A buzz of chatter and laughter came up Neill’s driveway, followed by a repeat-beating of the knocker.
‘Parasitic bastards can’t wait to eat me out of house and home! …Natalia! Come down!’ Neill called to her standing at the top of the stairs, softly wringing her bergamot-washed hands, as he swung open the door to a cold gust of the February night, pokey corners of baggage, and a mass exchange of eye-gazing rubs and kisses from his four London friends imported to the tight hallway of his Yorkshire cottage.
‘Hello Claire, darling! …M’lady! You look gorgeous!’ Neill’s hand ran over Monica’s black svelte bump, as Natalia sidled up behind, greeted in unison by Claire and Monica, who were shunted forward by Ed and Justin from the back like bouncers. Their slew of hellos were chorused with ‘where do we start with Claire’s timetable reading!’ as coats and scarves were slid off, and four exhilarated faces cooed in admiration of the cottage’s beams and bookshelves, centred by the roaring fireplace where Claire held out her hands in earnest relief.
‘Come through, come through, you must all be parched! Zinfandel, Chardonnay, Peroni? Mocktail, Monica?
‘Mocktail Monica? That the stripper you’ve got coming?’ chuckled Ed from the coat pegs.
‘I’ll be ok to have one glass of red!’
‘I’ll have the mocktail,’ Natalia smiled, as Neill busied with bottles and ice and mint leaves with one hand, and wine-pouring with the other, ushering them back into the lounge with a gregarious questioning.
‘So what happened on your journey up, did Claire have the timetable upside down again?’ his hand falling on the back of Natalia’s neck, booming: ‘Guys? Beer?’ in her ear, sending him back into the kitchen whilst everyone squeezed onto couches and window seat with smiles and sighs, tired but renewed by Neill’s charming home comforts, gazing at the framed Thames picture over the fire as though it signified just how far they’d travelled to gratefully sip or swig their tipples, and beaming at Natalia who perched herself on the arm of the single sofa by the fire, leaving anticipatory room for the host himself to take the seat.
‘Good to see you again, Natalia!’ Monica’s voice lilted as she nursed her red wine bowl in her palms. ‘How’s everything? Art studies going well?’
‘Great thanks, yes,’ Natalia smiled. ‘And you?’ motioning at her bump, ‘how’s your… how’s everything going with, er, that…’
Claire and Monica giggled at each other like Alana and Aisha.
‘Ha, indeed, that!’ comically groaned Monica.
‘Sorry, I—’
‘Oh no, no, sweetie! The first couple of months I was sick every day,’ she sighed, rubbing her belly, ‘and now I’m in second trimester I’m just so glad it’s eased off!’ Her laugh now came from behind Neill’s bottom parked in the way presenting beers to the couch-bound men, as Claire began explaining how they missed their 3.25 train from King’s Cross because Monica practically ran to Pret A Manger with a BLT craving, but Claire misjudged the time to get back to the platform, so they ended up on a train to Nottingham, changed, and nearly got on the train back to London.
The tale was told with ejaculatory laughs from the girls, and chuckling eye-rolls from the men, as now Justin extolled the efficiency of the train journey otherwise, in a manner as polite and tidy as his short boxed beard. Neill came back in with his beer and lowered himself into the vacant chair seat. As Natalia held her breath, Justin’s words seemed to fade out as Neill’s arm hooked her waist to pull and plop her straight back into his lap, as she tried to remain composed, whilst cocooning herself into his chest, with a wriggle into his beige-trousered lap like a warm sandpit as his hand fell onto her jutting bottom as readily as Ed’s mouth to his bottle of Peroni.
She smiled now, as if National Rail debate was titillating. They could be talking about piss patches in Monica’s knickers or shit smears in Ed’s pants for all she cared. What mattered was that her knees were folded into Neill’s shirt flaps and her feet pressed against his femur like she was walking a thick ledge of Vile Valentine, Mafia Man God. Her cheek at his collarbone, her forehead to his neck pulse, ear against his heartbeat; all beating with her own, like a band of drummers on the Embankment, except now her audience was encased in Neill’s private space and Neill himself was Big Ben… they were driving to it, down there; she’d feel it at her shin, waiting right at the meeting place where she knew it would come into the skyline of his thighline.
Whilst an orchestra of commentary on journeys played, different countries’ travel systems now - gosh how dull - Natalia felt only the deep momentary bass tones of ‘no’, ‘yeah’, ‘mm,’ from Neill’s throat at her scalp, whilst further down, the conductor’s hand played back and forth. As Monica talked of doing as many trips in the second trimester before the third, Natalia plotted her every mew of ‘yee-aah’ against every knot of her stomach, as though on a graph where excitement would top boredom, and the former was winning, just as the conductor whispered now:
‘You’re squirming like a worm in soil.’
‘Are you talking about me or something else?’
For he was here, Mr Twitch; arriving with flowers - the pattern of her green floral dress that it flinched through - and lifting her dress like a dumbell, and she felt a sudden longing to squash it back down with her thigh, with her whole weight, to rub her bottom all over it and see if she couldn’t make it as hard as the climbing bar in his office that time, to see Big Ben right here in Leeds.
Instead, it was her temple chafing his Adam’s apple imagining it by proxy, and just as Claire was describing at length how she got out of work early that morning, the graphlines swerved in favour of boredom that even Neill the conductor was keen to curtail:
‘Right guys and gals, you must be hungry. Let’s get those hors d’oeuvres.’
He patted Natalia’s bum and she scrambled up as gracefully as an octopus from a net, reaching for her drink in contemplation of how and where she might get to see Mr Twitch again - and what she would do differently to feel that tiny bit more of him - as she realised with a twinge of guilt she’d neglected her co-hosting duties, watching Claire and Neill now carrying in two trays.
‘Cranberry-fig goat cheese crostini; tuscan pepper and pork on bruschetta, and seafood-stuffed mushrooms,’ gestured Neill, to umms and aahs! from the girls; ‘nice one!’ and ‘poncey bastard!’ from Justin and Ed respectively, as they eagerly hunched over and polished them off so quickly that Neill busied off to prep the starter, eagerly followed in by a more vigilant Natalia who was gratefully directed to puzzle over different sized forks.
‘Grab those chopped chives and the jar of capers from the fridge please darling,’ then clicking his fingers: ‘Need the large flat serving spoon!’ - as she purposefully elongated her bottom across the sink to reach for it, and he hollered deafeningly by her ear: ‘Starters are up! All guests come be seated! It may be an elfin table but, let’s do this properly. Couples together: Monica and Justin, here. Ed and Claire on each end, and you—’ leading a surprised Natalia by the buttock, ‘most decidedly right here.’
A chorus of chair scrapes, thank-yous, deliciouses and looks-amazings, as Neill served ‘seared scallops with brown butter and lemon pan sauce!’
‘How often do you cook like this, Rich?’ from Justin, as Neill topped up their drinks.
‘Haven’t done a dinner party for probably eight months.’
‘But what about you two? Surely you treat Natalia,’ smiled Claire, taking up her fork.
‘Oh of course, but that’s not really a dinner party, I meant for six.’
‘You do it for six alright,’ mumbled Ed.
‘Natalia and I cook for each other,’ Neill continued, eyeing Ed, ‘well I, mostly for her, and usually not four courses.’
‘Would you even get as far as fourth course when it’s just the two of you?’ laughed Ed.
‘Nah. She’s dessert.’
The group tittered as Natalia tried her best to look blasé.
‘And here we all are at the Mad Shagger’s Tea Party!’ Ed raised his glass in a toast, as the group followed half-mockingly.
‘These taste amazing, Rich,’ purred Claire.
‘Who said the Mad Shagger wasn’t good at foreplay?’ winked Neill.
Ed glanced. ‘Well Justin’s already done his—’
‘That Monica’s line?’ quipped Neill.
‘Pregnancy makes every food taste like an orgasm to me,’ sighed Monica with a histrionic eye-roll.
‘Someone get me pregnant then,’ remarked Neill.
