Chapter Twelve

HER WEDDING GOWN was no more than a shift with a coarse peasant dress over the top. In her hair she wore a garland of flowers. He didn’t approve of such ornamentation, but since she was a bride – his bride – he decided to let it pass.

Few guests attended the event, the sole witnesses being Sir Henry Shields of the manor and his wife. Previously, the good preacher had thought the changes to the marriage laws and the introduction of banns a good thing, but this past three weeks had had cause to differ. If he could have married Evangeline sooner, his influence might have saved her kinswomen. As it was, they had been hanged in a trio at Parham, just the week before.

But Evangeline survived, and Evangeline was the important one.

Even in her grief, she was beautiful. Her tears didn’t redden her nose or dim her eyes like they did with other women. Instead, they made her soul shine through the defiance and the lack of refinement. She was a living thing; she breathed and felt.

He might have postponed the wedding to a less inauspicious time, but it seemed the witchfinder snapped at his heels, eager to come back and bag the final female of the quartet. Even if it was not so, he felt it must be.

His ring on her finger, he bore her away to a frugal breakfast at the manor, courtesy of the Shields, and then they returned to his abode.

‘Good wife,’ he whispered, as soon as they were through the low door. ‘There is but one duty left me to perform.’

She raised her face to his and accepted a kiss. She was always so passive, never responding in kind, yet never recoiling from him either. It was, he supposed, a maidenly modesty within her, which knew the meaning of sin and avoided its active commission. But now, within wedlock, there was no sin in this. He sought to remind her.

‘Dearest love, we are wed. Such as it pleases us to do will also please the Lord. We act in good faith and with the blessing of the church if we …’

He reached for the neck of her shift and made to lower it, exposing the upper slopes of her breasts. Again, she merely tilted her neck to one side and let him, her eyes half-shut and distant.

‘Do you love me?’ he asked. 

‘No,’ she replied.

He held his hand where it lay and stared at her.

‘You say no? You do not love me? I, who have saved you?’

‘You did it for your own base reasons. If my mother had taken your fancy, she it would be who stood here today.’

A great anger arose in him. He tore the shift to the hem of her bodice and held her close to him, their faces touching at the nose tips.

‘You would prefer to have swung? You would prefer to burn?’

‘No, sir, and that is why I am your wife, and each day I chide my own weakness. Yet I will not bear you love. I will never bear you love.’

His vision flushed hot red and the blood thumped in his ears. Seizing her by the shoulder, he flung her on to the bed that lay in the corner of the single-roomed dwelling.

‘If you will not bear me love, then you will bear me obedience,’ he vowed.

In his ears rang her screams, and forever more he would never forget her fearful eyes, her whispered curses, the thin, mean pleasure he drew from his transgression.

And the other thing he would never forget was the stain on the sheet afterwards.

No blood, only his own issue.

‘You have another lover!’ he bellowed, beside himself, on his knees before the crucifix that was the room’s only embellishment. ‘You have duped me.’

‘You won me by false means,’ she wept. ‘I have always loved another. I feared to tell you.’

‘Who is he? Tell me his name.’

‘You will do him harm.’

‘I will find it out, Evangeline. It will be known to me.’

Adam awoke in a cold sweat. He was still in the desk chair and his muscles ached from the unforgiving wood. But the physical discomfort was as nothing compared to the unfolding pain in his head.

He, as Tribulation Smith, had raped Evie. It was a dream, yes, it was not a substantial crime, and yet he felt as guilty as if his own body had violated hers. It made no sense, but it was so vivid that he felt again the retching nausea that had overcome him at the seaside.

He sank his head on to the desktop and groaned with anguish.

The groan was still not fully discharged when an indignant rapping at the door interrupted it.

‘Oh Lord, have mercy on me,’ he whispered, deciding to ignore the late-night caller. Even Evie would not be welcome at this time, surrounded as she was with these disturbing ghosts and presences.

But within a minute, a dark shadow loomed by the window and knocked on it. Adam leapt from his chair and moved towards it. The shadow was slight, almost wraith-like. With a shock of yet more guilt – this variety from a different source – he recognised Julia.

He gestured towards the front door, indicating that he would go and open it for her. When he did so, she streaked inside like a cat, flattening herself to pass him and head straight for the living room.

She was already sitting, like an enthroned queen, on the best armchair in the house when he entered. He stood uncertainly in the door frame for an instant, too out of sorts to know how to speak or act.

‘Why didn’t you come?’ she asked. ‘What are you afraid of?’

Two very separate questions in Adam’s mind. He decided to tackle only the first.

‘Evie was here. I lost track of time after she left, fell asleep in the chair.’

