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Shirley said: ‘I’ll be quite all right on the –’ She turned, and stopped. She saw that I had gone.
‘– chair.’
The door closed and my family were clattering down the stairway. I shouted, ‘Let me down. Let me down!’, and when my mother put me down I immediately tried to run back up the stairs into the cinema, but my father caught me and said, ‘Where do you think you’re going?’, and then I knew that it was all over. I pummelled him with my fists and even tried to scratch his cheek with my fingernails. For the first and only time in his life my father swore and smacked me, hard, across the face. After that, we were all very quiet.
∗
In the car going home, I pretend to be asleep, but in reality my eyelids are not properly closed and I can see the light from the amber roadlamps flashing across my mother’s face. Light, shadow. Light, shadow.
Grandpa says, ‘Now we’ll never know what happened,’ and from the back of the car Grandma says, ‘Oh do shut up,’ and she pokes him in the shoulder.
I am no longer crying, no longer even sulking. As for Yuri, he has been quite forgotten and I can barely even call to mind the film which so excited me a couple of hours ago. All I can think of is the fearsome atmosphere of Blackshaw Towers, and the inexplicable scene in the bedroom where this beautiful, beautiful woman asks Ke
But why did he run away? Out of fear?
I look at my mother and I’m on the point of asking her if she understands why Ke
August 1990
Ke
Shirley shook her head sadly and said: ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
Ke
Shirley hesitated, a resolve forming within her: ‘No. Hang on.’ She gestured with her hand, urgently. ‘Turn your back a minute.’
Ke
He said: ‘J– just a minute, miss.’
My hand, resting between my legs, stirred.
Ke
Shirley turned to him and said: ‘You’re sweet.’ She finished pulling her slip over her head, and started to unfasten her bra.
My hand began to move, lazily stroking the coarse denim.
Shirley disappeared behind Ke
Ke
Continuing to hold down the mirror, he tried not to look in it but couldn’t resist taking occasional glimpses. With every glimpse, his face registered physical pain. Shirley put on her nightgown.
Ke
She emerged from behind his head, her body swathed in the knee-length gown, and said: ‘You can turn round now.’
He turned and looked at her. He seemed pleased.
‘Cor. Very provoking.’
Shirley brushed back her hair, embarrassed.
My hand came to rest. I reached for the pause button, but thought better of it.
Ke
Shirley said: ‘Oh, not really.’ She sat down on the double bed, with its heavy oak frame.
Ke
Shirley said: ‘I’ve an idea.’ She leaned forward.
Ke
Shirley said: ‘Come and sit here.’ She patted the space next to her on the bed. ‘Come on.’ An orchestra started playing, but neither of them took any notice. Ke
Ke
Shirley moved closer towards him. She said: ‘Why don’t you stay here tonight? I don’t fancy spending the night alone, and we’d be company for each other.’
As Shirley said this, Ke
I watched.
Ke
He made for the door. Shirley seemed to say something, but it couldn’t be heard, and then she started turning down the sheets on the bed and fluffing up the pillows. As she did this, she was seen in reflection again, this time in a full-length mirror opposite the bed. She didn’t notice that Ke
Still fussing over the bed, Shirley said: ‘I’ll be quite all right on the –’ She turned, and stopped. She saw that Ke
‘– chair.’
I pressed the rewind button.
For a moment Shirley froze: her mouth was open and her whole body shuddered. Then she turned, smoothed down the bed, Ke
I pressed the pause button.
Ke
My hand, resting between my legs, stirred.
Ke
Shirley turned to him, and mouthed something. There were only two words but it seemed to take a long time. Then she continued to pull her slip over her head. She finished pulling it off in seven jerky stages. She put her hands behind her back. Her fingers worked at the clasp of her bra.
My hand began to move, stroking the coarse denim.
Shirley turned. She took the begi
Ke
Somebody knocked at the door.
I said, ‘Oh shit!’, and leapt out of my chair. I turned off the tape. The screen changed from monochrome to colour and the volume came back: a male voice, very deep and loud. There was a man on the screen. He had his arms around a child. Some documentary. I turned the volume down on the television and checked that my trousers were buttoned up. I looked around at my flat. It was very untidy. I decided that it was too late to do anything about that, and went to answer the knock. Who could it be, at nine-fifteen on a Thursday evening?