Innamorata

They were in the same place as before. At first it was difficult to
see them, sprawled in the shade of the willow. The swaying green
branches camouflaged them, casting strange moving shadows on their
slim, casually-dressed bodies. Josh quickened his pace and when he got
a bit nearer, tried to smile. They didn't look up, were too engrossed
in their books to notice. He stopped, passed a hand self-consciously
through his hair and gazed across the park into the green distance, at
the glitter of the
traffic beyond the fence.

'Josh. Josh, come over here.'

He started. The voice, a girl's, was light and full of laughter. He
turned his head and saw her bounding towards him, smiling
broadly.

'Come and join us. We've got wine.'

Her skin was flushed and the dress she wore was a light cotton. She
smelt of
sea-air. His heart leapt and, not believing his luck, found that he
was nodding a little too enthusiastically. He checked himself.

'Well, I'm not sure. I don't want to intrude and I've got a few things
I need
to do this afternoon.'

'Don't be silly. We wanted to talk to you anyway. Ivan's got a great
idea for the bookshop and we were going to come and find you to talk to
you about it.'

She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the tree. A light sheen of
sweat made the brown skin gleam on the back of her neck. As they
approached, Ivan looked up smiling and put down his book.

'Hey, how 're things?'

He stood up and they shook hands in that curiously antique way of his,
Josh grinning, keenly aware of the heat in the other man's skin.

'You look well, Josh.' Ivan's voice was lightly accented and
musical.

Josh could smell his cologne in the air between them. Sparkling citrus
notes with something more woody. A rankness at the heart of it. Ivan
swept the dark blond hair from his eyes. There were grass stains on his
chinos.

'The summer makes everyone feel better. It's such a beautiful day,
isn't it?'

Cathy thrust a glass into his hand. The wine was sunlit. Tiny bubbles
sparkled at the surface then disappeared.

'We call it champagne but it's not.'

They sat down in the cool shadows as if they'd been friends for years.
They were reading Lorca so they talked about Spanish poetry, made jokes
about revolutionaries. Josh allowed himself to relax, drinking the warm
wine and lulled by the whisper of the breeze in the branches overhead.
Now and then, he'd catch Ivan looking at him him, blue-eyes languid and
half-closed. They finished the wine and Cathy threw the empty bottle
into the long grass. Ivan brushed the leaves from his pants
saying:

'We're having a party. Wanna come?'

Cathy pulled him to his feet and pressed her lips lightly to Josh's
cheek.

'Sure, I'd love to.' He made his voice sound casual, indifferent
almost, but the thrill was in his heart.

'Good, it's on Sunday. Sunday afternoon. We're sinners, you see, and
we like to offend the church.'

'Sounds good.' Josh grinned and glanced at his watch. 'Jesus, is that
the time.'

He jumped to his feet and said his goodbyes, walking quickly away from
them, their voices retreating into silence behind him. He had reached
the park gates before realised they had not given him their
address.

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It was a warm evening, full of the smells of tobacco and Italian food.
The city streets had lost their Englishness and breathed an atmosphere
of the South, of Madrid or Granada. Josh loitered along the busy
pavements. He'd caught the sun and his mind was still fuzzy from the
afternoon's wine. He knew where they went at night, had known for some
time. He walked quickly down the steps to The King's Arms and spotted
them immediately. They were sitting at one of the tables outside,
laughing over their drinks, the slow river glimmering behind them. They
hadn't noticed him. They saw only each other, their sunburnt faces
bright with heat and booze, fingers
interwoven and never still. He hid himself in the crowd and slipped
into the pub through the side door. The place was crowded, the music
from the juke-box turned up and pumping. Pushing his way to the bar
through the fug of cigarette smoke and perspiration, he ordered a beer
and gulped it thirstily, examining his reflection in the mirrored glass
behind the optics. The flush the sun had given him concealed his
fatigue. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Ivan.

'I thought it was you. The fates seem to be conspiring, Josh. We were
meant to meet tonight.'

He was smiling broadly, eyes slightly glazed under long lashes.
Wrong-footed, Josh was uncertain of what to say.

'I sometimes call in here for a beer on the way to&;#8230;'

'Yeah. I've seen you here before. Quite a few times. Join us. It's
cooler
outside.'

Josh was again conscious of his smell, the sharpness of the citrus made
more complex now by an underlying tang of fresh sweat.

Yeah, I'll do that. I've just got to make a phone call.'