‘She makes you lose your mind. Ah well, perhaps it’s too late after all.’

Julia chewed moodily on a knuckle, looking sideways at the bookshelves. J.E. Lydford’s history of the village caught her eye.

‘That book’s mine, isn’t it?’ she said, stalking over to inspect it.

‘You lent it to me.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why don’t I remember it?’

‘You were – well, you’d had a drink or two.’

‘Oh, that sodding journalist. Yes, well, you shouldn’t have taken advantage of me.’

Adam burst into a mirthless laugh.

‘The irony,’ he said.

She came closer, close enough for him to smell her, if she’d had any scent except an anonymous floral perfume. He tensed.

‘You were asking for it,’ she said, softly. She reached for the book. ‘I’ll have this back, if you don’t mind.’

‘I haven’t finished reading it.’

‘It’s codswallop, start to finish.’

‘You seem very sure of that.’

‘An interesting man, Joss Lydford. He was vicar here, half a century or so ago.’

‘I know. I’ve seen his name on the board in the church. What happened to him?’

‘He went mad.’

‘That’s a pity.’ Adam felt a pull of the most heartfelt sympathy for his predecessor. It would be very easy, perhaps the easiest thing of all, to go mad here, in this role, in this horrendous parish. He shut his eyes for a moment, wondering with distant horror if that might not be what was happening to him.

‘Yes, isn’t it? The thing is, he got too involved. Too drawn into the village and its secrets. Which simply won’t do. It’s a sure-fire route to madness.’

‘You know these secrets, or so you keep intimating?’

She pursed her lips.

‘I know a lot of secrets, Adam. Some of them would benefit you. Some of them wouldn’t. Do you want me to show you?’

She put a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, thinking of Evie, swallowed and shook his head.

‘Julia,’ he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘what happened on the excursion … It was … I think you meant well. But it can’t have a sequel. It can’t happen … I’m not free …’

‘Not free?’ Her fingers closed around his shoulder, bony and hard. ‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’

‘I can’t change the way I feel,’ he said. ‘Especially if she feels it too.’

Julia retracted her hand and used it to smite her forehead, groaning.

‘Dear God, she’s got you. You’re doomed. Well, now I need to rethink. Somehow or other, by hook or by crook, I’m not letting this happen. If I can’t tempt you with a shag, then I need to come up with something else. Watch this space.’

She swept away, taking the book with her.

Adam sank down into the armchair. His brain was a fog of alarming information. How Julia’s husband had died, the fate of J.E. Lydford, his horrifying dream and, most of all, the fact that Evie might, after all, come to him and be his.

It was too much. For the first time in his life, Adam found himself craving brandy, or at least a little something to dull his senses and let him drift easefully into dreamless sleep. But there was no brandy in the house and he sat up, hour after hour, until finally, just before the dawn, the relief of oblivion was his.

The village cricket match against Hamframpton had been going on all day. On and on and on, in fact, if you asked Adam, who was no great fan of the sport. But he had volunteered his services as umpire, in his endless quest to grab some kind of foothold in village life, so he stood under an unforgiving late June sun in a white coat a size too small for him, his face smothered in clown-thick sunblock.

Saxonhurst were winning. In fact, according to the statistics, Saxonhurst had never lost a village cricket match. They were invincible. Legend had it that, back in the 1980s, they’d played the all-conquering Somerset county side in a friendly and won. They’d bowled out Ian Botham for a duck.

Yet, as far as Adam could tell, they rarely practised and only played a few games each season. Just another piece of unquantifiable Saxonhurst luck.

On the sidelines, Adam was constantly aware of Evie, in her scarlet silk dress, cheerleading enthusiastically. Every time a Saxonhurst man was called out, she ran up to him and leapt into his embrace, snogging the face off him until Adam felt quietly sick. Since her declaration at the Bible study session, she had skirted around the subject every time they met, uncharacteristically demure and coy, not her usual brazen self at all.

And yet she would not relinquish her work at the porn set, nor was she seen any the less wrapped around hearty village lads in the beer garden of the Fleece.

‘The time isn’t right yet,’ was all she would say.

‘But surely if I have to wait, then you could at least stop all this …’

It was no use. She wouldn’t. He had to stand by and watch, it seemed. She wheedled and cajoled with soft words and apologies, but the upshot was the same. He had to suck it up.

Finally, Hamframpton gave up the ghost, having no chance of catching up with the mighty Saxonhurst total of runs – 506 for 3 at tea time.

They all trooped into the pavilion for sandwiches and cake. Adam sipped tea in a corner, watching Evie sit across two giant laps, being fed cucumber slices and strawberries. Julia, in charge of the tea urn, followed the direction of his sour looks.

