Goose (9 page)

‘Yeah, she stays a lot. Freshened up?' he asks, moving the conversation on too quickly.

‘Yup,' I say as I get back into bed and under the covers. I shiver a little as my body gets back to the temperature it was more happy with. Dean's hands are on me straight away.

‘I can have you now that you are awake,' he says, laughing. He lifts up my T-shirt and I wriggle out of it, even though the daylight is so bright, and his curtains are thin. I tell myself to be grown-up about my body, and not insecure. But I don't like my white flesh in raw daylight, the way all of my imperfections glow.

‘I love stretch marks,' he says, running his hand over my hip. I want to scream and tell him to get off. I hate them so much. But here we are, and I have no choice but for him to see them. I can either get all insecure about it, or take what he says as what he means.

‘What do you like about them?' I ask, uncomfortably.

‘What they do to the skin. How they make it feel so soft and delicate. A symbol of how you have grown. Like the rings of a tree. Your own private markings, unique to you. Nature's own tattoo.'

‘Anyone'd know you were a writer,' I tell him, unable to keep the wariness out of my voice. ‘That was pretty convincing.'

Come on, Renée, I think to myself. Your body could be worse. Relax.

‘Renée. I have seen you around for so long, and I always thought how sexy you are,' he says. ‘I came into The Ship once and you were wearing this low-cut black top and your jeans. Every time you turned around I would look at your bum. You didn't even know I was watching you.'

‘I knew,' I say. ‘I always knew. I was watching you too.'

‘Can I make love to you?' he says softly, even though he is tugging at my knickers. Relaxed as I have convinced myself to feel, it takes every shred of will power I have not to burst out laughing. No one has ever said ‘make love' to me before. Do people really say that? I thought it was just in the movies. I guess this is what happens when you sleep with people in their twenties. I embrace it, it's kind of sexy, once you get over the shock of it. So I tell him he can.

We start slowly. Instantly I realise how unsensual the sex I have had before has been. Dean takes his time, he seems to understand every part of me already. Like he's seen it before. He asks me what I want, and I am brave enough to tell him, even though it feels embarrassing to ask for it out loud. He tells me what he likes too – he likes to be in my mouth. He makes noises that make me feel good about what I'm doing. He is firm with me but not rough. His penis tastes faintly of soap.

‘Wow,' I say when we are done. ‘Just. Wow.'

‘You liked that?'

‘Liked it? I, I  … ' I try not to sound too experienced. Even though I have slept with a few people now, I realise I have certainly never ‘made love'.

‘I loved it,' is all I can think of to say.

‘Plenty more where that came from,' he tells me. ‘Open the window there, will you? It's got a bit stuffy in here.'

‘Sure,' I say, throwing aside the covers. I don't even think about the fact that I am naked and that I have to stand up in front of him, I just do it, I stand up, and with that comes a fart noise so loud that I fall to my knees on the floor.

‘IT WAS MY VAGINA, NOT MY BUM!' are the first words that fly from my lips. Then I grab a pillow and put it over my face as I press my head into the floor. ‘I don't know where that came from. I'm so sorry.'

I am so mortified. A fanny fart? That has never happened to me before – not an unintentional one anyway. I used to make Mum laugh by doing them on purpose when I was about five, but Pop used to get so angry that Mum told me I should probably stop doing them and think of some other jokes. This one was so loud, so powerful. The kind of fart you do when you have been having to hold one in for hours. The volume and the speed at which it shot out of me was such a shock. Why was there no warning?

‘Renée?' he says to the pillow covering my head. ‘It's OK.'

‘But it isn't OK. It is everything but OK.' I just almost took off from an explosion from my own vagina. Nothing about this is OK.

‘Seriously, get over it. I'm the one who pumped you full of air.'

This is true. It wasn't like that would have happened if he hadn't ‘made love' to me. I remain still for a few more seconds. My bum facing up, my face down, too scared to move in case my fanny is plotting more evil.

‘Seriously, Renée, just open the window. Sex is all about weird noises and smells. I don't care about that stuff. All I care about is that we do it.'

Smells? I daren't even ask what he means by that.

‘Has anyone ever fanny farted in front of you before?' I ask, then I quickly add, ‘Actually, please don't answer that.'

Dean laughs.

‘I'll go make us some tea. Get back into bed.'

I wait until he has left the room before I move. Standing up, I jog up and down to get any last puffs of air out and I put on my underwear and clothes. I grab my bag, which is by the bed, and leave the bedroom.

