Sunday, so eagerly anticipated, came at last. Although I was up and about by seven, I went out as usual to the ten o’clock Mass at St Malachi’s with Mrs Tobin. St Malachi’s was our neighbourhood church, serving the poorest district in the city, and remains associated in my mind with rows of women in shawls and the perpetual sound of coughing. But Mrs Tobin liked it, she had friends in the congregation, and I always went with her. Actually on this exceptional morning I had thought of going to the nine o’clock, so that I might arrive at Park Crescent about ten, but reflecting on Nora’s hint that I should not come too early, I decided that I ought to get there around eleven o’clock. Although this perhaps, on second thought, seemed rather late.
The University clock was, in fact, booming out eleven strokes as I pressed the bell of No. 9, spruced up in the best I had, and nervous of course, but alive with anticipation. My dedication to the Ellison was now a settled thing, but it was still a long way off, and nothing would have made me miss the chance of a day with my adorable cousin.
Perhaps the bell had not rung. I pressed it again and waited. There was no response. Once more I had my finger on the button when sounds reached me from within, then the door was opened, partially, but enough to reveal Nora in her nightdress and dressing-gown. She blinked at me, with a vague expression, only half awake. At last, not particularly pleased, something seemed to strike her.
‘It’s you, Laurence,’ she said. ‘You’d better come in.’
Tightening the cord of her gown and scuffing along in her feathery mules, she led me into the kitchen, sat down on the edge of a chair, and with difficulty suppressed a yawn.
‘Oh, Nora,’ I exclaimed grievously, yet fascinated by the picture she made, ‘I’m afraid I’ve disturbed you.’
She looked at me, meditatively rubbing her shoulder under her nightdress, then suddenly began to laugh.
‘Don’t worry, man. I was a bit late last night, out with the gang. Seeing Miss Donohue off. She’s away to Perth with Terry and Martin. But if you’ll put on the kettle and make me a cup of tea, I’ll be ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
When she had shown me the pantry cupboard and retreated to her bedroom, I decided to make her a proper breakfast. Life with Mother had made fairly expert at improvising a meal. By the time she came back the tea was infused and I had made a rack of toast and plenty of scrambled eggs.
‘Well I never.’ She viewed nay preparations set out on a chequered table-cloth. ‘This is luxury. Beats the Criterion. You’ll have to share it with me.’
‘I’ve had my breakfast, Nora.’
‘What did you have?’
‘Oh, mostly the usual stirabout. That’s a kind of porridge, Nora.’
‘Then you can stand another. That Leo should be shot. Dead.’
She brought out another cup and poured the tea. We started on the toast and scrambled eggs. I had never imagined that breakfast with anyone could be so agreeable. My cousin, now fresh as a daisy, was prettier than ever. Although still barelegged and in mules, she was wearing a soft white blouse and a short tartan skirt that had a lot of yellow in it.
‘It’s the Kerry tartan,’ she explained, smoothing it over her knees. ‘If you’re Irish you’ve got to be proud of it. Now tell me straight, Laurence, what you’d like to do with me today.’
It was her colouring, I decided, the dark hair and eyes against the creamy skin, that made her so enchanting. I loved to watch her wide soft mouth sipping the tea, and as she crunched the toast, her small even teeth were as white as my father’s had been—the good Carroll teeth.
I took a big breath.
‘I’d like best … that’s to say if you’d like it … if we could go somewhere into the country.’
‘Ah, you’re not a city boy.’
She glanced out of the window. The sun was shining on the white wall of the courtyard.
‘Still, not a bad idea. Winton’s ghastly on Sunday. Suppose we take a run down to the houseboat.’
‘The houseboat?’
She was enjoying my surprise. That, I thought suddenly, was Nora’s special charm—her capacity for enjoyment.
‘Lots of people have houseboats on Loch Lomond. Martin … and Miss Donohue …’ she added, ‘have one, not far from Luss. For holidays and so on. It’s fun. We’ll take the bikes, you can have Miss D.’s, and we’ll be there by one o’clock.’
This prospect, after months in the purlieus of Argyle Street, was a real excitement. I could hardly wait to be off. I jumped up.
‘Let’s start soon, Nora. I’ll hurry up and wash the dishes and make some sandwiches, if you like.’
‘No sandwiches, man. They’re deadly. And never mind the dishes. If you want to go now, we’ll go, but first let me get my stockings on. Hand me them. Over there.’
A pair of lisle stockings had been washed and now hung, dry, two slender filaments, on a rail by the kitchen range. As I brought them to her they were light as gossamer.
Sitting there, she began to draw them on, watching me out of the corner of one eye with sheer mischief and something else, a sort of beguiling inquiry that came from beneath her lashes, meanwhile, as I stared fascinated, affording me fleeting yet generous glimpses of white beneath the Kerry tartan.
