Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Y ou can call it Dutch courage if you like or just because Una had pissed me off, but when we got back to Anickuna Cottage, I decided I was going to have sex with Jack – woodlice or no woodlice – and nothing was going to stop me.
I had never seduced a man before. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I hadn’t, and I wasn’t quite sure how I would. Music? Sexy dancing? A smouldering glance over my shoulder? All of the above?
As I was weighing up my options, I hadn’t noticed Jack was behind me until his hands appeared around my waist. But before I could turn around to give him my best smouldering look and sexy dance to no music, I heard the clink of his belt, which made me freeze in excitement (not fear just to be clear).
Then I felt his hot breath tickle my neck and his lips so close to my ear it made my whole body tingle. He tugged at my jeans roughly, until they were down at my thighs, and a moment of panic shot through me when I realised I hadn’t shut the kitchen curtains and anyone could have walked along the lane right then and seen me there in my grandmother’s cottage with my jeans around my ankles. I whispered something about not wanting to be caught and Jack whispered back about unfinished business.
And all I could think about was my grandmother peeling mushrooms at the kitchen sink while Jack thrust into me from behind.
Una was right. Jack had a big cock. It was so big that I thought it might not be real, like a prosthetic penis, but it did things that only a real penis could do.
We did it twice: once in the kitchen and once upstairs, in my bed, thank God, because I couldn’t think about my grandmother there. We lay together afterwards, entwined in a sweaty heap. Jack had said I was great in bed and I had stared into the darkness with the biggest grin on my face because I’d never been told I was great at sex before. And I stayed there next to him, with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, imagining what it would be like to have him in my bed every night next to me.
When I was sure Jack was asleep, I felt for my phone in the darkness of my bedroom, scrolled down to Una’s number and tapped out my message.
He has by the way.
He has what?
Got a big cock.
Then I went downstairs and started all my checks. They took all night, but I didn’t care. I was officially in lust.
* * *
By the morning, I had decided I would tell Jack about my OCD.
If there was going to be anything between us at all, even if it was from the other side of the world, over WhatsApp, then he needed to know what he was getting into, and I needed to know he liked me for me and not just for my great sex (he said it, remember).
I flapped around my kitchen looking for something to make my news seem more normal, grabbed a packet of my faithful Rich Teas, and wondered how the hell I was going to tell him something that made absolutely no sense out loud.
I'd never really explained my OCD to anyone, other than Una and Mairéad of course, and Mairéad didn't count because it was her job to understand me. I’d never had to tell people in the village, they just sort of knew about it without me having to say.
I was a bit like my dad – I kept things inside – and I was OK with that. No one needed to know about my inner turmoil; what good would that do, anyway? Una said that people who kept things in made themselves ill because their emotions rot them from the inside. She said that's why people get cancer but I'm not so sure I believe in all that because otherwise I'd be riddled with it.
People get cancer because they just get cancer. I know, because Sally (farmer’s wife Sally) had it once and she was the healthiest person in Drangan – she never ate processed foods, everything was either raw or fresh from the farm, and she didn’t drink alcohol (only mulled wine at Christmas). And she still got it.
Jack was coming out of my downstairs loo when I placed two mugs of tea on the kitchen table and the plate of Rich Tea biscuits between them. I took a few rescue breaths (I didn’t hold for eight because I didn’t want to be red and flustered) and sat down so he could see I wanted to talk. I thought about getting up again, packing away the biscuits and pretending that nothing was going on, but I knew I just had to do it. I just had to tell Jack.
He sat down opposite me (in Mairéad’s chair) and for a moment I wished it was her opposite me not Jack. He leant back like one of those poster boys I’d seen in the magazines at the shop, the black and white ones, where the guy was slumped on a chair looking all smouldering and sexy. And Jack really was that sexy. I’m not making it up.
‘I hope there’s a shot of whisky in this?’ He picked up his tea.
‘Afraid not,’ I said more seriously than I intended.
I took a sip of my tea. I couldn’t find my words, it was like I’d swallowed them down with it, so I decided the best way to tell him was to imagine he was Mr Dutson instead. You know, like when people say to imagine the audience naked? I took one quick rescue breath as discreetly as I could, held it for a few seconds and then slowly let it out.
‘I wanted to speak to you about something, about me,’ I blurted out.
‘Sure,’ Jack said casually, and I expected him to say something else like you can tell me anything or take your time – but he didn’t say that, he just sat there looking at me in a way I couldn’t quite figure out.
‘Well…’ I tried to imagine my breath like a balloon, (another of Mairéad’s tips – she said people didn’t breathe properly and only used a fraction of their lungs, which fascinated me because how big were our lungs?). ‘Remember when I did that praying thing, the first night you stayed after the pub?’ I winced inside; my tummy was tight.
