chapter four

   Lyndsey rolled over, stretching and yawning, stiff and cramped. Bare boards beneath her and lying fully clothed, half in-half out of her sleeping bag. Her head pounded, her mouth achingly dry and her belly in knots – she wasn’t in first class shape. She sighed, leaned back and waited for her head to re-settle its contents again.

   Alone in the room she was, and alone to sift through the sudden rush in her head now that she was conscious again. A rush of peoples faces, half memories and large black spaces – blank gaps in what she did remember and other images and events that she couldn’t sort and separate between fantasy and fact. And hazy memories of Tom... ‘Tom and her?’ No – nothing serious, but she did remember long conversations didn’t she? ‘Conversations saying what?’ She tried to relax amid her confusion and tried to will herself to feel able to make it to the kitchen or bathroom. She quickly drifted back to sleep.

   She awoke some time later to hear the door in the room closing and approaching footsteps. Opening her crusted eyelids, she wiped the saliva dripping from her mouth and half raised her head to see Tom kneeling beside her.

   "Uurrgghh!" She groaned, not quite sure if this was a true apparition and not just some figment of her thoughts. But the effort of having to deal with communication was painful.

   "Hello babe, do you need this?" He put a cup of steaming black coffee down near her head. If the night last night had taken its toll on Lyndsey, it showed little sign of effect on Tom. A little sleepy eyed but none the worse for wear. "How are you – how’s your head?"

   "Like shit…"

   She leant up on one elbow to take a mouthful of the coffee, but her belly and head went into a roll and she had to swallow quickly and fall back. She groaned and attempted a half smile.

   "Fuck! What did I drink last night and where did I… what was…" She relented from attempting to vocalise her thoughts and questions, the echoing of her own voice around her was reverberating in her head.

   Tom laughed and reached over to pull the sleeping bag cover under her neck and chin. "It wasn’t as much drink as dope. And you had more than a bit of both – not a good mix." He halted as he saw her wincing at the thoughts of her own ingestion. "You stay where you are," he instructed her needlessly. "Give me a shout if you need any help – or another coffee."

   He left her lying uncomfortably on the floor, and she watched his body disappear through the door as she thought of more questions. Feeling brave she leaned over to attempt again the coffee, taking one mouthful she felt momentarily better. Then she felt her forehead prickling with perspiration and as she turned again her stomach retched and her mouth was suddenly flooded with an up-throw of black vomit. She coughed, choked noisily and emptied her belly next to the sleeping bag. And then consumed with self-disgust and feeling so, so sorry for herself, she disintegrated back into her bag and fell back into unconsciousness.

   "So what the fuck did I… did we get up to last night?"

   Lyndsey tossed the question with attempted lightness over her orange juice and the bar table towards Tom. He looked quizzically at her, aware of the wealth of meanings and questions behind her question. This was the first time he had seen her today since he had delivered the coffee. He had put his head around the door a little later to find an empty, foul smelling room – the vomit was still clinging to the floorboards near her sleeping bag. Apparently she was out for a walk somewhere – probably to clear her head.

   "We sat round listening to tunes and had a wee party." He laid the emphasis on the first word and answered her question.

   "And how much did I drink?"

   "Enough – but you had plenty of other stuff too, as I said."

   They had been in the pub for about an hour, five of them there were present, sat around a table near the fire. The clear autumn day had given way to a frosty chilly evening and the cost of a drink was cheaper than trying to heat the squat.

   The girl to the left of Lyndsey turned to her. "You’re a bit quieter than last night – are you getting over your hangover?"

   "How d’ya mean?" Lyndsey started a little in surprise and ignored the question.

   "Oh, you were a funny, happy space-cadet last night…"

   "How?" Lyndsey wished she would cut through her vagueness and give her some facts and conversations she could remember. Drinks and faces were vivid, words and deeds were very cloudy.

   "Oh, just a little giggly and talkative – and more than a little… assertive!"

   "Helen, leave her alone." Jon came in to her rescue seeing her confused, blushing face. Tom was in conversation elsewhere across the table, apparently unaware of Lyndsey and Helen’s exchange of words. Lyndsey sat stiff backed, blushing brightly and smiled quietly down at her drink. She was very inquisitive of the blank gaps in her recollections of last night’s activities that seemingly everyone, except her, appeared to know. She was also very nervous at the possible answers to the questions, especially here around this crowded table, so she decided not to ask or invite anymore conversation.

