Tales of Sin & Fury, Part 1 (28 page)

‘You'll have seen it on the stairs. I'll be here when you come back.'

Anthea stood up and sneezed. ‘And I think I've caught a cold.'

8

On Surviving Fatal Accidents

Wednesday 19
^th
December 1990 11.45 am

Beverley's been called to the doctor. Mandy's lying still as though she would break if she moved an inch.

Debs has been staring out of the window for ten minutes. Then she turns and looks at me: ‘Here, what happened next?'

I'm sitting in bed looking at the words of the graffiti and the numbers one, two, three and four written on the wall beside me in worsening scrawl. The words and the numbers are encircled by a tide of wavering spider webs that I've drawn with the blue felt tip pen. I don't feel like answering.

‘Here, you, Karina, I'm talking to you! D'ya think you're invisible?'

‘Sometimes I feel like it.'

If I could slip through the centre of the web. Become everything and nothing. Disappear. Then the pain would dissolve along with me. Not to be is to be everything. Like that Hindustani King said: From now on my body does not belong to me or all the world belongs to me. It was in that book Hayden had at the cottage. I can remember the author's name. Borges. In the centre is nothing, a void. There lies freedom.

‘Wakey, wakey,' says Debs. ‘Come on, tell us some more about your adventures shagging in Greece.'

‘It wasn't all shagging,' I protest. ‘Somewhere through it all I was searching for myself.' Do I really believe that? At least it's true that I was lost.

‘Yeah, yeah,' says Debs. ‘So do us all a favour and get on with the story.' She looks at Mandy, ‘She ain't shy no more, see?'

‘Past caring,' I say. My choice, not your victory.

‘You were sleeping with both blokes,' says Mandy, levering herself up to sitting.

‘You got used to two at a time?' Debs asks me. She plonks herself down on her bed opposite.

‘Not always. Sigurd only ever went down on me when we were alone. His tongue squirming inside drove me crazy.' You want details, you get details.

I remember the fun. One afternoon in the tent after making love, when Joris was in the village, I did Sigurd's long hair into plaits. He put my red towel over his head and did Little Red Riding Hood: ‘Help! Help! Een wolf komt eraan!' He pretended to hide behind my wicker basket. I roared and pulled him out and dropped onto him. There was a kind of squelch and he pretended to be horrified and let out a scream. He let his red riding hood slip and swooned like a maiden in distress. I piled onto him, he gasped like a virgin.

‘He was the greedy one,' says Debs.

I groan. ‘He always wanted double helpings. Copulating like there was no tomorrow.'

‘How come you know all these long words for screwing?' Debs asks.

‘That's education, girl,' says Mandy.

‘Joris was always businesslike,' I remember. ‘No mouths, no breath, poised and impersonal. I liked it with him too. I liked the mole on his back. I liked his confidence as he eased himself inside. But sometimes I wanted to dent his cool. One night after we made love, just the two of us, and he was lying there on his front, blank and unreachable, I pinched him on the arm to get a reaction.

‘He said, “Yes?”

‘I said, “So you are alive?”

‘“Yes,” he said.

‘I said, “Sometimes I wonder.”

‘He said, “Do that again. I like that.”

‘I pinched him again, this time on his shoulder blade.

‘“Yes,” he said, “Do that more.”

‘I started pinching him all over, not hard, but enough to feel. In the falling dark with my fingers and my mouth I pinched his back, his arms, his legs. Then I couldn't resist his buttocks, they felt strong and muscle bound, and I tweaked them hard. I could hear his breathing. When he turned over he was ready to start again, but this time he had a different idea. I couldn't see what was happening, so I didn't realize he was steering it towards my face. That was a first for me, a scary first.'

I still don't want to talk about it. The first I knew was he squeezed my jaw and put his fingers in my mouth, pushing it open. I found myself flat on my back with him on his knees above my face, leaning over me, and the next thing I knew he was feeding it in between my lips little by little. I tensed up, I started shaking. He was sighing quietly. He said, “Come, baby, that will not hurt you.” By then my jaw was wedged open and my mouth was full. Even thinking about it now, it feels peculiar.

‘That was your first time? You was a late developer,' says Mandy.

