Greg suddenly stopped his dance. He darted over to his mate
who shuffled into the cellar. They exchanged a gloriously daft, hi-octane
greeting. Howard instantly felt self-conscious on the dance floor with Jacintha
and saw she felt the same. Their gyrations wound down pathetically and they
drifted in Greg's direction. The newcomer burbled away about the elite quality
of the women present. Then he mentioned seeing Gallie, Karen and Dominic in
the kitchen and that he would have chatted to them had Drijk not been nearby.
Only half an hour earlier Drijk had beaten up and evicted several gatecrashers.
'Everybody loved it!' shrilled Greg's mate. 'I think the
silly tossers were scousers or something.'
Greg and his mate laughed uproariously.
Then the conversation quickly turned to football. Greg
gleefully duelled his mate and Howard with detailed arguments about the merits
of the various teams. Howard, noticing that Jacintha was not betraying fascination
with the finer points of why the Redater United's sweeper system was defective,
so he took her to one side and asked her about her life since they had last
met. He learned that she, like himself, had stayed away from Redater for
a while. After a few days in hospital following her overdose, she had gradually
recuperated at her parents' house, where she was living even now. She was
not enjoying it however and intended to resume the degree course the following
week. She said that just after being discharged from hospital she had returned
to Redater with her father to collect some of her belongings from her room
at the Donovan Hall of Residence. While carrying some of her things down
a corridor, she had bumped into Greg, who, upon seeing that she was in a deeply
affected state, offered to help. Her father was suffering from a bad back,
so Greg carried the bulk of her things to the car. When Greg cheekily requested
her parents' home phone number, her father willingly bestowed without taking
her hints to decline.
Howard marvelled at the revelation. If, at anytime, he
had returned to Redater, or even if he had kept in touch with his housemates,
his agonised soul-searching over Jacintha would have been extinguished. Worse,
of all the times for Greg to actually have a crack at a relationship it had
to be now: of the multitude of women Greg knew in Redater it was maddening
that he had chosen Jacintha. Fate had been devious.
Howard looked sorrowfully at Jacintha, turned and looked
at the dance floor. What he saw would not normally have thrown him. What,
at any previous interlude in his student life would have seemed as natural
as the phases of the moon now shocked him as madly incongruous. He expired
a gasp of stupefaction, a squawk that was drowned in the pounding syrup of
the music. Over on the far side of the boogying throng, with one outsized
hand clasping an ample breast, was Greg; he was unashamedly snogging a gorgeous
blonde. Silhouetted against the white of the cellar wall, the two looked like
some writhing Odyssian monster.
Once the torrents of his impressions had settled enough
from their frenzied spinning for him to harness stable thoughts, Howard decided
to distract Jacintha's from Greg's direction so that she may not learn of
such loathsome treachery. His idea was not so much to shield Jacintha's feelings
from the pain of Greg's blatant betrayal but rather to honour the unwritten
code that one should always loyally help out one's mates in sticky situations.
Howard's chief object was to save Greg from an almighty row and, in doing
so, prolong the latter's audacious flirtation with the blonde.
Unfortunately Jacintha was staring fixatedly in Greg's direction.
Howard cursed himself. He had not been on the ball. He had not been hasty
enough to prevent what was must surely be an almighty tempest tearing through
her already fragile heart. He envisioned her as a priceless porcelain vase
and Greg as a titanic wrecking ball. The union could only be consummated by
tragedy. As he prepared to console Jacintha for the cruel injustice that Greg's
terrible behaviour must have been inflicting upon her, he noticed she seemed
unmoved. She showed no outwards signs of shock or even of anger. Her face
merely posed the hint of disapproval that was usual in her. He even interpreted
the contours of her serene features as consistent with indifference.
'I will never,
ever, understand women!'
'Sorry?'
'Erm... Jacintha, why aren't you totally devastated by the
obvious fact that Greg is groping that girl over there?'
'Why should I be?'
Howard stared at her open-mouthed. 'Well, I just thought
you might be a tad fazed at the unpleasant sight of your boyfriend snogging
another chick. And he's feeling up her tits too.'
'Greg is
not my boyfriend.'
The resolution of one riddle, like the severing of the Hydra's
head, gave rise to more.
'But you were
all over him! And Greg said he had
a steady girlfriend:
you!'
Jacintha seemed irked. 'Yes, it was Greg's little joke.
I played along, although to be frank, I thought it terribly silly. Greg has
this way of making me do things I would not do ordinarily.'
'So you're
not an item with Greg?'
'No,
of course not.'
'You and Greg, you haven't, erm,
you know...'
'No!'
'Not even
once. Not even one incy, wincy shag?' persisted
Howard.
'It's nobody's business!'
'
Nobody's business? Not even the guy you were fucking?'
'Just
stop it will you?' protested Jacintha.
