ii
And on the way up all they’d done was talk. After a few hours, halfway up the M5, he’d admitted to her he’d been a bit nervous, what if they hadn’t found things to chat about? And she’d laughed, and said fat chance! The words had just spilled out of both of them, sometimes there were about three different conversations going on at once—she thought it was rather exhilarating and laughed every time she lost her train of thought only to find another altogether. First off, of course, they’d talked about work—he’d only been at the office for a few weeks, whereas she’d been there for years, she could tell him all the gossip—and he said he was relieved, that the people he thought he was beginning to like were the ones it was safe to like, and those he hadn’t taken to were precisely the ones to steer clear of. It was good to get such inside information! And they’d discussed their family, why it was he didn’t get on with his mum, why she didn’t get on with her dad. “It’s the same sort of thing,” he told her sympathetically, “but in reverse. Jesus, what’s wrong with our parents anyway?” They’d even touched on politics, and although she rather suspected the views he held were just watered down versions of her own, at least they weren’t going to argue, at least they were in the same general ballpark. He’d picked her up from the top of her road first thing that morning; as it turned out, he could have done so from the house, she’d sorted everything out, but he said it might be safer his way. “Is that all your luggage?” he’d said, and she’d smiled, and said she didn’t think she’d need much. And she’d sat in the passenger seat beside him, and there wasn’t any crap lying on the floor, and there was a smell of lemon. She thought he must have cleaned the car especially—and then thought, why not just ask him? So did. And he blushed and said he had, actually, was that really pathetic? “No, no,” she said, “it’s nice, it’s nice.” And meant it.
She navigated. He told her he didn’t have a satnav. “Well, I do,” he said, “but I don’t like it, I think the voice is a bit creepy.” And she’d laughed, and agreed, those voices were a bit creepy, weren’t they? Although she didn’t find her satnav creepy in the slightest. And he’d said that maybe they only hired actors to record those satnav things if they had creepy voices, and he’d tried to picture the auditions involved, even acting it out, turning down Mel Gibson, Jack Nicholson, because they didn’t sound enough like axe murderers, and the joke must have been run on for over half an hour, and somehow never quite stopped being funny. She was pleased to see he didn’t mind when she gave the wrong directions, when they came off the motorway at the wrong junction. “It’s a holiday!” he said, “it’s not as if we’re in any hurry!” They pulled into a service station, and he bought them both a coffee. He noted how she insisted it come with soya milk, he told her with mock grimness that was important knowledge he would store away for future reference, and then grinned.
“Look,” he said. “Silly to ask. But just so I’m sure. What we’re doing is what I think we’re doing, isn’t it?” And he played with his plastic stirrer. “You know. We are shagging, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Oh, good,” he said. “Oh, that’s what I thought. But it’d have been embarrassing if . . . I mean, I only got us the one room. Good.”
She leaned forward across the coffee and the soya milk. And the detritus of how many other travellers, maybe they were all going down the M5 for a spot of shagging, why not. He looked surprised, and it took him a few moments to realize he should lean in too. And she kissed him on the lips. He responded very well, actually. There was a bit of movement on his part, a sort of nibbling, but not too much, he didn’t get carried away. And although the tongue did make an appearance, it didn’t hog the party the way it sometimes could, it was just a push against her teeth, a quick hello and goodbye, a quick see you later maybe.
“You’ve done this before,” she said.
“What, kiss?” he said, and was puzzled. Then he realized she was teasing, and said, “Oh yes, kissing, I’ve kissed a few times, yeah.”
“Good to know,” she said.
“But never,” he added, as they got up and put on their coats, “someone who tasted of soya. That was a new one on me.”
“It’s a lovely part of the country,” he told her as they drove on. “I grew up there as a kid. And I hope you like the hotel. It had a nice website. It’s a family hotel, you know, nothing posh, but I don’t like those posh hotels much, do you? They’re not very personal. I like personal, personal’s nice. This one looks nice, the pictures are nice, it has off street parking.”
