Chapter 13 #3
There are still two hours until he meets Lily.
He paces from room to room with no purpose.
It’s rare for his mum to be out, for her not to be quietly busying herself elsewhere in the house.
He’s not sure why that should be so oppressive, but somehow it is, and he celebrates her absence by scuffing a giant rainbow-like arc across the recently vacuumed carpet.
After a while, he goes through to the kitchen, opens the pantry door, and looks at the top shelf where his dad keeps the spirits, which are only brought out on the rare occasions they have people over for dinner.
Gordon scans the labels, unsure of what to pick, until his eyes catch on his own name.
Gordon’s Gin. He places his hand on the dark-green glass and takes the bottle from the shelf, feeling an odd delight, a connection.
“Come to Daddy,” he says as he unscrews the cap, instantly feeling stupid and relieved no one is around to hear.
He lifts it to his nose and takes a sniff.
It smells like the fir trees at the bottom of the garden. He brings it to his lips and drinks.
It’s unpleasantly medicinal and if it didn’t have his name on, he’d put it back and try something else.
But since it does, he tries again, then shakes his head, letting his cheeks go slack so they make a wb, wb, wb sound as he tries to rid himself of the taste.
After a few more swigs, it starts to seem more palatable, and with his head nicely fuzzy, he’s less anxious about the night ahead.
He holds the green glass up to the light.
There is still plenty left, so he puts it on the hall table by the front door, deciding he’ll take it with him to drink with Lily on the way to the gathering.
He meets Lily on the corner of her street at eight o’clock. She looks different out of uniform. Older, but also sweeter. She has on a flowery skirt and Doc Martens, and her black hair is in two plaits. They should look childish, Gordon thinks, but on her, they just look sort of cute.
“Nice hair,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“Look,” he says, opening his coat to reveal the bottle tucked into an inside pocket and lifting it so she can read the label, “my very own drink.” She laughs and he’s not sure whether she’s laughing at him or with him.
But when he says, “D’you want some?” she nods and moves closer.
She dips her head and gently tilts the bottle inside his jacket.
She giggles and he notices her hair smells of apples.
He breathes her in and feels like he might lose his mind.
Especially when they start to walk and she catches his hand in hers.
When they arrive at Alfie’s house, a boy from his history class answers the door. “Aye, aye!” he shouts to no one in particular. “It’s Lily and the gimp!”
A cheer goes up from somewhere inside and as they walk down the hallway, Lily says, “He’s just jealous,” and squeezes his hand.
Gordon lifts his inside pocket to his mouth and takes another swig all the same.
He doesn’t know where the cap is, but it’ll be okay, as long as he doesn’t do any cartwheels.
In the living room, there isn’t enough space for everyone, so Gordon sits on the arm of a sofa and Lily rests against his leg.
And somehow it’s like a door opening. As the other boys talk, they occasionally make eye contact, and he knows the conversation is intended to include him too.
“What d’you say, Gord?” one of them asks later.
“Three smokes for help on my history essay.”
It takes a moment for Gordon to understand what he means, and he finds himself saying, “Yeah, sounds fair,” even though he doesn’t smoke.
Later, he and Lily go outside. As they move away from the lights of the house, it’s hard to tell where the garden ends.
Enormous bushes punctuate the lawn like great looming boulders.
Gordon trips in the dark and Lily asks if he’s okay.
He feels warm and woozy from the alcohol and being so close to her.
When they reach a tree well away from the house, he pulls her to him, puts his arms around her neck, and kisses her.
Her lips are softer and more cushiony than he’d expected, and he likes it when her tongue ventures a small way into his mouth.
He does the same back, and it takes a while to feel like he’s doing it right, but somehow, with Lily, that feels okay.
They stand, tongues exploring, one of them occasionally changing the angle of their head, which makes the kissing feel suddenly different, as if, even though it’s one long kiss, they’ve reached a new part.
Sometimes their teeth clash and he can feel her smiling, which makes him smile too.
Sometimes their lips touch only lightly and other times it feels like they’re stuck together with treacle, almost like they’re trying to eat one another.
They kiss soft and then hard. And when he backs her up against the tree and presses his erection against her, he moans into her mouth, even though he hadn’t meant to.
They kiss and he grinds and the voices from the house seem far away, while the one in his head is loud and euphoric: You’re doing it! You’re actually doing it!
He puts his hand on her thigh, beneath her floral skirt, and at first, she doesn’t stop him.
She is still kissing him. He moves his hand, edging toward her underwear, and she squirms away slightly and says something into his mouth.
He’s not sure what, though, and all he can think of is how he wants to put his fingers inside her, to know what she feels like.
In one fluid movement that’s somehow quicker and easier than he’d anticipated, he pulls aside her knickers and his fingers find their way to her fleshy warmth.
She tries to push him away, tries to break off their kissing, but he just wants a moment longer and so he presses his lips onto hers more forcefully, pushing her head back against the tree trunk, keeping her mouth covered with his own, even as she says muffled words into it.
He’d never realized how strong he is before.
Even as she tries to move away, he’s somehow able to hold her there.
He wishes she’d stay still. Wishes she’d just carry on with the kissing, like she’d been doing a few moments earlier.
But she is struggling, trying to get him to stop, and eventually his booze-soaked brain catches up and he realizes he should let her go.
His fingers catch on knicker elastic as she breaks free.
“What the—”
“I’m sorry. I just thought—Don’t be mad,” he says.
They stand looking at one another in the darkness.
He thinks she might be crying, but he’s not sure.
He reaches out to comfort her, and thinks, just for a moment, that it might be okay.
That they’ll walk back inside together, hand in hand.
But instead, she says, “Don’t ever come near me again, Gordon Atkin,” and runs away across the grass.
Her words don’t feel like a soft, billowing sheet anymore, and he feels a flash of anger.
He stands for a moment, not knowing what to do.
Then he brings his hand to his face, subtle, as though he might be brushing something away, and sniffs at his fingers.
He inhales. He’s always wanted to know what girls smell like down there.
And now he does: sort of rich and musky.
She can’t take that away from him, at least.
Inside, there is no sign of Lily, but the boys let him into their conversation easily and he stands, nodding and laughing.
“Where’s she gone?” one of them asks after a while.
“Who?”
“Lily.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Gordon says.
“I thought you two were together. Earlier?”
“Nah,” Gordon says. “She’s a bit of a slag to be honest.”
“I wouldn’t turn ’er down.”
“You ought to,” Gordon says, “she stinks down there.”
“Urrgggh!” they all chorus, bending double with laughter. He can see a mixture of shock and delight on their faces and one of them gets him in a headlock, ruffling his hair with his fist. “You’re all right, you are, Gord.” And just like that, he is one of them.