Short Story: A Contradiction Of Relationships

Short Story: A Contradiction Of Relationships

The day stands out for me, and could have gone one of many ways.

The morning began with an argument with my mother, followed by bickering dissent from my younger brother. In the small house where we shared a bedroom every sound, conversation, criticism, upset could be seen or heard with remarkable proficiency.

Leaving in a huff, I encountered a couple of friends going swimming. I was never a good enough swimmer to perform as they did, tagging along for fun which meant a bus ride into town. I was supposed to tell my mother if I went far from home, but the earlier argument meant I had no intention of doing so.

Without trunks I was forced to watch from the sidelines and remained in an obtuse mood as the guilt I felt compounded into worry.

I could have phoned, but chose not to.

There were plenty of girls in and around the pool and I observed them quietly. I’d reached that stage where I thought I would like a girlfriend, trying to make myself appealing, but it rarely worked even when I acted in the way others suggested.

Nothing much happened at the pool and afterwards I grabbed a bite while the others went onto the cinema. Anticipating a row when I got home I sat on the bus sullenly waiting for it to depart the terminus.

Then a surprising thing happened; Marilyn Kennedy who lived on the street that ran off from mine got on with her mother. I’d known her since she was small and never given her much thought; her older brother was a bit of a creep and found delight in punching people on the arm after stealing up unannounced. He was strong and we once had a pretty ferocious fight, but I lost and refused to give him cause to remember me thereafter.

She perched beside her mother on the seat in front, but her mother kept turning round to ask questions. She knew my mother from way back and they were always chatting, although I wouldn’t call them friends.

Marilyn kept still, and during the journey I found my eyes dwelling on her neck. It was white and very graceful. I suppose I’d never looked at necks before – not on girls. With girls it was usually ankles, legs, breasts, bottoms, eyes, teeth, smiles and hair. If I brought to mind the skipping, dancing, chattering girls I could recall I felt certain I’d never once considered their necks.

She was wearing a simple silver chain with a clasp in back, and I must have kept my eyes pinned to that place during the whole time her mother was plying me with questions.

Never once did Marilyn turn round; never once.

She wore a blue dress; summer blue. I don’t know why I thought of that, but the phrase came into my head and refused to leave. As they stood up to get off, I rose too; leaning forward with my mouth close to her hair as I found I could breathe in her scent. Then the bus jolted and she fell back into my arms. It was a precious few seconds during which she turned and smiled.

“Thank you.”

I walked beside them as we made the short journey to our respective houses, and then thankfully her mother was detained by someone along the street and we went on alone. For a moment it felt dreamlike and free.

In a critical few seconds I knew we would reach my gate and I would suffer whatever indignity fate held in store for my arrival home.

“Come out tonight.”

She glanced at me; a critical gaze I’d seen in girls before.

“Okay. What time?”

There it was, as simple as that. She walked on alone as I turned into the house where thankfully mum was outside hanging out washing in the garden.

I went straight into the bedroom to plan what I would do when I met Marilyn that night. I had little clue about girls or what they expected. Whatever it was, it was bound to be wholly different to the way boys behaved. Girls always appeared to be making comparisons, as if things could be resolved simply by talking about them.

My brother ran into the bedroom and immediately yelled to our mother.

“He’s home.”

It seemed the signal for rage to begin, and I stood it for a bit before it became too much to bear. Escaping the house I hacked at what grew in the flower beds. Mum was screaming; my brother dancing energetically until I stomped off up the road.

I was joined by Paul and Andy at the convenience store. We’d been close friends since infants. Andy is one of those lucky guys that girls tend to flock around, and today the Toolin twins had joined the harem. He grinned as he discovered me loitering beside the shop entrance.

“Hey Loo, you’re brother’s looking for you.”

They call me Loo, but it’s really Lewis. It’s not a name I enjoy.

“So what.”

“You gotta go home.”

The girls employed a curious and acute searching stare, turning it on me immediately. Aliens we called them; they had developed a strange kind of mute understanding that rarely allowed for speech. At junior school the teacher experimented by trying to separate them, but they simply sat apart in meek surrender until break time before combining again.

Now they appeared inseparable.

“You going home?”

“No.”

“What, not ever?”

The way I felt it was a possibility.