“So long as it has a bed,” she said, “we’ll be fine.”
The landlady was waving at them from the front window. “This must be it,” he said, and they pulled up in the driveway. “Hello, hello!” said the landlady, opening the door to them. “And welcome! We spoke on the phone, yes? I’m Marcia. I hope you’ll be very happy here.” Marcia was fiftyish and grey haired, with arms thick enough to churn butter.
They introduced themselves. “Married?” asked Marcia. “Yes,” she said. “No,” he said. “Only the one of us,” she said. Marcia laughed. “Say no more!” He looked embarrassed, but she didn’t mind—she’d rather he’d been mistaken for her husband than her son. Marcia led them through to the back of the house. “And here’s your little part of our home,” she said. “Here’s the key, and there’s a separate door through the garden, you see, if you want to come in late at night. Just so you won’t worry about disturbing me or my husband.” She watched them take in the room, the wardrobe, the TV mounted in the corner, the bathroom door, for some reason a painting of a goose. And the double bed, big, bold, bloody unignorable, right there in the centre. “Have fun!” she said, and left them.
“I like her,” he said, “she seems nice.” She put down her bag on the bed, kissed him from behind on his neck. “Oh!” he said. “What are you doing? We haven’t even unpacked yet.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“No,” he said, “I’m sorry. Sorry.” He opened his arms, and she thought, a hug, he wants a hug. She stepped into the embrace anyway, and he held on to her gingerly as if she were cut crystal, and he rubbed his cheek against hers, and gave her a peck. Then he thought about it for a moment, grinned, what the hell, and kissed her full on the lips. It was for longer this time, and the tongue gave more than its cameo performance. “Okay?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said. “It’s very nice here.”
“It is, isn’t it? I love hotels!” He released her, went to open drawers, cupboards. “There’s a kettle here! And an ironing board. And look!” He’d found a little folder, right by the Gideon Bible. “They do room service. Just like a proper hotel. Shall we order something?” She assured him she was fine. “Oh, it’ll be fun. We can have breakfast in bed! I think we should! Hang on,” he said, winked at her, and lifted the receiver. Dialled a number. Waited. “It’s ringing,” he told her. And then, “Hello! Yes, we thought we’d order breakfast in bed for tomorrow! We thought, why not, it’s a holiday, if you can’t do it on a holiday . . . ! . . .
No, we’re staying in your house. Yes. In the guest room. Yes. Yes, at the back.” She lay down on the bed and waited for him to stop talking. “Yes, then would be fine. Looking forward to it. Thank you.” He hung up, smiled at her. “Breakfast in bed, what a treat!” And she smiled back. “Come here,” she said to him.
He lay on the bed next to her. “Okay if I take this side?”
“You’re fine.”
“It’s quite soft, isn’t it?”
She made to shrug, but she was supported by one of her shoulders, so it came out as a twitch. They snogged for a while. “You’re really special,” he told her at one point. “Whatever happens this weekend, I want you to know, it’s just great to have such a good friend at the office.” They snogged a bit longer. “I should unpack,” he said. “Do you want to unpack?”
“We’re only here the one night,” she told him.
“I
know,” he said. He got up, unzipped his suitcase. Took out three, maybe four, shirts, and a spare pair of trousers. He opened the wardrobe. “Okay if I take this side?”
Marcia recommended them a restaurant in town. They wouldn’t need the car, it was only ten minutes’ walk, and besides, the weather was lovely. “Neil swears by the crab,” she told them, “you must try the crab!” They found the place easily enough, it wasn’t too busy, they got a table for two, and a waiter lit a candle for them.
“I don’t like crab,” he confided to her, and she agreed, she couldn’t abide shellfish, so they giggled, ordered a steak and a lasagne, and joked that they’d tell Marcia they’d had crab when they saw her. The house red had no label, but was rather good, and they got through two bottles of it.
“Coffee?” asked the waiter.
