Lying in Wait(11)

I got quite a surprise when she answered the door. We had both just got out of school, but Helen had found the time to change her clothes, curl her hair (her straight, silky hair was the one thing I really did like about her) and apply make-up. The lipstick was a dark purple and had stained her teeth. Her black leather-look jeans were not tight enough on her bony legs to achieve what I assume was the desired effect (Sandy in Grease). Helen looked like a proper grown-up. I was immediately at a disadvantage. In my tight school blazer, I was still, painfully, a schoolboy.

‘S-sorry,’ I stammered. ‘I didn’t have time to change …’

But Helen was delighted to see me. ‘Come in!’ Her welcome was effusive. Had she worried that I wouldn’t come?

The house reeked of cigarette smoke and was overwhelmingly floral. Rugs, curtains, upholstery, table mats, carpets, cushions and wallpaper. I could have been in the Botanic Gardens. And there were scribbled words everywhere, on walls and mirrors. There were sheaves of paper and books of every size and description on every surface.

‘Oh yeah, my mam’s a poet,’ said Helen by way of explanation. ‘She’s out for the night and my little brothers are staying with Auntie Grace, so we’ve the place to ourselves.’

This information was given casually, but meaningfully. There was now nobody who could stop whatever it was that was going to happen. Judging by Helen’s demeanour, at the very least kissing was definitely going to happen.

‘Is your dad at work?’ I asked, not without a little hope.

‘My dad? I haven’t seen him in years.’

I wondered when The Kissing would begin.

‘We can have dinner now – there’s pizzas I can just throw in the oven. They’re only small. How many do you want?’ She produced a bag of frozen discs from the freezer. I wanted four. No, five.

‘Two, please,’ I said. I was aware that my appetite was a source of great amusement to some, and I had not forgotten the promise of her mother’s cake, though I was slightly concerned there was no sign of it.

‘Have three,’ said Helen, ‘they’re only small.’

I warmed to her now, as she tore the cellophane with her teeth.

‘Do you like gin?’

‘Does your mum let you drink, then?’

‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’

Helen poured us some drinks. I remembered the carnations in my satchel, which I’d left at the front door. I had meant to present them to her on arrival. It seemed to me like the moment had passed. If we were now to drink gin, then The Kissing was imminent and the flowers were no longer necessary.

I knocked back the gin and tonic she had poured for me. I winced at the sharp taste. I then realized why my parents sipped at their alcoholic drinks. Nevertheless, I managed to drink two more gin and tonics in quick succession.

Dinner was pleasant enough, I suppose, though I know I ate four of the pizzas, leaving Helen with one. I recall enquiring after her mother’s cake, and hiding my disappointment on finding myself presented with what I would describe as a sliver of plain sponge cake on a floral plate. Helen poured us more gin. When The Kissing started, I was very pleased. We had sort of inched towards each other on the living-room sofa. Her hand stroked my thigh. I am not sure who started it, but there were teeth and tongues and sucking and slopping noises.

I admit that I quickly became aroused. Helen did not fail to notice, and suggested that we go to her bedroom. I baulked. I hadn’t planned on SEX. Of course, my underpants were clean (Mum was strict about that), but I was sure sex meant getting naked, and even in my drunken state I was not looking forward to displaying my flab. I never did it in school. I regularly forged notes from my mother to the games teacher about my bad knees. My knees would not have been bad if they hadn’t such a huge burden to carry.

After one more very quick drink, we went up two flights of stairs. I stumbled a bit and then decided it would be a great idea to jump the last few steps. By this stage we were howling with laughter, and it was hilarious when I toppled over and twisted my left foot. It was a bit sore and there was quite a gash on my ankle, but I didn’t make a fuss. I wondered how she was going to explain the blood on the stairs to her mother, but she implied that her mother mightn’t notice. I was pretty curious about Helen’s mother.

Then we entered Helen’s room. ‘I changed the sheets this morning,’ she said, as she unbuttoned her grandfather shirt. I turned away to give her privacy, but then realized how silly that was and turned back to face her. She stood before me in nothing but a pair of underpants that featured a tennis racket motif on her hip. I didn’t know she played tennis. Downstairs, I hadn’t dared to squeeze her breasts, and I knew she was thin and I really should have anticipated the reality, but I had expected some breasts. She had definitely had breasts when fully clothed. Where had they gone? Mine were significantly larger than hers, and I immediately felt my physical deflation. I began to feel nauseous and hot.

‘Get in, then!’

She was lying under the covers with her arms behind her head.

‘There isn’t much room,’ I said truthfully.

‘Well, you’re going to be on top, so it’s fine.’ She was very bossy. ‘You’ll have to take your clothes off.’ A pause. ‘I seriously don’t mind about you being fat, you know.’