‘I wouldn’t trust Monica’s review tonight then,’ retorted Ed. ‘A Mac D’s Drive-Thru would do her.’
‘You’ll be laughing at the other side of your face when you taste my main,’ sniffed Neill.
‘That what you say to Natalia?’
They all laughed.
‘Not a fan of scallops?’ smiled Monica at Natalia, who’d eaten one, half bitten another, and left two.
‘I tried them. I, er… don’t know about the texture. Sort of feels like I’m… eating a merman’s bollocks.’
Justin spluttered on his beer and Claire giggled.
‘Sorry Rich,’ added Natalia. ‘Your scallops are lovely. Scallops as a sea creature though, I don’t know…’
‘We all know you think Rich’s scallops are lovely,’ grunted Ed as the table laughed again.
‘You lot are incorrigible. I’ll relieve you of your load,’ as Neill took up Natalia’s plate.
‘That’s her line,’ said Ed, as Justin grinned. ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist. One too many puns when we get together.’
‘Never take them personally, Natalia,’ smiled Monica. ‘These lot are bad enough when sober.’
‘You mean the jokes get even worse as the alcohol consumption progresses?’ Natalia replied.
‘Oh, utter inebriation is the goal,’ enthused Justin. ‘Drunk enough to break down the door on the way out, isn’t that right Ed?’
Natalia shifted in her seat.
‘Right, that’s enough for you so-called gentlemen,’ Neill arose. ‘Your next is a mocktail.’
‘Need any help, you two?’ offered Claire as she handed Neill up the empty plates.
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ as he donned gloves to begin removing a large, clunking dish from the oven like a calf from a difficult cow. ‘Psst, Natalia,’ he beckoned. ‘Can you get the large plates out please?’
He studied her face as she stepped over. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.
‘What for?’
‘Them.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
He lifted pieces of chicken roulade onto each plate. ‘Add the sauce from that pan, then salad from that bowl. Where is that bowl. Oh, fuck, it’s in the fridge—’
‘I’ll get it.’
‘Right here we go. Champagne chicken roulade topped with shrimp and asparagus; salad of baby kale greens, candied walnuts and gorgonzola,’ Neill served with a flourish, and after a refill of wines and popping open more beers, the group resettled.
‘Bon appetit!’ to mmms and aahs as they tucked in.
‘So this area we’re in is… Wetherby is it?’ asked Monica.
‘Not quite. We’re between Wetherby and Leeds.’
‘Do you live close, Natalia? Your accent’s not that Leedsy?’ queried Claire.
‘Harrogate,’ she smiled, as Neill knocked her knee.
‘Ooh, shall we go there tomorrow?’ Claire cooed. ‘I heard of the turkish baths—’
‘No,’ said Neill promptly, as Natalia nudged his knee back. ‘How about Harewood House and Harvey Nichs for the girls, and Elland Road and Brewtown tour for the boys.’
‘Not Elland Road. We’re not here for football,’ groaned Monica, briefly flicking her phone out. ‘I saw a place… ah, Temple Newsam House and Farm…’
‘Natalia’s taken me there far too much.’ Knee nudge from Neill.
‘Roundhay Park to sightsee sex monster Jimmy Savile’s demolished penthouse?’ chortled Justin.
‘Yeah no thanks. Watching Ed get demolished is enough.’
‘Well, I picked up a fifteen-year old in the station, going for forty,’ Ed winked.
Neill spluttered on his beer.
‘Glenfiddich, Rich.’
‘I know. I just thought we’d lay off the whisky to be fresh for tomorrow.’
‘Come on mate, it’s not Mad Shagger’s Teetotal Party!’
‘I grabbed a couple of Proseccos too,’ Claire added, ‘I didn’t want to drink you dry, Rich!’
Justin smiled at Natalia who was watching them with wider eyes than she realised. ‘You’re not a boozer then?’
‘Oh, er, sometimes.’
‘Sweet Natalia’s only young,’ purred Monica.
‘Exactly. Thought nineteen-year-olds drank all the time,’ remarked Ed.
Claire frowned. ‘Bit of a generalisation, Ed—’
‘Well, I’m young,’ replied Natalia, ‘and learning that a menu of alcohol is standard in social company, and the excusing from it - unless you’re a child or pregnant - prompts amicable but public query.’
She watched their faces fall like Joan’s at the fair. Neill chuckled.
‘Oh! Rich has found someone sensible, at larrrst!’ Ed reached to pat Natalia on the back.
‘Well - bad experiences growing up watching my elders with it,’ added Natalia. ‘Just not a huge thing for me.’
There was an interlude of fork tinkles.
‘I was joking, by the way, about becoming completely inebriated,’ added Justin.
‘I know,’ she smiled.
‘I’ve got some Girl Scout cookies too,’ Ed winked to Natalia.
‘What, you… baked?’ she frowned cynically.
‘I’ll be baked alright.’
‘Ignore him Natalia. He’s talking about his weed.’
‘Oh—’
‘Indica-dominant, hybrid marijuana strain,’ chirped Justin, ‘that Ed will end up greened out on if he smokes it after three beers.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ sighed Neill. ‘His blood’s 90% proof.’
‘Stoned and greened-houses, Rich! Coming from the man who’d drink whisky from an old tin can!’ Ed raised his voice piratically, as Neill groaned.
‘As if a Headmaster could get away with being a drunk.’
‘Not till you joined the field!’
‘And this nonsensical conversation proves you’re the drunk, whilst I’m sitting here completely compos mentis.’
‘Cuntis mental,’ Ed muttered.
‘What do your parents think of Rich then, Natalia?’ Justin’s dark eyes twinkled at her.
‘Ohh,’ Natalia began, getting a mental image of her mental mum at the fair, then transplanting a Joan-like figure over the holy-trousered-Mary - then suddenly wondering why she pictured Joan as her mum - and was frowning into space when Ed remarked:
‘They think that well of him, do they?’
‘Oh, no, I was just—’
‘Her mum loves me,’ interjected Neill. ‘She’s just gutted I went for the nectar and not the vintage cask!’
The others cackled.
‘Well… I haven’t told them he’s a Headmaster, you know,’ Natalia added hastily.
‘Ooh! Secrets abound,’ Ed’s specs glinted.
‘You didn’t go to his school?’
‘No,’ said Neill and Natalia together.
‘I take it we’re not road-tripping past there tomorrow to take a gander then, Rich?’
‘Absolutely not. Now, moving on—’
‘Well, everyone, I have an announcement to make!’ Claire piped up excitedly.
‘You’re pregnant,’ Ed said with a straight face.
‘Ed!’ frowned Justin.
‘What? You shouldn’t be finding that funny, Justin…’
‘Don’t be a tosser,’ muttered Justin.
‘Guys, guys! I bought a game for us…’
‘You mean brought,’ began Neill.
‘No, bought. I picked it up in the train station, reduced in price after Valentine’s Day—’
‘Oh, Lord. What,’ groaned Neill.
‘Truth or Dare. The Sexy edition!’
‘What the fuck,’ Justin set down his beer.
‘You’ll see!’ Claire smirked.
‘I thought we’d just chill and watch a film,’ Neill said, wiping his mouth with his serviette. ‘Everyone finished? Ready for dessert? Oh, Natalia, you’re still going, no rush my darling. Another beer, wine for anyone?’
‘Fill me up!’ Claire pushed her glass.
‘They’ll need it for the game!’ laughed Monica.
‘You ever played Truth or Dare, miss?’ Ed turned to Natalia.
‘You have the unprecedented opportunity to take my virginity on that one,’ Natalia answered. ‘On the game, Ed, the game,’ she added.
Neill chuckled. ‘That’s the thing about Ed. He needs an extra special putting in his place. Really, I think we should double-dose him on dares just to catch up on his last decade of dreadful double-entendres.’
‘Oh, we should!’ laughed Claire, as Neill arose stacking the plates with Natalia’s help, till he gestured her to sit back down, facing the others now groaning with full bellies.