“I won’t, but my girlfriend here will, but the milk has to be soya.” Girlfriend, she thought with surprise, it almost sobered her up.
“I’m not sure we have soya milk, sir, I’ll check.” “It has to be soya, that’s what she drinks.”
“Listen,” she said to him, and touched his hand gently, “I can have other milks, it’s just soya for preference.” But no, no, he was adamant, it’d be soya or nothing, only the best for her, for his girlfriend—if there was no soya milk to be had he’d bloody well go out and get some, leave the restaurant, find some supermarket, and bring back his own.
And fortunately the waiter returned and said there was soya milk, so no one had to find out whether he’d back down or not. Mind you, she thought as she sipped at the coffee, it didn’t taste like soya. By the time he’d paid—his treat, he insisted—it had begun to rain. Just a drizzle, really, they were both so hot after the wine it was welcome. And he told her he’d protect her, and did his best to hold his hand flat over her head as they walked back to the hotel. It did nothing to keep her dry, of course, but it made them both laugh.
When they got back they snogged again for a little while. As soon as she’d stepped into the room he whirled her around, and caught her mouth with his. It was quite nice, but as she stood there straining her face up to meet his, she couldn’t help feel there were more comfortable ways to do this. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” she said gently, and indicated the bathroom, “all right?” Of course, he said, did she want him to come with her . . . ? No, no, she assured him, she just wanted to clean herself up a bit, nothing sexy or complicated like that. He said okay, and she thought he looked a little relieved. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said, kissed him again, stepped into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her. As she washed her face she noticed that he’d carefully laid out all his toiletries side by side at the top of the sink, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, a pair of tweezers.
She opened the door, and nearly laughed. He was standing there naked. Arms to one side, as if presenting. It wasn’t that there was anything funny about his body, not in the slightest, it all seemed to be present and in roughly the correct dimensions. It was just the surprise at the whole reality of it. He looked down, smiled a little awkwardly. “Sorry about him, he’s got a bit excited.”
“So I can see,” she said. “No, it’s very flattering.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want me to strip off, or . . . ?”
“Oh, absolutely. Yes.”
“Okay,” she said, and did so.
“Wow,” he said. “You’re really beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really,” he said, with utter sincerity, his face was frowning with so much sincerity. “Really beautiful.”
“Well,” she said. “That makes two of us.”
He smiled at that. “Look,” he said. “This is the sort of last chance to turn back, isn’t it? I just want you to know that’s an option. We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready . . .”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, kindly. “We might as well, I’m here now.”
“I think I’ll just use the bathroom myself,” he said. He wasn’t in there for long, she heard a couple of bursts of deodorant, and he was out again. “Right,” he said, with an entirely new confidence. There was a ribbed condom slightly weighing down his penis. “You lie on the bed. I’m going to make love to you as you’ve never been made love to before.”
“Okay,” she said.
He knelt at the foot of the bed, looked at her feet, narrowed his eyes, inspected them. And then, with a suddenness that was probably meant to look very dramatic, but came across as just a bit too deliberate, he darted his head forward. And began to suck at her toes.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to lick you all over,” he told her, very earnestly. “Every single inch of you, you’re going to be kissed on every inch. From head to foot.” He corrected himself. “Foot to head, I’m working upwards.”
It was quite a pleasant sensation, she found. And, thank God, mostly dry. He only dabbed at her with the tongue, and then any little spittle he left was hoovered up by his lips. That was fine, actually, she wasn’t quite sure how well she’d have suffered lying there glistening and soggy. As he poked his tongue between her toes, she actually allowed herself to be aroused. “You’ve done this before,” she teased him.
He stopped, looked shocked, serious. “No,” he said. “No, really. All of this . . . this is inspired by you. This is what you bring out in me.”
“Okay,” she said, and closed her eyes. She lay back and blissed out, as she felt his tongue climb ever higher up her body. “It’s okay,” she breathed at last, “that’s lovely. You can enter me now.”