‘I don't like that stuff. Makes me feel sick,' says Debs.

‘You got to be in the mood, eh, Corinne?' says Mandy. ‘Was you?'

‘I don't know. I remember a salty taste.'

Debs twitches. ‘I think I'm going to puke.'

‘Fat lot of use you'd be as a sex slave,' says Mandy.

After a while the muscles in my jaw started to ache. Through the sleeping bag I could feel the bumps of the sand under my back and one of my feet was sticking out of the tent. But I couldn't see anything. His crotch blotted out the world. And he was getting off on it, I could tell. I'd never known Mr. Smooth Guy with his feathers so ruffled. When he came he took a long time doing it. Afterwards he held me very tight as if he were saying thank you. He shuddered for a while. For a moment there was a crack in his armour. That was the only time.

‘He liked it,' I tell them.

‘Did ya swallow it?' asks Mandy.

‘I didn't want to hurt his feelings.'

‘Ya great softie.'

‘Shut it, you two,' says Debs.

‘Afterwards he turned his back on me. Then he seemed to go out of his way to ignore me completely for a couple of days. As if it hadn't happened. As if he wanted to create a distance again.'

‘Bastard,' says Debs.

‘Men,' says Mandy. ‘They play games. My Dave, one day he'll be all over me and the next he'll do a moody. They like to be in control. I can play along with it, but my little Cheryl, she finds it hard. One minute he's “Who's my girl? Where's Daddy's smile?”, next minute it's “Get that kid out of my way.” Kids need to know where they stand. Not that mine get much chance of that. With me in and out of here all the time. I won't even be with them for Christmas. The little one ain't even old enough to be explained to.' No-one else speaks and Mandy starts crying again. ‘All I can see is the fucking mess I've made of my life.'

Debs crawls out of her bed to sit on Mandy's: ‘It's OK, babes, you'll feel better in a bit.'

‘Go on, Corinne,' says Mandy, sniffing hard, ‘Tell us more about how you made a mess of yours.'

I pull a face. ‘I'm glad it's of use to somebody.' I say. So me telling my misadventures cheers Mandy up. I'm beginning to think it might be cheering me up too. After bottling it up inside for years. People always say, it's better out than in. I always think, it depends what it is. Anyway, I launch back into my story.

‘My life on the Greek island fell apart soon after that. One day I was lying on my own in the little cove further along the beach, with nothing on, like I used to do, and I heard footsteps on the shingle. I sat up quickly and saw an old Greek man coming towards me. His face was burned dark from working in the sun, and he carried a shepherd's staff. He looked like something out of the Bible. When he saw my naked body he stopped rigid as if he had been electrocuted, then he turned and fled.'

Debs giggles, ‘He got an eyeful, then!'

‘It may sound funny,' I say, ‘but to me it wasn't. It was a moment before I realized it was Lefteris' grandfather. He'd recognised me. He was crossing himself as he walked away. For an old man like that, it was an assault on his whole life and his values.'

‘Hark at her,' says Debs. ‘Like you were a saint.'

‘I did what I chose. But no point shocking an old man who's done no-one any harm. His island. His life. He'd probably walked along that beach a hundred times and I'd brought my fucked-up city liberties and thrust them in his face. I felt ashamed. The sun was still shining, the water was still clear as glass, but I felt dirty. I got dressed and walked back over the rocky promontory towards the beach where I'd left Joris and Sigurd. I felt I had blown my last chance ever to be a nice girl. I could pretend to be one, but it's always, “If they knew some of the things I've done.” I'd achieved freedom. But I wasn't sure whether I had soared or sunk to get there. As I got closer to the little tents, I was walking barefoot across the hot sand, I looked at the two lazy sun-tanned figures spread-eagled there, and I wondered whether they really cared about me at all, or me for them.'

‘You know what they say,' says Mandy. ‘Nice girls go to heaven. Bad girls go everywhere.'

I say, ‘Some places you don't want to go'.