‘There!’ she declared casually, rising and shaking herself down. ‘Once I get my shoes on we’ll be off.’
‘Thank you, Nora,’ I stammered. This idiotic remark, which may have sprung from my subconscious as an appreciation of her performance, sounded so pointless that I flushed. To my relief, she did not appear to notice.
The two bicycles were in the basement cellar. We wheeled them out through the yard and set off.
Miss Donohue’s machine, an old model with high handlebars and a fixed low gear that had no free wheel, made me work hard. I had to pedal twice as fast as Nora to keep up with her. Going downhill she would dart ahead and turn round to mock me as, perched on the high saddle with my feet on the front fork and the pedals spinning wildly, I rattled behind her. I felt sure Miss D. hadn’t used the machine for ages. But the exercise was just what I wanted, the roads had a Sunday freedom from traffic, and the open country, already tender with the green of spring, was a sheer intoxication. The hawthorn was bursting into bloom, I sniffed the sweet perfume as we swept past. In the meadows lambs were bleating after their mothers. Primroses and cowslips were already showing under the hedges. When we came to the Loch, winding along the lovely curving shore, Nora began to caper on the bike.
‘Look, Laurence, no hands.’
Then she started to sing. It was not Hetty King’s song but one rather like it, beginning:
You called me baby doll a year ago,
You told me I was very nice to know.
This violation of the Sunday stillness had an unaccountable effect on me. I liked it until suddenly it made me remember that Nora had not been to church that morning and that I was undoubtedly to blame for this omission. I pedalled up to her and exclaimed in consternation:
‘Nora, you didn’t get out to Mass this morning. And the way I rushed you off, it’s all my fault.’
She stopped singing.
‘Yes, Laurence,’ she said gravely. ‘That’s a bad sin on your conscience. I didn’t want to bring it up on you, but it’s been worrying me a lot.’
‘Why didn’t you stop me, Nora? I’d have gone out with you to the Jesuits, on Craig Street. It’s my favourite church.’
‘You didn’t give me a chance, man. You had me on the bike and out of the city before I rightly knew what day it was or where I was.’
‘Oh, dear,’ I mourned. ‘ I’m terribly sorry, Nora.’
‘Well, don’t upset yourself, my lad. Maybe it’s not mortal, and if it is, there’s some I’ve heard of that are a lot worse.’
As she spoke she jumped off her bike. We had reached a quiet cove with a pebbled beach on which a small dinghy lay moored to a stake by a rusty chain. Some fifty yards offshore a curious yet inviting white-painted structure with windows and a door that in miniature exactly fulfilled my conception of Noah’s Ark floated gently at anchor. It was the houseboat.
Nora took a key from her bicycle satchel and unlocked the padlock on the dinghy’s chain. We pushed off and, each taking an oar, rowed to the houseboat. Inside it was exactly like a little house, with a bedroom, a sort of lounge that was the sitting-room, and a kitchen fitted with a metal stove. It was also in a state of extreme disorder, the bed unmade, newspapers and dishes cluttering the table, an empty bottle lying on the floor.
‘A bit of a mess,’ Nora said, looking round and wrinkling her nose. ‘ Well, never mind, that’s not our problem. What would you say to a bathe?’
‘I’d love it,’ I said, longingly, for I was hot and dusty. ‘But I’ve no pants.’
‘Who’s to see you?’ she answered coolly. ‘I’ll not look and even if I did, aren’t I your cousin? Go in off the top deck. But mind you, it’ll be cold.’
A ladder staircase led to the top deck, which was flat, surrounded by an ornamental balustrade. Woods enclosed the cove on two sides and, beyond, the lake shimmered in the sun. In the distance the Ben was bluer than the sky. I threw off my clothes and, still dubious of my total nudity, hurriedly dived in.
The shock of the snow-fed water was breathtaking. I came up gasping, but as I struck out my circulation came back to me with an exhilarating rush. I had been swimming for some time when an unexpected splash made me swivel round. My unpredictable cousin had joined me in the lake. Impossible to discern whether or not she had on a bathing-suit. Only her head was visible as, with a fast breast stroke, she bore down upon me. But the thought that, myself, she might be in a state of nature stung me. I took off like a frightened trout, making instinctively for the shore. But she had anticipated this and cut me off. I turned. She followed, a maddeningly persistent mermaid. Only with an effort that left me gasping did I reach the opposite side of the houseboat and haul myself out to safety.
A towel had been placed beside my clothes. I rubbed myself down and got into them like lightning. Five minutes later she appeared, dripping, shaking water from her hair and, to my immense relief, adequately covered.
‘Why didn’t you stay and let me duck you? Really, Laurie, you’re so shy, it’s painful. Don’t be so serious, man. Let yourself go. You’re far too nice to be a stick. Do you know what? I took a wee peep at you in your birthday suit and, to put it mildly and not to swell your head, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘But, Nora, I only thought …’
‘You think too much. That’s just your trouble. Anyhow, I’m too hungry to argue, we both need something to eat.’