‘Always room for dessert!’ Justin rubbed Monica’s belly. ‘How’s baby, baby? Liking the banquet?’
‘A good few kicks of satisfaction. Can’t keep my hand off her!’ she smiled back deliriously.
‘I know the feeling,’ murmured Neill, turning to catch Ed’s eye, ‘of wanting to keep touching because it must just be so warm and cosy in there.’
Ed chortled.
Neill turned with a tray of desserts. ‘Honey yoghurt panna cotta with blood orange sauce!’
The spoon-scraping competition was over in a flash.
‘Woah, I’m done!’
‘More drink?’
‘Fag now?’
Natalia, glad to feel the table formality loosen, tossed her head back and stretched her arms up high, fists drawing an arch in the air, eyes closed and mouth mid-yawn. Before she knew it, Neill’s hands had swooped in like a vice on her head, as she murmured with surprise to find his lips descended on hers, and his Peroni-panna-cotta tongue so far down her throat that something shimmied like a feather duster up her vagina, as this full-on kiss went on for untold seconds of stage fright, for which her blazing blush was obscured by the curtain of his head upon hers.
Her audience resounded in murmurs, till he finally released her, and she took in Monica and Claire’s delighted faces, as well as Ed remarking: ‘Well, I would say get a room…’ But their bemusement was over by the time they arose, as seemingly unfazed by Neill’s ways as they were by rain in England.
‘Well bravo Rich, amazing meal!’
‘Her or the food? He had five courses!’
‘Shut up Ed.’ - Neill whispered close to Natalia’s ear: ‘Do you want weed tonight?’
‘No… it’s ok.’ She thought that her stoned reveries were best kept between just them. ‘Are you… having a Girl’s Scout?’
‘Just one. To save Ed from doing the lot.’
The men were shifting outside for smokes, with hollering back-slaps and commentary about the World Cup that seemed to exclude female presence and send Natalia half reluctantly trailing with the two girls into the lounge.
‘I’ll swerve fags for now, so I can cuddle you without polluting you, mama Mon!’
‘Oh, you’re a sweetheart Claire. So where’s the game? Is it the same rules?’
‘It’s a bit of a twist, let’s have a look…’
They spilled out the box as Natalia broke silently up to the bathroom. Bottom pressed against Neill’s toilet seat as if his hand was still there, she hadn’t given the social challenge of his friends much thought till she was here in the midst of it, already blushing before they’d got their embarrassing game out.
She looked down at the claw of his bathtub, somehow comforted, then thought to his couch, and smiled, that if the chances of her passing out in his Leeds cottage were even higher than the London jaunt, at least she had sofa-Sarah to catch her.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBZ5Onmzp4g
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd6jEFdjEHq
*
The men were filing in from the garden smelling of night air and smoke, to find Claire holding the pink-printed ‘Sexy Truth or Dare!’ box aloft like a Bible in court. Groans resounded as they stood with beers held at their chests like lucky charms that would somehow ward off the bad spirit of whatever Claire was unleashing on them.
‘So it’s just like Truth or Dare, the game we all know! Except… you spin a wheel!’ Claire presented a flimsy cardboard circle like a tipsy gameshow host, replete with a fresh glass of bubbles, her grey cashmere sweater flung to one side and her cleavage flashing fire flames. ‘You either have to answer a regular truth, or dare, or, answer a sexy ‘truth’… or dare. But the spinner might land on the unlucky one! A straight dare!’
Natalia, standing by the lounge door bereft of lucky charm, arms crossed instead for her protection, looked over at Neill standing with one elbow on the mantelpiece, looking for a moment like a photo of a home-posing Royal in Hello magazine, which now came comically alive into a gurning face thrown at the group.
‘You’re really set on playing this, aren’t you Claire?’ his eyes glimmering at Justin, who chuckled in seeming surrender. ‘Anyone mind being a teenager again?’
‘The only teenager in the room is terrified,’ retorted Natalia, as they all laughed.
‘Claire’s responsible for the consequences!’
It seemed that the game - and Claire herself sitting next to it - was a poisonous snake in the middle of the room, of which it was a tribal rite of passage for fashionable Londoners in their mid-thirties to prove their fearlessness against, and to the scourge of which, despite Natalia’s attempt just now at voicing her quiet horror toward, they were thoroughly resigned to endure as though they considered it a set of necessary vaccinations.
A plan became established that a space be made on the floor in front of the fire, moving the coffee table off the rug and arranging in a circle. Justin, Ed and Monica sat bums against the long sofa; Claire sat cross-legged without crutch of back support, like a guru arranging tarot cards governed by a gaudy arrow. Royal Neill was brought to the floor like a beggar upon a pillow, his back against the single sofa, a growing merriment in his eye accentuated by the fire as he beckoned Natalia with a ‘come here’ twitch of his face, making her insides melt - sliding over as though they had - till she was pulled straight under his arm, her back up against him like a long-time lover, as she proceeded to be chafed wherever his hand landed on her body, abruptly or softly depending on the tempo of his remarks.
‘Who’ll go first?’
‘Don’t we have to shake a die or something,’ Neill looked round lazily as though one would drop from the ceiling.
‘Doesn’t the youngest go first? You, Natalia!’ Ed’s eyes widened at her, as she joke-glared back.
‘Youngest in soul age. You, Ed,’ chuckled Justin.
‘Just start with you Claire, as you’re to blame for this,’ prompted Neill, who detected the tiny groan in Natalia’s throat and pulled her closer into him, and suddenly despite her nervousness of whatever was going to ensue, she had a one and only reason for being with these people, and it was right upon her, brushing the top of her head with a long leery, beery pucker, making her smile as smug and happy as any teenager playing pretend lovers with her Headmaster could possibly look.
‘Who dares wins!’ Claire spun the arrow.
‘Truth. Standard one!’
‘I’ll read it,’ Neill leant forward, pulling Natalia with him as he brought the card off the pile and settled back again:
‘‘Who here are you most jealous of?’ Oh, Christ—’
‘Well, Christ pulled off a few good party tricks, but it’s not your card to answer, Rich…’
‘Shut up Ed. Are we sure about this game? We should check these cards—’
‘Oh, I’ll answer it!’ beamed Claire, folding her short blonde hair behind her ears and gesturing her palms out to the group. ‘Look, all of you here are wonderful and there’s something I could say for all of you! But I would have to say Monica, and she knows it! She’s beautiful…’ - Monica awwwed - ‘she’s successful, and she’s now blessed with child, and it doesn’t get any better than that, does it?’
Natalia’s wince was felt by Neill who nudged his elbow into her rib, which mechanised Natalia like a talking doll to smile: ‘Well done Claire!’
‘Ok, next,’ Neill tossed the card over the floor, as Claire scrambled forward to replace it, and Monica leant forward on hands and knees, a slick frond of long jet-black hair dipping into the spinner.
‘Truth! Normal one again.’
‘I’ll read it,’ reached Claire. ‘‘Have you ever pretended to be sick to get out of something? If so, what was it?’’
‘Too easy. Even I know this one,’ murmured Justin.
‘Justin has to tell it!’ called Neill.
Monica laughed. ‘Not one I mind answering! It was back when they wanted me to go to Cancun for the shoot in Harper’s. They showed me a picture of the male model I was supposed to pose with, and kiss with, and I almost threw up! He was… well… no offence but horrendous! Like, 70 years old! I was only 21. Let’s just say I would have literally made myself sick to get out of that one!’
They all giggled. ‘Ok, that’s funny enough to pass!’ remarked Ed, as Natalia eyed the self-appointed referee, her breath fragmenting and her food-filled stomach turning, as the dread built of what question would come her way.
Ed’s bald head and black glasses now crawled along the rug like a shoot-up hostage, tossing the spinner to an emphatic, screw-faced, ‘oh, fuck!’
The arrow had landed on the red triangle ‘DARE!’
‘Super! Now we’re rocking,’ laughed Justin. ‘This game was a good idea!’
