Trio - [7]

She’d worked alongside him at the farm for the harvest. Hot, thirsty work, following the tractor or the baler, stacking the bales, chaff and dust in her throat and her eyes and her ears.

Any talking was snatched, desultory. Breath was too precious and there was nothing the flies liked better than an open mouth.

She’d been hoping he’d dance with her at the hoedown and he had, several times, till it seemed they were matched for the evening. They’d done strip-the-willow and maid’s morris, ending up breathless from the pace and the hilarity that erupted when some lummock with two left feet had the set in disarray. She’d worn a new dirndl skirt, red and black, and a white bodice blouse. The skirt flew out when he spun her round, just right for the swings. In-between the demanding dances they gulped down cupfuls of dry cider.

‘I need some fresh air,’ she said after an hour of this, and he followed her out of the barn and round to the little orchard at the back. She sat herself down and lay back on the ground, sighing aloud. ‘I’m jiggered,’ she said, then giggled.

He was quiet. He sat beside her. She opened her eyes and looked through the boughs of the apple tree to the sky with its frosting of stars flung between wisps of cloud. She turned to look at him and he lowered his face to hers. Excitement prickled her skin, mimicking the tickle of grass beneath her bare arms and legs.

His lips were firm and dry and warm. She wondered whether she should move but she was fearful of breaking the embrace. She lay still and felt him shift about, his lips still moving slowly on hers.

He lay alongside her, then she felt one of his arms across her knees, then his fingers stroking along the side of her leg, under the edge of her skirt. It tickled and she squirmed, stifling a giggle, making a tiny mew in her throat. Roy wriggled against her, she felt his hand again, grazing her thigh, the inside, moving up. Her stomach lurched, it felt so good. Like the swing boats at the fair or the waltzers, a tingling, dizzy feeling. But she shouldn’t let him. She twisted away from his kiss.

‘Roy,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t.’

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said. His voice sounded strange. ‘Please.’

He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth found hers again, damp now, and his hands moved, he was touching her down there, edging his fingers inside her knickers. What did it feel like to him? Another hand on her breast. She felt giddy, like she was melting. She must stop him. But it didn’t hurt, it was so nice. Oh, golly it was so nice. He eased the tip of a finger inside her and she felt her thighs tighten and everywhere glowing. He moaned. She swallowed hard. He kissed her, moaned again as if he was hurting. He kissed her neck, moved until he was above her, bracing his weight on one arm, breathing fast. He said her name. Kissed her, slid his finger further in and wiggled it about. She could just make out his face in the dark, the whites of his eyes. ‘Please,’ he said again.

She closed her eyes, heard her own breath sighing. Then the band started up again, a waltz. She felt the pressure between her legs, a sudden change as he took his finger out and there was pushing. She realised with a rush of horror what he was doing. ‘Roy! No.’ Her words sharp, she tried to get out from under him but his weight was too much for her. ‘No.’ She pushed at his face with her hands.

He gave a shudder and yelped, rolled off her.

‘You shouldn’t,’ she yelled, ‘you shouldn’t!’

‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded upset too. ‘I thought you wanted…’ And then, stupidly. ‘I do like you, Caroline.’

She felt sticky and uncomfortable. The giddy mood from cider and whirling about was replaced by a heavy sense of guilt and worry. A burst of clapping rang out from the barn.

‘We better go back in,’ she said in a small voice.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said gruffly. ‘I’m not that sort of girl.’ She didn’t like to think about how nice the stroking had been.

‘I know. I never meant…’ He stuttered to a stop. ‘Oh, God.’

She scrambled to her feet, arranging her dress, brushing bits of grass and fragments of apple bark from her hair.

She didn’t dance again and left before the end of the evening too uncomfortable with the glances from Roy, who sat with his brothers across the other side of the hall.

The cloud was clearing as she walked back, more stars were visible, silver sparkles in an indigo sky. She saw a falling star and wished, wished that it would be all right. Though she couldn’t have explained what she was so worried about, not having any notion then that what Roy had done was go all the way and that you could get caught first time.

Megan

‘I’ll bloody swing for him! I’ll knock his ruddy block off! The weaselly fucking bastard!’

‘Daddy, no!’ Megan cried.

‘Anthony,’ her mammy admonished, hating his lapse into coarse language.

‘What were you thinking of?’ He rounded on his daughter, fists balled with frustration. ‘You silly, little eejit.’

Megan gulped, tried to stop crying. ‘He wants to marry me.’

‘Oh, no,’ Anthony Driscoll announced. ‘Over my dead body.’