don’t,’ said Anita, who would lose her bra if Sarah remembered.

  ‘I watched it with my parents. Oohh. Oohh. I know … The Queen,’ she shouted triumphantly.

  ‘Yes,’ shouted Tom, delighted that she had got a pie piece.

  ‘Yes,’ shouted Brian, delighted that Anita was about to take her bra off.

  ‘Oh no!’ screamed Anita.

  ‘Bra,’ urged Brian, before joining in with KC And The Sunshine Band. ‘That’s the way. Uh huh, uh huh, I like it.’

  Tom and Sarah looked at each other wondering if Anita would do it.

  Anita waited, looking at Brian, who was bobbing his shoulders in time with the music and sipping his vodka.

  Tom came to her rescue. ‘You can do it in your bedroom if you want.’

  She was happy with that, stood up, grabbed Brian by the hand and led him to her room.

  Sarah had Tom to herself now and topped up his drink. She reached into the Trivial Pursuit box and pulled out two pie pieces. She handed them to Tom. He placed them in his pie, put his drink on the coffee table, scooped Sarah up in his arms and carried her into the other bedroom.

  Chapter 28

  Revelation

  The next day, April 7, 1984: ‘I’ve still got a nightmare of a headache,’ said Brian Hill holding both hands to his head. The brothers were in their Dickens Court kitchen sat with a cup of tea the morning after playing strip Trivial Pursuit. Despite the sore head, Brian was buzzing. ‘It was worth it though. What a night!’ Brian wanted to know how bad the infidelity had been. ‘So Tom … Did you?’

  Tom Hill stared into the distance. His feelings were very different from his brother’s. Guilt was the most powerful, not just for being unfaithful to Vicky Owen, but for not letting Sarah know about Vicky. He felt like he had the morning after sleeping with Greenpeace Badge. As if he had used the girl. He turned to Brian. ‘Yes. Yes I did. How about you?’ He had to ask. If his brother had lost his virginity, he should share his joy, regardless of how low he was feeling himself.

  ‘I most certainly did Tom. And I’m not just a god of football. I’m the man.’ He stuck out his chest with pride, but could see his brother, although pleased, was unexpectedly thoughtful. ‘Why the long face?’

  ‘I think I’ve made a big mistake. Sarah is a babe and last night was special, but when I woke up, sober, I felt physically sick with guilt. Worse than I could have imagined.’

  ‘Vicky doesn’t have to find out.’ Brian couldn’t understand the problem.

  ‘It’s not just Vicky. Sarah thought I was single. She told me she had been hoping to see me again after bonfire night. I don’t suppose she had a one-night stand in mind.’

  ‘She was willing enough. You’ve got to get a grip Tom. You are not responsible for everybody else’s feelings. You should put yourself first now and then. I really don’t think there is a problem.’ Even Brian didn’t believe that last sentence.

  ‘Shit Brian. I shouldn’t have done it and now I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Do you want to see Sarah again?’

  ‘It would be nice, but not nice enough to give up Vicky. And I wouldn’t want to lead Sarah on any more than I already have.’

  ‘Maybe it would be more unkind to cut Sarah off completely after just one night.’ Brian was almost serious for a moment, but added, ‘She does have extremely nice tits.’

  ‘I know. I know, but a clean break is kindest I think.’ Tom’s good intentions were speaking, but his instincts had to be heard. ‘Oooh, but what a body.’

  ‘And you’d walk away from that for a tame fumble with Vicky.’ Brian’s good intentions always took a back seat to his instincts.

  ‘Yes. I think I would. At least I’d sleep at night.’ Tom was trying to convince himself as much as Brian.

  ‘You’d have no choice,’ Brian unsympathetically pointed out. ‘Vicky won’t keep you awake shagging.’

  ‘But Brian. It’s not all about sex.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Brian said, half joking, half serious.

  ‘Vicky loves me. I have a responsibility towards her because her happiness is in my hands. Can’t you see what I’m saying?’ Tom screwed up his face in agonised appeal for understanding.

  ‘Yes. I s
uppose I do,’ Brian had to admit, but as he was saying it, in his head he was picturing Sarah curled up against Tom’s legs in her bra and knickers, with the soft light playing on the curves of her body. ‘But I can’t believe you are going to turn your back on Sarah, and, knowing you, probably tell Vicky all about it as well.’ Brian thought that a little foolish, but admired his brother’s misguided chivalry.

