When Jamie and Blithe cautiously entered the flat, they listened out for a few seconds. When they were sure they were alone, Blithe went straight to the bathroom to brush away the frizz from her wet hair. Jamie went into her room, dropped his wet blazer by the door and waited anxiously on her bed with his bag on his lap.
Blithe meanwhile took a towel to her hair, brushed it a second time and hurried into her room, suddenly worried that he might find something incriminating. She cast her eyes around; no pants on the floor, no old bras hanging out of drawers and with some relief she plonked herself down on the bed beside him.
His floppy hair clung as one mass against his head, his nose and cheeks shone pink. He tried to push away the hair from his face but swept strands like rats’ tails across his brow. Blithe grinned. Realising his appearance was comical, Jamie suddenly shook his head backwards and forwards before tossing the hair from his eyes.
Blithe squinted, unimpressed and so he knew that whatever he’d done, he didn’t look quite so funny.
Jamie delved into his bag and produced a small plastic cellophane bag from a pouch.
“What’s that?”
Jamie replied in a hesitant monotone, “To… cheer you up… after the other day.”
“Do I need cheering up?”
Jamie dithered and suddenly thrust the bag at her.
It was a pirate birthday party bag that had waited for many years at the bottom of a utility drawer where it had become sticky and crumpled.
She glanced up at him before delving in, reassured that he did not look mischievous, only nervous.
The bag contained a chalky old balloon, some kind of whistle, a yo-yo and a slice of cake wrapped in two pieces of kitchen roll.
“I had to scavenge around a bit. It’s not birthday cake, it’s ginger loaf.”
Jamie waited for the verdict and laughed nervously.
“It’s just a silly wee thing. It’s stupid, a stupid wee thing.”
Blithe stared at the objects now lined up on bed.
“No, no. It’s not stupid. What’s this?” She held up the whistle.
“It’s a kazoo.”
Jamie took the kazoo and blew into it. The sound of whirring acceleration burst from the small piece of metal, and he tilted his head, satisfied with the sound.
“I thought, how can ye be miserable with a party bag? Ye ought to remember when there was nothing to worry about, apart from the balloon popping or the cake getting crushed.”
“I’m not sure that stuff ever bothered me. I was bothered by stink bombs in the park and when I had to go to my dad’s and I couldn’t be arsed to.”
“Aye true – that wasn’t all that bothered me. I freaked out if the cat hadn’t come in.”
“Do you still have the cat?”
“Aye. A fat old ginger tom called Christopher. Not Chris, always Christopher. He looks like a Christopher.”
Blithe carefully refilled the bag and felt its satisfying weight, designed for a hand smaller than her own.
“Forget all the junk,” he said. “Just eat the cake.”
There was such sweet anxiety in his voice. Yes, presented in any other way it was junk, but the act of bringing it together made it special. Of all the ugly knick-knacks she’d ever amassed, she held in her hand the junk supreme.
“It’s not junk,” she murmured.
The first kiss of the day was assured now. He knew it, she knew it.
Blithe’s hair smelled like incense and damp clothes. Not nice, not bad. Her hair was chilly and damp, but her cheeks were warm. His palm cushioned her fist and cupped it protectively.
She felt his wet cuffs and looked carefully into the rosy, clammy face. She carefully untucked his shirt. No sooner was it free than he pulled it over his head. She moved backwards, positioning herself on her pillows as he dragged his bare arms out of the tight sleeves and cast the shirt to the floor. She pulled her shirt over her head and threw it down where it lay crumpled beside his.
He watched her carefully, observing her posture, her knees drawn up high, another line of defence. He was not frightened. They understood each other.
She suddenly pulled up the covers and slipped beneath them, vanishing entirely. Snake-like, she slid her tights and skirt off, nudging them to the foot of the bed where they fell in a muffled thud. After some moments, she emerged and resumed sitting cross-legged on her pillows. Unobserved, Jamie had taken off his trousers and wet socks but sat in exactly the same position. They were mirroring one another, sitting on either side of a single bed, trying not to laugh, trying to pretend they were now familiar with being familiar. Jamie noted the silver star shorts and black bra only fleetingly, he was more struck by her transformation. Her wet clothes had shrouded her into the defensive dark figure and having cast them off, she glowed, bolt upright on the pillow.
Blithe prevented herself from laughing by looking away from his smile to his hands lightly clasped together, long white fingers with clean nails. She barely noticed the scar on his knee, but he was still a waif, his body pale and hairless. As his windswept complexion reddened, he finally laughed and stretched out over the bed towards her.
She wrapped them both in her sheets, for a while they lay beneath the covers, legs coiled round legs as the chills faded away, feet rubbing together.
Now warmed, Jamie sat upright on her bed, looking out of the window he was cast in silhouette, his drying hair sticking up from where he had been lying down. His bare chest lean and lithe but strong to the touch.
“Are you enjoying the view or is there something happening out there?” Blithe asked.
“Nothing happening.”
The downpour eased to a burr. Two complete rainbows, one behind the other, faded to the south, to cloud and hill. He peered into the distance, to a spot on the horizon forged by glaciers, where the city stopped, somewhere he had never been, a place never arrived at, driven around and always in the distance. A secure place of no consequence.
She watched as his arms developed goose-pimples. He threw himself down on the bed, stroked her head clumsily and smiled at what he had done, and what her eyes reflected back at him. He sat up again and turned to the window to write.
‘I was here.’
Blithe reclaimed the duvet and, grabbing two corners, wore it like a cloak. She sat up behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder. She cast the duvet over her head and in the dark, she clung against him until she had to roll round and away from his arms.