That’s when a cricket match was decided upon. Andy sent the girls away after they refused to climb the fence into McGregor’s field and the three of us played without the customary cheerleaders. We’d been warned often enough to stay out of the field, but there was no one around and the bull that roamed was probably dozing. If you saw it coming it meant business, but generally it was slow and ponderous. Only once have I seen it run, charging at a flock of gulls. Big birds that scattered out of its path; pretty nasty if a cow or bull catches you with its horn. Simon Snow, who works on the farm, showed us the scars he got from a heifer that trampled him. Simon is a bit simple, but we play along with him as he buys us drinks from the bar providing we stay out of sight in the pub garden.

We aren’t sporting and our brand of cricket was always a simple game and not really competitive unless there was a big hitter at the crease. Most times we were left alone but on this particular day Phil Thomas and his cousin Roly came idling past and jumped the fence to demand a game. Phil was not a man to wait on permission, grabbing the bat and whacking the third ball delivered in my direction, but I fumbled the catch.

He chortled. “You won’t get another chance.”

The next ball caught him on the shin and he should have been out leg before, but refused to go, accusing Paul of bowling straight for him. It was partially true; they were a couple of bullies, older than we were, but we had grown equipped to deal with their behaviour.

The next ball went clean over my head, flying onto the scrap of waste land on the other side of the boundary fence.

Paul climbed over to take a look but came back after ten minutes claiming the ball to be lost. An argument quickly developed as Phil Thomas refused to join in the search and threw down the bat in disgust taking cousin Roly with him.

We were grateful they chose to leave, although it meant the game was over with the ball lost. The others elected to locate the Toolin twins again and try to separate them, but after fixing myself up with Marilyn I had no intention of screwing things up by being seen abroad in the company of other girls, offering to continue the search for the lost cricket ball.

The waste ground consisted of a mass of twisted branches, overhanging trees with patches of tangled nettle and bramble. Tall grass obscured everything from sight and at some point in the distant past a vagrant’s body had been discovered partially decomposed. The ground now had a faintly tainted feel.

I swiped at the grass around me, feeling with my foot among the undergrowth. Nothing.

On the far side of the waste ground stood a tall hedge that repelled the inquisitive, and as I moved closer, heard a curious sing song voice. It certainly belonged to a girl, and I felt duty bound to investigate because as far as I knew an elderly woman lived in the house alone and had done for years.

She was Mrs Solomon-Simpson, a lady much taken with wearing men’s tweed jackets and brogues, known locally as Mrs SS, and who could be seen walking her dogs in a vigorous manner along the bridle paths that intersected the back ways running around the village. She was not someone to approach in a light manner, and appearing impervious to the passing years, maintained a bruising manner towards those she felt needed straightening out. For that reason she was mostly given a wide berth.

My own grandmother had worked at the house when the Colonel was alive, and I’d been taken inside on a number of occasions. I could still recall the impression a room we called the ‘India Room’ had on me as an infant. Glittering bronze elephants adorned the floor lined up in processions of pomp and splendour. I was convinced they were made of gold, feeling staggered to discover the wealth and culture of foreign lands.

Glass cases containing jewel studded daggers, masks and ivory carvings lined the walls while everywhere statues portraying Hindu deities were placed to advantage, with many armed dancing princesses appearing to sway beneath the soft lighting used to display.

The Colonel was an avid collector, and I spent hours in that impressive room, often as not with the Colonel himself deigning to show an interest by describing events he’d witnessed during his time out East – the most impressive (and frightening) I could recall was a fight between a crocodile and an elephant.

It was certainly grisly.

When the Colonel died grandmother was asked not to return.

The girl on the other side of the hedge continued to sing in a quiet voice that caused me to wonder at her identity. I pressed my face against the hedge but it had grown thick, and the brambles that ran up from the ground had found a purchase in the tangle the hedge had become on my side.

“Is someone there?” she demanded as I cursed loudly after stumbling against thorns.

I was all for saying nothing, but what the hell.

“Me, I’m here,” I answered obtusely.

This was followed by a scuffling sound on the other side and I believed at first she’d got spooked and taken to her heels, but then a voice above my head spoke clearly.

“Who are you?”

