A Song of Sixpence (32 page)

‘Thank you, Nora,' I stammered. This idiotic remark, which may have sprung from my subconscious as an appreciation of her performance, sounded so pointless that I flushed. To my relief, she did not appear to notice.

The two bicycles were in the basement cellar. We wheeled them out through the yard and set off.

Miss Donohue's machine, an old model with high handlebars and a fixed low gear that had no free wheel, made me work hard. I had to pedal twice as fast as Nora to keep up with her. Going downhill she would dart ahead and turn round to mock me as, perched on the high saddle with my feet on the front fork and the pedals spinning wildly, I rattled behind her. I felt sure Miss D. hadn't used the machine for ages. But the exercise was just what I wanted, the roads had a Sunday freedom from traffic, and the open country, already tender with the green of spring, was a sheer intoxication. The hawthorn was bursting into bloom, I sniffed the sweet perfume as we swept past. In the meadows lambs were bleating after their mothers. Primroses and cowslips were already showing under the hedges. When we came to the Loch, winding along the lovely curving shore, Nora began to caper on the bike.

‘Look, Laurence, no hands.'

Then she started to sing. It was not Hetty King's song but one rather like it, beginning:

You called me baby doll a year ago,
You told me I was very nice to know.

This violation of the Sunday stillness had an unaccountable effect on me. I liked it until suddenly it made me remember that Nora had not been to church that morning and that I was undoubtedly to blame for this omission. I pedalled up to her and exclaimed in consternation:

‘Nora, you didn't get out to Mass this morning. And the way I rushed you off, it's all my fault.'

She stopped singing.

‘Yes, Laurence,' she said gravely. ‘That's a bad sin on your conscience. I didn't want to bring it up on you, but it's been worrying me a lot.'

‘Why didn't you stop me, Nora? I'd have gone out with you to the Jesuits, on Craig Street. It's my favourite church.'

‘You didn't give me a chance, man. You had me on the bike and out of the city before I rightly knew what day it was or where I was.'

‘Oh, dear,' I mourned. ‘ I'm terribly sorry, Nora.'

‘Well, don't upset yourself, my lad. Maybe it's not mortal, and if it is, there's some I've heard of that are a lot worse.'

As she spoke she jumped off her bike. We had reached a quiet cove with a pebbled beach on which a small dinghy lay moored to a stake by a rusty chain. Some fifty yards offshore a curious yet inviting white-painted structure with windows and a door that in miniature exactly fulfilled my conception of Noah's Ark floated gently at anchor. It was the houseboat.

Nora took a key from her bicycle satchel and unlocked the padlock on the dinghy's chain. We pushed off and, each taking an oar, rowed to the houseboat. Inside it was exactly like a little house, with a bedroom, a sort of lounge that was the sitting-room, and a kitchen fitted with a metal stove. It was also in a state of extreme disorder, the bed unmade, newspapers and dishes cluttering the table, an empty bottle lying on the floor.

‘A bit of a mess,' Nora said, looking round and wrinkling her nose. ‘ Well, never mind, that's not our problem. What would you say to a bathe?'

‘I'd love it,' I said, longingly, for I was hot and dusty. ‘But I've no pants.'

‘Who's to see you?' she answered coolly. ‘I'll not look and even if I did, aren't I your cousin? Go in off the top deck. But mind you, it'll be cold.'

A ladder staircase led to the top deck, which was flat, surrounded by an ornamental balustrade. Woods enclosed the cove on two sides and, beyond, the lake shimmered in the sun. In the distance the Ben was bluer than the sky. I threw off my clothes and, still dubious of my total nudity, hurriedly dived in.

The shock of the snow-fed water was breathtaking. I came up gasping, but as I struck out my circulation came back to me with an exhilarating rush. I had been swimming for some time when an unexpected splash made me swivel round. My unpredictable cousin had joined me in the lake. Impossible to discern whether or not she had on a bathing-suit. Only her head was visible as, with a fast breast stroke, she bore down upon me. But the thought that, myself, she might be in a state of nature stung me. I took off like a frightened trout, making instinctively for the shore. But she had anticipated this and cut me off. I turned. She followed, a maddeningly persistent mermaid. Only with an effort that left me gasping did I reach the opposite side of the houseboat and haul myself out to safety.