He took care, when he fell on her he pulled away a little, so the tips of their noses touched. Though she seemed so delicate beneath him, he gave hungry kisses, pulling away to look at her until their tongues moved together in a rhythm that didn’t want to be broken.
She unclipped her bra. He drew his hands through her hair and slid her bra from her arms. He tried to glance at her breasts before his hands covered them, shielding more than feeling. He kissed them with careful reverence before returning to her mouth.
She rolled over and sat up astride him. She looked carefully at the boy with his head on her pillow staring up at her with fear at last appearing in his wide eyes. He held out his arms, wanting her back. She turned behind her and saw his bare legs in the gloom, her eyes picked out the lack of symmetry. She looked back at him and wanted to laugh, you would think from the panic on his face, that he had some pulsating tumour rather than just scarring and a bit of wasting.
She patted his leg reassuringly and fell forward into his outstretched arms.
The rain hit against the window with a soothing tap, the wind groaned from far away. Within her bones, she felt safe.
From the small of her back he pulled her tightly against him, just to feel the delicate curve. He felt her ribs against him - her soft belly tight against his.
The wind and rain rose and fell, rose, and fell. Footsteps hurrying outside, glass smashing into a bottle bank, car horn protesting and engines struggling then exploding. So much fuss and struggle out there.
Lying side by side the loose limbs wriggled together. Her thumbs slid under the elastic of his shorts. He quickly slid them off and lay down over her slowly, examining her face, afraid he would see shock now that her black pants with the silver stars were the only piece of clothing worn between them.
Using her hands and feet she felt the length of him, an uninterrupted swathe of skin.
“Should we be doing this?”
He’d been asking himself this question but had no answer. He worried she’d ask it and, since he had no answer, it was better coming from him. Blithe heard but didn’t think she needed to answer. Instead, she squeezed her body against his and gave a sigh. A lovely deep sigh.
In an instant he rolled on top of her, his hands pinning hers, for a second the whites of her eyes seemed to expand and she tensed. Pushing at his shoulders she was aware, for the first time, how powerless she was beneath him. She gave him a dig in the ribs. He giggled, a gurgling laugh that sounded so odd and out of place that she could only laugh too.
He had to ask the question. If he’d been in any doubt of the answer, he wouldn’t have asked it and he heard himself, despite mental rehearsal exclaim.
“Can-I-shall-I?”
She nodded and rolled over, rested her head on his chest, closed her eyes and breathed him in. From where he lay, her eyes staring back looked huge. Both enthralled at being viewed in such a tender and bewildered way. When he stood up, she was at first inclined to drag him back and keep him there. From her warm position of safety, she watched him pad over to his blazer, while her legs kicked around the surface he’d vacated.
Glowing white in the gloom he crouched to search his pockets. His vulnerability was clear as he threw a quick glance over his shoulder, knowing he was being watched.
He found the condom in his wallet when he checked it a second time. He moved over to sit on the edge of her bed. This was the first time he’d ever needed to use one. For practice, it had been simple but now the need was desperate, he felt the pressure of being watched. When it was on and finally looked right, it felt uncomfortable. He rolled it off and re-applied it. It was comfortable but he worried that in re-applying, it was now inside out – or had it been before?
Blithe lay on her back chewing a smile, not because he was taking a while but because she’d seen him cross the room and decided that erections were funny. She now glanced at the long white body hunched at the end of her bed.
She rolled over. A smile spread across her face that she would not want him to see. She tried to stop smiling and looked up at the ceiling and then back at the figure still hunched at the end of her bed. She burrowed down into the sheets.
It had occurred to her, that he had walked with her, hoping to be repaid in one way or another. Her intuition had offered some reassurance, but the fact remained, he kept following her, all the time pretending it was an obligation not a choice. She had not pursued him in any way.
The taunt that she would fuck anything, was flung at her often enough, but it hadn’t taken hold enough to make her defensive. Only now she wondered whether he believed it. Was that why he was here now? Five minutes ago, she’d wanted him so much it hindered her breathing, but those feelings had quelled. She had the right to change her mind.
She sat up, pulling the covers over her chest protectively. He looked over his shoulder fearfully, and she regretted what she was going to have to say.
“Actually… Can we not?”
His eyes momentarily widened with outrage. His mouth clamped shut. She wore a rictus, tense smile.
“It’s just… my mum’ll be back soon.”
Her shoulders were hunched, her arms tight across her chest though it wasn’t cold. In that pose, he couldn’t believe he would be welcome again in her arms. The strange, slightly smug smile on her face suggested she was laughing at his expense. There was nothing for Jamie to do but gather up his clothes.
“Don’t be…” she began. “It’s not you.”
“It’s alright.”
He was beside her, but his voice was far away. He pulled his shorts and shirt from the pile of clothes and then pulled on the wet trousers and socks with a grimace. His clothes were beside her but he went to great lengths to avoid looking her in the eye.
Blithe tried again,
“See… She could come home any second.”
Entirely unconvinced, Jamie nodded and picked up his bag.
“I’d better be getting on anyway.”
He looked at her properly. He wanted to know whether he had done something wrong, if he had taken too long, if there was something wrong with his body. He could ask but thought that if an answer came it wouldn’t be honest, just painful.
Blithe didn’t see him to the door. Alone, he found the lobby eerily silent. He walked slowly past the lift and opened the heavy doors into the back stairs. He paused and sat on the steps. He was in a cold unwelcoming world compared to where he had been ten minutes ago.
The memory made him shiver. He hadn’t felt naked but, in a delayed reaction, he recalled feeling it. He stood up and dropped a copper coin down the stairwell, not moving until he heard it slam onto the tiles on the ground floor. Jamie sorrowfully descended the stairs, though his limp clearly earned him a place in the lift. It seemed necessary to sneak out.
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