   The room, the situation, the people and the conversation circled around her, but in a controlled way. The murmur of dialogue continued without her – the others apparently understanding that she wanted to drop out for the moment. Lyndsey allowed the background to seep into her, and willing herself to relax and enjoy the others company she let go a little more of her old self.

   She was only a few days old in the city but already she felt a different person. But there was nothing in her that she had to gauge this against – no sense of scale. What kind of person had she been before? What kind was she now? She had only ever had herself as a measuring board of her own personality; the few judgements that others had either made to her or about her, she had disregarded. Or she had easily been able, when she felt inclined to, to argue against. And the opinions and judgements of her parents she had either ignored or dismissed as a misunderstanding. Their aspirations and outlooks were vastly different to hers, she believed. So what value then their thoughts and views?

   No, she couldn’t analyse then if she really was or not a changed soul, but right now she felt like one and that was what mattered. Wasn’t she here for herself anyway? Here fending for and living for herself only.
Lyndsey relaxed down in her feelings and layers of independence and reliance, and allowed her immediate company, the others in the pub and the noise and feel of the city to seep into her pores.

   Then suddenly her heart leaped through loops as he shifted his position on the bench next to her and brushed and rested momentarily his thigh next to hers. Abruptly all of her beliefs and thoughts of only looking after living for herself were disregarded and shelved. She went mind-swimming because of he – his leg next to hers, his voice suddenly invading, crashing – scything through her thoughts, and all because of one involuntary or unplanned movement on behalf of someone else.

   She turned to look at Tom addressing Jon and Jill over the table; he was enthusing away between drags on his collection of rolled papers and tobacco on some music related issue, but she wasn’t listening. She was thinking about his jaw outline, the shape of his nose, the collection of studs in his ear lobe. But most of all, she was thinking of how much she wanted to lean over and kiss his stubbled cheek. And lean over that leg that was still resting against her as she did so.

    Mid-late evening came along – ten-ish.They were straggledly walking back to the squat. Their group had picked up more members and now another possible party was on the cards. A cool and sober one as far as Lyndsey was concerned though, more drink and drugs were beyond what she could literally stomach.

   As the group made its way back along the street to its evening base, Lyndsey lingered towards the back of the party occasionally joining in the conversation between Helen and Tom. She matched their speed and kept close in their steps; here was a relationship that troubled her. To all outward signs Tom was single and so available. Yet when he chatted and laughed and leaned towards Helen leaning towards him… There was more here than companionship or friendship – here there were deeper waters, a closer bond, chemistry?

   She halted her train of gloom; she was reading into what she saw and observed that which she didn’t want to believe. But maybe if she did it would be easier for her to accept if…

   What did she remember of last night? What did she say and do? She knew that drink tended to loosen her tongue and made her hidden thoughts and words audible. Maybe she had said something too early, appeared too eager, too rushed, too... uncool. Maybe she had put him off – made him pull closer to Helen in order to make her feel…

   STOP!

   She forced a happy smile onto her face – happy, carefree and light-hearted, and she tried to re-enter the conversation casually as they neared the tenement.

   In spite of herself Lyndsey found herself knelt on the floor with a drink containing copious quantities of vodka and next to people she barely knew; well away from where Tom was stood, talking intensely to a guy on some subject. She stared around ‘feeling’ the air of the gathering. She was unwilling and almost unable to drink her drink, but her cigarettes would do. She concentrated instead on those immediately around her and in particular on the animated tale of an attractive, fresh-faced guy talking to Helen.

   "…And no fucking way was I going to… Three men in one room is as many as I would, maybe four if they were clean shaven…"

   Lyndsey listened, struck by his casual indifference; his well-spoken tones merely added to the unlikeliness of the scene. She turned to a movement beside her, to see Santa more than a little worse for wear, leaning over and trying to grab the bottle of vodka near her boot.

   "Steady!" She laughed, then squealed as he leaned too far and rolled over, colliding with her and sending them both reeling into Ian – the camp storyteller.

   "Careful Santa, you’ll be making somebody jealous…" A laughing Helen leaned over and pushed Santa back into a position from where he could retrieve himself.

   Lyndsey collected herself from the theatrically groaning arms of a clearly unhurt Ian, and with her face reddening she looked first towards Tom looking on with a smile, then she looked towards Helen with astonishment and growing rage. How dare this older, more confident girl keep fucking with her head, dropping in all these little cryptic remarks and knowing references. Didn’t she know she didn’t know? Was she trying to ward her off and away from Tom? Tom…

   She glanced up and met his handsome, boldly smiling face looking down at her. She tried to meet his confident, easy smile but failed miserably. Back down she stared, down at her bashed cigarette, half broken and smoking troubledly.