‘What’s it gonna be, strip naked?’ wailed Ed. ‘Kiss another man present? Put my boxers on my head?’
Natalia leant to pluck the card. ‘I’ll read it. Oh! It says: ‘Eat a spoonful of chilli powder.’’
‘What the actual…?’
‘Oh, Ed, I bet you’d rather put your pants on your head!’ laughed Claire.
‘Chilli powder? Do you even have any?’ groaned Ed.
‘Indeed,’ chuckled Neill. ‘Will you go for this?’
‘Do I have any choice?!’
‘Not unless you want to kiss another man, stripped naked instead!’ hooted Justin.
‘Let’s get you some chilli powder, old chap!’ Neill’s arms disentangled from Natalia as he disappeared into the kitchen, giggles circulating Ed’s doubtful countenance till Neill returned with a small bowl and a spoon.
‘Open wide!’
‘No chance, give it here—’ Ed snatched the bowl and took a tiny doubtful pinch.
‘Ooh! He’s going to do it!’ Monica squealed.
‘Fill the spoon and then let’s see it all gone, like a good boy,’ taunted Neill, as Justin returned with a glass of water, watching Ed swallow half and grimace, then do the rest to a noisy egging-on from the men and squalls of delight from the girls, Natalia watching with low moans, and erupting with an exaggerated group cheer as Ed cried out: ‘Water, water!’ and necked the whole lot; groaned, belched, then mock-bowed from his sitting position as the others clapped him on the back.
‘Well done Ed!’ enthused Claire.
‘Justin next!’
Natalia, watching the bar raised with a faint smile of mortification, drew a long breath as Neill now came back to sit behind her, splaying his legs either side of her and imprisoning her torso within his knees, his socked feet circling hers as he pinned her back into his chest, murmuring into her flinching ear:
‘Are you ok, honey?’
‘Yeahhh, I’m ok…’
‘Just ok?’ His lips began planting a series of soft kisses into her jawline, a flood of Neill scents bathing her neck like a scarf, as her dreamy eye caught awkwardly on Claire’s, then lowered to her large bosoms, then blinked away again. Where was she again? What was she worried about a moment ago?
‘Sexy Truth or Dare!’ Justin read off the spinner. Oh, that.
The girls jiggled excitedly as Ed read: ‘‘What was the most embarrassing thing that’s happened in bed with someone?’ Good luck my friend!’
‘Oh no!’ Claire stared. They all turned to Justin.
‘Oh dear, I might have to think about this one.’
‘Doesn’t have to be something with Monica,’ Neill chuckled.
‘Oh, it does, and she has to tell it!’ guffawed Ed.
Justin took a breath. ‘Ok, there’s something that happened when I was seventeen. I—’
He tried to compose his face. The girls giggled.
‘I was with a girl, who I really, really liked from my college, and we’d been seeing each other, then finally, we - you know - got it together. It turned out, we were both virgins. But we didn’t tell each other that, obviously…’
‘Oh, here we go. Virgin girl finally spreads her legs for a guy who’s so nervous he forgets where to put it,’ joked Neill over Natalia’s head.
‘Not quite, but close. Obviously, we were using condoms. Or rather, about to use one. We took it out of the packet and—’
‘You put it on your head,’ prompted Ed.
‘No, I wasn’t that clueless. I—’
‘Put it on her head,’ came back Neill.
‘Ok shut up and let me speak. I put it on, but I didn’t know you had to be hard before you did. It hung there…’ - already the others were stifling laughter - ‘and she started, you know, getting me aroused, with it already on. I thought we were doing it all the right way. The harder I got, the more it pathetically sagged. By the time I was ready, the thing was drooping and hanging almost completely off, and were trying to, you know, thrust it…’
The others’ laughter broke out now.
‘You’re kidding. You missed sex ed then,’ remarked Neill.
‘I am sex Ed—’ came the bald man’s retort.
‘Then as the thing fell off, I thought I came,’ Justin continued in a loudening, theatrical voice, as Claire and Monica were in hysterics. ‘I kind of fell into her with a long gasp… and the worst thing is, I came out with something like, I love you! She looked at me so unimpressed, right as the condom fell to the floor like a burst balloon. Then she got up and left.’
‘You didn’t get this girl pregnant did you?’ retorted Neill.
‘Yeah, and it only happened four months ago!’ erupted Ed.
The two wheezed in laughter, prompting the girls’ too, including Natalia, somewhat nervously. Justin sat back smiling, swigging his beer.
‘Natalia’s turn!’ Claire announced.
‘Urgh, my god. Can’t we just play fucking Scrabble or something?’
Everyone laughed.
‘Twister, I say,’ said Neill.
‘It looks like you two are already at it,’ grinned Ed.
Natalia took a deep breath, still strapped into the seat of Neill’s arms and legs like the seat of a rollercoaster, as Neill purred in her ear: ‘Relax. Fuck the game. Just say or don’t say what you want.’
She leant and spun the arrow.
‘Truth. Regular,’ said Claire as she took a card. ‘Shall I read it? So it says, ‘Do you sleep without your clothes?’’
Natalia blinked and frowned. ‘Yes. Always. That’s a bit easy isn’t it?’
‘Not like she has a choice,’ remarked Ed.
‘Does Rich even know what pyjamas are?’ giggled Monica.
‘Only the ones tied to his bed posts,’ snorted Ed.
‘Shut up Ed. Of course I know what PJs are since coming up frigid North.’
‘Don’t call her that…’
Justin spluttered on his beer.
‘Take another one?’ Monica suggested to the now blushing Natalia. Claire had already pulled one.
‘‘Who do you think is the worst-dressed person in this room?’’
‘Bit harsh!’ Natalia groaned. ‘Guys, I can’t answer this…’
‘Ed, just say Ed!’ urged Neill, rocking her suggestively between his legs.
‘Er, well then yeah, it’s got to be Ed—’
Ed’s eyes comically widened. ‘Hey! What have you against my finest vintage tweed blazer—?’
‘It’s the colour of what your vomit will be later for having weed after beer!’ interjected Neill.
‘I’ll forgive you Natalia. Almost,’ grinned Ed, as Natalia smiled, relieved to cause sufficient drama to pass the mantel.
‘Nice one darling. Oh shit, it’s my turn now…’
‘I’ll spin it for you. Normal truth,’ as Natalia reached for a card: ‘‘Would you wear your shirt inside out for a whole day if someone paid you £100?’’
Neill scoffed. ‘What kind of a fucking question is that? Yes of course. I’d do it for a tenner. I’d do it for a cigarette. That card is so fucking feeble, it can go on the fire.’
He plucked it from Natalia’s fingers and tossed it over into the flames, as the group chirruped in surprise.
‘I’d rather have a dare.’
‘Ok,’ as Natalia reached again. ‘It says: ‘Have someone blindfold you, someone in the room must kiss you and you guess who it is.’’
‘Oh dear. Is it limited to female? Or the reader of the card?’
‘Get your black scarf Monica,’ directed Claire, as though this were a common occurrence she knew the exact protocol to, as Natalia was directed to jump up and join the others on the main couch facing Neill on the single sofa, and Monica stepped up like a magician’s assistant to wrap her scarf around Neill’s eyes, whilst he groaned and shook his head.
‘Wrap another scarf around his gob for a week!’ suggested Ed.
Neill blew out his cheeks as Monica stepped back, gesturing madly in silence to ask ‘who shall do it?’ prompting worried glimpses at Natalia, which blossomed into smiles, as fingers pointed silently right at her, one by one, and Monica gave a thumbs up, miming:
‘You! You! Go on!’
The consensus was set. Natalia’s heart sank to be put in the spotlight, but then it lifted as she arose and realised the opportunity she had at her own fingertips, her own lingerlips… Neill, unable to see, or know she was coming, in a moment of rare vulnerability that gave her complete permission to take him to her face exactly how she wanted - how she indeed fantasised about! …this boisterous and rambunctious and intimidating man whom she so admired for all these months was all tied up for her taking, not for unfeasibly long but still, maybe ten seconds - as she moved silently toward him now - and his waiting mouth exclaimed:
‘Get the fuck on with it you tormenters!’
