‘In nature’s infinite book of secrecy, a little I can read’
(Antony and Cleopatra)
Back in the earliest hours of Christmas morning the barge rocked queasily on the Avon. Mirren sat with her legs drawn to her chest at the end of the bed watching Adrian asleep in the twinkling light from the coloured fairy-strand along the galley kitchen wall. Mirren didn’t know what time it was other than it was well past midnight.
They must have kissed for hours, slowly at first, then hungrily like teenagers, hands fumbling, pulling jumpers over heads like they’d been unwrapping Christmas presents – real, deep moaning kisses that shook Mirren with their heat.
Eventually, they’d pulled apart, still mostly clothed, before they could get too carried away, and they’d sunk down onto the mattress and Adrian had trailed lazy fingertips up and down her spine, smiling like a sleepy wolf as they’d both grown drowsy.
Now her eyes were wide, her hair hanging messily over her shoulders and down her back. She couldn’t find her top or bra in the low light. Letting him cover her in heated kisses hadn’t been part of the plan at all.What happened to a movie and cosy cuppa?She cursed herself under her breath, disappointed.
Could she reach her pyjamas shoved under the pillow? She wanted to be covered up again, even though she could still feel the pressure and suction of his full lips as he mouthed her breasts and stomach and told her it was OK, she could relax, he didn’t expect more, and he’d checked and rechecked she was still happy.
Of course she’d been happy, she’d been delirious. Theirs hadn’t been any old kisses. They were incendiary and had stolen her breath, made her groan his name, and he’d drawn back to look at her in gasping wonder before bringing his mouth down onto her skin again.
The soft spot under her ear, the most sensitive places on her belly and sides, new delicate patches of skin where her nerves had fizzed and thrilled and where she didn’t even know she had wanted to be kissed; he’d found them all.
But now the barge had grown cool, and she didn’t know it but the spiral had already begun.
It crept up so invisibly she didn’t recognise it for what it was. First came the recoiling, then the examination of how exactly she’d let it happen. She replayed the moment they’d first kissed and yes, it had beenherpulling at his clothes, reaching for his mouth.
She watched herself now on the bed in his arms and she shook her head to stop the memories. She’d been frantic and greedy. What was it about this lovely, patient, sexy guy that he could do this to her? What was wrong with him that he wanted to?
Then the reprimands lined up in her mouth, so she scolded herself under her breath. Her own words came out first, quietly so that he wouldn’t hear. ‘What have you done? So much for your resolve. Stay single, focus on yourself, stop messing up other people’s lives. Fuck’s sake, Mirren.’ Then she heard the other voices piping up right on cue and the loudest was Jamesey Wallace, salacious and lip-smacking, sneering the words, ‘You women are all the same. You pretend like you want the nice guy who cooks for you and picks you up when it’s raining and all that, but deep down all you really want is a good fucking.’
Her scalp prickled hot and cold with resentment, regret and panic. Jamesey’d had her pinned all those months ago. Her mum saw right through her too. Mirren could picture Jeanie shaking her head and throwing cutting remarks at her.
Mirren didn’t know she was breathing sharp and shallow but the lack of air was making her head ache. For a second she considered waking Adrian and asking him to leave, then immediately she felt even worse. No, he didn’t deserve to be thrown out onto the dark marina in the middle of the night. Maybe if she pulled some clothes on she could walk the riverside until morning when he’d leave?
The spiral had somehow conveyed her to the little bathroom and she found herself scrubbing her teeth with her pink toothbrush and only just realising her gums were bleeding and she was crying. ‘Stupid cow,’ she told her reflection in the mirror, her mouth set in a crumpled, tearful line.
Without thinking, she found herself reaching for the bleach bottle under the toilet and pouring the thick liquid into the sink and setting about scrubbing it with the very same toothbrush. Brush, brush, brush at the taps then onto the row of tiles above it, all the time repeating the insult. ‘You stupid bloody tart. Couldn’t help yourself, could you?’
‘Hey,woah there!’ The look on Adrian’s face as he peered round the door and the concern in his voice shook her from her state enough to drop the toothbrush and hurriedly pull the plug, sending the bleach down the drain. She turned away from him and let the tap run.
‘You should go,’ she said quietly.
‘What? What’s happened, Mirren? Are you OK? Come out of there, it stinks of chemicals, you need some air.’ His hand wrapped around hers and he pulled her through the narrow door. He dashed for the bed and returned with his woollen jumper which he hastily pulled down over her body. It was soft, like his voice now.
‘I got up to get us some water and thought you’d beaten me to it, then I find you in here calling yourself awful things. What happened between us falling asleep and now? Did I do something wrong? Is there something you need?’ He held her firmly by her arms which she let hang limply by her sides.
‘I’m sorry I woke you. I’m fine, honestly. I’ll sleep in the front of the boat, you go back to bed…’
‘No way. Uh-uh.’ He shook his head. The shock on his face had settled into a smile. ‘Come on, I’m putting the kettle on.’
After he’d pulled his t-shirt back on and placed two steaming mugs before them on the little galley kitchen table he sat down, not at the opposite side of the table but right by her so he could hold her hand. ‘Do you often talk to yourself like that?’
‘Everyone talks to themselves, don’t they?’ Mirren had washed her face and put her glasses on and was hoping she could brazen it out until he fell asleep again. Making light, that’s what she did best.
‘Sure they do, but they don’t call themselves names like that. Whose voice was that? Who first said those things to you? Because you sure as hell weren’t born thinking about yourself that way.’
Mirren’s eyes snapped to his. He knew. Somehow he knew. She could see it in his eyes, pity mixed with kindness. Just when she thought he couldn’t read her any better, he reached over to the packet by the kettle and grabbed the chocolate digestives, turning the open end towards her. ‘You talk, I’ll listen. And we’ll smash this whole packet, yeah?’
It was enough to make her laugh and to feel a little spark of warmth between them again. It wasn’t easy at first, but once the words started to form into stammered sentences she found she couldn’t stop.
So she talked, telling him everything; about walking out on her job, and about her poorly mum and what the alcohol had done to her. How it made it impossible for Jeanie to resist her cruellest urges, but how when she wasn’t tortured by the addiction she was bright and smart and good company.
She’d cried hearing the words coming out of her mouth, and she’d admitted with shame that some of the worst things she’d ever heard herself called had been said by her mum. But it wasn’t all Jeanie’s fault, she insisted. She’d been hurt too, horribly let down when Mirren’s dad ran off leaving her to cope alone, and so soon after Jeanie’s own, loving father passed away. Jeanie’s family had disintegrated within weeks. It hadn’t been fair and the shock had sent her into a spiral of her own, trying to numb her pain and finding Mirren so easy to blame when things got difficult.
