Soon he might join Colin in knowledge. Soon he might have something to tell the gang. He felt strong.
They crossed several fences and trudged through several fields to reach the back of his house unseen. In Carsden, secrecy was well-nigh impossible, but Sandy felt that they had done a good job. Though Rian complained, he did not tell her the reason for his furtive actions.
In the garden, they scraped mud from their shoes on to the edge of the path. The garden needed digging, and he promised himself silently that he would put some work into it at the weekend. He opened the door to the kitchen, with his own key which had been made a long time ago without his mother’s knowledge, and, when the door was open, made an extravagant gesture towards Rian. She bowed gracefully and entered. He closed the door behind them.
Now that Rian was in his home, Sandy felt confused. Her aroma was everywhere. It made the house different, made it strange to him. He showed her around like a trainee estate agent. In his room, the last to be investigated, he sat casually on his bed and asked her to sit down. She sat beside him, her hands stretched along her lap. He pecked her cheek. She smiled, but looked apprehensive. She was examining the posters on his walls and his two rows of books.
‘You’ve got a lot of books,’ she said.
His bravado faded like a song that had gone on for too long. He suggested that they go back downstairs for a drink and she readily agreed. As they left the room, Sandy patted his bedspread flat again, erasing the mark of her from it for ever. He was flushed and had assumed a nervous cough.
In the living room they watched television and drank a little whisky, not enough to be visibly missing from the bottle. Rian was entranced by the television screen. She sat close to it, her face turning the rainbow colours of the programmes as she flicked from channel to channel. She stroked the carpet with her free hand as if it were a slumbering cat. Outside it was raining again. They would get soaked going back through the fields. Sandy had closed the curtains. He had turned off the lights. The television was their magic lantern. He put on a small electric fire and Rian shifted close to it. She had her thumb in her mouth now that she had settled on one channel to watch. Sandy sat on the floor beside her, his feelings for the slender girl jumbled but passionate.
‘Rian,’ he said, but she did not answer. ‘Rian.’ This time she grunted, glanced at him, smiled, pecked his cheek, and turned back to the television. He reached behind his back towards the wall and silently dislodged the plug of the television. The picture fizzled and faded from the screen. Only the red of the fire illuminated them in the sudden silence.
‘What’s wrong with it, Sandy?’ Her voice was childlike. ‘Have you done something? You have, haven’t you?’
He looked aghast. ‘Me? I’ve not done anything.’ He pushed a few of the buttons on the television, felt behind the set, frowned, and finally said, ‘It must be the fuse.’ He brought a screwdriver from one of the drawers and, pulling the plug completely out of the socket, began to open the casing. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Can we talk about things?’ He said this as he made his thorough inspection of the plug’s interior. Rian looked on like a spectator at an operation.
‘What things?’ she said slowly, her curiosity shifting.
‘That day down at Kirkcaldy. What you told me. What you said about Robbie. Was that all true? Or were you making it up?’ His eyes were still firmly on the plug. He spoke as if preoccupied. She looked on, never glancing at him.
‘Of course it’s true,’ she said. ‘Why do you say that?’
He shrugged. ‘Just a feeling, that’s all. To tell you the truth,’ now he did look at her, ‘I don’t think Robbie would do that, what you said. That’s why I’m wondering.’ He bent to his work. The screwdriver forced the fuse out from the casing. ‘Ah ha,’ he said. Her face was crimson beside his, her cheeks hot from the fire. She edged closer.
‘Sandy,’ she said, ‘every word was true. I swear to God.’ She made a crude attempt at crossing herself. ‘Every word. Robbie is horrible. You can’t see that, but he is. He doesn’t let you see him as he really is.’ Her words became choked. Tears sharpened in her eyes. As on the sea-wall that day, she did not allow them to fall. She looked at him. ‘Robbie tells men about me. He gets them to give him money, then I have to toss them. You know what that is, don’t you?’ He blushed, nodded, continued to examine the fuse. Inside he was a single pulse. ‘Or else he tells me to go and find men for myself, then I’ve to give him the money. He hits me if I don’t get any money. Sometimes I steal so that I don’t have to do it, but that just makes him think that I’m good at it. Oh, Sandy.’ Although his head was bowed, she could see that he was crying. He wept silently, but his shoulders jerked in spasms. She put her arm around him. He did not know why he was crying — it could even have been jealousy. He had not cried for a long time, perhaps not since his grandmother had died. He hardly knew the meaning of the thing. Rian saw in his tears, in the traces streaked down both cheeks, his humanity. Her own were small things by comparison. ‘Oh, Sandy,’ she said. ‘Why are you crying?’
She might as well have been asking him for his definition of love. He shook his head and sniffed. His nose was running like a baby’s. He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. So much for bravado. So much for the great lover. He was still a fucking virgin baby at heart. He blew his nose angrily. Her hands were on his face. He put his arms around her and slowly pulled her to the floor. They lay still together. Sandy stared at the ceiling while Rian stroked his face and his neck. When she made to sit up he pulled her towards him again and kissed her as forcefully as he could. If he was her boyfriend, then didn’t he deserve it? He drew her in towards him like a twin just before birth. She resisted a little. He rolled over on top of her and, after a moment’s significant eye contact, placed his hand on her tiny breast. She closed her eyes. He moved his hand downwards, watching her face. His hand was as sensitive as the nerve in a tooth. He discovered every ripple in the material of her skirt. His fingers touched her knee. He began to slide his hand upwards again. Her eyes opened like sentries caught napping. She pushed him, rolled away from him, and stood up. She was nearly shouting, her voice a tremor.
‘No, Sandy, not with you, Sandy! I won’t. I won’t.’ She paused, breathing heavily. ‘You have no right.’ She looked away. ‘I don’t mean it like that.’
‘I’ve got some money upstairs if that’s what you mean.’ He thought that a worthy line, like something a film actor would have said. She glared at him and started to walk towards him. He knew, as surely as Robbie had known in the caravan, what was coming. He reeled from her blow. She looked strong now, and vicious. She spat words at him.
‘You can’t talk like that. I won’t let you. You’re just like the rest. You’re like all of them. I hate you.’ She turned, looking for her coat. She had no coat, only his jacket. She walked to the door. He chased after her.
‘Don’t go,’ he said. She stood at the kitchen door, her back to him. ‘I apologise. I didn’t know what I was doing. Please wait. I’ve got a present for you. Will you wait?’ She nodded, her long hair waving. ‘Okay,’ he said.