  ‘Yes. You’re probably right. I will need to tell her. No secrets.’ Tom felt a little selfish for not asking his brother more about Anita. ‘How about you? Have you arranged to see Anita again?’

  Brian half laughed. ‘No chance,’ he said quickly and with very little feeling. ‘And I have you to thank for making that decision for me.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Tom was missing something.

  ‘I don’t want to work in a pub serving pompous golfers. You’re only there because you’ve spent all your money on having a steady girlfriend. I can’t afford a girlfriend and I’m certainly not giving up football nights out or anything like that just so I can buy gifts for a chick.’

  Tom knew Brian meant what he said, so it was pointless challenging him on it. ‘What did you say to Anita then?’

  ‘I said we had exams coming up and we’d be studying all the time, but if I got a chance, I would try to call her. At least that way, I might get another shag without all the slushy, expensive, time-consuming stuff in between.’

  ‘You’re all heart,’ Tom said with sarcasm, but still put his arm warmly around his brother’s shoulder.

  During the Easter holidays, the kitchen had been unusually tidy. The other students had all gone home, so the cleaner had made an extra effort. She had no choice. The university held conferences during the holiday breaks and guests often stayed in the halls of residence.

  As they prepared two omelettes for lunch, one of the conference visitors came in and opened the fridge. They took little notice of him. Students didn’t mix much with the temporary residents. Both brothers were surprised when the newcomer spoke to them. He had a slight lisp, a very wide face and closely cropped blond hair. He had unusually big blue eyes and wore eccentric clothes; a kind of white Arabian tunic, almost like a dress. He was a shade below average height, but had a presence that made him seem taller.

  ‘How are you today boys?’ A slightly mocking smile, but the voice was carefully manicured. The final ‘s’ was stressed and lingered.

  Tom was first to respond. ‘Good thanks. How about you?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ he lisped cordially. ‘One struggles to find a quiet corner in today’s commercial world.’

  ‘You sound like you have the world’s troubles on your shoulders.’ Tom tried to get on the man’s wavelength. He put him in his mid twenties, thought his accent very London and noticed a slightly camp twang in some of his inflection.

  ‘Only as much as the next man,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘Although I do sometimes feel I’m swimming against the tide. It’s the me, me, me culture of twentieth century Britain that gets me down sometimes. But today I’m up.’

  ‘Are you here for a conference?’ asked Brian as he flipped his omelette over.

  ‘Oh, no, no … heaven forbid.’ He sounded almost offended. ‘I’m a post-graduate student in the music department.’

  Tom suddenly twigged. ‘Do you live in room number one?’

  ‘That’s correct. Do you boys live on this floor? I’m so seldom in the building, I hardly have time to meet my own neighbours.’

  Both brothers were rudely staring, without realising. This was The Invisible Man. He hadn’t been seen for more than six months and here he was saying he should get to know his neighbours. The stranger noticed they were staring and looked down at himself. ‘I say … do I have some food on my chin?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Tom shook his head, realising his loss of manners. Brian was still staring. ‘I’m Tom Hill, room number five. This is my brother Brian, room four.’ Tom noticed his brother was still staring. ‘Brian,’ he said sharply to encourage him to shut his mouth and join the conversation.

  Brian regained his composure eventually. ‘Hi. I’m Brian, room four.’ He thrust out his hand to greet The Invisible Man.

  ‘Delighted,’ he replied and held Brian’s hand more than shook it. ‘Eckhart … Rupert … you must call me Rupert.’ He bowed his head slightly and held his hand out to Tom. ‘Will you be terribly busy after your breakfast?’

  The boys looked at each other. They had no plans until their football match in the afternoon.

  ‘Nothing that won’t keep,’ replied Tom.

  ‘Then would you care to join me for a coffee? I discovered an interesting new blend in London yesterday. It would please me if you could give me your opinions.’

  ‘Lovely.’ Tom could think of nothing else to say.

  Brian belatedly added his acceptance. ‘Sounds great. Thanks.’

  ‘Then I wish you bon appetit and look forward to your company.’ With that he floated out of the kitchen and disappeared down the corridor.

  The brothers stared at each other. They had nothing to say. Rupert Eckhart was not what they had expected. He was far too nice. A bit gay Brian thought, but anyone who didn’t play football was a bit gay in Brian’s opinion. The smell of burning egg broke the trance. Brian turned to rescue the food.