‘Don’t peep!’ said Ed.
‘I’m not fucking peeping. I can’t see a fucking thing.’
Softly like a burglar shifting the air in front of him, it could be any of them: most likely Claire or Monica, he probably thought, whilst Natalia would look on uncomfortably; that’s why he must want this over quick. Or maybe the girls would throw in Ed or Justin for a joke snog on his forehead that he would swear and belabour at and get them back for later.
Natalia came to the side of his knees, carefully avoiding touching him, and leaned her face down into his blinded one, where she saw him brace himself, dropping his lips apart in either nonchalance to a prank, or reception of something good - and then with a great nervous thrill, she brought herself toward the two beckoning caverns of his nostrils, and hung there for a moment to feel the heat rise from his lips and stubbly skin. Parting her lips, she landed them gently on his, closing and opening her eyes to strobe-flicker between dream and reality, and as she completed the little pucker of one kiss upon his top lip, she knew he knew it was her. For his lips stayed open in receipt, and as she begun the cycle of another kiss, her tongue fell naturally into the opening where his now emerged, and two lips and two tongues made a sweet, gentle dance together like two flames in the now ebbing fire.
His onlooking friends would assume Neill knew his girlfriend’s kiss, but privately to Natalia, time was slowed into a reverie only comparable to their stoned kiss at Hyde Park corner, as now a quiet slow moan came from him, only heard by her, as she completed ten seconds of the softest, tenderest kiss she could imagine giving anyone, and that she secretly hoped, he had ever received from anyone.
Hearing that her audience’s whispers and titters could not be suppressed much longer, she slid out her fingers from where his were privately caressing the bones leading into her wrist, and watched a small exhale of deflation escape him as she silently reversed her stockinged feet back to the couch where she surveyed him with the others.
Neill sat there looking as though if you took off the scarf there would be a bewildered, delirious or even devastated expression; his blindfolded face hung to one side like a crestfallen executionee, as Monica broke the pin-drop silence:
‘Ok, you can take it off now!’
Neill swiped it off, rubbed his face and blinked round the room.
‘Aw, Rich! Did you enjoy that!’ Claire trilled, as they all laughed, mainly to fill the silence, as Neill’s genial smile back was weighted by eye contact at their feet.
‘So who you think it was?’ Ed asked.
Neill scratched his temple, smoothed back his ruffled hair, and spoke:
‘It’s pretty obvious. I know it was Natalia,’ still not looking directly at her.
‘No. It was me,’ said Ed dramatically; Neill unresponsive.
‘Well… well done both, I guess!’ remarked Monica. ‘That was really lovely!’
Apparent was an unanimity that Neill’s silence was insouciance; the familiarity of his girlfriend kissing him, and was hardly going to move mountains - or, perhaps - that he was choosing to keep his passions to himself whilst in company. To them, there was nothing amiss.
But to Natalia, looking over at Neill, there was something certainly amiss. He only glanced briefly at her; there was no boisterous aftermath, no words nor even a grin. Like he had a blow; ‘I have a blow, Jane,’ she recalled the words of Rochester, as if the cord of the usual machismo had snapped and lay on the floor between them, and she stared at its frayed ends, wondering what it meant, or if something was wrong, but knowing there surely can’t be, for all she’d done is kiss him, and she’d felt his positive reaction as she did so. Was he just fed up now of the game; was a sullen demeanour his natural consequence of multiple beers?
‘Does everyone want a break?’ suggested Justin, assuming the quiet hosts needed perking up.
‘I think we need drinks, fags and coffee!’ chimed Monica in approval, as Claire jumped up.
‘Let’s crack open that single malt scotch, eh, chap,’ Ed’s hand landed on Neill’s shoulder, who arose in acquiescence, tossing Monica’s scarf back to her whilst she giggled with Claire.
‘You want to keep playing don’t you?’ grinned Justin to Claire.
‘Oh yeah! We’ve only been round once and barely done any dares!’
Neill sharply inhaled, but Monica’s smooth voice presided: ‘We’ll just do one more each, then call it a night I think! I’ll have some coffee. But decaf,’ as they disappeared into the kitchen, Neill calling back: ‘Natalia! Tea?’
‘Yes please!’ she called back - smiling, but not for tea.
A breeze came in from the kitchen as bottles clinked and lighters clicked. ‘You’re having another joint, Ed?’
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*
‘Right, it’s back to me!’ Claire rubbed her hands.
‘Keep going till we all fall out, you mean?’ added Justin.
The party replenished by a combination of liquor, caffeine, tobacco or cannabis, re-gathered round the fire that Natalia had tended alone, her hand in the big glove whilst quietly watching the flames in thought.
Even grinning Neill, reloaded now with whisky, had set down Natalia’s tea with a look as sweet as ever, and sat back in his chair, not inviting Natalia into his lap, although if she were to go over he would most likely welcome her, but she decided there was something enjoyable about staying where she was, and watching something new - she couldn’t put her finger on what - that was playing out. He gave a glance at her now, his lips pursed with some thought she was not privy to; a soft frown vaguely at her feet, not unfriendly, but contemplative.
Claire spun the wheel. ‘A normal truth.’
‘Uh-uh. Not exciting,’ Ed remarked.
‘Well, we never know!’ as she took a card. ‘I’ll read it myself shall I.’
‘No bluffing!’ heckled Justin.
‘‘What did you think when you first met the person to your right?’’ …Rich? Oh, let me see. I met you Rich when I was a teaching assistant didn’t I… were you a teacher or Deputy Head then?’
‘I was in the process of—’
‘Shall I be honest,’ Claire tittered, ‘I really fancied him. I thought he was very studious, very literary, always reading… but soon got to know his wilder side, when we went out partying one night and he told me how many porn mags he has under his mattress! We never did anything,’ she laughed, ‘although I did try to kiss you I think Rich?’
Neill shifted in his seat, sipping more whisky.
‘But he changed my impression of teachers for good! I should stop there before the drink runs away with me!’
‘Yes, please do, Claire,’ said Neill, with a mock-grateful smile.
But Claire, lubricated by Prosecco, continued: ‘Didn’t we play some kind of dare game ourselves? Like that time in the Metropolitan shindig, he was daring people to climb outside their balconies from each window to the next…’
Neill’s lip curled.
‘…And Rich, who’d had, like, two bottles of wine to himself, and about five beers… and that was just for starters! …would be staggering and hollering about…’
‘That’s pretty much how he was when I first met him,’ Ed interjected, to a hoot of disbelief from Justin.
Neill smiled wryly and scratched his head as Claire rambled on. Natalia, who kept her eyes on Neill, waited to receive a look back from him, and once she did, their faces hung as equally sceptical as Claire’s voice accelerated the anecdote like a squealing freight train.
‘…And by the end of the night I think he’d exposed himself at least once, tried to kiss a 70-year old lady who I think may have had a heart attack’ - the company guffawed - ‘and by the end of the night he would land on the floor in front of some beautiful woman, not me obviously!’ she laughed, ‘and she would politely help him back to his room, and I’ve no idea what he did with her when he got there!’
Again a chorus of sloshed, red-eyed sniggers and screams of remembrance, as Natalia and Neill exchanged another quiet glance, and as the pair’s non-contribution became evident to the group, even the presiding inebriation didn’t prevent their eventual understanding that the hosts weren’t enjoying it.
Monica - of whom by her equal merriment it wouldn’t be so obvious she’d had only one drink - spoke first:
‘Are you ok, Natalia! Oh sorry, maybe we should calm it down guys. I don’t think Natalia is seeing the funny side.’
‘I think you should be checking Neill is,’ Natalia nodded.
‘Oh he always does,’ Ed retorted.
The group looked at him.
‘Does it look like that?’ remarked Natalia.
‘It’s ok, darling,’ now spoke Neill, his eyes roaming to her mug that had stood for a while. ‘Would you like your tea now?’