'I
see,' grunted Howard ill temperedly. He was mortified
at the mere possibility that Greg had indulged in even the most trivial sexual
interaction with her. Had Greg touched this innocent angel? The mere thought
made him wince. Had Greg kissed her? Had he conned her into bed? Howard felt
disgusted with himself for possessing an imagination foul enough even be able
to conceive of such a vile scheme: that such a gruesome womaniser could have
injured so sweet an orchid. Could Greg, to whom she would amount to nothing
more than another notch in a bedpost,
really have seduced one so wary
and so pure?
'If
you had minded your own business about
us
then there would have been no
photographer...' Jacintha voice faded.
At a loss, Howard decided to emulate Greg's bravado.
'Bullshit, Jacintha!'
'
What?'
'Well, you wouldn't have attempted suicide if only you had
realised this: that no matter how much fallout and crap was caused by our
little bit of fun under the lab bench, it doesn't matter. Sooner or later
you would have hit self-destruct no matter
what happened.'
'How
dare you!' Jacintha reared up in anger, a cornered
cat primed to claw its way to safety.
'It's absolutely true, I assure you. You know, you may not
quite have realised it yet, but I'm a crack psychologist, a grandmaster of
games played in people's heads. You know, there isn't a single conundrum lurking
in your pretty head that can't be decrypted by me.'
'I've had
enough of this, I'm leaving!'
'Why, it's a piece of cake getting inside people's heads
you know. And, once you're inside a chicks head,' he lowered his voice confidentially,
'she'll
give you head!'
'Goodbye,' said Jacintha, curtly. She headed for the steps.
Howard paused for thought. His bullshit was not the tool
for diffusing her anger after all. Another idea flared in his mind. He remembered
the small, intricate artefact he had pinned to the inside of his nightdress.
He often kept it with him as a nostalgic reminder of her. He had come to feel
it brought him luck, despite the fact that he had precious little of that
elusive commodity. He pursued her up the steps, reached up and tugged her
pyjama bottoms, inadvertently exposing her knickers. She turned and smacked
his cheek. He grabbed her hand and into her palm he placed the glistening
blue icon.
'I found
this in the lab!'
Her face thawed instantly. 'Oh! My beautiful Butterfly brooch!
Oh
thanks! This was a gift from my Grandma. I searched everywhere
for it.
Everywhere!'
'I thought you were, erm, you know,
dead as a... If
I had known I would have returned it urgently.'
'Oh, that's decent of you.' Jacintha pinned the brooch to
the chest of her pyjama top and smiled.
Her smile mesmerised him: lustful excitement he had not
felt since they kissed in the optics lab gripped him once again. This was
his chance to pull her! He had to get her alone at all costs: now was his
opportunity! With licentious resolve he beckoned her to continue her ascent
from the cellar. In a corner of the crowded house hallway Karen, clad in bright
red pyjamas was obliviously snogging Dominic, who looked particularly absurd
in an intensely pink nightdress. Howard indicated to Jacintha that they should
head upstairs. The stairs were clogged with snogging students like mussels
on rocks. It was a troublesome climb but finally they reached the summit of
the landing. A frantic exploration revealed that all the bedrooms were dedicated
to orgiastic activity. His heart sank. Jacintha was far too classy to have
sex with other people around. He had been over-optimistic about finding an
empty bedroom. Then his eyes rested upon a further door, obscured in a cubbyhole.
A padlock secured this door. The lock was evidently serving to exclude rampant
partygoers but he was in no mood to capitulate.
'Wait here!' he implored. He clambered down the student-strewn
stairs. From the kitchen he sneaked into the garage. The garage was littered
with tools. As he rummaged about he saw something hanging on the wall that
would do the job: he allowed himself a small smile.
'What are you
doing?' Jacintha frowned deeply. She
alluded to the hefty bolt cutter Howard grasped close to his chest. He could
feel the cold steel through the hole in his nightdress.
'Stand back!' Panting, he hoisted the bolt cutters to the
locked door. After agonising seconds of clumsy manoeuvring he managed to position
the jaws of the cutters over the loop of the padlock. He squeezed hard. A
violent tussle of metal against metal ensued. His ruse was failing. His arms
ached and his face glowed with the struggle. Jacintha urged him to stop. He
turned to reassure her. Surrounding students watched suspiciously. Perspiring,
he struggled on. With a sharp snap a broken padlock fell to the floor, narrowly
missing his foot. Jacintha protested that Howard had performed an unethical
and decadent act: he was breaking-and-entering into private property, which
surely was illegal. Heedlessly, he pressed the door handle. Triumphal, he
pulled Jacintha into the darkness and clicked the door behind them. His lungs
filled with the odour of stale cannabis fumes.
'Where's the light?' gasped Jacintha excitedly. He could
hear her scrabbling around in the darkness.
'What do you want light for? Remember the darkness of the
optics lab? I want to do it in the dark! There's a bed over here!'
He grabbed Jacintha. They groped and tore at each other's
night garments. Life, he reflected, could not possibly get better than this.
Breaking and entering a forbidden bedroom with a bright and gorgeous spectre
for the object of letting loose with reckless lust or even love, it was hard
to tell the difference, how could such ecstasy be improved upon? Their lips
engaged in the most intimate embrace. He relished and revelled in the dark,
wonderful paradise.
