from Mum, so the money they saved on movies, swimming and the zoo was a secret too. He had no choice but to spend it on ice creams, Mars bars, sherbet – well, no, he didn’t buy that anymore. That was for kids.
He wished he could simply have bought the sex magazine, because that would have proved he looked eighteen, whereas he knew he looked about eleven, a couple of years younger than he really was. Everyone treated him as if he was still in primary school, as if they could keep him sweet with a ticket to The Flintstones . He resented his sister for having become a sexual being so effortlessly: it was so easy for girls – sex just fell into their lap, didn’t it? She didn’t have to steal magazines of naked girls, that’s for sure: she could be a naked girl herself, just by taking her clothes off. And she could have sex, which was more than he’d probably ever do, what with his big stick-out ears and puny body.
‘ There you are!’
He froze, rigid with panic, but it wasn’t the newsagent lady collaring him, it was Christine.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, his voice husky with nerves (or was it breaking at last?).
‘Come outside,’ she hissed at him, not angrily, but with urgency.
He obeyed, the magazine’s hard spine and sharp feathery pages chafing his thighs as he walked. There was a public toilet behind the library with a big green door that shut with a latch. Whatever Christine wanted, she had better not delay him getting there.
‘You’ve got to come with me,’ she said.
‘Come with you? What for?’ He couldn’t imagine being allowed into the house where the sex was had. Maybe she’d ask him to sit quietly in another room. No way!
‘I thought I could go through it alone,’ she said. ‘But I’m scared.’ Scott noticed suddenly that she was pale and had bags under her eyes.
He fell into step beside her; they were walking in the opposite direction from where her boyfriend lived. The magazine inside his trousers was starting to warm up and the way it pressed against the bulb-like genitals in his tight Thunderbirds briefs felt very good. He hoped the girls in the magazine wouldn’t have anything obscuring the view between their legs, the way the naked girls in the Sunday Sport always did.
He looked up at his sister again as they walked, and this time he noticed that she didn’t have as much make-up on as usual and that she wasn’t wearing one of her ‘cleavage’ tops but a loose white jumper.
‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re there.’
They had arrived at an ugly single-storey house with a large car-park and a plaque on the door. Inside, there was a sort of a waiting room and a sort of a secretary who told Christine to take a seat. There was no one else waiting.
‘What are we doing here?’ whispered Scott to his sister, who had gone the same colour as the telephones.
‘I’m going to have an operation,’ she told him. ‘Just a little one.’
‘An operation?’ Scott leaned forward in disbelief, the magazine digging into his flesh. ‘Why isn’t Mum here?’
‘Mum mustn’t know about this. She’d worry herself to death. You know – because of Aunt Marian and Aunt Annie and Uncle Frank and Grandma and Grandpa.’
Scott swallowed hard. These were all people who had diedof cancer, some of them at a young age. Mum was always anxious about her own health, countering Christine’s pleas for greater freedom with her own plea that she needed a bit of looking after, that she might have a time bomb inside of her, waiting to go off.
‘Is it cancer?’ whispered Scott.
‘Not exactly,’ said Christine, looking down at the hands clasped in her lap. ‘It’s a kind of … growth. The doctor says he can take it out and it’ll never come back. But you know Mum would never believe that.’
They both sat back, a skin of anxiety forming over their conversation, holding the words under. The waiting room wasn’t like any doctor’s waiting room Scott had ever been in
He wished he could simply have bought the sex magazine, because that would have proved he looked eighteen, whereas he knew he looked about eleven, a couple of years younger than he really was. Everyone treated him as if he was still in primary school, as if they could keep him sweet with a ticket to The Flintstones . He resented his sister for having become a sexual being so effortlessly: it was so easy for girls – sex just fell into their lap, didn’t it? She didn’t have to steal magazines of naked girls, that’s for sure: she could be a naked girl herself, just by taking her clothes off. And she could have sex, which was more than he’d probably ever do, what with his big stick-out ears and puny body.
‘ There you are!’
He froze, rigid with panic, but it wasn’t the newsagent lady collaring him, it was Christine.
‘What are you doing here?’ he said, his voice husky with nerves (or was it breaking at last?).
‘Come outside,’ she hissed at him, not angrily, but with urgency.
He obeyed, the magazine’s hard spine and sharp feathery pages chafing his thighs as he walked. There was a public toilet behind the library with a big green door that shut with a latch. Whatever Christine wanted, she had better not delay him getting there.
‘You’ve got to come with me,’ she said.
‘Come with you? What for?’ He couldn’t imagine being allowed into the house where the sex was had. Maybe she’d ask him to sit quietly in another room. No way!
‘I thought I could go through it alone,’ she said. ‘But I’m scared.’ Scott noticed suddenly that she was pale and had bags under her eyes.
He fell into step beside her; they were walking in the opposite direction from where her boyfriend lived. The magazine inside his trousers was starting to warm up and the way it pressed against the bulb-like genitals in his tight Thunderbirds briefs felt very good. He hoped the girls in the magazine wouldn’t have anything obscuring the view between their legs, the way the naked girls in the Sunday Sport always did.
He looked up at his sister again as they walked, and this time he noticed that she didn’t have as much make-up on as usual and that she wasn’t wearing one of her ‘cleavage’ tops but a loose white jumper.
‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re there.’
They had arrived at an ugly single-storey house with a large car-park and a plaque on the door. Inside, there was a sort of a waiting room and a sort of a secretary who told Christine to take a seat. There was no one else waiting.
‘What are we doing here?’ whispered Scott to his sister, who had gone the same colour as the telephones.
‘I’m going to have an operation,’ she told him. ‘Just a little one.’
‘An operation?’ Scott leaned forward in disbelief, the magazine digging into his flesh. ‘Why isn’t Mum here?’
‘Mum mustn’t know about this. She’d worry herself to death. You know – because of Aunt Marian and Aunt Annie and Uncle Frank and Grandma and Grandpa.’
Scott swallowed hard. These were all people who had diedof cancer, some of them at a young age. Mum was always anxious about her own health, countering Christine’s pleas for greater freedom with her own plea that she needed a bit of looking after, that she might have a time bomb inside of her, waiting to go off.
‘Is it cancer?’ whispered Scott.
‘Not exactly,’ said Christine, looking down at the hands clasped in her lap. ‘It’s a kind of … growth. The doctor says he can take it out and it’ll never come back. But you know Mum would never believe that.’
They both sat back, a skin of anxiety forming over their conversation, holding the words under. The waiting room wasn’t like any doctor’s waiting room Scott had ever been in
Similar Books