   So much – too much pain. It’s not fair – and what can you do? Well many things really, but what’s the most desirable and the easiest course of action? For Lyndsey it was to sit and well in a deep pool of seemingly unrequited love. She was suffering. She was feeling intensely and thinking strongly – she was on a one-track odyssey. Try as she might, and she wasn’t, she couldn’t switch her mind away from Tom. That afternoon she had wandered outside back onto the Green for space to think, ponder and concentrate on images of him. It was only a small collection of words, just a sentence; but to even think of mentioning any of her feelings, even in the most obliquest fashion, to Tom… The thoughts sent shivers of fright through her as she thought along what the answers might – would be…

   "No – you’re too young…"

   "No, I'm seeing Helen…"

   Maybe he would just laugh at this fresh-faced English kid with no real ideas of the big city – his city. This sheltered, closeted kid trying to make it with this street-smart, confident guy. And the way Helen acted with him, the way she spoke and the way she was…
 
   Lyndsey compared herself, dressed, as she was in her neutral, comforting dark colours – all blues and blacks. And with her straight dark hair swept back from her face and down onto her back. Helen was leant casually against a chair-arm confidently chatting again with Ian, apparently unconcerned with her remarks to Lyndsey. She was unconcerned also with Tom across the room, and certainly had no desire or need for a nervous cigarette. Her bright orange top and long voluminous skirt contrasted violently, but she could pull it off. She was talking about some serious subject to an obviously interested Ian, her arms waving and gesticulating as she warmed to and confidently wove her way through their conversation.

   To do everything she could do to further lower her self-esteem, Lyndsey tried to compare everything about herself against her believed opponent – her competitor, her baiter. And she marked herself lower in ever respect and category. She wallowed and bathed in a sea of misery and anguish, and feeling another tide wash over her she glanced up again to look at Tom.

   And he was still looking towards her. Still with a smile, but with more concern as he observed her worried, concentrated face. He opened his mouth to speak, but was drowned out by Helen suddenly addressing Lyndsey.

   "Lyndsey dear, have you still got that vodka or has Santa…?

   Observing her gazing at Tom, Helen halted and began to giggle. "Oh sorry pet – I didn’t mean to interrupt your dreaming and lusting!" She continued to laugh and only stopped as Lyndsey suddenly lurched forward, found her feet and turned her furious red face towards hers.

   "Oh fuck you!" 

Lyndsey hissed loudly at the now amazed and startled Helen. Spinning on her feet to the sudden rapt attention of the entire room, she felt all their stares and attention as she made for the door. Passing, she caught the astonished and shocked look on Tom’s face as he looked towards Helen and then her, then crashing suddenly into the hallway she heard the conversation start up anew behind her and a few shouts of her name. She ignored them and quickly pulled behind her the door. Running down the comforting, quiet darkness of the landing she found the cold bathroom, sprawling there on the dirty, wet floor she leaned over and emptied her guts for the second time that day.

   Lyndsey half lay, half kneeled on the floor with a pool of some liquid seeping against the fabric of her trousers, dampening her leg. Her hair falling down over her eyes, a few strands were matted and contaminated with particles of vomited food. She was all retches, gasps, tears and heavy breaths. And then she jumped as she felt a dry towel being draped around her shoulders and pushed under her chin.

   A hand came round to wipe the towel over the side of her cheek and to wipe away the tears, sweat and vomit. She tried to look, but she retched again. Nothing left to expel – just spasms of her chest and stomach; she coughed and barked up a disgusting yellow fluid into the strewn waters of the pan. She groaned pathetically in pain, her head spun and ached, but she managed to avert her eyes to see Jon crouched on his haunches looking into her contorted features.

   She was surprised, but her face wracked with misery didn’t show it. "Thanks, I'll be okay." She coughed again into the pan, the spasms subsiding. He ignored her words and pulled back the hair from her face, in his other hand he had a damp cloth with which he carefully wiped her forehead.

   "Oh, okay thanks – please stop." She was confused and grateful, but mostly embarrassed at the attention she was receiving and it was unfortunately only from someone she very vaguely knew, instead of from someone else whom again she only vaguely knew.

   "Quit protesting – you’re good at giving yourself a hard time, aren’t you? Jon addressed her as if she was more than just ten years his junior.

