Death in Brunswick by Boyd Oxlade Page A

.’
    â€˜Ah, Soph, come on—I never…’ He took her arms. ‘Sophie, listen, I really, really like you.’
    But he had to laugh.
    â€˜What are you laughing at, Carl, just get stuffed!’
    He pulled her back on the couch.
    â€˜Ah, Sophie, calm down!’
    She relaxed against him.
    â€˜Do you really like me?’
    â€˜Yeah, I sure do.’
    He hugged her as tightly as he could. He slipped his hand between her legs.
    â€˜Come on, Soph, we haven’t got much time.’
    She sighed and held his penis again.
    They lay facing each other and he pushed slowly into her. She moved with him. He gazed over her shoulder, his mind a blank as the inexorable rhythm built up. It seemed to go on for ages. She clutched his back, breathing harshly again.
    â€˜Baby! Please, baby!’
    This time more urgently. He went on and on. Her vagina was looser and the pleasure not so sharp for him. She shook her head, her hair flying in his face, and kissed him clumsily. She hooked one leg round his back—he felt the heavy muscle in her thigh convulse—her cunt seemed to open and close like a great flower and he came with a slow easy pulse.
    He tried to break away but she pulled him to her. Her body was wet and her breast and belly clung to him.
    â€˜You did that time, didn’t you?’
    â€˜Mmm…yeah, I sure did.’
    He felt a stupid pride; he wanted to shout from the windows:
    â€˜I made Sophie come!’
    He lay in contentment. I feel funny—happy! He tried to think of something to worry about—his mother—his job—but nothing happened.
    Sophie shifted uncomfortably.
    â€˜I got to go to the toilet and that, I’m not on the pill, it makes my boobs ache.’
    â€˜Oh right, OK, just wait a bit.’
    He stroked her belly and thighs; they were sticky.
    â€˜No, Carl, I got to go. I had a baby before, you know.’
    â€˜No, I didn’t, what?…what happened?’
    â€˜I told you, I got in trouble at school.’
    â€˜Oh right, yeah.’
    â€˜I had it and Dad made me adopt it. Now he thinks I’m a slut; he’d kill me if it happened again.’
    â€˜Christ, Sophie! This is Australia .’
    â€˜Yeah, but Dad doesn’t know that, he thinks it’s Cyprus and that. The other day he goes, he turns around and he goes, “Sophie, you get in trouble again and make your mother ashamed and I’ll kill you”.’
    â€˜Bloody old prick! Never mind, Soph, I’ll look after you.’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah, but I still have to go.’
    She left the room.
    Poor Soph. I’d like to…to… He didn’t know what. What if she gets pregnant? Well, she could get an abortion, for Christ’s sake. Anyway, she knows what to do. He heard running water again and the toilet flush. He lay back and smoked a cigarette.
    The icons gazed down on him with approval. He raised a finger to Sophie’s father; the old peasant looked back with impotent rage.
    Bloody Greeks! I’ll leave that place tonight, bugger it, and I’ll get a proper job with lots of money and I’ll stop drinking so much and taking stoppers and that and…I can’t wait for Mother to snuff it, I must make some money, then I could…I could take Sophie out, yeah.
    He sighed and stretched himself; he could smell his sweat. Shit, I need a shower.
    Sophie came back. She had a short towel wound tightly round above her breasts. She stooped and picked up her clothes, her bottom appearing distractingly. He reached for her.
    â€˜Hey, come on, Carl, it’s getting late.’
    Her body was damp and cool. She stroked his neck and pushed him away, repeating,
    â€˜It’s getting late, you better get dressed, I got to clean up.’
    â€˜Shit, why? I don’t give a fuck if I’m late, bugger them! Come here!’
    â€˜No, Carl—come on, Con’ll be back soon and if he sees you he’ll go, “I’ll tell Uncle