The Boy I Love (13 page)

‘It's all right. I don't mind.'

He smiled, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently. ‘Try to wake me, next time it happens. Give me a good kick.' Still holding her hand he stood up. ‘Shall we have an early night?'

Paul stared at the bedroom ceiling and lit a cigarette. Beside him Margot snored quietly, soft little rasps of breath that made him feel protective of her. A moment ago he had covered her more snugly with the eiderdown, watching her for a moment to make sure she slept on. He considered getting up and spending the night in the spare room to save her from the horror of his nightmares, but the thought of that monastic, freezing little room filled him with dread. He closed his eyes, torn by his need for the comfort of Margot's presence and the guilt that he might wake her.

They had made love and afterwards she had held on to him, smiling sleepily. She seemed to enjoy sex, although they were both made awkward by the feeling that sleeping together was somehow illicit. That first time, in the room above the pub, he'd conquered his nervousness by losing himself in the kind of foreplay he practised on Adam during those long Sundays spent in bed together before he left for France. It was the kind of sex he liked best: no penetration but slow, engrossed caresses and long, deep kisses, lips and tongue and fingers all intent on one purpose. He could make time stand still that way, he could make the whole world recede until all that was left was touch and taste and he'd press his fingers to Adam's lips so that even the silence would be pure. It only took concentration, a single-minded forgetting.

That first time with Margot had been his first time with any woman and he'd been afraid of hurting her, afraid, too, of his own reactions. In the end it seemed he'd wanted her too badly; after the foreplay, the silent, astonishing exploration of her body and her own shuddering climax, he'd entered her with what seemed too much force against too little resistance and he'd come too quickly. Only afterwards did he think about the baby and for a moment he was swept by a terrible sense of guilt. She would miscarry; the baby couldn't survive such violence. He'd talked himself down from the sickening height of fear, trying to convince himself with rational arguments. Still he remained afraid, and it became another reason why he hadn't made love to his wife again until tonight. And there was Adam, of course, and the pestering voice in his head reminding him of his faithlessness.

He stubbed his cigarette out and rolled over on to his side. Unable to sleep, he remembered what Margot had said about Morgan being with a girl at the dance. He knew he shouldn't be so surprised – it would be normal, sensible even, to put on a front and take a girl dancing. All the same, he felt jealous, a bitter feeling none the less real for being irrational. Patrick Morgan was the one person he could retreat into fantasy with: a strong, gorgeous man uncomplicated by all the disappointments and compromises of reality. In his fantasies Morgan had eyes only for him and never thought of hiding behind a fearful front of heterosexuality. In his fantasy world he believed that Patrick Morgan was invincible, a compelling superstition he'd held since the first day they'd gone on patrol together.

Jenkins had said, ‘You know, Harris, some battalions don't send men out. Not even to inspect the wire.' After a moment he went on, ‘You always go, too. You and Morgan – our own David and Goliath – there must be quite a feeling of comradeship out there, between you and the mighty sergeant.'

Writing a report at the dugout table, Paul made himself look up. ‘What would you know about it?'

‘Nothing, of course, seeing as you keep all the glory for yourself.'

‘Hawkins has ordered I take Sergeant Morgan out on patrol tonight. Why don't you come with us, see how glorious it really is?'

He laughed as though astonished. ‘Would you really want me there, spoiling your fun? Surely you want to be alone with him?' Slyly he added, ‘And I'm sure he feels the same way – he just can't seem to stand to let you out of his sight.'

Morgan had appeared in the doorway then. He looked from Jenkins to him and back again. Jenkins smirked. ‘Well, I'm sure you two have lots to discuss about tonight's jolly. I'll leave you to get on with it in private.'

Paul remembered that Morgan had sat down opposite him and had turned to watch Jenkins step out into the trench. When he seemed certain he was out of earshot, Morgan said gently, ‘Are you all right, sir?'

‘Why shouldn't I be?' For the first time he had met Morgan's gaze directly. Morgan leaned forward and for a surreal moment Paul imagined he was about to kiss him. Instead he picked up a box of matches from the table. ‘May I?' He struck a match, illuminating his face for a second before he lit his cigarette. Paul remembered feeling a sense of melodrama, a sense that he had added to the over-wrought nature of a scene that should have been ordinary, if only for the sake of his own sanity.