  She was silent as he observed her sorrowful eyes, then he gave her the cloth and she gratefully wiped her face. She took his hand pulling her up from the floor and washed her face and mouth at the sink.

   "Come on," he said watching her finish her ablutions. "Come through to the kitchen, I'll get you something to settle your belly and your head."

   She hesitated thinking about and dreading more confrontations.
"Come on – its just you and me," he returned, guessing her thoughts.
She followed his back meekly as he led her to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. He pushed closed the door behind them leaving them both alone in the room.

   "How old are you Lyndsey? How long have you been away from home?"

   The question shook her and she resignedly leant back against the sideboard. She was sick of being so transparent – of appearing so young, innocent and fragile, of being what she was. Her aspirations to where she wanted to be, the image she saw of herself and the images she wanted others to see, were all wrong, but were wrested out of her control and perception. She was tired of wrestling with her own mental image, tired of being out in the open, and so tired of all the scrutiny that she imagined was all around her. She wanted out – out and back into and underneath her previous protective gauze. Back cloaked and cowering under her hardened shell of self-belief and reliance, the clothes she had so quickly discarded.

   "In a few months I'll be twenty two." She almost spat the words as she blankly addressed the floor. "My parents don’t know where I am, they probably care, but they probably know why I'm away and not there. They’re maybe very worried, but I can’t help that. Well I can, but I’m… I’m not going to." She was addressing the wall now, off and away down a corridor of suppression and thought.

   "They’ve been missing me for… about a week." She lied to round up her total of days away.

   There was a pause as Jon allowed her to gather herself, he could see that she had needed to off-load her last few thoughts and that she still had more to say.

   "I'm supposedly here to give myself and easier time – to fuckin’ find myself." She mocked herself as she chorused out her words, but if she invited criticism of herself, she received none. Jon stood silently by, allowing her to express herself and lighten her load.

   "Guess I'm making things harder. Guess there’s really nothing for me to find. You think I should go home, don’t you?" She looked for the first time toward his attentive face.

   He paused before answering, holding her look. He calmly and quietly replied. "Guess you wouldn’t find anything back home either… You need to stop running Lyndsey, come to a standstill and stop your thinking and pondering. You’re here in a new place and here you can be as safe as you want to be, but you’re …" He broke off, worried at bruising and hurting her.

   "Go on, I’m listening."
 
   She wasn’t hurried or racing anymore. The quiet deliberation of his manner was relaxing and calming her, and she was interested in his words. Especially now that she had lain so much of what she had been thinking and suppressing open.

   "You’re arguing with those who are only joking with you and trying to get to know you. You’re open and loud one moment, then you’re closed the next and resentful at people even attempting to speak to you. But also you’re letting your heart rule you, you’re getting single minded and obsessed by someone you’ve only just met and don’t really know."

   She looked deeper into his eyes with each sentence and with more and more worry as he cut deeper with his remarks and observations. She trembled as he told her more of the things she knew to be true and of the feelings she would prefer to be more private and unsaid. But she silently acknowledged that she needed to be told these things and she warmed to Jon taking the time and risking animosity to do so.

   "You’re falling in love far too quickly and eagerly…" He quietly spoke again to break the sudden silence as he crossed the kitchen and put his arm around her shuddering shoulders.

  She slumped her head down again, she could feel the imminent return of tears, and try as she might she couldn’t contain them. And his last few words cut straight through her as she began to sob out her longing and anguish into his chest. She turned her back on the world as she sought sanctuary in his pullover. He crossed his arms protectively over her shuddering back and looked towards the door wondering at the affairs and position he now found himself in. The feeling too of the pretty girl in his arms moved him and he could feel his heart beat faster as he quietly enjoyed her nearness and the soft aroma of her body.

   What was half a minute – maybe nearer a minute, seemed a few seconds to both of them. She let her tears and bluster run their course, then she pulled out of his arms and wiped her face and eyes with the cloth she still had with her. He had let her shiver and shake as she had dampened his pullover, now he watched with concern as she wiped her crest-fallen face.

   "Okay, can I ask a question?" She looked up at this open face.

   "Sure, go ahead."

   "I really can’t remember much of last night; did I… what did Tom… did anything, err happen last night?" She was attempting to articulate but it was all descending and mingling amongst the chaos that was in her head.

   "Hell! Do you really not remember that much?" He paused considering. "You were funny, happy… loud and lucid." He stopped again thinking of his next words, whilst watching her eyes widen.

