Inevitably, as they’d always known would happen, they were nicknamed the Lovebirds.
Austin was tall and sporty with a shock of dark hair. Lorna liked his boyish smile and daft enthusiasm. He had a square chin and roguish smile. He was a tiger on the rugby pitch, tackling with ferocity, his face so contorted she barely recognised him. Off the pitch, he was a pussycat, shy and unsure of himself. Lorna found this touchingly attractive; the motherly instinct in her wanted to cocoon him. Like her, he had set his sights on university, but in Bristol.
Austin was going to study engineering. He’d set his heart on building bridges, although, he conceded, he might have to start with roads and work upwards. He loved the idea of bridges, of land and people being joined up. He couldn’t really explain this to Lorna, although he did try, becoming increasingly tongue-tied. When he tried to explain things he would grow agitated, then inarticulate. He showed her a picture of the Clifton Suspension Bridge, and said that this is where modern bridge engineering really started. But the picture meant nothing to her. A bridge was simply an extension of the road on either side. While most boys of his age had pin-ups of pop stars or actresses, Austin’s bedroom was festooned with pictures of great bridges of the world, mostly shot at night or early dawn for maximum effect. Lorna didn’t see this as odd – although others did. Instead, she found it rather endearing. In class, he would frown and suck on his pen; nothing he was taught ever made much sense to Austin until he’d had a chance to think about it. He wasn’t the brightest boy in her class, but she admired his perseverance; the way that his brows would slowly unknit, the pen leave his mouth, and he’d smile. The rest of the class might already all have solved the problem, but Austin never gave up. Lorna liked that.
Their first kiss was in the cinema, under cover of darkness. His lips were surprisingly soft for a burly rugby player and he smelled of aftershave and nerves. Emboldened, he placed a hand across her breast where it remained for the rest of the movie. Afterwards, there was a sweaty palm print on her T-shirt. Lorna knew where this was headed, and realised it was something that had to be done, although she wasn’t sure whether she was looking forward to it. She didn’t want the commitment that Austin seemed to want, so having sex with him didn’t seem like a good idea either, although most of her friends had already lost their virginities, or so they said.
On their next visit to the cinema, to see the same film, Lorna sat on his other side. Austin said he wanted to see it again because he’d enjoyed it so much the first time, although Lorna knew precisely what he really meant, and allowed her other breast to be subjected to damp squeezing.
On the beach later that week, shielded by tall grass and the high dunes, Lorna unclasped her bra and allowed him free rein inside. She knew, however, that this was mere preparation. Other male friends had got this far (although she’d never termed them boyfriends) – with Austin, she was being coaxed into submission. So when his hand, slowly and clammily, crept up the inside of her leg, she didn’t resist. Only when his fingers came to rest against her knickers, sending shafts of light across her eyes, did she decide to hold out for a little longer. Lorna’s hand settled on his and prised it loose.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling back from her. ‘I just thought ... I mean, I didn’t mean ...’
‘It’s OK, Austin.’ Lorna didn’t know what else to say. A light breeze had sprung up, particles of sand had caught in his eyebrows.
‘Is it me?’ he asked. His brows were furrowed with such intensity that she had to laugh.
A couple with two Labradors were walking towards them, taking turns to throw sticks for the dogs. Although hidden in the dunes, their privacy was being invaded. ‘Of course not, silly ... You’re my boyfriend. But it’s just a bit public, Austin,’ said Lorna, realising immediately that this suggested that she might capitulate sooner rather than later.
Austin said, ‘That’s nice.’ It seemed the first thing that had sprung to mind. Sometimes Lorna felt that she had the power to startle him, even by saying something banal.
‘Nice? Is that all you can say?’ she asked. She had allowed him to touch her there; until a moment ago, there had been her private place.
He looked down, drew patterns in the sand with one hand. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’
‘Then try telling me I’m your girlfriend.’
Austin had little experience in these matters. ‘I’ve told you before, Lorna. You know what I feel about you.’ Seabirds fluttered raucously on the sand, competing for some morsel that the sea had thrown to the beach.
