place he feared more than anywhere else. The situation had ballooned out of his control. Everything was fucked.
Fucked up bad.
He got back to his flat with Lucy around two-thirty a.m. They’d left the others at a club, and had grabbed a cab. Against his advice, she’d shared a pill with Becky earlier on in the evening. James had switched instead to Red Bull and vodka just to keep up, which had had the dual effect of keeping him peaked but now leaving him too wired to contemplate sleep. Lucy was still wide awake and buzzing.
James hated pills. Hadn’t done them for years, not since he’d been a teenager. He hated them because you never knew what you were paying for. You never knew what they might do.
The red-headed girl. . . he saw her again. . . he blinked and pushed the memory of her deep back down.
‘Come here, babe,’ said Lucy, dropping her coat on to the arm of the sofa.
He walked up to her and she pushed him back on to the sofa. He took her hands and pulled her down hard, so that she ended up sitting astride his waist. For a moment, he just stared into her eyes. Then she closed them and leant forward and they kissed. His eyes remained open, watching her face as their tongues intertwined and his hands instinctively stroked her thighs and slid beneath her skirt.
He knew what he should be thinking. That she was beautiful. That he was lucky she’d chosen to come home with him and not someone else. He should have been grateful that she’d waited for him while he’d been away, hadn’t jumped lazily on to the first easy offer going.
But her facial features were becoming blurred. It wasn’t her he was thinking about at all, even though he’d been thinking about having sex with her from the moment he’d seen her walk into Faust earlier that night. Fantasy was taking over. Another time in another place with another person was filling his vision. A situation that should have been, but never was. Another girl. . . not the redhead. . . someone else. . . someone he wanted to remember. . . Suzie. . . a dark-haired girl he’d once loved.
Lucy’s thighs locked on to his and her tongue pushed deeper into his mouth. He reacted, started to unfasten her shirt.
Then she was on her feet, walking through to the bedroom, threading her arms free from the shirt, letting it slide to the floor. Now crooking her arms behind her back, unfastening her bra, dropping that as well, halting briefly to kick her shoes free. He followed, stripping down himself, adding his own clothes to the trail she’d left behind.
She was naked by the time he reached the bed, lying on her back, her eyes open, dilated, her breath coming fast, coming deep, wanting him like he wanted her. He pulled his shorts off and lay down beside her. Their limbs became a hungry tangle. They writhed.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered, kissing his way down her body.
But again, he wasn’t thinking of her.
The bedside lamp cast her skin golden, like pale evening sunlight on sand.
He shut his eyes.
Suzie. . .
So long ago now. So far away. Might not even be alive. Maybe not even living in Grancombe any more. Perhaps did what she said she would one day: left and travelled. Maybe Surfers’ Turf went bust, left her with nothing to come back to.
Lucy was on top of him, riding him now, moaning. But it was Suzie he wanted. Here with him now. . . Now. . . Another chance. . .
I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much. . .
Lucy cried out, bucking, as she clawed her nails across his chest. He shivered as he started to come.
Later, in the dark, he listened to Lucy breathing beside him. He glanced at the bedside clock and dread crawled across him before he remembered that tomorrow was the weekend. He rolled across the mattress and waved the red eye of the spliff he’d been smoking over the bedside table until its reflection winked back from the glass ashtray. He stubbed it out and stayed there, propped up on his elbow, stoned and confused and guilty all at
Fucked up bad.
He got back to his flat with Lucy around two-thirty a.m. They’d left the others at a club, and had grabbed a cab. Against his advice, she’d shared a pill with Becky earlier on in the evening. James had switched instead to Red Bull and vodka just to keep up, which had had the dual effect of keeping him peaked but now leaving him too wired to contemplate sleep. Lucy was still wide awake and buzzing.
James hated pills. Hadn’t done them for years, not since he’d been a teenager. He hated them because you never knew what you were paying for. You never knew what they might do.
The red-headed girl. . . he saw her again. . . he blinked and pushed the memory of her deep back down.
‘Come here, babe,’ said Lucy, dropping her coat on to the arm of the sofa.
He walked up to her and she pushed him back on to the sofa. He took her hands and pulled her down hard, so that she ended up sitting astride his waist. For a moment, he just stared into her eyes. Then she closed them and leant forward and they kissed. His eyes remained open, watching her face as their tongues intertwined and his hands instinctively stroked her thighs and slid beneath her skirt.
He knew what he should be thinking. That she was beautiful. That he was lucky she’d chosen to come home with him and not someone else. He should have been grateful that she’d waited for him while he’d been away, hadn’t jumped lazily on to the first easy offer going.
But her facial features were becoming blurred. It wasn’t her he was thinking about at all, even though he’d been thinking about having sex with her from the moment he’d seen her walk into Faust earlier that night. Fantasy was taking over. Another time in another place with another person was filling his vision. A situation that should have been, but never was. Another girl. . . not the redhead. . . someone else. . . someone he wanted to remember. . . Suzie. . . a dark-haired girl he’d once loved.
Lucy’s thighs locked on to his and her tongue pushed deeper into his mouth. He reacted, started to unfasten her shirt.
Then she was on her feet, walking through to the bedroom, threading her arms free from the shirt, letting it slide to the floor. Now crooking her arms behind her back, unfastening her bra, dropping that as well, halting briefly to kick her shoes free. He followed, stripping down himself, adding his own clothes to the trail she’d left behind.
She was naked by the time he reached the bed, lying on her back, her eyes open, dilated, her breath coming fast, coming deep, wanting him like he wanted her. He pulled his shorts off and lay down beside her. Their limbs became a hungry tangle. They writhed.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered, kissing his way down her body.
But again, he wasn’t thinking of her.
The bedside lamp cast her skin golden, like pale evening sunlight on sand.
He shut his eyes.
Suzie. . .
So long ago now. So far away. Might not even be alive. Maybe not even living in Grancombe any more. Perhaps did what she said she would one day: left and travelled. Maybe Surfers’ Turf went bust, left her with nothing to come back to.
Lucy was on top of him, riding him now, moaning. But it was Suzie he wanted. Here with him now. . . Now. . . Another chance. . .
I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much. . .
Lucy cried out, bucking, as she clawed her nails across his chest. He shivered as he started to come.
Later, in the dark, he listened to Lucy breathing beside him. He glanced at the bedside clock and dread crawled across him before he remembered that tomorrow was the weekend. He rolled across the mattress and waved the red eye of the spliff he’d been smoking over the bedside table until its reflection winked back from the glass ashtray. He stubbed it out and stayed there, propped up on his elbow, stoned and confused and guilty all at
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