'Oh let's not talk about the lab!' whispered Jacintha between
kisses.
At long last he was about to have sex! Howard, in his elation,
felt that for the first time he had defeated Greg in rivalry for a woman.
He could not resist executing a stylish
coup de grace. He would blacken
Greg's name in Jacintha's mind forever.
'Yeah, let's forget all about the lab, especially how that
bastard
Greg took
that photograph of us!'
'Greg? Greg did that?
Greg?' The last utterance of
the word
Greg was almost squealed. She pulled away.
'What's the matter?'
'Leave me
alone!'
Ecstasy was the most ephemeral state. He had been so
close!
Sudden light and crashing noise, like fire and thunder from Hell, invaded
and destroyed his utopia. He gawped at the wretched, filthy, monstrous light,
blinking at the doorway through which she had escaped.
'
Jacintha!'
With harsh effort he overcame his paralysis and ran after
her. Looking down over the banisters he saw her spring down the student-congested
stairs like a gazelle. In maddened, exasperated pursuit he trampled steps
and body parts alike. As he reached the bottom of the staircase he stumbled
and fell. Glancing up he saw Jacintha pass Karen and Dominic and sprint through
the front door. Dominic looked puzzled and then ran after her. Howard limped
to the doorway and paused. The weather had worsened: rain splattered heavily
on the garden path as Jacintha dashed towards the shimmering street. From
the entrance of the house he looked on helplessly as Jacintha, standing out
against the night in her pale pyjamas, dashed out into the road.
'
Jacintha!'
There was a furious squeal of brakes. A car slid over the
wet road. Jacintha appeared off-balance; she seemed unable to control her
footing and motion as the car skidded towards her. Howard held his hands to
his open mouth as the scene unfolded in time warped by horror to a dismal
tick. He squinted in fright.
'
Oh shit! Oh shit!'
The screech of the car was deafening. She was pale as a
tombstone. Her limp frame looked strangely brittle wrapped in the wet pyjamas.
Dominic sprinted towards her and dived. The car rushed past.
Howard never forgot the sight of Dominic staggering back
to the house, blood mixing with the rain and pouring over his face, his tall
and lanky frame wrapped in an atrocious pink nightdress, with Jacintha in
his arms. Howard gazed at her. Her pyjamas were rendered clingy in the rain.
Her limbs were limp and her eyes closed.
'Don't worry, she's okay!' shouted Dominic.
To Howard she looked dead. His jabbing sense of guilt was
resurrected, weighing more heavily upon him now if only for the fact that
he had briefly known how good it felt when the guilt had lifted. He could
feel himself shivering. This time he had
seen her die and the memory
would be gruelling to live with. Now he had
new memories: new conversations
and new kisses. He winced as he remembered how she smiled as she danced.
It was the touching smile of happiness in one who was perennially sad. Those
dreamlike memories were powerful; he could not shake off the impression that
she had been dead the whole time. The reunion had enhanced, not blunted,
the deity-like status she assumed in his mind.
Karen scrambled past him towards Dominic, along with several
other students.
'Actually, everybody, she's fine!' bellowed Karen proudly.
'Quick, somebody get some blankets and a mug of hot chocolate!'
Dominic carried Jacintha into the hallway and laid her on
the floor. Howard could not bear to watch. He walked over to the road. Upon
the tarmac between parallel skid marks he saw a tiny object glint and picked
it up. It was Jacintha's butterfly broach. He turned and returned to the house.
Swaddled in coats and sheets, Jacintha was sitting on the
stairs, spluttering and sipping from a cup. She looked bedraggled: not a hint
of her usual prim neatness remained. She looked
sexy. The blood-spattered
Dominic was comforting her.
'Dominic's such a totally fantastic hero!' gushed Karen.
'He like
risked his life actually to rescue her from being run over.
I'm not one to boast but it was all
my idea! I told Dom to go after
her and he saved her little life! I really did tell you, didn't I Dommie?
But quite frankly I don't want to take any credit for that, actually, I often
sort of do things like that.'
Howard put his hand on Dominic's shoulder. 'Good one Dom.'
'Howie, dear fellow, it was but nothing. Don't even mention
it, Howie, top banana, the pleasure's all mine. Maidens in distress and all
that, all in an honest chaps day's work if you ask me. Would do it a hundred
- make that a thousand - times! Anyone else would have done precisely the
same, it was nothing, nothing at all.'
Howard cringed:
he had not done
precisely the
same. Jacintha rested her head on Dominic's arm. He gently caressed her
wet hair. Far from being a spectre, she seemed
human. Howard sighed.
He felt almost sick. The one thing he wanted more than sex was to save Jacintha
from danger: to rescue her from peril. That was his sweetest dream and Dominic
had stolen it.
 | | | | |
| From: |
JGR | Subject: | 2002-12-26 09:43:48 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2003-02-11 12:40:01 |
| | | | |
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