Margot shifted beside him, rolling over so that her body nudged his, and he moved away a little. Her belly was hard, the skin stretched too tightly over the life inside it. He expected a tiny fist to break through the thin barrier and punch him. He stubbed the cigarette out and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep.

Chapter Fifteen

‘Y
OU GOING OUT
, H
ETTY
?'

Adjusting her hat in front of the hall mirror, Hetty turned to her father. ‘I'm going for a walk.'

‘Oh?' Joe smiled. ‘Who with?'

‘No one.'

‘No one called Morgan?'

She turned back to the mirror, the ratty little face under the ugly cloche hat. Harshly she said, ‘I'm going for a walk, that's all.'

Joe sat down on the stairs and took a bag of sherbet lemons from his pocket. Holding out the bag to her he said, ‘Here. Save me from eating all these myself.'

‘No, thanks.'

‘No?' He returned the sweets to his pocket. ‘I'll keep them for later then, when you get back.' Looking at her he said, ‘Your Mam said you had to see to the major the other day?'

‘I didn't
see
to him.'

‘Then what did you do?'

Talked, Hetty thought. Laughed and talked. She had never laughed so much with anyone. Sighing she said, ‘I sat with him, that's all.'

‘And then you went for a walk in the park.'

She frowned at him. ‘How did you know?'

‘Mrs Carter saw you.'

‘Nosy old bag. What did she say?'

‘What was there to say?'

‘Nothing. We went for a walk, that's all.'

‘I'll tell you what she said.' He took a sweet from its bag, contemplating it for a moment before popping it into his mouth.

‘She said you were laughing and joking and carrying on like bairns.'

‘We were feeding the ducks.'

‘Well, there's no harm in that.'

‘Why shouldn't he laugh and joke, anyway?'

‘No one's saying he shouldn't.'

‘I can just imagine her tut-tutting, all disapproving, thinking he should be in a home, out of sight so he doesn't offend …' She drew breath and Joe smiled at her.

‘Who does he offend?'

‘You know what I mean.'

Joe took the sweets out again. Shaking the bag a little he peered into it, selecting carefully. ‘He's a handsome lad, though. What happened doesn't stop him being a handsome lad.' He looked up at her. ‘Are you going to see him now?' She coloured and Joe exclaimed. ‘Oh, Hetty, don't. Don't. Don't get involved. It's all right your Mam doing her bit and helping out, she can take it.'

‘Take what?'

‘I don't blame him for getting frustrated, any man would. But it's bad enough your Mam having to put up with it. I don't want him taking it out on you an' all.'

‘He's lonely.'

‘Is he? Well, that's not your worry. And what about his brother? What does he have to say about it?'

She looked at her reflection. ‘He doesn't say anything.'

Carefully Joe said, ‘Are you trying to make him jealous?'

‘No!' She turned on him. ‘That would be a terrible thing to do.'

‘Yes. It would.'

Hetty laughed bleakly. ‘Nothing would make him jealous anyway. He looks right through me.'

‘Hetty …' He sighed. ‘Have you thought about going back to Marshall's? You liked it there.'

‘I like it where I am.' She took her coat from the hook. ‘I'll see you later.'

In the shop Patrick had said, ‘Mick enjoyed going to the park yesterday. Thank you for taking him out.'

‘It was no trouble.'

‘It was very kind of you. He tells me you're going to visit him again?'

‘On Sunday.'

He'd smiled as though relieved. ‘He's looking forward to it.'

Unable to stop herself she said, ‘You don't mind, do you?'

‘Mind?' He'd laughed. ‘I'm pleased. He thinks a lot of you.'

Now outside the Morgan's front gate, she hesitated. She could go home and tomorrow she could apply to Marshall's for her old job; she could decide never to see either of the Morgan brothers again and it would be sensible and easy, like loosening a too-tight corset. The Chinese lion grinned at her. Sighing, she walked up the path to the door.

Nervously Mick said, ‘You are going out, aren't you?'

‘I thought I'd play gooseberry.'

‘For God's sake, Pat!'

Patrick laughed. ‘I'm joking. Don't worry, I'm going to the pub. You and Hetty can have the house to yourselves.'

‘Perhaps she's expecting you to be here.'

‘She's coming to see you, Mick. She won't want me hanging around.'

‘Won't she?'