I glanced up, staring straight into the sun. Shielding my eyes, I could make out a halo of blonde hair but not much more.

She soon disappeared from sight and then a grating sound further down the hedge drew me in that direction.

“A little help, please,” she implored breathlessly.

I was astonished to discover a door within the hedge that must have been hidden for years. The hinges were rusted over and even after using a shoulder pressed firmly against the timber it refused to budge more than a few inches. There was sufficient space to squeeze through, and as I struggled to achieve this fell squarely at her feet.

Glancing around, it wasn’t the garden I had expected to find, now it had become a path between hedges and my expression must have shown how startled I was, because she burst into laughter.

I frowned at her.

She wasn’t pretty; slinky I’d call it. Thin, blonde, with a strange cerise slashed mouth that created the only movement in an otherwise frozen expression. She was dressed far too smartly, wearing a cream and grey striped mini skirt, white tights, black shoes and silk blouse that seemed to shimmer between mauve and light blue. She was about my age, but trying to act older and I have to confess to feeling awed for a few seconds, which appeared all the time she needed to make up her mind about me.

“Were you spying on me?”

“Why would I – I didn’t even know you existed?”

I was still trying to get the lay of the land, wondering if I’d stumbled into a different garden. By a process of elimination I reasoned we were inside a maze but then struggled to understand why.

“Who built this?”

“Forrester.”

I knew the man; he was a local gardener, a bad tempered individual who got into arguments at the drop of a hat. My dad and he had a set to in the pub one evening, and afterwards I’d always steered clear of him.

“Forrester – is he about?”

“Gone for a smoke I expect.” She indicated a stepladder nearby.

“He’s cutting the hedge.”

“He won’t welcome me,” I warned.

She stared at me curiously. “Come with me.”

The girl smelled of pine needles, wearing far too much of something exotic. I trailed after her as we emerged out of the maze onto a long lawn that ran down from the back of the far away house.

She led me into a depository for ancient statues and garden ornaments, where she took up position beside a weather stained mermaid.

“No one comes in here,” she remarked.

I noticed the cigarette butts littering the ground and knew it to be untrue.

“Who are you?” I asked, as she fondled the mermaid’s neck.

“Who are you?” she spat back.

I told her my name was Lewis Spend and she looked me up and down in that curious way girls employ when faced with an unknown quantity, tossing her hair to show contempt.

“I’m Alice Summerskill, and this is my grandmother’s house.”

She had an affected way of speaking that was both appealing and appalling in equal measure.

“I know whose house it is,” I retaliated.

“Liar,” she snapped peevishly.

Boys I punch, but girls get a push. It sent her sprawling onto her skinny butt, but she deserved it for arrogance, staring daggers as she rubbed the affected part.

“You’re no gentleman.”

I held out a hand but she twisted the wrist violently before spinning out of reach. I smiled; these were the type of games I understood with girls.

“Give me a cigarette,” she said.

She remained at a distance, legs apart, with hand on hip. I’d seen that pose in the market place playground. She was acting the little tart.

“Do you think that’s wise Alice?”

She straightened up, shrugging shoulders before sinking onto her haunches. I smiled, sitting nearby on some ancient piece of furniture, catching the scent of pine needles at the back of my throat. She left a long silence before talking into the air above her head using a bored tone.

“Mother’s getting a divorce. She’s in court today contesting… something. I’m supposed to stay out of the way. Collateral damage – you know what that is?”

I shook my head as she scanned the sky to follow a low flying plane.

“How old are you?” she asked curiously.

I told her I was seventeen which I wasn’t.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “You can leave home.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I want a cigarette.” She sat up. “I’ve been stealing them from mother’s handbag…. I tried to cadge one from Forrester, but he smokes those filthy roll ups,” she paused. “Do you know what I found in mother’s handbag?”

“I don’t know your mother do I?”

She swept her legs into a lotus posture, unrolling her hand after dipping into the pocket of her skirt to reveal a couple of crumpled fivers, a tissue and a strip of prophylactics. I stared at the latter in mute surprise.

“Where d’you get those?”

“I told you,” she closed her fist, pushing it all back out of sight.

I glanced away, suddenly feeling nervous with statues ringed about us staring through sightless eyes and examining in minute detail our every move. It seemed she’d created her very own auditorium and this was the audience. The patient atmosphere within the garden gave the impression it had been waiting a very long time for something odd to begin, and she was certainly a character.