  "Shit – I – we didn’t know you were so unaware and hmmm… so out of it. We thought you knew; Helen would never have teased you if she thought you didn’t know what she meant."

   "But did I do anything stupid?" She beseeched him almost desperately.

   "No, you were having fun – I've already said." He paused watching her, wondering how to tell her what he thought she wanted to hear. "You just let the alcohol and the dope… well loosen you. You became quite lachrymose; you were trailing Tom most of the night and finished it almost asleep on his knee. He got you to your bed and, well…" He trailed off laughing embarrassedly and watching her embarrassed face.

   "No, go on please." She closed her eyes listening intently with growing anticipation and dread.

   "Well Tom told us he had a hard time getting you to go to your bed and sleep alone – but nothing happened of course."

   "Oh God!" She groaned and screwed her eyes shut.

   Jon attempted to make her feel a little better. "Look Lyndsey, you laid open your feelings – isn’t that one of the pleasures of drinking?"

   "But… well isn’t Tom with… what about Helen?"

   "Oh," Jon relaxed, seeing an easy and obvious reason for so much of her angst that had troubled and perplexed him. "Well, Helen y’know…"

   He was stopped and both of their heads spun as the door was calmly opened and their private conversation was violated. Tom entered the kitchen and stood quietly for a moment allowing his presence to punctuate and silence the flow of words between them.

   "Are you okay?" He looked towards Lyndsey concernedly.

   "Yeah, me and Jon were just talking and…" She broke off and smiled back nervously towards Tom.

   "I think you two, should be talking, not you and me." Jon turned to Lyndsey as he made to exit the room. "And no more tears." He added the last in a stage whisper and with a small affectionate smile. She smiled fully back and brushed her hand along his arm as he walked by. Before closing the door, he looked back quickly to see her eyes again, but she was looking up at Tom.

   As she heard the door close, she leaned back against the cupboard. "Sorry. Guess I need to grow up a bit."

   He looked towards her and smiled. "Don’t do too much of that… Don’t lose too much of yourself too soon." He walked over to her and put his arms around her. She immediately hugged herself around his chest, fighting successfully this time the urge to cry again. She emerged from leaning her head on his rib cage and looked up to meet his kiss fully on her lips.

   She rolled over and over; giddy and ready for air, she broke off their union then rejoined it again almost immediately. The lightness of feeling – almost air-light. The moment was there in itself, nothing else in her head other than him and her. She reached her arms out caressing over his back and his tongue explored hers. Softly and pleasurably, and so, so slowly. The moment stretched out as each other rejoiced in each other. Feeling her heart pound in her chest, she ended his third or fourth kiss – how many, she was too dizzy to tell, and she re-laid her head against his chest listening to his quickened heart beat with a dreamy smile and tightly-closed eyes.

Lyndsey awoke a few hours later. The uncomfortability of her sleeping position and the unfamiliarity of a sleeping body next to her, restricted her out-reaching limbs. Also there was the unknowing of the different room with its new smells and furniture. She looked towards the sleeping body of Tom and looked him over quietly. His chest rising and falling, his hair falling forward above his eyes, his legs bent at the knee, his thighs leaning towards hers. His body was on its side orientated toward her, his face expressionless and peaceful with his mouth slightly open and audibly hissing intakes and outtakes of air.

   She gazed upon her partner and refused to think beyond him. His face… his body next to hers… and their union earlier... Her body naked around his; his larger frame over her, stretching her arms, pushing her, controlling her – loving her...

   She pulled the sleeping bags tighter around them. She had never been as intimate before with another before. Innocent fumbles and play when she was younger with other friends was her only experience. Innocent friends sharing each other’s warmth and company. Now she had not so innocently shared someone else’s warmth, close company and body.

   He had so slowly worked towards placing himself over her. She had parted her legs and felt his hand propel himself into her. She had winced, but he was careful and slow with his actions. He had touched her all over and caressed her, she had trembled and shook as she felt his hot breath near her, but she felt only his tenderness, as he was so careful with her. She was too stiff and tense to fully relax and so to enjoy their coupling as much as he; but in spite of only feeling him rush to his climax and not herself, she was in raptures and very satisfied. She had been almost silent beyond a few whimpers, but now she was humming, laughing and singing inwardly.

   Their sleeping bags were zipped together and she pulled them closer now as she moved up her position into his embrace and stuck her nose out somewhat uncomfortably over his arm. But here in this embrace she fell asleep again. And smiling so, so widely.