The sons of Hamframpton despatched to their minibus, only Saxonhurst team members remained, with Evie. Julia and the other villagers had decamped with the empty plates and cups, and suddenly the atmosphere of affable gentility had gone with them, replaced by a kind of avid anticipation that owed everything to testosterone.

‘Team talk,’ said the skipper gruffly to Adam. ‘Not for a vicar’s ears.’

‘What about Evie?’

‘She’s part of the team.’

‘I fail to see how …’

‘You don’t need to know. Thanks for your services, vicar, much appreciated. Good evening to you.’

He thought about arguing, but each of the Saxonhurst cricketers was built like a Greek god and furnished with shin pads and bats.

‘Evie,’ he said, his final gambit, but she smiled, a little sadly, and shook her head.

He tore off the ill-fitting coat and stormed out, leaning up against the side of the pavilion, flattening his spine against its pebbledashed wall. His arms spread, his let his fingers press into the little sharp stones, relishing the mild pain, anything to get the image of Evie with all the cricketers out of his head.

Because that, beyond doubt, was what would be happening in there.

Another sick Saxonhurst ritual involving the use to exhaustion of Evie’s genitalia.

He took a few lungfuls of sweet summer air. How uselessly the sun shone a benevolent golden light over the pitch, how pointlessly the bees buzzed and flowers vented perfume and the cries of children playing with hosepipes drifted on the air.

It was all ugly, all without purpose, while Evie rutted like a mindless beast.

He crept, crablike, around the side of the building, finding the store cupboard unlocked and concealing himself in there, amidst the nets and racquets and balls and other paraphernalia of rural sporting life.

The smell of stale sweat and old rubber was none too pleasant, but he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from the pursuit of knowledge that would do nothing but hurt him. He needed to know how bad it was, how very low his love could stoop.

The cupboard walls were thin and beyond them lay the changing rooms. He heard the hot splash of the showers, and shouts loud enough for the words to be made out.

‘Hand ’er over, Jase. I think you missed a bit.’

Evie’s shriek and a chorus of ribald male laughter. More splashing, louder, and some screaming.

‘Fuck me, that’s cold! Turn the dial back, you bastard!’

Slaps on wet skin, female giggling, male shouts and whistles.

‘She likes it. Seen the state of her nipples?’

‘Oi!’ Evie’s voice. ‘Two against one ain’t fair! No!’ Rising to a shriek again. ‘He’s got me! Charlie, get him off me!’

But Charlie didn’t seem inclined, judging by the fulsome applause and shouts of approval coming from the other side of the wall.

‘Hold her down, Gav. Ready with the wet towels?’

Evie, half-laughing, half-screaming, ‘No!’

The sound of the towels flicking on to Evie’s presumably bare, wet bottom was indescribably sharp and cruel, making Adam flinch and swallow and claw at the plaster.

Evie sobbed through it, yet it was clear those sobs weren’t indicators of distress. Throughout, she kept up a defiant commentary. 

‘Just wait till I get hold of you, Ben Summers. You’ve got it coming to you. Ow! You ain’t seen me with a whip, have you? I’m good. Shit, that hurts! Stop it!’ She broke into wailing as the vicious swish-flick-swish-flick kept up its wince-making rhythm.

‘Still got ’er, Gav? Watch her, she’s got sharp nails.’

‘Look at that arse. Bright red.’

‘She loves it.’

‘I know she does. Gave her 20 with my belt last week, she came before I’d finished with her.’

‘Kinky little bitch, ain’t you?’

‘Yes, yes, I fucking well am,’ she panted. ‘Want to make something of it? Ow, ow, ow.’

The towel-lashing came to an end.

‘Learnt your lesson, have you? Gonna be a good girl?’

‘Yes, sir.’

General laughter.

‘That’ll be the day.’

‘My bum’s killing me now.’

‘It’ll be worse soon, once Charlie’s cock’s been up it.’

‘I want one in my cunt, now. I’m horny as fuck. Please, Ben.’

There were cheers and a shout of ‘Ride him, cowgirl!’

‘Ah, oh, that’s good, you’ve got such a good one, fills me right up, mmm.’

Adam screwed shut his eyes and uttered a voiceless howl.

As the grunts and moans grew louder and wilder, he took a tennis ball and threw it against the wall, letting the thump of it drown out some of the sounds of Evie’s pleasure.

But not all of it could be disguised. The men’s voices rang out as clear as anything.

‘That’s it, my son, give her one.’

‘Got one waiting for you when you finish with him, love.’

‘She’ll be 11 not out before the game’s finished.’