Austin propped himself on one elbow and kissed Lorna quickly on the forehead. His lips felt welcoming; they touched her senses like electricity. ‘I’ve never had a proper girlfriend before,’ he admitted, kissing her now on the mouth. He tasted bittersweet, and small bubbles of saliva had gathered on his lips. There was an ominous bulge in his trousers. ‘I like you, Lorna,’ he said.
‘Only like?’
‘Love ... like, it’s the same thing.’
Lorna drew up her knees, pulling her skirt down, barring further access. ‘Like is when you have a hamster, love is when you have a girlfriend.’ But, she thought, love is also what makes us saddest, thinking about her father and his losing battle with the cupboard. You can’t have it both ways.
Lorna scrambled back to the beach. The couple with the dogs smiled at her sweetly, guessing what she’d been up to. Austin followed meekly, as she knew he would.
Knickers
In the week that school finally ended, there was a party at Julie and Pam’s house close to the beach. Their parents had left hurriedly to visit a sick uncle, and their two children – non-identical twins in Lorna’s year – had grasped the opportunity of an adult-empty house with both hands. As Austin remarked, it couldn’t have been a much-loved relative, given the alacrity that the two girls displayed in organising a party at high speed.
Everybody brought cans of beer, cider, or Bacardi Breezers. There was dancing in the living room and drinking in the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, there was virtually nothing to eat. To Lorna’s annoyance, Austin smelled of curry. ‘A carry-out,’ he explained. ‘We always have a carry-out on a Friday.’
The Lovebirds were soon on the dance floor. During the smoochy dances, holding each other close, she could feel his arousal. It didn’t just make her feel wanted; it made her feel powerful. She had something he wanted and she could choose to offer it or withhold it.
‘We could go for a walk,’ he suggested, which wasn’t really what he was suggesting.
Lorna hadn’t drunk enough yet. This night of all nights, if she was to go through with it, required just the right amount of alcohol. Her inhibitions needed to be subdued, but not her wits. She hadn’t made up her mind yet, not completely. Lorna’s senses were still too jagged and raw.
‘Later,’ she replied. ‘Not just now, OK?’
‘When later?’
‘It’s a party, Austin,’ she reminded him. ‘Just ... later.’
Later turned out to be much later. Lorna had a few dances with other friends and girlfriends, swigged back a few Bacardis, and slowly mellowed. The loud music and unaccustomed alcohol had entered her bloodstream, making her tipsy and elated. She had left school and was almost a woman: She could do whatever she wanted. The future beckoned, full of big cities and bigger opportunities. The white sands and pettiness of East Lothian were already dropping from her shoulders. Lorna had outgrown the place, and soon she would be free.
Lorna found Suzie in the living room, twirling like a maniac while holding a glass of what looked like orange juice, but which probably wasn’t.
‘Austin wants to go for a walk,’ she told Suzie over loud music.
‘A walk?’
‘Yes, a walk. You know, putting one foot in front of the other.’
Suzie flicked blonde hair and pouted. Despite it being dark, a pair of sunglasses was perched on her head. ‘Yes, but he doesn’t mean a walk, does he? How exciting!’
‘Suze,
it’s not exciting. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Go with the flow, babe.’
‘That’s the best advice you can come up with?’
‘OK, wait there.’ Suzie disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a minute later with another glass of orange juice which she handed to Lorna, who took a sip and nearly retched.
‘Suzie, it’s disgusting!’
‘It’s Demon’s Revenge. Medical, Lorna.’
‘Medicinal? What the hell is Demon’s Revenge?’
‘I made it up. Mainly whisky, peach brandy, and orange juice.’
‘Mainly? What do you mean mainly?’
‘And some vodka, I think. Might have been gin.’
‘You actually want me to drink this muck?’
Suzie leaned in close. ‘To help you decide.’
Lorna had confided every detail of her relationship with Austin to Suzie. There were no secrets between them, although Lorna’s secrets usually became common knowledge within days. ‘Do you think I should?’ she asked, as if Suzie had ever given useful advice.
‘If you don’t, I will.’ Suzie smiled wickedly.
‘That’s not exactly the answer I was looking for.’
