The first thing Lorna saw when she woke up again was a red slip. Cheap, skimpy and a shade of red even Bill wouldn’t have cared for, it hung from the tree like a bullfighter’s cape, which was exactly what she knew it would become if she put it on.
‘Do you like it?’
Lorna squealed.
‘It’s a bit tarty-looking, I know, but if the camisole fits.’ The Mechanic chuckled at his own joke. ‘My mother used to have one just like it. I came home early one day from school and saw her wearing it. She was sitting on the postman’s lap at the time.’ With reverential care, he took it down from the branch and handed it to Lorna. ‘Put it on.’
‘I’m not your mother.’
‘I know that; you’re a good deal thinner for starters!’ He grabbed her by the neck and undid the buttons on her blouse. ‘There, I’ve got you going, you do the rest.’
Lorna shook her head.
The Mechanic slapped her.
‘You don’t want me doing it, Lorna; believe me…and don’t go crying!’
Lorna swiped the tears away with the heel of her hand as she was told, and was about to go behind the tree for privacy when The Mechanic dragged her back by the hair.
‘If fucking in the forest didn’t bother you, neither should this.’
Lorna took her time getting changed, hoping to talk him round.
‘If it’s sex you want, I’ll give it to you. You don’t have to do this.’’
The Mechanic smacked his forehead. ‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ He dragged her over to the car. ‘I didn’t bring you here to screw you, you silly goose.’ He opened the trunk.
Lola Barron, the girl who had given Lorna daggers from the passenger side window, lay on a blue tarpaulin sheet, legs bent up behind her as though she died mid-air while jumping for joy. Her goggling, bloodshot eyes would be eternally focused on the last person they ever saw, and her petrified mouth would always be beaming at him. It was an expression that was anything but joyous. While Lorna was busy looking her future in the eye, The Mechanic moved in behind her and dragged her towards the tree to start their dance. But then, a better idea came to him, and he dragged her back to the car.
‘Tell you what, why don’t we do a bit of play-acting?’ He opened the back door. ‘You be the old whore who doesn’t know when to say no,’ he shoved her into the car, ‘and I’ll be the dumb bastard who thinks he’s struck oil.’ He closed the door behind them.
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