  They were still deep in thought as they crunched through their meal with a weak cup of tea. They had shared the last tea bag. Finally Tom spoke. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’ replied Brian.

  ‘What do you think of Rupert?’ Tom was a shade irritated at having to spell out his question. He thought ‘well’ had been more than enough.

  ‘I don’t think he plays football.’ Irony from Brian.

  ‘You could be right.’ Tom had hoped for something more insightful. ‘How can somebody we haven’t met in six months be so friendly? That’s what I can’t work out.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him over coffee?’ Always a simple answer from Brian.

  ‘Did you notice the speech impediment?’ asked Tom.

  ‘No. He did sound a bit strange though. Bit of a weirdo.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Tom replied with feeling, jumping to the man’s defence despite only knowing him for ten minutes.

  ‘True. True.’ Brian agreed.

  ‘Let’s go and find out a bit more then,’ Tom instructed and they left their dirty pots on the table. The door to room number one was open and they cautiously popped their heads around the door. Rupert was lighting a small cone of incense. At least that’s what the brothers thought it was. This man was strange. Maybe it was a weird drug.

  ‘Nobody allergic to sandalwood is there?’ Rupert enquired thoughtfully.

  They shook their heads, while their eyes took in the detail of the room. It was pretty much the same as Tom remembered from his sneak preview; framed prints on the walls, the tapestry with nymphs and shepherds, art books and the bust of Napoleon with a single black tear under one eye.

  Rupert handed them coffee in gold-coloured porcelain cups with matching saucers. They took a sip. It had a very rich taste, like nothing they had ever tasted before. They had only drunk instant coffee from a jar and had no idea whether this new blend was good or bad.

  ‘How’s your coffee?’ asked Rupert, his eyes dancing from one brother to the other and back.

  ‘Quite different from the stuff I’m used to, but it’s nice … I like it,’ replied Tom with enthusiasm.

  ‘What are you used to?’ Rupert asked with genuine interest.

  ‘Whatever is cheapest in the supermarket,’ replied Tom.

  Brian was much more fussy. ‘I prefer to drink something I’ve at least heard of,’ added Brian, thinking he was being more sophisticated than his brother.

  ‘Is advertising important to you?’ Rupert asked Brian, again with genuine interest.

  ‘No. Not really. I suppose.’ Brian felt belittled.

  ‘Well. Each to his own and let no man wink at a cyclops,’ replied Ruper
t profoundly.

  Brian no longer felt belittled. He felt thoroughly confused.

  Tom’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked as inoffensively as he could.

  ‘Excellent question,’ replied Rupert quickly, offering both boys a biscuit from a porcelain pot, in the same gold as the tea cups and saucers.

  Rupert sat back down without answering. ‘You were saying,’ Tom urged him to continue with his answer.

  ‘I’m sorry. I was distracted. Lovely biscuits.’ He took another bite before going on. ‘A cyclops has only one eye, so a trivial wink is insulting. Such a trivial gesture cannot be reciprocated, much the same as patting a snake on the back. So don’t do it.’

  Tom and Brian looked just as confused, so Rupert continued.

  ‘The sentiment is that we must respect each other’s differences, rather than mock them. There is as much quality in a cheap instant coffee as there is in the finest ground coffee. It is just that the qualities are different.’ Rupert smiled warmly.

  The brothers nodded slowly, half understanding what he had said, but still not sure.

  Rupert watched with interest as the brothers gorged themselves on the mysteries of his room.

  Again Tom’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘Why does Napoleon have a tear under one eye?’

  ‘Symbolic Tom,’ Rupert replied as if no more explanation were needed.

  There was a pause of about ten seconds before Tom asked, ‘symbolic of what?’

  ‘Aah. Glad you asked. Fascinating thought. Napoleon was responsible for the deaths of thousands of men in pursuit of his own ambition. A cruel, heartless, single-minded machine of a man and yet he was humble in some ways, the same as you and me. He fell over and cried when he was a child. He laughed, loved, joked and played. He must have felt some compassion for those who died in his wars, not enough to stop him doing it, but enough to shed a single tear to remind us he was still human. It’s a powerful contrast. It is only the difference between good and evil which drives the world forward.’

  ‘I’m with you.’ Tom followed that one a bit better. ‘Good strives to overcome bad. The tear is good. Napoleon is bad.’