It wasn’t reason that compelled Malcolm and his camera to pursue the unlikely couple. Malcolm was a great believer in reason, of course, but he also understood that reason only takes you so far. It may have been reason that designed the first flying machines, but it took something beyond reason to test them: the same something that now coursed through Malcolm’s veins as he struggled to keep his prey in sight.
In part it was the urge of the wildlife documentary maker, intent on capturing the vital moment on film. In part it was curiosity too, a chance to look and learn. And then there was that inexplicable human addiction to pain. If this really was going to happen, that worst thing imaginable, if Charlotte really was going to allow herself to be swept along by another’s wave, then Malcolm would watch it. Watch it, record it, play it again, a thousand times over, until the pain quit the body through pure exhaustion.
Luckily for Malcolm he had a fair idea where the two of them were headed. Once again his research was proving invaluable. Things hadn’t changed so much since his mother’s time. There were still recognised places you went when the time for sex arrived. These days a degree of comfort was expected and so a group of enterprising lads had clubbed together and paid the annual hire fee for a clapped out caravan at the local holiday park.
For a sum, you could buy a copy of the key, as Alex Winter, the chair of the Shagging Committee, had explained. In fact Alex, whom Malcolm strongly suspected was more spectator than player, had even slipped a key to Malcolm, in case he wanted to do some filming.
So Malcolm ran on, glad he was in training, hoping he could get back to his house, pick up the key and cut across to the caravan before the startled lovers-to-be arrived. He was aware that this sort of filming transgressed any number of legal and ethical codes, but once again, while reason wasn’t entirely absent, it wasn’t in the ascendancy.
It was a ‘permanent’ caravan, the sort that could still technically be moved, the way the bylaws required, although achieving this would require two new tyres, the destruction of a windbreak and the digging up of drainage pipes.
Malcolm approached from the rear, having negotiated a two-metre-high hedge in his efforts to remain undetected. He stopped outside the awning and listened. He could hear nothing but his own breath and figured they hadn’t yet arrived, or that they’d performed the operation with admirable efficiency and were now both fast asleep. Malcolm zipped open the outside door and crept inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
As he’d feared the portable love shack wasn’t exactly the ultimate place of concealment. The awning was furnished with nothing more than a half-deflated air-bed, two thin sleeping bags and a foldaway chair. Any game of hide-and-seek was doomed to end prematurely. The caravan itself, which the key did indeed fit, was just as basic. The double bed was permanently down, making getting in and out awkward. There was no wardrobe, or even a table, and someone had gone to the trouble of safety-pinning the closed curtains together.
Aware that time was running out, Malcolm considered his options. There weren’t many. He unpinned the curtain at the window facing the awning and folded back a corner to create a small peephole. He went back into the awning and checked it through the camera. It provided a limited view of the bed, so long as they remained fairly still. He then unbuttoned the canvas storm flap hanging down from the caravan floor and rolled beneath it. He waited.
He heard Charlotte first. The sound of her voice tightened his stomach and made his eyes dry and scratchy.
‘Yeah, this must be it. The key works.’
Malcolm felt the floor above him rock with their weight and heard the door close behind them. He rolled straight out, determined to catch as much of the action as he could. It was a difficult move to pull off quietly and he was sure they would hear but, when there was no response from within, he pointed his camera at the small gap.
The light inside was poor and the camera struggled to find its focus. The grainy picture that finally emerged showed Kevin and Charlotte, still fully clothed, somewhere between sitting and lying, joined only at the lips and barely moving, like a still from an early silent movie. Malcolm hardly knew Kevin but in that frozen moment he felt a hatred for him that was startling in its purity. He wondered whether the camping ground had a fire alarm, and what would happen if he set it off.
Charlotte broke free and stood up. Even in the half-light she was beautiful. Malcolm bit his lip to distract himself from the torture of watching her.
‘Well, suppose I should take this off,’ Charlotte said, reaching for the strap of her dress. Malcolm’s lip began to bleed. Behind Charlotte, Kevin’s face travelled from uncertainty to terror, passing through a small town called torment on the way.
‘No don’t,’ Kevin called out, too loudly. ‘There’s um, something I should tell you. It isn’t you, but, it’s just, well, I don’t really want to do this.’
‘Oh.’ The relief on Charlotte’s face was obvious. ‘Well that’s okay actually, because neither do I.’
‘Oh, right. Good.’
‘Yeah.’
They were sitting again, on the edge of the bed, grinning awkwardly in the direction of the camera. It was a lovely shot.
‘So what were you going to tell me then?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Oh, um nothing really.’
‘I think you should. I’ll tell you mine.’
‘You first.’
‘No, you started it.’
‘Okay.’ Kevin paused. ‘Well, you see, I only said I wanted to have sex with you to impress Brian.’
‘I thought so.’
‘You did?’
‘Sure. Girls are as bad, you know.’
‘No, I don’t think you understand.’ Kevin’s features contorted with a new sort of pain, as if he was physically giving birth to each word. ‘I wanted to impress him, because, well, I’m in love with him. I’m in love with Brian.’
A small breeze passed through the campsite causing the caravan to shudder. Malcolm almost dropped the camera.
‘Oh, but,’ Charlotte was struggling to find a sentence to fit the occasion. ‘But, Brian’s such a prick. You must be able to do better than him. No, sorry. Your business.’
‘You won’t tell will you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I’m waiting for the right moment you see. I don’t think he’s ready yet. So, ah, what’s your big secret then?’
‘Well, okay, I suppose I owe you. The thing is, I only came here because I was so angry, about what Juliet said, about her and Malcolm. You see, I’m in love with Malcolm.’
Malcolm dropped the camera.
‘What was that?’
‘Hey, it’s…What the fuck?’
‘Malcolm?’
Malcolm struggled to retreat but Kevin had already rushed out and taken hold of one end of the camera. Malcolm’s elation at Charlotte’s confession was quickly drowning in the tide of a pervert’s embarrassment. He did the only thing he could do, in the circumstances. He let go of the camera, turned and ran.