He watched Ivan vanish into the crowd. He had lied about the phone call
but
something in what Ivan had said had disturbed him: His slightly amused
irony. His knowing grin. As if he every secret Josh concealed was
momentarily exposed. He gulped down the last of the beer then ordered
another. The place was emptying out by the time he joined them. He was
drunk, afraid of
losing control but exhilarated. They were sitting quietly looking at
the river. The last pleasure boat of the evening glided by, its
coloured lights leaving undulating trails of brightness on the
water.

'Hey, you two.' He tried to sound casual.

Ivan looked up at him, raising his eyebrows.

'Must have been an interesting conversation.'

'What?' Josh felt a stab of anxiety.

'We were just about to leave. It's a pity. We've got so much we want
to discuss with you.'

He watched them get up, Ivan first, then Cathy. She ran her hands
through her hair, smoothed the fabric of her dress.

'We can talk at the party.' Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. 'You
still want to come, don't you?'

'Yeah, of course but I need&;#8230;'

'We should be going.' Ivan's tone was decisive.

He snaked an arm around Cathy's waste and they started walking, their
soft shoes making no sound on the tarmac. Then Ivan reached for Josh's
hand and shook it, his faded perfume making invisible eddies of force
in the air around them.

'You live in Clifton, don't you?'

'Yeah, but&;#8230;'

'I thought so.' He withdrew his hand, leaving a moist residue in

Josh's palm. 'I'll be seeing you.'

'Yes. Tomorrow. At the party. I&;#8230;'

He was already walking away, hurrying to join Cathy, her pale figure
glimmering in the deeper twilight of the riverside path. Josh felt
foolish, almost angry, standing in the dark as the lights went out,
watching them disappearing into the late evening.

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The air in his room was still and oppressive. He found it difficult to
sleep and, stripping off his pyjama jacket, got up to get a drink.
Someone was playing music in the flat upstairs and he could hear
occasional snatches of drunken laughter. His was a ground floor flat.
French windows opened onto a small walled garden and he took his tea
outside to enjoy the coolness and watch moths flutter into the little
pool of
light in which he sat. He sipped the tea contemplatively and stared
across the grass. He heard rustling from beyond the garden wall and put
down the cup.

'Josh.' A harsh whisper. 'Josh, it's me.'

He rose, disbelieving what he was seeing. Ivan strode across the lawn
towards him.

'What are you doing here?'

'I thought I'd drop in. Got anything to drink?'

'Some wine maybe.'

Ivan followed him through the French windows, the pagan smell of him
filling the room. The wine was cold, fruit scented.

'Do you want to sit outside?' Josh's voice was small, uncertain, not
quite able to process the scene unfolding before him. For a while they
didn't talk. Josh sipping his wine and watchful. Ivan silent and
self-contained.

'I have to go now.'

'What do you mean? You've only just arrived.'

'But now I have to go.'

He leapt up and headed back into the house. Josh followed unnerved,
afraid even.

Ivan was waiting for him in the shadows of the sitting room.

'I'm so glad we've has this opportunity to talk. Tomorrow will be
different.

There'll be so many people at the&;#8230;'

'At the party. Yes, I know but&;#8230;'

'It's good to have this space to talk.

Josh was irritated and confused. Ivan never seemed to talk about
anything. Josh looked at him and was surprised to find that he wanted
him to leave. Now that his longstanding fantasy was being realised he
was unsure about it. Things were not quite as he'd expected. He'd been
dreaming but perhaps the dream was best seen from a distance. Ivan
moved closer.

'Keep dreaming, Josh.'

'What?'

'Keep dreaming.'

Ivan was smiling slyly at Josh as if he had plucked the word right out
of the air
between them. Josh imagined Ivan's fingers probing, picking over his
thoughts. He was aware now of how his heart was racing, of the nearness
of Ivan, of the dense silence all around them. Ivan's face was amber in
the lamplight. Josh was painfully conscious of the narrow space between
them, of Ivan's crumpled cotton shirt, of the
skin that breathed warmly beneath it.

'Goodnight.' Josh could smell the wine on Ivan's breath, the echo of
sandalwood on his sun-browned throat.

'Yes.'

He moved closer, his lips brushing Josh's then pressing more
insistently. His kiss hot, the arousal unmistakable. Then he was gone,
the door swinging behind him, footsteps hollow and quickly diminishing
.

Josh awoke naked in a tangle of sheets. The phone was ringing and he
scrambled from the bed, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and went
into the hall. He bit into the apple and picked up the phone.

'Hello.'.

'Josh, it's Cathy. You haven't forgotten the party have you?'

'Er, no, but I don't think you've given me&;#8230;' His mouth
was
inconveniently full of apple

'I didn't quite get what you said. You sound a bit strange. Are you
ok?'