‘Yes, please—’ She leaned to genially receive it.
‘You know, those were Rich’s younger days. People change. Let’s move on, sweetheart,’ suggested Monica to Claire, who chewed her lip.
Ed frowned. ‘We’re playing Sexy Truth or Dare, all consenting, stoned and hammered. What does he expect?’
‘You know, for Rich’s apparent best friend, don’t you think you act rather like a cunt?’ half-smiled Natalia.
‘Hark at the vocabulary of the innocent sober one!’
Neill chortled. ‘That’s just Ed. But you’re right. He’s definitely a cunt.’
‘Oooh! And why do you think we’re best friends?’ Ed whined in mock drama, as a commotion started, interrupted by Monica:
‘Ok, ok, let’s move on guys! My turn ok!’ She spun. ‘Sexy truth! Here we go, it says: ‘What’s your favourite body part on yourself? And on your partner?’’ She mused. ‘Well I like my legs…’
‘And so you should,’ rejoined Ed, leaning over to refill Neill’s whisky glass.
‘But not my arms so much. Pudgy in the middle. As for Justin, well,’ she laughed, ‘I like everything, but I’d say his bottom. When we met in the gym it was the first thing I had my eye on.’
Neill scoffed. ‘Is that it? Shocker of the century.’
‘Yeah, we want to hear more details! We want to know locations of G-spots, textures of areolas, depth of throat!’ egged on Ed.
‘And that’s just Justin,’ snickered Neill.
Monica’s hands were covering her giggles. ‘Shut up guys, you’re so bad!’
‘Ed’s turn,’ Claire pushed over the spinner.
‘Straight dare. Fuck, again!’ Ed exclaimed. ‘Why’s it me getting all the hard work?’ He took a Dare card and read: ‘‘Kiss the first person to your right.’’
That was Monica.
‘Oh dear!’ Monica squealed as she glanced to Justin.
‘Does it say lips? Cheek?’ asked Claire.
‘It just says kiss. Fair enough, come here Monica…’ Ed leaned over tipsily and planted a smacker on her cheek, then another closer to her lips as she threw up her head in a paroxysm of laughter, whilst Claire pumped up and down like an overweight cheerleader, Justin comically gaped ‘oh, no!’ and Natalia winced to Neill who was puffing out his cheeks with narrowed eyes, looking back over as the cringing moment ebbed out.
‘Ahhh, all done. Is this fucking game over yet?’
‘Not much better than that 70-year old Harper’s perv would have been,’ chortled Justin, as Monica’s hysterics gave one last dying shriek, and he reached for the spinner:
‘Sexy truth… ‘What turns you on the most?’ Excuse me, how do I answer that!’ He turned to Monica. ‘Probably, Monica since getting pregnant. Honestly, the sex…’
Monica went red, hysterics renewed as she covered her face to the others’ murmurs of amusement. There followed a chorus of ‘at it like rabbits!’ - ‘Well, once the first term nausea went’ - ‘She can’t get enough!’ - ‘Well now that he doesn’t have to worry about putting a condom on the right way,’ cackled Claire, and the obligatory damning comment from Ed: ‘Well, I guess it’s good to be at it now, before you begin the boring and sexless life of… parents!’
Neill was looking even more aghast. ‘Alright, alright.’
‘Natalia’s go!’ Claire pushed the spinner.
Natalia yawned, half with nerves, half with actual tiredness, as Neill now fixed his eyes on her.
‘No guys I think she’s done. Natalia? Had enough?’
‘She’s alright, the game’s nearly over,’ waved Ed.
Neill gave an impatient breath as Natalia for the arrow.
‘Sexy truth. Oh dear…’
Monica reached for the card. ‘‘Is the first person you slept with in the room? If not, describe your first time!’’
Natalia stared like she’d misheard, or wished she had. It was the worst possible question she could expect. Her eyes raised to Neill’s who sat like a statue with his mouth knotted. Suddenly he cleared his throat with an attempt at a laugh.
‘She doesn’t have to answer this, come on…’
‘Would you like a dare instead?’ Monica suggested.
Natalia’s eyes moved to the Dare pile, her parted lips still paralysed.
‘Was your first time Rich?’ asked Ed.
‘God, guys, you are so nosey!’ Monica whacked Ed on the the arm. ‘You do not have to answer that, Natalia!’
‘Erm…’
She looked back to Neill. God, if only she could pause time and confer with him outside the room. Or she could have made this really easy, sitting right there… fake smile whilst Neill nods genially, and say oh, it was back when I was 16, or 17… and there was this boy at school, and insert a funny condom story, or say it was really boring, or really lovely, and sweep right on. But something in her throat failed, and evidently something had broken in Neill’s, and the way they were staring at each other was already conveying to the group that something wasn’t right, it was too late, it was too weird…
Neill’s mouth opened. Natalia watched him, opening hers…
‘Yea—’ she began, just as Neill said at the same time:
‘No—’
They clamped their mouths shut again as the group fizzed with bemused confusion.
‘She says yes and he says no! Don’t you two remember!’ guffawed Ed.
‘I don’t think this is a good idea, guys,’ Monica said in a pale voice. Everyone’s eyes wandered awkwardly, but Ed was almost in a convulsion.
‘Is this an admission now?! She told him she was and she wasn’t! Rich did you think you were—’
‘Shut the fuck up, Ed,’ came almost a snarl from Justin.
‘God this game is all my fault!’ Claire exclaimed, putting her hands to her head, as Monica began muttering at Ed to his intermittent girlish shrieks back. Natalia writhed uncomfortably, as Neill now arose from his seat.
‘Guys, this needs to…’
‘Stop…’ Natalia uttered, watching Claire now chime in with Monica, against Ed’s shrill insistence: ‘It’s a game! It’s a game!’
‘Stop,’ Natalia repeated, and then, louder:
‘SHUT UP!’
All four faces turned.
‘Sorry—’ Natalia added, forcing a smile. ‘Look. The first person I slept with, is not in the room. The first person I slept with was my mum when I was two years’ old.’
The girls and Justin laughed in surprise, as Neill sat back down, gnawing his lip.
‘Awwww, come on!’ Ed cajoled. ‘That’s not what the card is asking! It’s Truth or Dare, not Bluff and Daren’t!’
‘Ed, stop fucking goading her,’ said Neill quietly.
‘But you two looking completely and utterly awkward is what’s goading us!’ chortled Ed.
‘Leave it, Ed…’ Justin put his hand on Ed’s shoulder. ‘Let’s wrap this game.’
‘It’s Truth or Dare, mate! So, was it Rich?’ Ed leaned whisky breath onto Natalia.
Claire shrieked. ‘He’s like a pervy uncle!’
‘Too much chilli powder!’
‘I’ll fill his fucking mouth with the whole lot—’
‘Don’t get your shirt twisted inside out, Rich!’
It felt like the room was talking all at once; Ed repeating ‘was it Rich?’ like a broken record, just as Neill shot back to his feet, launched over and seized the scruff of Ed’s jacket shoulder, in the same moment Natalia exclaimed right in Ed’s face:
‘No! It fucking wasn’t!’
The stop-start freight train froze again, like a bad game of musical chairs, as Neill dropped his grip and blinked apologetically at Natalia.
‘I’m so—’
Natalia spoke over him loudly:
‘Yet.’
A gust of breath shimmered through the room, with a choked hoot from Ed - either of disbelief or relief he hadn’t been lamped by Neill - and Claire’s mouth hung open even wider as her inebriated brain computed the one word significance.
Neill stepped back to lean against the mantelpiece, surveying the room.
‘Goodness,’ he blinked around. ‘That’s shut everyone up. Thank you, darling.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Her face now danced into a giggling grin, which in turn lightened Neill’s face. Monica was staring with a sweet smile growing; Justin suddenly laughed with a lilt of subtle admiration, whilst Ed ping-ponged his face between Neill and Natalia.
‘I’m so sorry, with all my comments, I, I didn’t think…’ Claire stammered.