“But I’ve only reached the knees.”
“It doesn’t matter, I’m ready.” And she pulled him up closer, and looked him full in the face, and it wasn’t a bad face, she thought, a little bewildered but it was trying hard. And she fed him inside of her.
“Jesus,” he said. “Oh, Jesus.” “Yes, I’m Jesus, baby, I’m Jesus,” she said to him, “now keep going. Go on. . . . Oh.”
“Oh,” he said. And then, “wow.” And then, “I’m sorry, I got a bit overexcited.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “I was excited too.”
“Did you come?” And however politely he asked, the question sounded so blunt that she wasn’t quite prepared for it. She had to hesitate before saying yes. “You didn’t, did you? I’m sorry.”
“I’m pretty sure I did,” she said.
“I’ll stay inside. He’s been hard all day, I know he’ll wake up again.”
“If you like,” she said, and they both lay there, not saying anything for a while. He smiled down at her. She smiled back. It was all very friendly, really. And then he began to start thrusting again. “Look,” she said gently, “if you’re not ready . . .”
“No, something’s happening down there,” he assured her. And then began to grunt along with each thrust. Come on, he seemed to be saying with those grunts. Wake up. Wake up. And she thought she should do her best to help, she began grunting too, just to chivvy him on. The grunting got louder and louder, it was like some caveman metronome, his light boyish voice given up as he growled ever lower in pitch. Her own grunts sounded embarrassingly tinny beside his, she thought, and she tried to deepen her voice too. And then, “Can you hear that?” he panted.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
“Next door,” he said, “listen!” And he was right, through the thin walls she could hear their hosts having sex too, Marcia and Whatsisname. Neil. “Don’t stop,” she said, “use them. Use them to help you keep time.” And on they grunted, all four of them, until at last with a sigh of relief and an exhausted gasp of “Jesus” it was all over and he was able to roll off her.
“Well done,” she said, sincerely.
“Thank you.” He looked very pleased with himself.
Next door the grunting went on. Her lover smiled indulgently. “Listen to that,” he said. “We probably inspired them. Do you think?”
&nbs
p; “Maybe,” she said.
“Old married couple like that. We probably reminded them what it was all about.”
“Yeah,” she said, “look, I’m quite tired now, do you think we could get some sleep?”
“Sure,” he said, and he seemed so serenely smug, she could probably have requested anything, he’d have said yes. “I’ll just pop to the bathroom, be with you in a tick.” She was asleep before he came back.
A few hours later—the neon alarm said it was gone two—she stirred. For a moment she forgot where she was. Then she saw the picture of the goose, and she saw him too, sitting on a chair in the corner, right beneath the TV set. She saw the red glow of a cigarette. She didn’t even know he smoked.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I’m surprised you can sleep,” he said softly. “They’re still at it. It’s been going on for hours.” And she hadn’t noticed it, it’d been so regular that she’d screened out somehow, but now she could hear it. The same grunts from next door. Keeping rhythm, keeping time.
“Jesus,” he added, and sucked on his cigarette.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that in here,” she told him.
“Sorry,” he whispered, and stubbed it out.
iii
They didn’t talk about the grunts. She might even have thought he couldn’t hear them over the burble of his own chatter, but she watched his face, when there was a grunt she could see him flinch, he could hear them all right. They were very erratic. At one point there wasn’t a grunt for a good three or four miles, and she thought, it’s dead, it must be dead now, and thank God—but then it came again, just as clear as before. It’s still hanging on, she thought. What’s it hanging on for?
He’d given up any pretence at companionable silence. He was lively, told jokes even. She didn’t have to pretend to respond, he kept talking anyway, she could have been in the trunk as well for what difference it made. “We ought to think of a name for it,” he said suddenly. “Scientific discovery like this, it’ll have to have a name. Won’t it?” He paused for a moment. “They don’t name animals after the people who discover them, do they?”
Remember Why You Fear Me Page 9