‘Then what answer would you like me to give?’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ Lorna said again.
Suzie swept back hair with one hand, while Lorna swallowed another mouthful. ‘You don’t really have to do anything, sweetie. He does the work, you get to look at the sky.’
Strangely, Demon’s Revenge had begun to taste quite nice. ‘That actually wasn’t what I meant, Suze. It was you, remember, who told me about the birds and the bees. I just don’t know if I should or not.’
Suzie sighed. ‘You like him, don’t you?’
Lorna swallowed more of Suzie’s concoction, feeling her inhibitions begin to slip. ‘Yes, of course I like him.’
‘So you don’t find him physically repulsive?’
‘No.’
‘Well, there you are.’ Suzie raised her glass and winked.
Austin had spent a good part of the party in the kitchen, talking about footballers and the obscene amounts of money they earned. She found him centre-stage by the kitchen table, talking about Manchester United and ticking off names on the fingers of one hand. His forehead shone under the overhead light. His voice was loud and slightly slurred. Lorna supposed that he had been drinking more beer than was good for him. His smile seemed too wide and forced, his face slightly contorted as if about to make a tackle. Pretty soon, he might be a gibbering wreck. Lorna didn’t much like football. She only recognised a couple of the players being complained about.
‘Come on, Austin. Let’s go.’
‘Where?’ Lorna saw that he was slightly swaying.
‘Anywhere. I don’t know. You said you wanted to go for a walk.’
He was carrying a heavy leather coat and slung it over one arm. They walked down to the beach and then away from the town. Here, the golf course meets the beach; here, sunbathers have to be careful of poor golfers. He fumbled in his jacket and produced a bottle of vodka. He held it to the moon and squinted: half empty. Lorna avoided asking whether he had drunk the rest. ‘Go on, have some,’ he was whispering, pressing the bottle against her chest.
‘I don’t like vodka.’
‘You’ve been drinking those Bacardi things all evening.’ His tone was scornful. ‘That’s vodka, isn’t it?’ He tilted the bottle to his own lips instead. Lorna could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. ‘Here, why not try some?’ he was whispering again, demanding compliance. She shook her head, wrapping herself in her fleece, wondering if being with Austin was such a good idea. He was drunk, and Lorna wasn’t yet at a point of surrender.
‘Actually, give me some of that,’ she then said, looking at the canopy of stars as she swallowed. The stars seemed closer immediately. Lorna swallowed another large mouthful, then another, then another. If it had to happen, didn’t it always first happen under the influence of alcohol? That’s what Suzie had told her. Get yourself legless, babe, was her advice. You’ve got to lose it sometime.
They were climbing into the dunes, swishing through long grass. Shadows moved, and turned out to be small trees. Careful not to trip in rabbit holes, they walked to the top of the dunes; the sea on one side, the golf course on the other. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Nowhere,’ said Austin and sat down heavily.
They could hear the sea across the wide beach; stars sparkled on its surface. Austin sipped at the bottle and handed it to Lorna. Once more, she found herself swallowing and swallowing. Then an owl hooted and they looked round uneasily, expecting to see its shadow in the sky.
Lorna felt transformed. She had rarely tasted raw spirit before. The vodka was liberating her, she felt she could touch the stars. Her ears were buzzing and it took a moment to realise he was yelping, ‘Don’t finish it, don’t finish it!’
Lorna looked at him, the bottle held from her mouth.
‘Christ, I feel sick,’ he said, swallowing bile. ‘Finish it, Lorna. Fucking stuff.’
Lorna’s head was spinning, thoughts fragmented. She stood up, putting one foot in a rabbit hole, and swore. She looked up, watching the stars whirl in silky streamers. She blinked rapidly, and the stars became fixed points once more.
‘I love you,’ Lorna heard him say, surprised that he seemed to mean it. But his face was in shadow, she couldn’t see his eyes. The vodka was either spoiling things, or making them happen. Lorna couldn’t decide. It was depriving her of her better senses, the ones she needed to relish the moment. But it was also unfastening her inhibitions, the ones that would say no.