Patrick sighed. ‘Well, if she does and I'm not perhaps she'll get the message.'

‘Maybe you should stay. It's not seemly, is it? A young girl alone with a man …'

The knock on the door made them both jump. Patrick smiled at Mick reassuringly. ‘I'll go and let her in.'

Lying on the bed Adam watched as Paul took off his trousers and folded them over the back of the chair. ‘God, I've missed you.'

Paul glanced at him. ‘Aren't you getting undressed?'

‘Not yet, I like seeing you naked when I'm still fully dressed.'

‘Really?' Unbuttoning his shirt Paul said, ‘Get undressed, eh? We haven't got long.'

‘And you want to get straight down to it? Christ.' Adam sat on the edge of the bed and began untying his shoelaces. ‘Very romantic.'

Naked, Paul climbed beneath the bedcovers. The sheets felt damp and smelt of sex. Unable to help himself he thought about Margot. She would be in church now, listening to her father's sermon. Afterwards, Daniel would tell her again how worthless her husband was. Later still, as he sat opposite him at lunch, the Reverend would make a point of cross-examining him about his prospects as a teacher or ask how much nearer he was to finding a decent place to live. All the time he would look at him as though he was some sub-species of human, an offence to nature. Paul covered his face with his hands, desperate for a cigarette.

Adam knelt beside him. Lifting his hands away he kissed Paul's mouth lightly. ‘I have missed you.'

‘I know, I miss you too.'

‘Do you?' He laughed slightly, sitting back on his heels to look at him.

‘Yes. Look, Adam, do you mind if I smoke?' Paul got up and went through his jacket pockets for his cigarettes.

Adam said, ‘What's the matter?'

‘Nothing.' He exhaled smoke, looking down at the tip of the cigarette. ‘Lunch with Margot's parents.'

‘Oh. Well, do you have to think about it now?' Adam lay down and held out his arms. ‘Come here. Let's have you thinking about something more entertaining.'

Paul lay down and rested his head on Adam's chest. He felt Adam's fingers curl into his hair and begin to massage his scalp. Paul closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his touch. Instead he saw himself facing Whittaker across the vicarage table. He drew deeply on the cigarette.

‘Get up.' Adam pushed him away. ‘There's ash all over the bed, all over
me.
' Grasping Paul's wrist he frowned. ‘You're shaking. What's the matter with you? It's lunch with your in-laws, not some dawn raid! For Christ's sake, Paul, grow up.'

Paul got up and began to dress. Aware of Adam watching him he said, ‘The sheets need changing.'

‘So you're going home in a sulk?'

‘I don't think either of us are in the mood now, are we?'

‘Come back to bed.'

‘They're expecting me there at one o'clock.'

‘Then we have a couple of hours. Please, Paul. I've waited all week for this.' Adam held out his hand. ‘I just want to hold you. You can smoke all over me if it helps.'

Half-dressed, Paul lay down beside him. ‘Whittaker really hates my guts.'

‘You got his daughter pregnant, Paul.'

‘And I married her.'

‘Shotgun weddings tend to be a bit embarrassing, especially if the bride's father is a vicar.' Adam squeezed his hand. ‘He'll get over it. And if he doesn't, so what? You don't
have
to go there for lunch.' He pulled Paul into his arms and kissed him. After a moment he took the cigarette from him and stubbed it out before rolling him over on to his front. Paul was still wearing his shirt and Adam pushed it up, exposing his backside. Paul heard him sigh and felt his lips on the base of his spine. He closed his eyes as Adam entered him, counting the strokes until he climaxed.

Adam fell on to his back, breathing heavily. Finding Paul's hand he kissed it. ‘Sorry. Sometimes all you need is a quick, hard fuck.' He looked at him, smiling. ‘Not shaky any more?'

‘I shake all the time.'

He laughed. ‘No you don't. You're over all that now.'

Paul lay on his stomach. He went over the process of dressing, of going out into the street and walking to the church. In the graveyard Margot would come out to meet him, kissing his cheek and taking his hand while her father glowered and her mother smiled. Her parents should unite against him and have done with it, but they had taken sides, making it worse.

Feeling Adam's hand on his back he rolled away and got up.

‘What are you doing now? Don't rush off. I want to make love to you.'

‘You just did.'