‘If you’ve anything to cook …’ I muttered helpfully. ‘I could light the stove …’
‘When you know me better, and I hope you will, you’ll discover I hate cooking … about as much as I hate sandwiches. In any case, there’s nothing to eat on this tub but tins of sardines and mouldy abernethy biscuits.’
I started to tell her that these would do, but she had already started below, saying:
‘I’ll be ready in a tick. Then I’ll tell you what’s on the cards.’
She was not long in coming back. Then we got into the dinghy and under her directions I rowed about half a mile up the lake and into another bay where, on the shore road, there was an inn with the sign: Inchmurren Arms. John Rennie, Proprietor. We disembarked at a little wooden jetty. Here I hesitated. Truth must be spoken.
‘Nora … I’ve no money.’
‘What!’ She affected an exaggerated surprise. ‘Not even a round O for Paddy Murphy? Then we’re stuck.’
As I reddened she burst out laughing.
‘Don’t worry, dear Laurence, this is my treat.’
Nora was apparently a fairly regular customer, the pub-keeper knew her at once and shook hands with her.
‘Mr Donohue not with you today, miss?’ He then gave me a long stare followed by a dismissive turn of his head, and said: ‘There’s chicken, roast beef or boiled mutton with apple dumpling or curds and cream to follow. You’ll have the Snug to yourselves.’ As a kind of afterthought, he added: ‘The wife will be sorry to miss you. She’s down the village at the daughter’s.’
The Snug was not a particularly good room, the table covered with oilcloth, and spittoons on the sanded floor. A sad stuffed pike in a glass case swam over the mantelpiece. But the food, when it came, was the best country fare. We had the roast beef, thick slices pink in the middle and charred at the edges, with floury potatoes and greens. With this Nora ordered a glass of beer. I took lemonade. Then the home-made apple dumpling with lashings of thick fresh cream. I had a second helping. Finally, a round of sound yellow Dunlop cheese was put on the table. Sitting back and finishing her beer while she nibbled a sliver of cheese, my cousin viewed my activities on a much larger wedge with a faint smile.
‘We’ll do this again, won’t we, man?’
‘Oh, Nora, if only we could … This is all … so perfect.’
‘There’s just one thing we need to top it off. Remember the sup of port I gave you in the bar when we were both kids? We’ll each have another sup now.’
She got up and went out of the room to fetch it. After a longish time, she came back with a glass in each hand.
‘Rennie tried to keep me talking about horses,’ she said. ‘Martin usually gives him a tip.’
At the mention of that name the sweetish port tasted slightly bitter. Even so, it was giving me courage.
‘Nora … Do you come here often with Martin?’
‘Well, occasionally. And with Miss D. too.’
‘I suppose …’—I was developing a way of going round this painful subject—‘it’s only natural that you’re fond of Martin.’
‘Sometimes I like him a lot. Other times I hate him. I’m out with him now.’
‘I hope you stay out with him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, if it won’t offend you,’ the port was helping me, ‘ I’m terribly fond of you myself.’
‘Why should it offend me?’
‘Well,’ I muttered deprecatingly, ‘I’m not much, you know, Nora.’
‘For God’s sake, man!’ She sat up. ‘When will you stop running yourself down? You don’t think enough of yourself. If you want to know, I’m liking being with you in a way I never thought I would. Do you hear me? I’m enjoying this every bit as much as you are. You’ll see, I mean it. Let’s go back to the boat.’
As I got up a delicious euphoria pervaded me, induced by the lunch, the port, and this warm expression of her regard. Decently, under the pretext of discussing horses, Nora had already paid the bill. Outside, as we came through the inn garden, the velvet wallflowers, hot in the sun, distilled their faint delicious fragrance. It was a beautiful still afternoon. We reached the houseboat, tied up the dinghy, and went inside. Nora was looking at me with that faint suggestive smile I had noticed when she drew on her stockings. Yet somehow it had changed. She was no longer mocking me. Instead of mischief in her eyes there was warmth and a strange, sweet, vague allurement. She gave a little laugh.
‘After that gorge, I feel like a nap. Don’t you? We could stretch out there.’
Following her gaze I saw that the bed had been made up. She must have done this when she was changing after the swim.
‘But it’s such a lovely day, Nora. Wouldn’t it be nicer lying on the top deck?’
‘I’ve tried it.’ She gave me a slight endearing grimace. ‘It’s awfully hard.’
‘I could take these cushions off the settee.’
‘Well … if you like.’ She gave in. ‘ But it’s not half as cosy as the bed.’
I gathered all the cushions and carried them up. They were rather knocked about, exuding feathers, but seemed soft enough when I spread them on the deck and we lay down on them. It was blissfully warm. I shut my eyes. Even through my closed lids the sun made a radiance that matched my state of mind.