‘I actually have to go,' I tell him and Meg, who are both in the kitchen. She is wearing one of his T-shirts and her pants. It feels weird.

‘What, no tea?' he asks, looking genuinely surprised.

‘No, I promised my aunty I would help her with some things at home. I do have to go. Thanks for such a great night, and congratulations on the play. It really was great.'

‘Ahhh, is she all embarrassed about her farty sound?' Dean says, coming over to comfort me.

‘Dean? Please, Meg will hear you.'

‘She doesn't care about that stuff. Come on, babe, don't go. We can stay in bed all day?'

‘No, I really do have to go. But thanks, I had fun,' I say, walking to the front door.

‘All right. I suppose I'd better crack on with the piece I have to write anyway,' Dean says.

‘Anything interesting?' I ask, genuinely curious.

‘Not really. Some idiot stole the skeleton from the science lab at Tudor Falls. The paper has asked me to do a piece on immature school antics.'

I do a good job of keeping my expression totally blank as I say, ‘That's kind of funny.' I am hoping Meg and Dean will see it the same way.

‘Yeah, funny if you think stealing something that educates children is a good thing.'

That wipes the smile off my face.

‘Just kidding,' Dean smiles. ‘It's hilarious, but whoever did it is going to be in a lot of shit when they're caught. Trespassing and theft? That's pretty bad.'

Shit. I smile tightly, hoping he's exaggerating, and then spot a pen on the table.

‘I'll give you my number then?' I suggest, writing it down on the corner of an Indian takeaway menu. ‘Call me, if you like,' I say as casually as I can. ‘I'd like that.' I go over and give him an awkward kiss goodbye. ‘See you at school, Meg.'

‘Bye, babe,' says Meg.

I leave, wondering what the two of them will do now. Will they spend the day together? Will he tell her about my fanny fart? Boys talk, I know that much. Bugger it, I just have to suck it up.

Bad choice of words.

‘So did you two kiss?' asks Kerry as soon as we get to church. She slips in next to me on my regular pew. I wonder if I should tell her or not. Will it cause a weird atmosphere on Thursday nights? But I am in church, I can't lie in here.

‘Yes, but just a little one,' I tell her. I can't wipe the big stupid smile off my face.

‘So is Gordon your boyfriend now?'

‘No. I mean, we only kissed once. But maybe. I think I would like that. He is great, isn't he?'

‘I suppose so.' Kelly turns to face forward and I see something sag a bit in her expression.

The vicar comes in, and Kerry focuses on him in such a way that I can tell she doesn't want the conversation to carry on. I subtly scan the church with my eyes looking for Gordon, bearing in mind that he could be behind me. Renée says you should always behave like the boy you fancy is watching you, in case he is. I know when she has a crush on someone because everything she does is like a performance. I could never be quite like that, but I do pull my tummy in and stick my neck out so I don't have a double chin, just in case.

Then I see the back of Gordon's head. He is about four rows in front of me with his head down. He is praying. I think there is a good chance that he is always praying. I know that most people in the church are thinking about God while they are here, but Gordon always looks like his mind has left his body and he is actually with God somewhere. Sitting on a cloud, having a chat. He is so connected to him, I wonder if I will ever get like that. I think I'd like to, I think it would probably be quite nice. To get off earth for a bit and go float around somewhere else chatting away to the Lord.

At the end of the service Kerry and I go outside, but rather than talk to me she walks off with Matt. I don't know what I keep doing to offend her, but I need to try to sort it out. There's a tap on my shoulder.

‘Flo.' It's Gordon. ‘You get to sleep all right after I dropped you home?'

I want to tell him the truth. That I lay awake for hours thinking about him, that I fancy the pants off him, that I wished he had kissed me properly. But I don't, of course. I tell him I got to sleep just fine.

‘What are you doing now?' he asks. I presume he wants to do something so I tell him, ‘Nothing,' but then he says he is going to play an acoustic set to the parents and kids at Sunday school, and I wish I had made up something exciting that I was doing too. Even though there is nothing. He scrunches up his eyes a bit as he looks over my shoulder. I think he might be seeing who is about before he gives me a proper kiss, but instead he says, ‘Isn't that your friend?'

When I turn I see the unmistakable silhouette of Renée walking down the high street towards us. What is she doing out and about in town this early on a Sunday morning? She has the most spectacular bed hair, and black make-up is smudged under her eyes.