‘I remember that night in the tent. Joris had already had his turn and was watching. Sigurd rolled me over on all fours and dived in from behind, as he had done so many times before. He was growling, in no-messing mood, taking it hard and fast. He made no sound as he came but I felt the tension pour out of him and then we crumpled down together onto the sleeping bag. I could feel his breath on my shoulder, panting gently. Then he kissed the back of my neck and rolled off. In minutes they were both asleep. There I was, sodden with sperm, heavy with the aftermath of sex with both of them. On one side the regular slow breathing of Joris, his body unmoving. On the other side Sigurd's more restless slumber, hints of unknown emotions travelling through him with unseen twitches, small sudden movements, and sometimes half-formed sounds in the dark.

‘Then a strange thing happened.

‘I heard my mother calling me.

‘I was lying there between them and I heard her. It was her voice, “Corinne! Corinne!” Just my name, but from a long way away, as if I was in the garden and she was calling me in for my tea. Or for something more serious. “Corinne! Corinne!” It sounded urgent.

I sat bolt upright in the tent and looked around. Everything was black. Her voice stopped, but it had been as clear as a bell. Silence. There was only their breath, and their sleeping shapes, the two men who had befriended me, who knew my body inside out, but hardly knew my name. My mother was calling me. Perhaps she was in trouble. Somebody must be in trouble, her or me. Perhaps it was me. I lay awake for a long time afterwards.

‘In the morning it was my turn to go into the village for supplies. I set off while the sun was still low: there were long lines of golden light cutting across my path and it hadn't really started to get hot. When I got there I bumped into the American boy – Walt – and he told me he was getting the boat to Athens next day. Then he was travelling on across Europe via Germany. On his own? Yes. Would he like a travelling companion? He sure would. I wasn't even aware of making a decision. My legs took me to Lefteris' dad's shop and I bought a ticket for the boat. Luckily a neighbour was minding the store and nobody from the family was there.

‘When I got back to the tents I didn't speak to them about it. They never spoke to me about anything, so why should I? I'd bought us all a treat – Greek yoghurts with cinnamon sprinkled on top. It was still early in the day, so even after the long walk back the creamy mixture was cool on the tongue. They were pleased, they didn't know it was my goodbye present. In the myths they say, beware the Greeks bearing gifts. During the afternoon I gave my sleeping bag a clean and left it to dry in the sun.

‘That night I zipped my tent shut. In the morning when I came out carrying my wicker basket all packed, there was a flicker of response. They seemed surprised. “I'm going now,” I said, pointing to the boat which you could already see, a distant speck out on the water heading our way. Sigurd mimed sobbing and wiped his eyes, then did a headstand. Joris stood up. “Now?” he asked. I nodded. He stood in silence. I looked hard at his face. I stared at his eyes, willing him to look at me. He looked at the boat; he looked at my wicker basket; he looked at my feet; he looked past me along the beach towards the village. Then finally he looked me in the face. His eyes seemed to have cobwebs in them. I tried to reach in with mine like a laser to contact the person behind. He seemed to be struggling with something, as if some thought or feeling had disturbed the level sands of his inner world. Then he said,

“You go now away? You take all the babies, which we not had.”

‘I stared at him. He shifted his sun-tanned frame uncomfortably. Babies? Whoever said anything about babies? That was when I realized why I never came with him. He could have got involved. So could I. And I couldn't risk that again.

‘Out on the blue water the boat was getting bigger. I didn't say any of the things I thought of afterwards. I didn't say “You left Nijmegen because every day was the same but what do you call this?” I didn't say “Life's too precious to spend every day with your eyes shut.” I didn't say “Sorry,” or “Thank you,” or “Fuck you, it's too late now.” I think all I managed was a pathetic “Oh.” He shrugged and turned towards the sea. He strode through the shallow water then dived in like a porpoise and sliced through the water with his sleek crawl.

‘I set off along the beach and I never saw either of them again.'

I've always kept this picture of them in my mind, stretched out flat on their backs in their swimming trunks. Sun bound. Life bound. Creatures of a day.

‘Serve them right,' says Mandy. ‘Leave them to fuck each other. They was using you. All men use you if you give them the chance.'

‘Maybe,' I say. ‘Maybe I was using them too. When I met them I was a wreck. I had self-harmed. I was brokenhearted. When I walked away along that beach, I was on the road to recovery. Perhaps we all use one another.'