‘Better than a panto, Claire, no-one’s died,’ remarked Natalia.
‘Well that explains it,’ Ed muttered now.
‘Ed, you should be the main one apologising for your river of innuendos,’ Justin scorned.
‘Tie the scarf around his gob for a week,’ suggested Natalia.
‘I think you just did!’ Neill chuckled.
‘But, you two, you said you were…?’ began Claire.
Neill shrugged. ‘We never said anything.’
‘Aw, come on!’ Ed whined on one cylinder now. ‘I didn’t know we’d all donned chasubles! No offence, Natalia…’
‘None taken, you exasperatingly prying twat,’ came back Natalia.
Neill chortled.
‘It’s not our business anyway,’ said Monica firmly.
‘Well you made what’s not our business, everyone’s business, with this game?’ Natalia smiled.
Monica looked rather taken aback. ‘Well, Claire brought it. Bought it.’
‘And Rich is gonna abort it—’ Justin rejoined.
‘But it’s his turn, the juice isn’t done for the night!’ Ed chucked the spinner at Neill.
‘I think he’s done,’ sighed Justin.
‘If Natalia is game, then so am I,’ Neill hit the spinner with his socked foot.
Ed rubbed his hands. ‘That’s my man!’
‘Truth.’
Ed read: ‘‘The world ends next Wednesday, and you can do whatever you want, even if it’s illegal. What would you do?’’
Neill looked straight at Natalia.
‘Oh this is the perfect one for Rich!’ enthused Claire.
‘Need more whisky and another hour to answer?’ jibed Ed. ‘I think I could make the list for him myself, just by observation!’
Neill’s eyes turned on him. ‘And what do you mean, Ed? What exactly have I done over the years that’s been illegal?’
Monica winced. ‘Oh dear, is this going to be another—’
‘Well the weed for a start,’ muttered Ed.
‘Weed, oh weed! Says the bloke with red slits for eyes. Give me a break.’
‘But you’re a Headteacher—’
‘And don’t I ever stop hearing about it.’
‘And, well… the drinking and all the boisterous banter and the women and the sex talk and…’
‘Banter, right. All that dangerous banter.’
‘I think his point,’ interjected Monica, ‘is that none of that stuff is illegal. It’s just Rich enjoying… life.’
‘‘I bet he could think of a great answer to this question, is my point,’ hollered Ed. ‘I mean, he taught us how to be drunks! And doesn’t having the libido of two dozen men count as criminal alone?’
Neill’s face was like a stewing thunderbolt, shifting slowly round at the group as Natalia watched with her breath held.
‘Funny, two dozen,’ breathed Neill, ‘is roughly the number of nights Andrea has called me wondering where you were, asking if you were with me—’
‘Oh! Sorry if she disturbed you doing worse!’
Neill’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve never cheated.’
Ed gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Who believes that? Just because you’ve gone all chaste like an angel, doesn’t undo years of being chased like the devil. Didn’t you shoplift at least once? Drove like a maniac more times than I care to remember—’
‘I didn’t know we were playing a game called Judgement Day,’ Neill said in a gravelly voice. ‘Or This is Your Fucking Life! Let’s go round the circle and recount everyone’s cock-ups, shit fests and all, shall we? We could be here all night! Oh, but let’s start with Monica because she has none!’
Natalia’s eyes fell, but it took the others, as though struck on a different timezone by booze, a few moments to feel his wrath.
‘Don’t think Rich is feeling it, Ed,’ Justin mused.
‘Since when?’ implored Ed. ‘We were all having a good time weren’t we?’
‘I should never have bought or brought this game!’ nervously laughed Claire, as Neill now stooped over her.
‘Pass me the card—’
‘Wha… you’re going to answer it?’
‘No, I’m not going to fucking answer it!’ He tossed it straight into the fire and sat back down.
‘Taxi for Rich. Oh, he’s already home—’
‘For once!’
‘Even in pipe and slippers he’s still a disco inferno.’
‘Someone’s grumpy. Someone needs bed!’
‘Ok Neill’s done, so why not everyone just pick a dare now?’
‘No, think this game is done, seriously guys,’ insisted Justin, watching Neill sipping his whisky with a blackened expression.
But Claire had already took one. ‘At least let me do one more, one more! My truths were so boring! Ok it says… ‘go live on Facebook for one minute dancing to the Macarena.’ Oh my god!’
‘Oh! Let’s end on a high note,’ Monica flipped her phone out to find the song.
The other four faces turned warily to Neill.
‘No chance,’ said Neill. ‘There’s no filming in this house going online.’
‘Oh but come on, I’m up for it!’ Claire whined. ‘I’ll do it in the corner, it’s dark and there’s no one visible,’ as she arose, ‘all but me!’
‘Fuck off Claire, you fucking idiot, I said no,’ Neill growled.
‘Wow. Rich. No need for that!’ she stared.
‘But there is. Because you’re not listening to me.’
Neill put down his whisky, stood up and took a step toward her. Monica looked up from her phone in surprise.
‘You are not filming any stupid dancing in my cottage and putting it anywhere,’ he pointed his finger flatly in her face. ‘Do I have to stomach-pump you of Prosecco and use the same fucking pump on your ear canals for you to comprehend?’
Something hit Claire now as if someone had reached into her gut for the off switch. She sat down on the window seat with a face hanging like a stroke victim.
‘Bit inflammatory, Rich,’ said Justin.
‘No, but this is—’
Neill bent down, picked up the three lots of cards and tossed the whole lot into the fire.
There was a rash of gasps as the piles of cards slipped around noisily, agitating the fire brightly aflame, then emitting grey straggles of smoke from the coated plastic. Neill grabbed the box and tossed it in too. ‘Back to the graphic designer on that.’ Then he threw in the spinner. ‘Great game, really gets you fired up.’
There was a nervous snigger from Ed.
‘That cost me £12.99!’ lamented Claire. No-one could tell if she was serious.
‘Well it’s quiet in here,’ Natalia remarked, catching Neill’s wink back, just before his face turned ceiling-ward to neck his last shot of whisky.
‘Oh dear,’ concluded Justin. ‘Well I guess it’s the Rich we know and love.’
‘Is it,’ laughed Ed. ‘I think he’s tied up in the attic.’
‘Are you ok, Claire?’ said Monica, stroking Claire’s arm.
‘Oh yeah, I’m fine,’ she laughed, seemingly recovered from her stroke. ‘Think we all need some hydration!’
Amicability creeping back into cautious smiles, Justin fetched and passed round glasses of water. It seemed to Natalia that it would take a lot for these friends to be genuinely offended, angry, or to cut the cord between them.
‘There’s one card left here,’ crawled Ed across the rug. ‘‘Do you secretly enjoy getting dominated in bed?’’
Even Neill managed a smile.
‘Not the bed but the living room YES,’ joked Ed orgastically.
‘Sleep will be the only thing dominating me right now,’ yawned Monica.
‘Well let’s have a fag, then get you villains a couple of taxis,’ said Neill now, in a normal voice again, but not seeming to want to apologise for anything. Whilst the three men trooped out for a fag, Claire and Monica went up to the bathroom and Natalia milled around the lounge in her own thoughts, finishing the last of her tepid tea.
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*
‘I’ll just call them,’ as Neill pulled his phone to his ear. ‘I’ll end up ordering one to Gipton if I trust my pissed self to use the app. Where are you staying again?’
‘Oulton Hall. Cheers Rich,’ said Ed.
‘You all get rooms ok then?’
‘Actually no. I’m sharing twin with Claire.’
They both looked up to the muffled shrieking laughter of Claire that seemed to rain down from the ceiling.
‘Lucky you. —Hel-lo! can I have a cab please, er, it’s…. Fir Cottages. Wetherby, but not Wetherby. Er, number?… the nice one, the nice one…’
Ed collapsed back on the sofa, eyes closed.
‘Cab’s on its way.’ Neill kicked Ed’s shin a moment later.
Monica and Claire were squealing down the stairs to the coat pegs, as Ed groaned.