‘Bet that vicar wishes he could be in on this. Pervy sod, I reckon he is. What do you say, Evie?’

But Evie could contribute no more than inarticulate ohs and ahs to the conversation.

‘Does he spank your bum when you go to Bible study? Does he get you on your knees and give you a mouthful?’

‘Oh God, shut up, don’t talk about him,’ said Evie, finding her voice in extremis. ‘You’ll spoil my orgasm, you cunt.’

Adam sank to the floor and hid his head in his arms, hot tears springing into his eyes.

It was all so wrong. It could never, ever be right.

He kicked aside a net bag of footballs and slammed out of the cupboard, then he ran across the cricket pitch, faster than he had ever run in his life, all the way to Julia Shields’ flat.

She let him in without a word, turning to a cupboard and taking out a bottle of cognac and two glasses.

‘No, no,’ he said, putting up a hand, then using it to dash the remnants of tears from his eyes. ‘Not for me.’

‘Drink isn’t a demon all the time. Like most demons, actually. A lot of them look pretty attractive and act like good people for a large percentage of the time.’

She poured the brandy and handed a glass to Adam. It was clear from her face that she wasn’t going to brook any refusal, so he took it anyway and twisted the stem in his fingers, avoiding putting the rim to his lips.

‘That makes sense,’ he muttered.

‘Woman troubles?’ she asked, sitting on the sofa and patting the cushion beside her.

‘Julia, what do you know about Evie? Clearly it’s more than you’re prepared to tell me. Why won’t you tell me?’

Julia took a lugubrious sip of her brandy.

‘It’s not my place,’ she said. ‘I can warn you to keep away from her. I can’t do much more than that.’

‘That’s not enough,’ he said, bringing a fist down on the sofa arm. ‘Why is she used like some kind of sexual talisman? What is it about her?’

‘Oh, the cricket thing. I see.’

‘What would happen if she said no?’

‘The sky would fall in.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘So am I.’

He shut his eyes and took a breath, too close to blasphemy to trust himself to speak.

‘Please, for the love of all that’s holy, stop talking in riddles and help me understand.’

‘Now listen.’ She put her drink down on the coffee table and came to stand behind him, putting long fingers on his shoulders and rubbing them in. ‘Poor darling. You’re shaking.’

He tried to shrug her off but the series of tremors running down his spine blanked his resistance.

‘Evie Witts,’ Julia continued, ‘wishes you no good. If she pays you attention, it’s all part of a game. A nasty game that you can never win. I know you don’t want to believe it, my love, but you must.’

‘Evie is a victim in all this,’ he said, his voice weakened by the increasing waves of pleasure. Julia’s hands were confident, her thumbs pressing into the tense muscles at the back of his neck. He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. ‘I’m sure she is. There’s somebody behind it all … I wish I knew – who it was.’

‘Put down your drink,’ whispered Julia.

He obeyed without reflection. The fumes had unsettled him enough; coupled with Julia’s seductive massage, he was in danger of losing his head completely.

‘I’m in love with her,’ he said, a desperate attempt to shake Julia off that didn’t work.

‘I know that, sweetheart. Everyone knows it. But she can’t love you. She never will. Let it go. Come to the one who wants you.’

Her hands were in his scalp now, easing the pressure so beautifully. His skin fizzed and celebrated, his hair standing on end.

‘The one who wants you,’ he repeated, voice barely audible.

‘Such lovely hair you have,’ she told him, running her fingers through it. ‘Lustrous, that’s the word. And so dark. Dark enough to get lost in. I always wanted dark hair, but I’m the palest thing imaginable. I’m drawn to the dark, though. Perhaps because of my own pallor. Who knows?’

Adam’s breathing lost its hard-won regularity as she began to twist coils of hair around her fingers, then she lowered her lips to his ear and spoke directly into it.

‘God made you desirable, Adam Flint. Why would he do that if he didn’t mean for you to be desired?’

‘Temptation,’ he murmured. ‘To show strength of purpose.’

‘What purpose?’ She kissed the tip of his ear. 

‘Purity.’

‘This world is impure. You belong in this world. Purity is so terribly overrated.’

She licked a little trail downwards to beneath his earlobe, the tip of her tongue pointed and probing. His breath hitched.

‘Besides, you’re anything but chaste, Mr Flint. Virginity doesn’t equal chastity. Everyone knows you like to watch.’

He panicked at that and tried to rear up, but Julia pressed her hands hard on his shoulders and pinched, her nails digging into the black cloth of his shirt.

‘Shh, don’t, darling. Don’t resist it, don’t deny it.’

‘What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?’

