Pitch Black

I was wondering about the colours of the sunset outside.

“I knew it! Oh God, you are so romantic.”

She was smiling at me.

You know how they say that pregnant women are like ‘radiant’? Well it was sort of like that. I mean she wasn’t – you know – she was just happy. Innocent I suppose.

“Maybe you were just waiting for the right girl?”

She was looking all coy at me. Looking up. All eyes. It was definitely an expression she had used before, or at least she’d practiced it in front of the mirror. Honestly? – I was flattered she was using it on me. I said:

“Maybe.”

“Oh my God, Robert. You are such a slut!”

She threw a handful of rosebuds at me. We laughed.

I fell backwards, her full weight landing on top of me. It was bearable; I’m quite strong even though I don’t look it. She was hitting me now – flirtatious girlie hitting. It was really nice.

Kirsty Bisdale. We’d met at James’s party, been on one date round town. You know, burger place, hanging-out. I liked her. I’d thought she’d seemed a bit stiff but I still liked her. I’d set about persuading her to camp out for the night – with me I mean. It was actually easier than I thought.

Anyway, there we were, camping. I made out that I must’ve dropped the pump for the airbed somewhere outside and that I had to go back and find it. I mean, I couldn’t have her sleeping down on the groundsheet could I? She was pretty relaxed about it. I left her reading and went out with my penknife collecting rosebuds. I’d never done this before and you could tell. I was ripping my fingers to shreds. Gloves and secateurs: that was what I needed. You just don’t think about stuff like that though, do you? I mean, prior to the event. I didn’t even get that many, just about a third of a carrier bag full, not even red, not full on romance red – more sort of mixture of magenta and some yellow ones: some of them were the starting to wilt a little round the edges too.

I took them back to the tent, and sent Kirsty out while I pumped up the bed. I set it out all nice too. I spread the rosebuds over the sleeping bag and I hung the camping light off the frame. I would’ve used candles except for the danger, the flames, I mean. The light looked okay though. The whole place did.

“It’ll be sunset soon.”

“Yes.”

“I erm… I done the bed.”

“Okay.”

“Looks quite comfy…”

She was reading a book. She raised it slightly and shot me a glance. Then she carried on reading.

“Good book?”

“It was.” She shut the book. “All right then lets have a look.”

***

And that’s pretty much how we got here– this pump bed among the rosebuds. She was kissing me now – a good kisser too (she smiled when she saw the rose petals, funny smile though, the sort girls give when they’ve cottoned on, a sort of knowing smile, you know?). I mean, I’ve kissed a couple of other girls before and, well kissing’s always good, but this was real nice you know? My hands were edging down the back of her jeans now and the sounds of crickets and songbirds were swirling enticingly around us. You know I’m in love when I start getting poetic. I was drowning in anticipation.

I wondered about the colours of the sunset.

It started with a rustling sound outside the tent. Then silence, a heaving tension, intangible, ominous. Motionless and alert beside me, Kirsty’s hand lay on my chest her eyes scanning the awning for fleeting shadows. My heart was beating hard too. I was feeling like a runner before the starting pistol.

When? When?

There was a low sound: a whisper, a moment of stillness and then a high-pitched screaming, a discordant caterwaul. Really inhuman. There was a thumping on the sides of the tent. The clinking of cans being hit with sticks. Kirsty was holding me really tight and she was breathing heavy, looking at me, I guess to see how scared I was. I was okay though – a bit edgy but okay.

“I’ve had enough of this. I’m gonna sort it.”

She held my arm tight as I pushed onwards, outwards, out into the slow darkness of dusk. I could see them both – a pair of silhouettes, one tall and slim, the other shorter, a little shorter than me, but stocky. The tall one shouted, “Go!” when he saw me and they both ran off in different directions, their high legs high, rustling through the dry grass. I stuck my head back into the tent.

“I’m going after them.”

“No, don’t.”

But I wasn’t having that. I’d made my decision ages ago. I was going. I blew her a kiss. It felt awkward, the first really awkward moment I’d had with her. Funny, but it hadn’t really occurred to me before. I’d never got on with someone, I mean a girl, I mean not like this. I didn’t dwell on it too long, but the thought surfaced a couple of times as I bounded heroically across the field.

I guess that things never look the way that you think they will before the event. I mean me chasing this shadowy attacker through the long grass, having to raise my legs high, being slowed by the friction; it must have looked comic, that or just plain stupid. The figure had reached the trees at the edge of the field. He could have lost me here if he’d wanted, just darted off into the trees, but he didn’t. He just sat on the stile. Not just that, he was ripping unripened apples from a tree and chucking them at me.

“Fuck off, will you.”

“Whassup Robbo?” An apple thing bounced off my head. “Missus kicked you out?”

“I’m serious James. Fuck off.”

Unperturbed, and still perched comfortably on the stile, James leant back slightly on his throne to produce a large, brown plastic bottle: cider, about two thirds of it remaining. He held the bottle out towards me. I took it, swigging deeply, its lukewarm sharpness swilled against the heady adrenaline, one anaesthetic replacing another.

“How’s it going then?”

“Yeah good. She’s err… she’s… nice.”

“She’ll be a lot nicer when you get back, son.”

“Yeah.” I swigged deeply on the cider.

“Oh Christ, you haven’t shagged her already have you? You dirty dog!”

“Naah. Course I haven’t. For fuck’s sake James.”

He reached out, took the bottle back, drank from it and replaced the lid.

“It’ll be all right. I was just being paranoid, that’s all.”

“Look, I told you yesterday. She’s a girl, son, not a goddess. You only think she’s more than that cos you can’t see the queue of other girls waiting to take her place. But that don’t mean the queue aint there. It is there, son. You’ll see.

“Come on Robbo. You’re a good guy; we all are, not like them other Muppets at school. Girls are ten a penny mate. It’s like business innit. You gotta get the sweetest deal, and you don’t get that by going all fucking luvvy and duvvy. I mean, you don’t want to find out you’re just with the same girl cos you haven’t got the balls to risk losing her, do ya? Well? That’s not fucking love, mate; that’s fear – that’s yellow fucking cowardice.”

“Yeah.”

He passed me a cigarette and I took it, leaning in towards him as he cupped the Zippo to protect the little orange flame from the breeze.