‘The full-blown Lord’s Prayer? Fuck, yeah that was a head spinner! What about it?’ Jack said. ‘You’re not religious, are you?’
‘Um, no, no, not religious,’ I stuttered, although I wished in that moment that I was religious because it would have been a lot easier to explain.
‘Thank God. My last girlfriend used to want me to go to church with her.’ He shook his head.
Girlfriend. The word danced around my head and made me feel drunk again. Is that what I am? Is that what he wants me to be? Why would he say it if he didn’t want that?
‘Proper Bible basher.’ Jack laughed.
‘Ha.’ I laughed awkwardly back.
‘What were you doing then?’ he asked.
‘Well, it’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.’ I drew another short breath. ‘I have OCD.’ I said it quickly so that I couldn’t stop myself.
Jack looked indifferent and I breathed out a loud sigh.
‘Isn’t that checking light switches and stuff?’
‘Yes, it’s a bit more than that, though,’ I said cautiously.
‘Like what? Christ you’re not going to tell me you’ve been sectioned, are you?’
‘Ha, no.’ I laughed again. ‘Never been sectioned. I’m not that bad.’ I lied because let’s face it, I probably have been that bad. ‘It’s more like things I have to do – like the drunk praying thing,’ I added casually, like it was no big deal and the most normal thing in the world to do.
‘So, you only do it when you’re drunk?’
‘Sort of, yes,’ I agreed even though it was a lie.
‘So, you’re a nutter by night and normal by day?’ he chuckled. ‘I can work with a part-time weirdo.’ He winked.
And so I told myself I’d tell him the full-time bit another day.
* * *
After breakfast, I’d planned on taking Jack for a picnic up Slievenamon and we’d pick mushrooms on our way up. When we got to the top, I’d confess how bad my OCD really was and he’d tell me none of it mattered because we’d figure out a way to make it all work. (If it worked for Fionn and his fair maidens it could work for me, right?) Maybe Jack would fall madly in love with me and stay?
I’d packed some soda bread, a jar of olives (I hate them, but most people love them, don’t they?) some cheese and pickle, and tea in a flask that my grandmother used to bring when she’d take me a quarter of the way up when I was little. It was far too long for us to walk all the way – she was in her seventies then and I was barely a tween. I pushed the thought of my grandmother from my mind because she couldn’t be there when I was with Jack.
I’d put on my black pumps and jeans. I’d stuffed a packet of antibacterial wipes at the bottom of my bag, although I couldn’t see why I’d need them. There was nothing up the mountain that bothered me and quite frankly Jack could have sneezed all over me and I don’t think I would have cared. (That’s a lie, I would have cared a lot.)
We would have plenty of time to get to know each other on the trek up. I’d planned on asking him lots of questions because I’d realised that I didn’t actually know much about Jack apart from where he was from and that he had a younger sister called Emily and his job involved something to do with telegraph poles and the internet.
I was ready to go when Jack appeared at the kitchen door with his rucksack on his shoulder. He didn’t look like someone who was about to climb a mountain. He looked like someone who was about to leave.
‘The garage rang,’ he said. ‘It’s all sorted.’
I felt the weight of my own bag as my shoulders dropped.
‘What about our picnic?’ I said with a desperate tone that I regretted straight away. ‘You’ve not eaten.’ I stumbled to save myself.
‘Ah, I’m sorry, Pearl,’ he said. ‘I can take a sandwich with me?’
‘One bit of sightseeing before you go?’ I let myself be that person.
‘I can have a good look at it on my drive out.’
‘It’s actually quite hard to see from a car.’
‘I should go.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t want to miss my flight so let’s hope no other poor bugger dies off!’ He laughed again and I joined in because what else could I do, cry?
He hugged me goodbye for a second time and I wanted to climb inside his body.
‘I’d love to see you again,’ he said, and I clung onto his words the same way I clung on to him. ‘Promise me you’ll come out and see me?’
‘I promise,’ I whispered.
I pressed my face into his shoulder to stop my tears.
When he’d gone, I sat alone in my kitchen, in my quiet house, in my quiet life, next to my packed picnic of olives and ham, and I cried.
Then, after what felt like forever, I picked up my phone, scrolled down to Una’s number and started to type.
You can have them back now…
Have what back?
The condoms.
Has turbo cock gone?
Yep…
Ah well, save them…
??
For Niall…
Fuck off.
Shall I come over then?
If you want to…
Do you want me to?
Do you fancy a picnic up Slievenamon?
How long will it take to walk?
Seven hours and four minutes.
Fuck that!
I’ve got olives and bread.
Did you make the bread?
Yes.
No wonder he didn’t hang around.
Are you coming over or not?
I’ll be over in ten xx