The Long and Spectacular Life of Agnes Magnusdottir 27

1971

 

Agnes wondered if all boys were, when you got down to it, as blunt as Benjamin. Why couldn't he just tell her that he loved her? Or walk with her hand in hand through the orchard to look at the view on the other side? Did it all have to be so coarse? 

    "Are you quite alright?"

    She opened her eyes to find Benji gone and his mother coming at her from the other side of the room with another bottle of wine. 

    "I'm just tired," she said. "Do you mind if I go to bed?"

    Her room was clearly one that Benji’s mum used as a study. There were books everywhere and as she lay on her back on the mattress they seemed to spin above her head, Franz Kafka and James Joyce and Lawrence Sterne circling like crows after carrion. She must have drunk even more than she thought. Just don't be sick she told herself, just don't be sick.

    When she woke up at first she wondered where she was and then she noticed the time. Christ, how had she slept for so long and why had no one come to wake her? Going downstairs she found the four girls surrounded by swathes of torn brightly coloured paper with the rest of the family standing around them. If Agnes didn't know better she would have assumed the girls themselves were the presents. 

    "I thought we had a deal?" Benjamin pulled at her sleeve as he hissed into her ear. "You locked the blasted door on your room. Didn't you hear me knocking? I was there for five minutes." He must have silently burped for suddenly she was assailed by a smell of the night before’s dinner. "Tell me, what exactly are you here for if not for my personal pleasure?" 

    There was a small present for her, perfectly wrapped. The paper was brown and it had a red bow around it. She could feel herself blushing as she undid it with all the eyes of the family on her. Benjamin had specifically said they weren't going to do presents. 

    "Oh, it's lovely!"

    Into her hand had fallen a very expensive looking pen. 

    "Benjamin says you’re a writer," said Benjamin’s mother. "I'd be very interested in seeing what you do. Fresh young talent is exactly what we are looking for. I don't suppose you've brought anything with you."

    Agnes never went anywhere without her manuscript. It was too precious to leave lying around. She had a recurring nightmare about it being burnt in a house fire while she was held back by a fireman. ’You've got to let me in there,' she would scream. ’You don't understand.’  

    "Perfect," said Benjamin’s mother as Agnes put the manuscript in her hands. "I always like to read something on Christmas Day. I think of it as my me time!”

    After breakfast Benjamin announced that he and Agnes were going out for a walk. She wasn't surprised when he led her straight down to the summer house. Thinking of Benjamin’s mother reading her novel she felt the spirit of elation running through her. Of course those boring old dears at the book club weren't her right audience. They didn't like what she had written because it was new and different. Benjamin’s mother herself, someone who was in the know, had referred to her as ’fresh young talent’. 

    As Benjamin closed the door she practically leapt on him, forgiving him completely for his previous bad temper and cruel words. After all, wasn't he the instrument that was about to bring about the birth of her literary success?  She did love him after all she realised. He was so handsome and so rich. They would have a fantastic life together.

    "I'm sorry about last night," she said. "Let me make it up to you."

    For the first time in her life she felt that everything was coming together. She just needed to behave in the correct fashion. Her friends at the polytechnic had said that the public school boys liked to marry angels but in secret would go out and visit madams to do all the things their wives wouldn't do. Well, if Benjamin wanted a slut he would get a slut. Who was she to get in his way?

    There was a large green table tennis table in the centre of the summer house and putting her fingers on her lips Agnes pushed Benjamin back so his buttocks were resting against its edge. Then, getting onto her knees so her face level was level with his crotch she undid his belt buckle. She pulled his underpants and trousers down as one and with some effort got them off along with his shoes. Then she rucked up his jumper and t-shirt until they rested under his chin. 

    "Don't touch me," she said. "And relax. You're going to enjoy this."

    "What are you doing?" he asked. 

    The previous summer she had read a pornographic French novel, written by a women, about a group of soldiers who are based in Saigon. These soldiers, in between long hours of training and going on dangerous raids were always visiting prostitutes and one of the services they liked to pay for was called ’around the world’.

    Putting her hands flat on Benjamin’s chest Agnes started at his clavicle. She lapped at it with her tongue for a few seconds before working her way downwards. When she got to his belly button she stopped and pushed her tongue into it. 

    "Do you like that?" she asked pausing for a second.

    It felt good, for once, to be the one in charge. Whenever she had had sex before it had always been someone, Benjamin, doing things to her. Why did it have to be like that? These were modern times and they would be a modern couple.

    Her first intimation that something was wrong was when she got to his penis. It was still flaccid.