Lorna held up the bottle, feeling warm – a mellow calm bordering on invincibility. All of her life, all she remembered, she had been a schoolgirl. It had defined her as a child, now she could put away childish things. A few inches of liquid sloshed at the bottom of the bottle, looking as harmless as water.
‘Would you mind if I was sick?’ he asked, as if Lorna had any say in it. She detected a hint of defeat in his tone, or desperation.
‘Maybe,’ Lorna suggested, ‘we should walk about a bit. It might make you feel better.’ She held onto his arm and pulled him upright, held onto him tightly as they walked across the dune, as if they were lovers on a seaside promenade. North Berwick was a cluster of lights in the distance, as if a handful of stars had fallen from the sky.
‘I think I feel better,’ said Austin and suddenly laughed. ‘In fact, I feel fucking great!’ He pulled away from her and slithered half way down the sand dune on his backside. Lorna slithered down beside him, then swallowed again from the bottle.
‘Hold me,’ she said. Her mood had again shifted; her eyes brimmed with tears. And then it seemed as if a rolling tongue of flame had erupted from over the head of the dune, spewing towards them in a fiery burst. She blinked, but the beach was black. Above, a shooting star was falling to Earth. Lorna turned her face to Austin, waiting to be kissed, and they lay like that for what seemed like hours, under the bright stars, oblivious to the owl hooting from the second fairway.
* * *
Later still she took off her fleece and put it on the grassy dune as a pillow. Lorna felt elated, thoughts jangling – the alcohol had released her, making her bold. She tugged her jeans down, twanging her underwear on her ankles. It seemed that Austin was shaking all over. He’d probably never seen a naked woman before, except his mum, maybe. His hands were certainly shaking, as if she was a fragile gift that might break. Again Lorna felt a sense of power. She felt that her body was a weapon: she could use it to conquer. Then Lorna was guiding his hand between her legs, grimacing as his nails dug into her; taking his forefinger and showing him what to do, lights exploding across her eyes, the first time anybody had touched her there. She kept her hand on his until she was certain he would do it right. Her body moved, pressed against his – then she arched her back with a small cry and pressed her legs together.
‘Jesu
s Christ,’ said Lorna.
Austin said nothing. His whole body was shaking, he sat up.
Lorna lay on her back. Tears spilled from her eyes.
‘I’ve got to pee,’ said Austin, and stumbled into the darkness. Then Lorna heard him retch and went to find him, staggering naked across the dunes. He was on his hands and knees being sick into a gorse bush. ‘Um, can I do anything?’ Lorna offered.
‘I know how to be sick, thank you,’ he informed her. His voice was fogged with alcohol. Lorna had expected orgasm to bring a sense of adulthood: an elation, a heady feeling of fulfilment. She hadn’t expected to enjoy it and then for him to be sick.
Afterwards, his face was sweat-streaked and his eyes shone like bright marbles. Lorna licked her lips. ‘Pass me the bottle, Lorna,’ he said then, seeing her expression, added, ‘to wash my mouth out.’ He gargled with a little of the vodka, then spat it into the sand.
Lorna took a deep breath and felt revived, seeing her life in spinning shards like a shattered mirror, the pieces tumbling. On the larger pieces she could see herself reflected: as a small child crawling up the stairs to their house; laughing at some long-forgotten joke; choosing clothes in one of North Berwick’s numerous charity shops; catching a gaily-coloured beach ball from her father; finding out her ears were filled with invisible coins that only her Dad, the wizard, could find. The pieces of mirror tumbled, providing other glimpses: a birthday on North Berwick Law, a picnic set before her, and her mother whispering in her ears. Then her mind lurched again, the mirror-fragments disappeared, and she felt empty inside, tenderness between her legs. There was still unfinished business to be completed.
She made Austin take off his shirt and trousers. He was drunk enough not to be too embarrassed. Lorna was fascinated by his erect penis. She touched it, intrigued and repelled, and felt it twitch like a living thing.
Austin, bless him, had remembered to bring a condom and, turning his back, rolled it on. Lorna smiled at his sudden shyness; putting on a condom didn’t seem an act requiring privacy.
The Things We Learn When We're Dead Page 11