I glanced at her, wondering what her game truly was, but she wouldn’t meet my gaze.

“I think you should put them back.”

“Why? Don’t be a fool – if she knows I’ve taken them it’ll create a mighty row and that’s more fun. She’ll be exposed for the hypocrite she is.”

I didn’t understand her thinking, dropping my gaze.

“When was the maze created?” I asked, needing to break the uneasy silence.

“Who knows?”

“Why though – you must know something?”

She smiled. “I haven’t been here in years.”

I contemplated the side of her face, as she refused to turn her head.

“Are you really who you say you are?”

“Yes, I’m Alice Summerskill,” she grinned. “Don’t you believe me?”

I felt compelled to question her. “Why do you need to keep those……things?”

She laughed quite crudely. “I’ve seen her – with him. Her boyfriend. They do it in the car. I know they do – dirty bitch. She’ll be disappointed won’t she?”

“You shouldn’t talk like that about your mother.”

“Why not, she isn’t your mother.”

She’d become quite ferocious, the mouth animated into a twisted grimace. I no longer felt confident to meet her gaze now she’d grown angry.

She threw the prophylactics at my feet.

“Take them – I don’t want them, and she can’t have them back.”

She twisted sideways as I reached for the ‘offensive’ articles to put them out of sight.

My gaze was drawn towards a glint of sunlight coming off the faraway house. “I used to come here when I was a little kid – there was a room I loved. The India room – with bronze elephants and statues…….”

“Gone,” she snapped.

“All of it?”

She nodded, and for a few seconds I felt saddened by the news.

“You don’t mean that?”

“Are you calling me a liar too – do you want to come inside and check?”

“No.”

“Well then, what do you expect?” she remarked vaguely, as if the strength had gone out of her. “Adults are completely untrustworthy – everything gets taken away. You’ll see – it will happen to you.”

“Not everything.”

“Yes it does,” she stormed, sitting up with fists raised. I thought she was about to hit me and moved out of reach. She fell back with tears in her eyes.

“You’re acting like a little kid.” I told her.

“No, I’m not,” she yelled, and I saw indignant fury in her eyes.

“Alright – I’m sorry. You’re not a kid… you’re a young… woman.”

It sounded lame, and was.

She grinned, getting to her feet after wiping her eyes. She stood very close, indeed too close, her legs brushing mine. “How old do you think I am?”

I turned my gaze away from her knees to look into her face. “I don’t know.”

She knelt at my side. Her cerise lips twisted into a grimace. I didn’t trust the expression, but before I could act she had pushed me off the furniture sitting astride my chest.

“Forrester will be back any minute,” she breathed. “I want you to kiss me.”

“No. Get off.”

I pushed at her, but she was far stronger than I could handle.

“Don’t be afraid,” she smiled, speaking close to my ear. “I just want…”

She was interrupted by a call from the top of the garden and got up impatiently.

“Yes, what is it?” she answered, turning to go. “Wait here. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

“Not likely.”

I sprang to my feet as she raced away up the garden. I was no longer willing to play the mute victim for this blonde assassin, deciding withdrawal was the appropriate option. The door into the hedge remained stiff but I forced myself through, closing it firmly.

The first thing I saw on the other side was the cricket ball nestling inside a matted tuft of dead grass.

The bull was loose in McGregor’s field and I remained where I was, realising I had become trapped between the little temptress on one side and the insurmounta-bull on the other, needing to wait for the creature to amble back towards its stall.

It remained a warm afternoon and as I waited, stretched out on the ground staring up into a cloudless sky. It wasn’t long before I found Alice scrutinising me over the top of the hedge.

“Are you safe up there?” I asked, not that I cared.

She made no answer at first, her face furious. “I don’t want to feel safe. Why did you run away – am I so horrible?”

“No,” I lied.

I could have been more honest but saw little reason to hurt.

Despite appearances, the bull was a sociable creature drawn towards the sound of our voices, and where it chose to observe us there was only wire mesh with a bit of rickety wood to hold the fence upright. The slightest pressure would have brought it down.

I got up slowly, moving cautiously towards the door in the hedge again.