    "What are you doing?" asked Benjamin.

    "Hang on," she said forcing a laugh. "We're not even halfway around the world yet. We’re about to enter Australia!" 

    Before he had a chance to say anything she put a hand around each of his ankles and lifted up so that he fell backwards onto his back on the table. She kept pushing until his thighs were in line against his chest and his bum was sticking up into the air.

    "I read this in a book," she said speaking to him with her face between his legs. "It's what horny soldiers used to get up to in Vietnam. If soldiers do it then I imagine you are going to love it."

    The atmosphere in the summer house had gone somewhat tense. Thinking of her hero Anaïs Nin, who always seemed up for any new experience, Agnes stuck out her tongue and, steeling herself, for surely this was to be the most disagreeable part, she lunged forward hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible. 

    "For fuck’s sake!"

    There was a sensation of falling and a crack as her head hit the floor behind her. Benjamin was standing over her an angry look on his face, his hands bunched into fists. 

    "Who put you up to this?" he said. Little bits of spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes were darting wildly around as if he expected the instigator to be standing right there. "Was it Tom? It's exactly the kind of cruel game he would indulge in. If you tell anyone I'll kill you. I'm serious I'll kill you."

    Picking up his discarded pants and trousers Benjamin ran from the building. 

    It was dark by the time Agnes went back to the house. As soon as she entered Benjamin’s mother pulled her to one side. 

    "Can I have a word with you?"

    She followed Benjamin’s mother up to the study. Would Benjamin have told her that she had put her tongue up his bum? He probably knew the medical word for it and would have used that. Every Christmas dinner from then on the story would be brought up and the whole family would laugh about it uncontrollably.  

    "Do you remember that awful girl you brought home Benji? You know the one..." and then whoever was speaking would stick out their tongue and wiggle it grotesquely about. 

    "I don't want you to think I am being cruel," said Benjamin’s mother. "Really I don't. But I think it's best to be honest. I have seen enough young lives ruined by false hope. And also too much time wasted." She picked up a paperweight and stared at it intently, like she wasn't sure what it was doing there, before moving her eyes back to Agnes. "The thing is I've read your novel, the first fifty or so pages at least, and honestly, there is no easy way to put this, you have no talent. There is no life there, no spark, no characterisation, snappy dialogue or original description. Do it for fun if you want, write for fun!, but don't live your life thinking that this is a field you will find success in. No one who ever reads your words will be moved by them or find enjoyment from them. You can learn to write proficiently but that extra something that makes a good or a great writer I believe you are born with. You don't have that. You weren't born with it."

    When Agnes woke, she had cried for hours and hours before falling asleep, she could sense there was a figure in the room with her. She hoped that it was someone who had come to murder her. Her only wish was that they do it quickly. 

    "Don't worry," said Benjamin’s voice. "It’s only me."

    She felt the warmth of his body as he slipped under the covers next to her. So maybe he had forgiven her. 

    "I'm sorry about earlier," she said. She could still taste the tears on her lips and in her head she could see where she had gone wrong. She should have followed Benjamin’s lead. Nobody wanted a pushy woman. "I don't know what came over me," she said. "I do love you, you know? With all my heart. Can we start again?"

    "It's not you," said Benjamin. "It's me. I think you've guessed anyway." He paused then and sighed deeply. "The thing is I'm one of those blasted homosexual chaps they are always warning you about on the television. And me and Tom, well, we’re lovers. That's what all the fuss was about in the car. He was jealous of you and mad as all hell at me. You see in my stupidity I thought if I invited you up here for Christmas then I would be able to sort myself out once and for all. Tow the party line and all that. But it hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. That scene in the summer house was the final straw. I thought you were playing with me. All that talk of soldiers and then you doing what you were doing. I realise now you were simply trying to make me happy. And in a way you have. You've made me understand that I have to accept what I am. So I want to thank you for that I really do." Agnes felt Benjamin give her arm a friendly squeeze. "What a crazy little mess we've got ourselves into Agnes Magnusdottir. Look, can we be friends? Me and you, pals forever, what do you say? I'll never let you down I promise. And if ever I need a fake girlfriend you can be it. You can hang off my arm just like the real thing. It would certainly make my father happy. He's quite taken with you I'm sure of it."

    It was two awful weeks later that Agnes, after being sick each and every morning, had it confirmed to her at the doctor’s, a gruff old man who looked at her severely over horn-rimmed glasses, that she was pregnant. As she had only had sex with one boy she was in no doubt as to who the father was. And therein lay the problem. One of the many problems. 

 

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