‘Tell them to shut up. Think I’m gonna be sick…’
Neill eventually sighed. ‘Mate, crash here if you want. As long as you don’t mind being the one tied up in the attic.’
‘I guess now that I know you two aren’t shagging, there’s nothing for me to be intruding on,’ slurred Ed.
‘Is that your cuntish way of saying yes please, and I’m very sorry, Headmaster?’
‘Yeah. Sorry sir.’
‘Well first I’m going to get this one sorted out…’
Natalia had been listening to them from the window-seat, half-watching the full moon, unsure whether Neill’s low raspy voice was from turbulence, Glenfiddich, or both, but deciding it was altogether sexy either way, and he was now stepping into her private moonbathing spot to reach his hands under her armpits and heave-groan her straight up onto him, as her legs wrapped nimbly around his thick middle and his hands were unapologetically grasping her lower buttocks.
Her face fell deliciously into his ear and cheek against his stubble with the warmest feeling of reassurance that he was here, and he was ok, and they were ok, and well, why wouldn’t they be ok?
‘Say goodnight to Natalia, I’m putting her to bed,’ as he stepped out to Monica and Claire.
‘Night Natalia!’ - ‘See you tomorrow!’ - as Natalia, face smooshed into Neill’s shoulder like a daughter he was carrying off for the prescribed chime of bedtime, caught the amused gaze of both the women following her to the foot of the stair; her lips parked on his neck skin now jolting into clumsy kisses as he climbed, and she smiled to herself at the mystery in their eyes as they climbed with her, that seemed to ask how and why a man would do that to a virgin, or, perhaps, a liar? Worn out, but sustained by his whisky fumes for the effort to giggle:
‘I didn’t know the girlfriend role went this far…’
‘Nah-ah. You don’t get that. But I’m going to put you in my bed, and I’ll take the couch.’
Neill’s-bed. Oh, Neill’s-bed… went her heartbeat, as he kneed open his door to admit her into the linen-scented darkness of his bedroom… where one swipe-rustle of the covers had her plopped onto the cool mattress.
‘There we go. All cleaner-fresh just for you, lucky bugger.’ His eyes, from what she could make out in the dim light from the landing, seemed glassy and unfocused; the trace of an inane grin stuck to his lips.
‘No sleeping naked in my bed, Goldilocks, and definitely no wanking. Did you bring your toothbrush?’
‘Yeah. And pyjamas. In my bag downstairs…’
‘I’ll fetch it and bung it at the door. Then I’ll be a little while getting them into their cab and getting Eddie up for his bedtime… probably dragging him with a rope round his leg. I’ll check on you later.’
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*
Downstairs the friends neared the door to muffled tones of kisses and goodbyes; finally a door shutting and all was silent. As she lay listening to the beat of her pulse deep within Neill’s pillow, as if it beat from somewhere deep down in the bedding itself, the heartbeat of his virgin bed, against hers, as though this could be a new friend to confide in, to whisper oh goodness, what an evening that was…
To witness anger in Neill tonight and even feel a stab of fear when he threw the game into the fire, that also felt strangely rational, that she’d watched empathically like a good film’s anti-hero. For that’s what he is, fire itself! In everything he did at school and home! And tonight, it seemed to his friends that his fire shrunk, but to her it was stoked, by her? Her kiss?
They’d played out her fantasy, together… nuke Claire’s motormouth, block Ed’s bullshit, gobsmack Justin into even deeper quieter reverence. She couldn’t help feeling disgusted by Monica too, sweet as she was, almost too sweet, like suffocating in sherbet dip, a constant chime of silky sycophancy like a fairy flying round that you just want to finally swat into squashed, burst oozing-red and have deadly silence instead. God help her child, subjected to that sweet voice all the fucking time. Give me a growl, give me a grunt, a Guinness-guffaw like an old bad-ass alcoholic mum’s, Natalia’s thoughts drifted on bizarrely as her eyes closed, listening to the double traipse of men creaking up the stair, a mingling of grunts at the bathroom, muffled toilet flushes and water rushing through the walls; further steps as Ed creaked on up into the attic, and now the bedroom door pushing ajar, making her cock her head up expectantly.
‘Neill…?’
‘Are you still awake?’
‘Yeah, are you coming… in? Is… everything ok?’
The door pushed open fully and he slipped in like an apparition at the bedside.
‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘I have you a glass of water,’ as he placed it on the side. ‘Are you enjoying my bed?’
‘Yehhhss…’ she whispered, as though it was impossible not to squirm under the covers at the same time as the response, but then she stopped squirming just as a familiar shade of look came into his face.
‘Better than the couch…?’
‘Ha.’
‘Have you…?’
‘No-ohh.’ She put out her hand and he squeezed it softly and sighed.
‘Well, we’ll see them again tomorrow. But no rush in the morning. Five hangovers in the making. I envy you in a way, that you have to, or rather prefer to, stay dry…’
‘Well I’m, not…’
‘Wha… ohh.’ He drew out his breath. ‘You… naughty thing. Truth or Dare turn you on?’
‘No. You do…’ She bit her lip, writhing around more, suddenly feeling like she was the drunkard.
‘Angry Neill turn you on?’
She laughed softly.
‘Or is it because you’ve decided on something I don’t remember agreeing to, you rascal?’
His words fell on her like a squirt of honey over hot toast, and a smirk seized her face.
‘But you did… when I’m eighteen,’ she giggled. ‘One room in London, remember…’
‘One,’ he said, ‘for fun.’ He pulled her hand and kissed the fingertips.
‘Ok,’ she chewed her lip.
He still stood there. ‘Go on then.’
‘Noooo…’ She gasped and shot the duvet over her head. Masturbate, looking right at him? Like the chipmunk spasming back on her pillow in Secretary? She wouldn’t be able to stop laughing.
‘What about Ed…’
‘He’s too tired to come watch too.’
She giggled from under the duvet. He tugged on it then sighed.
‘You had your chance…’
He tousled the protruding crown of her hair and left.
She lay sighing, her hand parked on her pubis. Master Bait prescribing the parameters again, to make her hornier and restless.
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She wavered for a while, then got up. Edging the door open, she could hear Ed’s nasal rasp upstairs, answered by Neill’s from downstairs. There she was, storey-sandwiched between two snoring men who both knew and accepted her virgin innocence and at once her desirability; seemed in awe and reverence for it, and tonight, protectors of it, albeit sloshed on whisky.
She crept downstairs and peered in at Neill, bundled up in maroon, sleeping where she’d lay and pleasured in that same blanket. Stepping up onto the arm of the sofa like a silent acrobat, she spied and slithered down smiling into the gap between the sofa-back and his body, resting a hand then a cheek lightly on his warm cotton shoulder.
His snore rhythm broke with a smack of his palate and a soft grunt, sensing someone was there now flirting with his shoulder, where she inhaled a thick, stewed aroma of whisky that was somehow pleasant, enticing to her, its owner as blindfolded by alcohol stupor as he was by Monica’s scarf, whilst she, excited to have him powerless again, slipped a hand down to her vulva… both her finger and her bloodstream cycling from warm to hot as she inhaled the fresh laundry scent of his t-shirt. Now she wasn’t the girl in Secretary, but Mr Grey - or Miss - panting softly behind him with whatever epileptic face she liked, painting strokes in the dark, so close to him but unseen while he dreams.
She backed her thrusting thighs away from him, knocked him once with her knee but he snored on, just as her body melted into long breaths at his shoulder blades, the post-orgasm relief flooding her legs. And then she couldn’t help but giggle.
‘Goodnight,’ she kissed his shoulder, wiped her fingertips down the back of his t-shirt like the soiled secretary’s blouse - then reached and briefly stroked the back of her fingers onto his.
‘Mmh-mm,’ he smacked his lips as though confusedly eating something in his dream, then his face relaxed, mouth drooping open again.
Then she scrabbled back up to bed, softly wringing her hands, burrowing back into her den after foraging a prized morsel.
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