“Are you coming through?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

“Forrester is coming, I have to go now.”

I glanced up but she had already disappeared from sight.

I was considering forcing open the door again to make my way out on the other side of Mrs SS’s garden, but feared a confrontation with Forrester would be far more destructive than any I might expect with a bull, and convinced myself not to try.

I hadn’t moved from the place beside the hedge for about twenty minutes when I heard the door scrape open and Alice squeeze through.

“Forrester has gone for the day,” she hissed. “My grandmother wants me to go in for tea, but not yet…” She squared up decisively. “I want a kiss.”

With eyes closed and slashed mouth protruding she held herself ready for the pleasure anticipated. There was something unwholesome about the girl that repelled me, and as I was still to learn how to kiss with more than fleeting proficiency, did so unwillingly. On her face however it produced a rare smile that appeared to brighten her whole persona.

“Well, that will do for starters.”

I had no idea what she meant, but she appeared in little hurry to leave, starting to sing, as I realised what it was she’d been attempting to emulate when first heard.

“She don’t always wanna have to be like what you got. Let her go,” she grinned. “You know that – it’s my favourite?”

I nodded; it could be heard on the radio five, six times a day.

I wanted to leave right then, but she appeared bound to me with little intention of allowing me to get away without paying a considerable forfeit.

I saw that kissing her had only been the beginning, but if she expected something more to happen I needed to act fast to get away.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t you like me?”

I was more circumspect in my reply. “I’ve already got a girlfriend, and your grandmother asked you to go in. Don’t make this hard.”

She stared at me as if I’d uttered a really offensive remark.

“Will you come back – tomorrow? I’ll wait for you – after school.”

“Is that what you really want?”

She nodded. I could see little girl tears rim the eyes and felt pretty crap, but who was she? She meant nothing to me.

I said I’d think about coming back, if I could. In reality I didn’t know what I was saying, fumbling my speech to get away.

I was in trouble at home. God was I in trouble and grounded.

There was little point complaining, my behaviour had been awful.

After dinner I sat in the bedroom staring at the ceiling until it grew dark and then I climbed out of the window, warning my brother to keep his mouth shut. I knew he never would, but by then expected to have accomplished the difficult first date.

Marilyn was waiting where we agreed to meet, but she had a surprise in store. She had brought along an Alsatian crossbreed that regarded me suspiciously.

“Mum thinks I’m taking the dog for a walk.”

“Ok.” I smiled humourlessly.

“We weren’t going anywhere special were we?” she asked.

“No.”

I confess to a sense of grave disappointment that she believed I could be so unimaginative.

“How long can you stay out?”

She didn’t respond, as the dog was rooting in the grass before cocking its leg. I watched absently.

“How long?” I repeated.

“An hour – no more. I’ll have mum on my case otherwise.”

I wondered then what she really thought about me and why she’d agreed to meet. In the half light between street lamps I couldn’t see her face properly, but when I did, noticed she’d made the effort with make up.

As we reached the corner where there was a blind spot I pulled her into the darkness, kissing her with more passion than I intended. She broke apart quickly, regarding me quizzically before falling into a clinch to snog enthusiastically. It was only the dog tugging at her wrist that pulled us apart.

She let me place an arm around her waist as we strolled.

“Can we go past the pub?” she asked.

“Do you want a drink then?”

She smiled. “You know I’m under age, besides my dad goes in there. You don’t want trouble from him.”

I was hoping Simon Snow would be at the pub and I could get something intoxicating down her neck. I knew why she wanted to go ‘past’ – all her friends would be hanging out in the beer garden.

It almost went to plan.

Simon bought drinks at the bar but as I fumbled to find change to pay him, the prophylactics fell out to the shocked amusement of all those near enough to see. Marilyn found it utterly humiliating, flouncing off with the dog dragging in her wake.

All I heard was a growl of anger. “I’ll get my brother onto you.”

I thought I’d blown it. Popular wisdom dictates that you only get one chance to make a good impression.

That isn’t entirely true, and because we travel to school on the same bus each day, after a period of stony silence she relented by letting me sit beside her during the journey.

Apparently I’m a good kisser. I just didn’t know.

Read - 'The Appearance of Good' for the 2nd part of this story.