‘I’m giving you what you need, for the pleasure of it. Because I want you, Adam. Very badly indeed.’

‘Nobody ever wants me.’

‘You try to repel them, with all your gloom and your talk of sin and your whiff of sulphur. Not literally, I mean. You smell rather nice. But you know what I mean. If you’d let that go, you’d be fending them off.’

She kissed the spot that her tongue-tip had recently bathed, then moved her lips down his neck. Tiny frissons unknotted his stomach and hardened his cock. Evie and the sports cupboard seemed very far away.

‘You think I’m attractive.’

‘Aw, bless you, fishing for compliments. You are attractive. Those lovely scared eyes, that flawless skin. Long limbs like a colt. Do you work out?’

‘No. I walk a lot.’

‘And you abstain from all pleasure. I suppose it keeps you fit and toned, if nothing else.’

‘All flesh is grass.’

She laughed and gave his neck a playful lick.

‘Negative,’ she said. ‘I don’t like the taste of grass.’

Events were a long way out of his control. How had he lost his grasp on his morality, his certainties, his entire philosophy of life so easily? Was it the pervasive taint of Saxonhurst, or was he simply weak? He had worked so hard, all his life, at avoiding weakness, all for this – his toil and labour washed away by the easy blandishments of these Saxonhurst women.

‘So you aren’t going to tell me about Evie?’ 

‘I’m not in the mood for telling. I’m in the mood for showing. Let it all out. Let all the bad feelings go, my love, so I can fill you up with the good ones. Let me help you.’

Her kisses on his neck grew more forceful, the vibrations they sent through him full-blooded, irresistible. His code of ethics was a balloon, floating up through the top of his head and up and away, far away, out of reach.

‘Come to bed.’

‘Julia, please, no.’ He tried to stand but his legs didn’t want to support his weight.

She gave his shoulders a final squeeze and hurried around to face him, pushing herself between his clenched legs and kneeling on the edge of the sofa there. Hooking one arm around the back of his neck, she yanked him into a kiss even fiercer than the one at the seaside, accepting nothing but full surrender until he fought back even harder, using his tongue, using his hands to envelop her, bringing her close until her trimly-skirted pubis ground against the bulge in his trousers.

She forced him to accept that he wanted and needed this contact, this connection, this liberation. Kissing as if it would save his life, he pressed his palm against her silk shirt, feeling the outline of a nipple poking through from inside its lace confines. She was excited, she desired him. The roar of power this knowledge sent straight to his head drove him to further exploration. He tugged her shirt from the waistband of her skirt and pushed his hand up inside, over her flat stomach and her protuberant ribs, up to her bra cups. The lace crackled and grazed against his skin. He closed his fingers over the little mounds, testing them for resistance, shape, texture. They felt every bit as satisfying as he’d imagined they would, in his off-guard moments.

She purred into his mouth, rotating her hips against his pelvis.

He delved inside a bra cup and rolled the gorgeously firm, round nipple he found there between his fingers, gently at first, then harder as her moans seemed to request.

‘Oh God,’ she gasped, breaking off from the scouring excavations of their tongues, ‘you’ve got the touch.’

‘Really?’ He was more flattered than he could say.

‘Really. But this isn’t about me.’

She set herself to loosening his clerical collar and reaching behind him to undo his buttons. He sat almost immobile, watching her at work, fascinated by the twin flushes in her usually pale cheeks, the sheen of her brow, the unaccustomed sparkle in her eyes. She looked astonishingly pretty and, oh God, why had the word fuckable popped into his head? Was it even a word?

She is so fuckable like this, with her just-kissed lips and her lust glaze and the way her chest rises and falls and her throat is bare and asking for my teeth to …

He was painfully hard. He had to stop thinking these thoughts. There was no way he could stop thinking these thoughts.

Indeed, he was still struggling with his resolve when Julia lifted his shirt off him. He raised his arms, helping her, absent-mindedly obedient to her will.

‘Oh, you’re lovely, such a lovely thing,’ she said, then she was rubbing her head between his pectoral muscles and then, oh, what was this? She flicked her tongue swiftly and skilfully over one of his nipples and he nearly bent double with the pang of pure lust she aroused in him.

He moaned and put his hands in her hair, throwing his own head back against the sofa top. It was useless now, he was defeated. Until his cock found relief, he would not be able to stop her.

She spent a long time lavishing his nipples with her attention and kisses and licks and nips and sucks. He twisted and squirmed underneath her, moving one hand to his crotch in a sly attempt to get himself off before anything more inflammatory happened.

But she thwarted his plan, grasping at his wrist and playfully biting the nipple she had been feasting on.