‘Is she talking to herself?' remarks Gordon.

‘Renée!' I call. She looks up and is obviously as surprised to see me as I am her.

‘Flo, what are you doing in town?' she says, coming closer. ‘Oh my God, did you pull?'

I feel myself recoil as she says it. She couldn't have picked a worse time to say something like that. Without looking at Gordon, I say, ‘No, of course not. I've been to church. This is Gordon, my, er, friend from church.' My heart thumps with relief that I managed to stop myself saying boyfriend.

‘I thought it might be your boyfriend,' Renée says, with that look in her eyes that tells me she is winding me up.

‘No. Friend,' I say firmly. ‘This is my friend Gordon.' My face explodes with blood vessels and I turn the most fluorescent shade of pink imaginable.

‘Flo, you're blushing,' says Renée, teasingly.

I screw my lips up and tilt my head to ask her to please stop embarrassing me. When people comment on my blushing it just gets worse.

‘Ah, you're the one who's into woodwork?' says Gordon. I shake my head at Renée, begging her not to react. ‘God bless you, I have heard a lot about you,' he goes on, not really taking any part in mine and Renée's exchange.

‘God bless you too,' she says back, sarcastically.

‘Anyway, didn't you have to get off?' I say to Gordon, needing this moment to end.

‘Yes, see you later.' He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Bye bye,' he says, as he walks away.

‘Bye bye,' Renée mimics. ‘Is he even human?' she asks, when he is out of ear shot.

‘Yes, he is human. And he's really nice actually. Really interesting.'

‘Flo, he talks like he swallowed a Bible.'

‘All he said was “God bless”.'

‘I know! Who says that under the age of fifty?'

‘OK, well, I like him. Really like him.' I can't hide my disappointment at how mean she is being.

‘Oh Flo, I'm sorry. Come on, I'm starving. Let's go for breakfast and you can tell me all about Bible Boy.'

‘RENÉE!'

She throws her arms around me and leads me back up the high street. She smells weird.

‘ …  And then he kissed me,' I tell her, taking a bite of my egg sandwich.

‘Hang on, back up the truck. There is a rock band that sings songs just about Jesus?' she asks.

‘Yes. It's Gordon's band. They're called The Trinity. They had a gig at St James. It was really good.'

‘Yeah?' She orders some ketchup and doesn't look up at me before she starts to speak again.

‘So, you're serious about all this God shit then, are you?'

‘It's not shit, Renée. I didn't invent Christianity, it's not some random fad a few people have told me about. It's religion, faith – it's always been a part of our lives in some way. I just haven't chosen to embrace it until now.'

‘What is it you like about it?' she says, sounding totally unconvinced.

‘It gives me something to believe in. It takes the pressure off me. It gives me guidance, when I am doubting how I should behave. It makes me feel like Dad is within my reach, like I am still connected to him in some way. It makes me feel part of a community, a group of people I can be myself with. But mostly it's made me feel less guilty, less self-consumed. Less like I am all I have in the entire world and like when the time comes that I leave home and leave this island I won't be completely on my own. It just makes me feel better, Renée. Is that so bad?'

‘I guess not.'

Her passive tone infuriates me. Why is her way OK, but my way is not?

‘So who were you with last night then?' I ask. Let's hear how she is living her life, if her way is so much better.

‘I pulled that guy, Dean, the writer. The one we saw in The Monkey, you know?'

‘Yeah, I know. You've fancied him for ages.'

‘Yup, and we got on really well. I just left his before I bumped into you.'

‘Did you have sex?'

‘Of course we had sex, Flo. That's what normal people do when they pull and stay the night together.'

‘Was it good sex?'

‘Amazing.'

She goes quiet. She always does when we talk about sex. She thinks I will mention the fact she slept with my brother, but I will never mention that ever again. I made that decision at the time. But she isn't telling me something, I know.

‘Are you all right, Renée?' I press. ‘Did something happen?'

She doesn't say anything, but I know she is thinking about whatever it is.

‘Flo?' she asks, after a few minutes. ‘You know how I get really embarrassed buying tampons?'

‘Yeah. For someone as confident as you I find it really bizarre.'

‘Well, I think I have another fear.' She puts down her knife and fork and takes a gulp of orange juice. ‘Would you mind going to Boots and getting me the morning-after pill?'

She
has
to be joking.