A towel had been placed beside my clothes. I rubbed myself down and got into them like lightning. Five minutes later she appeared, dripping, shaking water from her hair and, to my immense relief, adequately covered.

‘Why didn't you stay and let me duck you? Really, Laurie, you're so shy, it's painful. Don't be so serious, man. Let yourself go. You're far too nice to be a stick. Do you know what? I took a wee peep at you in your birthday suit and, to put it mildly and not to swell your head, you've nothing to be ashamed of.'

‘But, Nora, I only thought …'

‘You think too much. That's just your trouble. Anyhow, I'm too hungry to argue, we both need something to eat.'

‘If you've anything to cook …' I muttered helpfully. ‘I could light the stove …'

‘When you know me better, and I hope you will, you'll discover I hate cooking … about as much as I hate sandwiches. In any case, there's nothing to eat on this tub but tins of sardines and mouldy abernethy biscuits.'

I started to tell her that these would do, but she had already started below, saying:

‘I'll be ready in a tick. Then I'll tell you what's on the cards.'

She was not long in coming back. Then we got into the dinghy and under her directions I rowed about half a mile up the lake and into another bay where, on the shore road, there was an inn with the sign:
Inchmurren Arms. John Rennie, Proprietor.
We disembarked at a little wooden jetty. Here I hesitated. Truth must be spoken.

‘Nora … I've no money.'

‘What!' She affected an exaggerated surprise. ‘Not even a round O for Paddy Murphy? Then we're stuck.'

As I reddened she burst out laughing.

‘Don't worry, dear Laurence, this is my treat.'

Nora was apparently a fairly regular customer, the pub-keeper knew her at once and shook hands with her.

‘Mr Donohue not with you today, miss?' He then gave me a long stare followed by a dismissive turn of his head, and said: ‘There's chicken, roast beef or boiled mutton with apple dumpling or curds and cream to follow. You'll have the Snug to yourselves.' As a kind of afterthought, he added: ‘The wife will be sorry to miss you. She's down the village at the daughter's.'

The Snug was not a particularly good room, the table covered with oilcloth, and spittoons on the sanded floor. A sad stuffed pike in a glass case swam over the mantelpiece. But the food, when it came, was the best country fare. We had the roast beef, thick slices pink in the middle and charred at the edges, with floury potatoes and greens. With this Nora ordered a glass of beer. I took lemonade. Then the home-made apple dumpling with lashings of thick fresh cream. I had a second helping. Finally, a round of sound yellow Dunlop cheese was put on the table. Sitting back and finishing her beer while she nibbled a sliver of cheese, my cousin viewed my activities on a much larger wedge with a faint smile.

‘We'll do this again, won't we, man?'

‘Oh, Nora, if only we could … This is all … so perfect.'

‘There's just one thing we need to top it off. Remember the sup of port I gave you in the bar when we were both kids? We'll each have another sup now.'

She got up and went out of the room to fetch it. After a longish time, she came back with a glass in each hand.

‘Rennie tried to keep me talking about horses,' she said. ‘Martin usually gives him a tip.'

At the mention of that name the sweetish port tasted slightly bitter. Even so, it was giving me courage.

‘Nora … Do you come here often with Martin?'

‘Well, occasionally. And with Miss D. too.'

‘I suppose …'—I was developing a way of going round this painful subject—‘it's only natural that you're fond of Martin.'

‘Sometimes I like him a lot. Other times I hate him. I'm out with him now.'

‘I hope you stay out with him.'

‘Why?'

‘Because, if it won't offend you,' the port was helping me, ‘ I'm terribly fond of you myself.'

‘Why should it offend me?'

‘Well,' I muttered deprecatingly, ‘I'm not much, you know, Nora.'

‘For God's sake, man!' She sat up. ‘When will you stop running yourself down? You don't think enough of yourself. If you want to know, I'm liking being with you in a way I never thought I would. Do you hear me? I'm enjoying this every bit as much as you are. You'll see, I mean it. Let's go back to the boat.'