‘Not properly …'

‘It felt properly to me.' On impulse he said, ‘Do you want to go for a drink?'

Adam laughed, astonished. ‘A drink? Where?'

‘The Castle and Anchor's closest.' He thought of Patrick. He might be waiting for him at the bar at this moment. Tempting fate, he decided to press Adam into going with him. ‘Come on, just one pint.'

‘The Castle and Anchor's a dive. We can't go in there.'

‘Why not?' Paul looked at him from buttoning his flies. ‘Why shouldn't we go in there?'

Adam shook his head. ‘We'll get such a warm welcome, won't we?'

‘It's not stamped on our foreheads, Adam.'

‘Isn't it?'

‘I'll go on my own.'

‘Do that. The smoke in those places brings on my asthma.'

Dressed, Paul leaned over the bed and kissed him.

Adam caught his wrist. ‘Try and come back tonight?'

‘I'll try.'

Patrick had always liked the look of the Castle & Anchor public house. He liked the way its double doors straddled the corner of Tanner Street and Skinner Street, its shape like the prow of a ship sailing out over a cobbled sea. He liked the gothic script etched into its opaque windows:
Fine Wines & Spirits. Snug & Private Rooms.
Snug. He liked that word best.

Patrick crossed Tanner Street, glancing at Hetty's house as he passed by. He thought of the photograph of the dead boy on their mantelpiece and tried to remember what he had looked like. Something like Hetty, he supposed.

Before he reached the pub he could hear the piano playing. As he pushed the door open the playing stopped and into the sudden silence a voice called, ‘It's the big man himself! On your own today, Patrick?'

Patrick nodded at the group of men playing dominoes. The one who had spoken said, ‘The major's all right is he? It's marvellous how you cope with him.'

The others nodded, their eyes fixed on their game. One of them looked up briefly. ‘You're a saint, Patrick. Not many would do what you do … Oh, look at that! I'm knocking.'

The first man laughed. ‘And I've won. There. Another game?'

The dominoes were turned over and shuffled; the piano started up again. Patrick imagined taking a couple of heads in each hand and banging them all together. The din from the piano would drown out the cracking of thick skulls.

At the bar a pint was already pulled and waiting for him. Maria smiled. ‘All right, Patrick?'

He made to get his money out but she shook her head. ‘Already paid for.'

To his right a voice said, ‘Patrick. Hello again.' Paul smiled at him. ‘Did I give you a start? I'm sorry.'

Patrick exhaled sharply. ‘Sir …'

Paul took a cigarette case from his pocket. He opened it and held it out. ‘I really did startle you, didn't I?' As Patrick took a cigarette Paul said, ‘Do you want to sit down?' He caught his eye, holding his gaze for what seemed like an age before Patrick broke away. Patrick picked up his drink and carried it to an empty table.

Sitting opposite Paul took a long drink from his own pint. Lighting a cigarette he said, ‘So, this is your local?'

‘Yes.'

Paul looked around. ‘It's different from The Grand Hotel, anyway.' He blew smoke down his nose. ‘How's your brother?'

‘He's fine.'

‘Did he enjoy himself at New Year?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

‘Good.' He took another long drink, almost draining his glass.

Patrick stood up at once. ‘Let me get you another.'

‘Thanks. I'll have the same again.'

Maria raised her eyebrows in Paul's direction. ‘Who's that, then?'

‘One of the officers I served with.' So she wouldn't notice the tremble in his hands Patrick gripped the edge of the bar, turning his knuckles white. When he'd seen Paul he'd thought his knees would buckle, that he'd collapse on the floor. His heart was pounding even now.

Maria was smiling at him quizzically. ‘An officer, eh? I thought he sounded posh. Slumming it, is he?'

‘Something like that.' Fumbling with the coins he paid her quickly and carried the two pints back to the table, slopping beer over his shoes. He sat down, watching as Paul took another long drink. Nervously he said, ‘It's strong stuff, the beer they serve here.'

Putting his glass down Paul said, ‘Isn't it?'

‘You should go easy.'

Paul lit another cigarette. ‘Was that your fiancée, the girl you were with at New Year?'

‘No. She works for me.' Patrick voice quavered and he cleared his throat. ‘I have my own butcher's shop. It's on the High Street.'

‘I know – Morgan's, the butcher's with the happy pig in the window.'