I stand by the opening into the other room. Against the opposite wall, sunlight is streaming on to a canvas camp bed. It’s covered by a brown blanket, with a flap of white sheet showing at the top. A rolled-up sleeping bag sits in place of a pillow. Next to the bed is a small side table and a dark, scratched chest of drawers.
Sarah comes up behind me. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘He’s very upset.’
So am I. ‘I know … but what can I do? I don’t know what to say to him.’
‘You must have known how much he likes you.’
‘I didn’t. Well, yes, a bit, he said some things …’
‘Oh?’
‘Once he said he’d sooner kiss me than Madge Smith.’
‘Who wouldn’t?’
Is she being nice to me, or rotten to Madge? She’s not smiling – rotten to Madge then.
‘He said he was joking. But the way he looked at me, I could tell he sort of meant it, and then that he wished he hadn’t said it. I think he was hoping I’d say that I feel the same way. But I couldn’t, because, … well, I don’t. I mean, I do like him, but not … You know. Anyway, afterwards he seemed OK about it.’
She says nothing and I keep going. ‘I mean, best mates do like each other a lot, don’t they? When I fell into the hydraulic, he jumped in to help me, even though he can’t swim. He could have drowned.’
‘Not sure I could have done that.’
Maybe, but I’d like to hear what you would do, for me. We’re alone, after declaring our love for each other, but we’re talking about Rooksy. Anyway, boys don’t, or shouldn’t talk about loving each other. I love John but it would not be a good idea to tell him.’
‘Will this make a difference? Now that he …’
She means, ‘now that Rooksy could be queer’. He has changed everything by saying what he did. Now we’ll be thinking about it whenever we see him.
‘No. Well, yes, it does make a difference, and if everyone thinks … Griggsy said I’m best mate to a bum boy.’
‘What did you say?’
The truth game is over and I wonder if I should tell her. But today has a become a day when nothing else will do. ‘I said that Rooksy wasn’t my best mate, and that he wasn’t even a mate really, and right after he’d risked his life for me … I was frightened.’
Her eyebrows rise but she says, ‘Look, it’s OK.’
‘I wish I was braver.’ She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. But it does. ‘Rooksy and John don’t seem to be afraid of anything; they never think about how others are reacting to them. I do, I can’t help it. When things get dangerous, I can’t stop myself imagining what might happen next. Sometimes I panic and if I can’t change the subject I often tell lies.’
She squeezes my hand and smiles. ‘I said it’s OK, Billy. Anyway, Griggsy’s a pig.’
I should tell the truth more often, and sooner.
‘Let’s not say anything to anyone about Peter,’ she says.
‘No, of course not.’ Fine by me, I’ve had enough of talking about Peter. Now, about us. ‘Sarah, did you mean it?’
‘What?’
‘Saying you loved me?’
‘Yes. Did you?’
‘Oh yes. It made me feel wonderful. I mean, saying it did … but hearing you saying it to me, that was even better.’
She pulls her hand through her hair and tugs it before letting go. ‘Let’s sit down.’
We sit on the side of the camp bed. She props her head on her hands. The air has become heavy, soft, as if it will absorb anything I say. She smiles and my awkwardness soaks away into cotton-wool calm. I can barely hear myself saying, ‘I would like to kiss you.’
‘Would you?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘No, I don’t.’
I want this to be a big screen kiss. I put my arm around her but, because we’re sitting side-by-side, I can’t get the angle right. Our faces come together but our mouths barely touch. I expect her lips to feel something like mine but they’re softer, thicker. Now we’re nose-to-nose and finally kissing but still not able to get close enough. The only way to do this properly is for her to lie back and allow me to lift and hold her, like Audie Murphy would.
She shifts and plumps the sleeping-bag pillow and stretches out. I put an arm under her back and lift. However, I’m perched with only half my bum on the bed and as I take her weight, my legs swing up and we thump back down. I bury my head in the sleeping bag, waiting for her laughter. Instead, she eases my face around in her hands and kisses me. Her mouth is slightly open, our teeth touch and then, briefly, the tips of our tongues.
She’s making a lovely ‘mmm’ sound that buzzes on my lips. I wonder what to do next or, rather, if I should be doing anything next. Her eyes don’t help me, except to hint that she, too, isn’t sure. This could be the beginning of sex and it has me shaking.
The top two buttons on her frock are undone. With my fingers trembling with the effort to be gentle, I undo the next button. She looks away. Is that a frown? I lift the unbuttoned flap and see first the lovely little hollow behind her collarbone. Her white bra is little more than two loose triangles, and it has slipped to one side. An uncovered breast, small with a surprisingly large nipple is nestling in tent-light. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. She turns on her side to face me, pulls her dress to and does up the button. Would she have let me touch if I had tried? I doubt it but I hadn’t wanted to. Looking had been enough
I reach down to her stomach and marvel at its softness. Years of knowing girls, playing with them, talking to them, talking about them, hasn’t prepared me for the shock of how different they are.
She takes my hand and pulls it up between our faces. We alternate between kissing and pulling back to see each other more clearly. And all the time I can feel myself growing stronger, strong enough to pick her up, something that, like Audie, I should be able to do for my girl. I squeeze her to me and start to move on top of her. Then I remember I have an erection and that it could spoil everything. I ease away but she clings to me. I pull back again.
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK, Billy.
‘Is it?’
She nods but I think we’re both embarrassed and we settle for just lying face-to-face and taking kisses when we want to. After a time, she eases up on to an elbow. ‘Do you think you’d like to be married? One day?’
‘Oh yes, I think so.’
‘Think so?’ she says.
‘No, I would. I would, if it was you.’
‘Really?’
Audie Murphy takes off his hat and looks into her eyes.
‘Will you marry me, Sarah? One day?’
‘You can’t ask me now, I’m only thirteen.’
‘Oh.’
‘Will you ask me again, though, when we’re older?’
‘Yes. Yes, I will.’
‘Good.’
‘What will you say if I do ask?’
She looks past me as if checking something, then she smiles. ‘I will say, “Yes, Billy Driscoll, I will marry you.”’
I’m not sure if this is a very childish or a very grown-up conversation.
Yes, Billy Driscoll, I will marry you. Her promise shrinks the intervening years and doubts fade. But not all of them; what Rooksy said comes back to me. ‘Sarah, you said, earlier, that you couldn’t be sure if you would always love …’
‘Because, Billy, it was the truth game. I mean, I don’t know. And how can he know? He might want to love always but he can’t know, can he?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
But I know, with all my heart, that Rooksy is right: you can know.
I settle for next best. ‘But you do want to?’
‘Oh yes, Billy, I do want to.’
We lie down again and shift around to get closer. In the warmth of our mingled breath, there is a faint scent of new chewing gum. Behind Sarah’s face, dust is drifting along shafts of sunlight, the wooden walls crack in the heat, flies drone, my thoughts thicken and slow.