‘Are you comfortable, Nora?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I never thought of the cushions. That was clever, Laurie. But where are you?’
She stretched out an arm. Still with blind eyes I found her small hand and held it. She began to tickle my palm with the tip of one finger.
‘I’m so happy, Nora. Thank you so much for everything. And especially for being with me.’
‘You’re still too far away. Come nearer.’
As I turned on my side her arm encircled my neck. I opened my eyes. Her face was ravishingly close to mine. I could see the blue specks in her dark eyes, the mole on the angle of her cheekbone, so exactly placed it became a beauty spot. A tiny bead of perspiration glinted on her upper lip. Her skin, usually creamy pale, had a slight suffused flush. A strange and scented warmth came from her nearness. It made my heart flutter and miss a beat.
‘Shall I tell you something, Laurie dear?’ Then she spoke slowly, with a pause between each word, as though to bring its meaning home to me. ‘I like you very, very much.’
‘And I like you, Nora dear,’ I breathed. ‘In fact I absolutely love you with all my heart.’
‘Then love me, dearest Laurie.’
She drew me tightly to her and put her open lips against mine. A great wave of sweetness passed through me. In all my life I could not wish for anything more than this. I felt carried away, out of myself, borne on a stream of the purest most powerful emotion, a feeling so utterly detached from my body that it was like a rapture of the soul.
Alas, poor simpleton, I did not dare presume that my cousin was in pressing need of my assistance. My capacity to cooperate was not in question, heaven knew I had trouble enough steering my way through the devious paths of puberty. But Nora was to me mysterious, exceptional, almost angelic. Not only would I have died rather than offend her, my exalted mood restrained me from the earthy fumblings of an act which then seemed a sordid and indecent business. Was I an utter ass, a prig perhaps, or simply a soft, inexperienced, idealistic youth? Do I merit the contempt of the present generation of knowing adolescents who set out on such excursions with bored assurance and a pocketful of contraceptives? And would I, in fact, have sustained my seraphic attitude to the end? Whether or not, at least I am now spared the obligation of providing my history with that most banal of all performances, the loss of a youthful virginity, for as we lay together, blissfully, breathlessly, in each other’s arms, there came a loud arresting shout from the shore.
‘Miss Nora, I’ve brought you some flowers to take home.’
‘Oh, God,’ Nora groaned. ‘It’s Mrs Rennie from the inn, blast her.’
‘Some for you and some for Miss Donohue,’ came from the beach again, and turning on my elbow I saw a stout little woman waving masses of daffodils at us.
‘I’ll go for them,’ I said.
‘No, stay here. Don’t move an inch. I’ll get rid of her and be back in no time at all.’
She got up, though with reluctance, shook back her hair, and a moment later I heard the splash of the dinghy’s oars. Presently the sound of amicable greetings, of voices in conversation drifted over the lake. Mrs Rennie was a talker and less easy to get rid of than Nora had hoped. How wide the sky was, and how drowsy the slow lapping of the lake. I began to feel that I was floating dreamily through the clouds, floating more and more dreamily until, in the end, the long bicycle run, the stupendous lunch, the port, and the hot sun had their way with me. To my everlasting shame, I fell asleep.
When I awoke it was cooler, the sun was beginning to go down and Nora was not beside me. I sprang up to find that she was below, and had actually made tea. She greeted me not, as one might expect, with reproaches or disdain but tenderly, and with a certain new, and to me puzzling, clinical interest. She kissed me cherishingly on the cheek, uttering words of commendation which I thought strange.
‘You’re a doat of a lad, Laurie. Such a gorgeous day, and not a thing to reproach ourselves with.’
‘Did you have a sleep too?’
‘No, lad. I had another swim to cool off, then I put the kettle on, sat down and had a bit of a think to myself.’
‘About what, Nora?’
‘Ah,’ she smiled. ‘I’ll tell you some day.’
When we had drunk the tea, which I found most refreshing, we locked up the houseboat, rowed ashore and, having padlocked the dinghy, set off unhurriedly on the bikes for home. Nora rode very close to me, often putting a hand on my shoulder so that we could talk. Indeed we talked most of the way to Winton. I told her about the Ellison and she urged me to work hard for it. Other advice she gave me, warning me not to let Terence take advantage of me.
‘Terry’s a good sort, there’s not a bit of harm in him, but he’d wile the bird off the bush. As for Donohue, that fellow would skin his own grandmother.’
It was late when we reached Park Crescent. My lamp had gone out and we had walked our bicycles up the last part of the hill. I took Nora’s from her and said I would put both machines in the cellar. As I stood in the darkness she gave me a quick hug and kiss.
‘Good night, dear Laurie. And bless you for being yourself.’
Then she ran up the stairs and was gone.