‘No, no,’ she rebuked. ‘Not yet. I want you to come in my mouth.’

He cried out at that, fatally unmanned. Why had the Lord made this such a delirious pleasure if it was sinful? How could this ever be fair? Man couldn’t win against such odds.

Julia unbuckled his belt and made swift work of releasing his cock from its restraints. He couldn’t look, but he could feel her breath wafting its gentle warmth around his shaft. Her hands parted his thighs a little more, then he felt her bury her face between them, licking and kissing at the soft inner flesh, the top of her head bumping exquisitely against his heavy balls so that they were caressed by her hair.

He covered his face with his hands, as if this might absolve him in some way from any responsibility, and let her do what she wanted.

He let her whisper sweet breaths over his sac and up his shaft, then paint his cock with the teasing tip of her tongue. He let her investigate his foreskin, pulling it back with eager fingers so she could bathe his uncovered end, wrapping her lips around it and subjecting it to a thorough tongue bath.

By the time she came to take him, inch by inch, into her mouth, he was so close to orgasm he despaired of lasting longer than a minute or so. He wanted it to last longer, to luxuriate in his sin now that it was inevitable, to gather all that pleasure inside him and store it for the long, lonely nights.

She cupped his balls and lowered her lips still further, sucking at him with a force he was surprised she possessed, being such a wisp of a thing herself.

She drew sensation from the crown of his head, the tips of his toes, all the extremities of his body, and made it rush pell-mell to his velvet-sheathed cock. He felt like the national grid, lit up, alive with electricity. The power surged through him, leaving him weak and tremulous, then he cried out as he filled Julia’s mouth. Oh, if he could capture this feeling, remember it in its exquisite entirety, he would have riches forever.

She looked up at him, her spark of triumph catching him like a barb. Unease possessed him; a sense that she now had a hold over him he might find difficult to escape. And yet … She was attractive, and she liked him and …

Evie’s face transferred itself to his consciousness and he let his head fall back again, groaning. Julia swallowed loudly and released his cock, inch by inch, with teasing slowness.

‘Such a privilege,’ she said in a low purr. ‘The first taste.’ She kissed his now-flaccid prick, then sat back on her heels. ‘Oh good Lord. You look as if you might burst into tears. Do cheer up.’

‘I’ve crossed the line,’ he said, to himself. ‘I’ve crossed it. I’m damned.’

‘I’m damned. What a lot of nonsense, Adam. Good God. Men have blowjobs every day – some of them are clergymen. Why ever do you think it would damn them?’

Adam tried to think. He didn’t even know any more. Where had his sexual mores come from? Did he have sexual mores? Had all these Saxonhurst sex fiends been right all along?

‘Julia,’ he said, looking at the ceiling, trying to focus on a lightshade. He repeated her name, singing it this time, Beatles-style.

‘Oh dear,’ she said, less robustly. She came to sit beside him, rubbing his hand with sympathetic gentleness. ‘This must be rather epoch-making for you. I don’t mean to be a bitch.’

‘You aren’t,’ he said, turning his eyes to her. ‘You give me attention I don’t deserve. I wish I knew why.’

‘I’ve told you why,’ she said patiently. ‘Because I like you. I fancy you. I want to take you to bed. In fact, I want to keep you there. Wouldn’t you rather be in my bed than that cold old church?’

He shut his eyes and nodded.

‘Come on, then. I’ve got so much I want to show you.’

Julia’s bed was clean and white, in a clean, white room that smelled of lilies. She led him to its foot by her hand and then stood in front of him, smiling warmly.

‘I want you to undress me, Adam,’ she said. ‘Will you do that for me?’

He was already naked, having left his trousers on the living room floor and his shirt and collar on the sofa. He’d had to remove his boots and socks before entering the bedroom too.

His reply was to reach out his fingers to Julia’s shirt buttons and undo them, neither slowly nor quickly, but in a kind of dislocated trance. It was already out of the skirt waistband following his earlier explorations, so it slipped easily down her arms, revealing to his sight her pale pink lacy bra. Such a trim little stomach, such an elegant neck and fragile collarbone, he thought. She was nothing like Evie, with her spillage of flesh, her indecent profusion of breast. But Julia’s slightness hid a strength he could almost feel in his bones. She was more than a match for him, more than a match for Evie too. Why had he underestimated her?

He reached around her waist for her skirt zip, then helped the garment over Julia’s hips.

‘That’s the boy,’ she said, letting it fall to the floor and stepping out. Her knickers were also pale pink and lacy. Behind the oyster scalloping, he could see tendrils of darker hair. Unlike Evie, who was shaven. He shut his eyes, remembering the image of her at the maypole.