As I got up a delicious euphoria pervaded me, induced by the lunch, the port, and this warm expression of her regard. Decently, under the pretext of discussing horses, Nora had already paid the bill. Outside, as we came through the inn garden, the velvet wallflowers, hot in the sun, distilled their faint delicious fragrance. It was a beautiful still afternoon. We reached the houseboat, tied up the dinghy, and went inside. Nora was looking at me with that faint suggestive smile I had noticed when she drew on her stockings. Yet somehow it had changed. She was no longer mocking me. Instead of mischief in her eyes there was warmth and a strange, sweet, vague allurement. She gave a little laugh.

‘After that gorge, I feel like a nap. Don't you? We could stretch out there.'

Following her gaze I saw that the bed had been made up. She must have done this when she was changing after the swim.

‘But it's such a lovely day, Nora. Wouldn't it be nicer lying on the top deck?'

‘I've tried it.' She gave me a slight endearing grimace. ‘It's awfully hard.'

‘I could take these cushions off the settee.'

‘Well … if you like.' She gave in. ‘ But it's not half as cosy as the bed.'

I gathered all the cushions and carried them up. They were rather knocked about, exuding feathers, but seemed soft enough when I spread them on the deck and we lay down on them. It was blissfully warm. I shut my eyes. Even through my closed lids the sun made a radiance that matched my state of mind.

‘Are you comfortable, Nora?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I never thought of the cushions. That was clever, Laurie. But where are you?'

She stretched out an arm. Still with blind eyes I found her small hand and held it. She began to tickle my palm with the tip of one finger.

‘I'm so happy, Nora. Thank you so much for everything. And especially for being with me.'

‘You're still too far away. Come nearer.'

As I turned on my side her arm encircled my neck. I opened my eyes. Her face was ravishingly close to mine. I could see the blue specks in her dark eyes, the mole on the angle of her cheekbone, so exactly placed it became a beauty spot. A tiny bead of perspiration glinted on her upper lip. Her skin, usually creamy pale, had a slight suffused flush. A strange and scented warmth came from her nearness. It made my heart flutter and miss a beat.

‘Shall I tell you something, Laurie dear?' Then she spoke slowly, with a pause between each word, as though to bring its meaning home to me. ‘I like you very, very much.'

‘And I like you, Nora dear,' I breathed. ‘In fact I absolutely love you with all my heart.'

‘Then love me, dearest Laurie.'

She drew me tightly to her and put her open lips against mine. A great wave of sweetness passed through me. In all my life I could not wish for anything more than this. I felt carried away, out of myself, borne on a stream of the purest most powerful emotion, a feeling so utterly detached from my body that it was like a rapture of the soul.

Alas, poor simpleton, I did not dare presume that my cousin was in pressing need of my assistance. My capacity to cooperate was not in question, heaven knew I had trouble enough steering my way through the devious paths of puberty. But Nora was to me mysterious, exceptional, almost angelic. Not only would I have died rather than offend her, my exalted mood restrained me from the earthy fumblings of an act which then seemed a sordid and indecent business. Was I an utter ass, a prig perhaps, or simply a soft, inexperienced, idealistic youth? Do I merit the contempt of the present generation of knowing adolescents who set out on such excursions with bored assurance and a pocketful of contraceptives? And would I, in fact, have sustained my seraphic attitude to the end? Whether or not, at least I am now spared the obligation of providing my history with that most banal of all performances, the loss of a youthful virginity, for as we lay together, blissfully, breathlessly, in each other's arms, there came a loud arresting shout from the shore.

‘Miss Nora, I've brought you some flowers to take home.'

‘Oh, God,' Nora groaned. ‘It's Mrs Rennie from the inn, blast her.'

‘Some for you and some for Miss Donohue,' came from the beach again, and turning on my elbow I saw a stout little woman waving masses of daffodils at us.

‘I'll go for them,' I said.

‘No, stay here. Don't move an inch. I'll get rid of her and be back in no time at all.'

She got up, though with reluctance, shook back her hair, and a moment later I heard the splash of the dinghy's oars. Presently the sound of amicable greetings, of voices in conversation drifted over the lake. Mrs Rennie was a talker and less easy to get rid of than Nora had hoped. How wide the sky was, and how drowsy the slow lapping of the lake. I began to feel that I was floating dreamily through the clouds, floating more and more dreamily until, in the end, the long bicycle run, the stupendous lunch, the port, and the hot sun had their way with me. To my everlasting shame, I fell asleep.