Julia, in her underwear, coltish of limb, bold of gaze. She was an invitation to sin. He was going to take it.

Obligingly, she turned around to grant access to her bra hooks. He was grateful at not having to reach behind, sure he would have fumbled and taken too long. Instead, he slid them from their eyes and pushed the straps down. 

‘Touch them,’ whispered Julia.

He held the little mounds in his hands, enjoying the friction of palm and nipple. A woman’s body was pleasant to the touch. This was how men fell … But it was good to have the knowledge. Forewarned was forearmed. 

I am better equipping myself to fight the devil.

He put his lips to Julia’s neck and kissed it, unprompted. She sighed and leant into him. 

‘Oh, fast learner. Keep doing that to my nipples and I’ll come here and now, oh sweet God, you’re a natural.’

No, I’m an unnatural. Always have been, always will be.

‘You like it?’

‘Damn right. You?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Knickers.’

Still behind her, he pushed his fingers into the knicker elastic and lowered them. She bent slightly as they fell down her thighs, and her bottom brushed against his cock. He felt that low-down spark in the pit of his stomach, the first sign of approaching erection.

Her buttocks were trim, pert and toned – by no means as lusciously spankable as Evie’s, but all the same, here was a woman’s arse, and it was in his reach, and he could have it if he wanted. He cupped it in his hands, unable to resist taking a handful of it.

‘You’re an arse man, are you, Adam?’

‘Stop it. Stop being so coarse.’

‘You are, though. I know it.’

He didn’t reply, busy assessing the qualities of Julia’s bottom. It looked as if a few medium-strength swats might break it. He needed a robust pair of cheeks, like Evie’s. There was an arse that could take a real thrashing. His cock swelled again at the thought. The way it had looked when he rubbed in that lotion …

Julia wriggled her hips and tipped her neck back to look up at him.

‘I want some attention elsewhere, love. Let me lie down and I’ll show you where and what to do.’

She took her stealthy, feline little body to the bed and settled herself on her back. Adam watched as she scissored her legs apart and drew them up at the knees, giving him a full view of her parted lips and the lush pink-and-redness within.

‘Come and touch me.’ She patted her pubis, with its down of dark blonde hair. ‘Right here. Come and take a look. Find your way around.’

He stood like a startled rabbit for a moment, then the mysterious territory of ridges and whorls, underhung by the soft half-moons of her bottom cheeks, drew him forwards and he knelt on the bed.

‘Do you need my help?’ Julia whispered, holding out a hand.

Adam shook his head hurriedly. He knew what was what and where was where. As an adolescent, he had spent a very long time studying his human biology textbook, the closest he’d ever got to pornography. He knew all about the female reproductive organs, though he’d given up hope of ever seeing them in flesh.

Prematurely, it seemed, because now here was a splendid example, open and ready to receive his attentions. He bent lower, inspecting the split lips and the complex of folds inside them. Dismal jokes about how men could never locate the clitoris came into his mind, but he was not one of those men. He could see it right there, ripe and deep pink. It looked too tender to touch, though, as if it were raw or something. Would it hurt Julia if he just …

‘Touch it. Touch me.’

His hand strayed closer. The promised land, he thought irrelevantly, irritating himself. Was he able to forget the Bible for one moment? Now he felt her heat radiating outwards to his fingers. She would be wet and slippery and have that strong, alluring scent. He could smell it now. He wanted to plunge himself into it, take it, take her. The tip of one finger touched the outer part of her lips, stroking the wiry hairs.

He felt her twitch beneath him. She wanted more.

He turned his hand sideways and slipped all four fingertips between the inner lips. Such warmth, such soft, giving flesh, smooth and glistening. He stroked up and down, small movements, circling her bud, watching it grow and push itself forward more prominently than before. This was a feature of female desire, he had read, all those years ago. The clitoris, emerging from its hood, engorged with blood. He felt a little detached, as if he was watching a nature documentary, but Julia said, ‘Please, Adam, use your fingers, touch it,’ and he got to work.

It was incredible to see the effect his manipulation of that little knot of flesh had on Julia. She began to moan and pant and wriggle fit to twist the sheets and pull them out of their tucks. The power she had exerted over him when she had him in her mouth had been reversed. Now he wielded it. He could give her pleasure or he could withhold it. The choice was intoxicatingly his.

Rubbing away, he watched the colour bloom in her cheeks, and a sheen appear on her forehead. She looked at him with imploring eyes, as if amazed that he could do this to her.

He smiled.

This was what he was good at. At last he had found it.

‘Stick your fingers inside me,’ she panted. ‘Fuck me with them. Please.’

Oh, he could do that. Keeping his thumb engaged with her clit, he fed first his forefinger, then his index and ring fingers up inside the hot, tight, yielding little passage underneath. She sucked him in, her walls contracting around his digits, as if she meant to imprison them there. But he had the upper hand and he withdrew them a little way before pushing them back.

‘Oh God, you’re good, you can’t say you haven’t done this before … Oh yes.’

He kept his rhythm slow and precise, yet at the same time his thumb on her clit was merciless, driving her towards that precipice he had seen Evie on, so often. Too often. 

Then something else occurred to him, and he pivoted down at the hips until he loomed over Julia. Her nipples, right there, just where he could get at them. Taking one in his mouth, he rolled the other in his free hand, still working the wrist of his other furiously. Now fully occupied with the occupation of Julia, he licked and twiddled and frigged like a man possessed until he felt the sweet surrender shudder through her. Her orgasmic cries were celestial music to him, something he was given freely, something he took as his right.

It felt like so many things – freedom, victory, generosity, connection, happiness. What it didn’t feel like was sin.

He waited for her vibrations to slow, for her movements to still, then he kissed her lips.

‘Oh my boy,’ she slurred. There were tears in her eyes, and he kissed those too. ‘I won’t let them have you.’

He lay down beside her. His cock was hard, but he wasn’t hell-bent on dealing with it, as he had been earlier. He had given to her, and that seemed by far the higher priority. His own relief could wait until he was in the shower.

He raised his fingers to his nose and gave them a curious sniff. Julia, at his fingertips. He had given her pleasure. He felt like a king.

Vanity of vanities. All is vanity.

‘Was that – all right?’ he asked.

Her low chuckle satisfied his pride. 

‘All right, darling? It was absolutely all right. You are tuned in. You know the frequency, you uncanny little whore.’

He widened his eyes. She called him a whore!

‘That was uncalled for,’ he said sniffily.

‘Darling, I meant it as a compliment. You should do it professionally. You’re that good.’

Adam’s head hurt with all the reversals of his concepts of good and bad. He was good at a bad thing. Did that make him intrinsically bad? 

‘I understand the lure of sin now,’ he said.

‘Oh God, don’t start with all that again. Sin hurts people. Sex doesn’t. Well, unless you like a bit of SM, of course. Does that float your boat, vicar?’

He sat up in bed. The world swam before his eyes. He couldn’t pin down an emotion or a sentiment that would describe the way he felt. Looking at Julia, it wasn’t clear whether he saw a lover or a demon, sent to corrupt him.

‘You’ve gone terribly pale,’ she said, raising a solicitous hand to his brow. ‘As if all that good sexing has drained the life from you.’

‘I’m sorry, I have to … Do you mind if I use your shower?’

‘Not at all. It’s through that door.’

He sat in the cubicle and let scalding hot water stream on to him until his skin was lobster red. The heat only seemed to harden his cock even more, though, and he saw no alternative than to kill it with masturbation. His seed splashed on to the ceramic tray, mingling with the steam and water, disappearing down the plughole.

He crouched on the floor and wept.

When the time came to switch off, he found he couldn’t stand. He felt sick and his vision grew darker and darker until all was black.

When he came to, he was still in the shower, though Julia had switched off the water and stood over him in a bathrobe, her face tight with concern.

‘Why on earth did you have it so hot?’ she scolded. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t blister your skin. You silly, silly boy. Come on. Can you stand up now?’

She helped him to his feet and back to the bed, on which he collapsed.

She brought him a glass of water and some biscuits.

‘Get your strength back. I’m not surprised you were feeling a bit – sapped.’

‘What am I going to do?’

He sipped at the water, turning tragic eyes to Julia.

She kissed his cheek.

‘Do what you want to do, Adam. Have you ever done that?’

He shook his head. ‘I mean, about Evie. I’m sorry, Julia. I like you very much, so very much, but I can’t bear to see Evie with all those other men any more … I just can’t. I worry I’m going to lose control and kill them.’

Julia sighed and fidgeted with the belt of her robe.

‘You know, my advice would be to stay away from her. But I don’t suppose for one moment you’ll be able to do that. Perhaps if I spoke to her …’

‘She doesn’t listen to anyone.’

‘Yes, she does. I know she does. Listen, Adam, leave it with me. Give yourself a break and try not to see her for a few days. You need some time to wind down, I think, or you’re going to give yourself a stroke. And not the right kind of stroke either.’

She winked at him, but he was too doleful to brighten up.

He knew he was on the edge now, close to being consumed by his obsessions. Somebody had to save him and, for the first time he could remember, he didn’t think he could put that faith in God.