He spat the fruit onto the carpet.

'I'd love to come to the party but you haven't given me
your&;#8230;'

'Hang on, Ivan wants to talk to you.'

There were muffled sounds as the receiver was handed over. Then a brief
silence.

'Hey, Josh, how're you doing?'

'I'm fine.' He tried to sound casual but his memory of the night
before made him feel awkward, on thin ice.

'I'll be driving past your place in half an hour or so. Thought I
might give you a lift.'

'A lift?'

'Yeah. To the party.'

Josh examined his reflection in the hall mirror critically, smoothing
his dishevelled hair. 'That would be great. I'll see you when you get
here.'

He listened to Ella Fitzgerald as he got ready.

At 3.30pm he was still waiting. He paced around the room, drawn back to
the mirror again and again to examine his face, his hair, the creases
in his linen trousers. He felt more foolish than ever and the feeling
made him furious. It was clear that they were toying with him, getting
a kick out of his confusion. He pulled the last of the wine from the
fridge and poured himself a large one. Then he opened the French
windows and stepped angrily out into the garden. The afternoon sun was
mellow, the sky a deep, plangent blue. He gulped his wine, watching
bees hovering over the
neglected flowerbeds.

'You can kiss me if you want.'

Startled, he spun round. Cath was standing in the sitting room, smiling
at him through the open door.

'How did you get in?'

She giggled and moved towards him.

'Come on, Josh. Kiss me. Don't you want to?'

Her arms encircled him as she pressed herself against him. She smelt
like Ivan, of citrus and sandalwood, of new sweat. Her lips were soft
on his neck, his mouth. The same lips that kissed him had kissed Ivan.
He felt himself reeling and pulled away from her.

'What's going on?'

'Will I see you later?' She was smiling, her blue eyes barely
focusing. 'At the party?'

'Ivan was supposed to pick me up.'

'Yeah, yeah. Ivan. Got any more wine?'

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It rained during the night and the morning dawned sunlit and freshly
washed. He woke up alone, the ringing of the alarm clock jarring him
out of dreams that were disquieting but curiously seductive. There was
no trace of Cathy. The room looked as it always did, the empty
wineglasses and disorder of books the typical landscape of his private
life. He dragged himself from the bed, a dull red wine headache
throbbing behind his eyes, and headed for the kitchen, replaying, again
and again, the events of the night before. In the shower he found faint
scratches on his body, unexpected bruises. The only evidence that all
the things he dimly remembered had actually taken place. He was out of
his depth, in over his head in a situation that could easily spiral out
of control. As he rushed into town to open the shop, he determined to
put
an end to things, to seek his thrills in more conventional areas. The
decision made him feel much better.

The streets were alive with the clicking of tourist cameras, the drawl
of
American accents. The day had a festive, holiday atmosphere. Birds
were noisy in the trees in the cathedral garden. He grabbed a latte
from the caf? on the corner and rushed over the road to the shop. Linda
was already there, unpacking a new delivery of remaindered paperbacks.
She smiled as he walked in, lipstick emphasising the nicotine yellow of
her teeth.

'No coffee for me?'

'Oh, sorry. I thought you were strictly herbal.'

She ripped open another of the boxed of books, their fiery red covers
lurid against a bland cardboard background.

'They do decaffeinated, y'know.' Her voice was terse.

'I'm going into the back to make some calls. You can hold the fort,
can't you?'

'Sure. That's what I'm here for. This came for you.' She handed him
a
creamy white envelope. 'No stamp so it must have been hand
delivered.'

In the peace of his makeshift office he examined his letter, ran his
fingers over the smooth paper. Then he broke the seal, wondering for a
mad second whose saliva had mingled with the glue.

Dear Josh,

So sorry you couldn't make it. It really was a wonderful party. Maybe
we could meet for a coffee later. I'll call at the shop. Shall we say
3.30pm?

Regards,

Ivan.

He lifted the paper to his face and was sure he could detect a trace of
cologne.

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'I don't know why you're behaving so strangely.'
they were standing between the shelves, Linda flashing intrigued
glances at them.
Ivan looking unusually fragile in his baggy cricketing gear, was
standing close to Josh, his hands moving all the time like anxious
sparrows. Josh was angry.

'You're trying to make a fool of me. Both of you.'

There was a silence. Ivan lit a cigarette, inhaling nervously.

'Both of us? I don't understand.' His foreign accent gave the scene
an
added piquancy.

Josh scanned his face for deception as the situation took on a new
shape, then picked up an unopened box of books.

'I've really got to get on.'

He carried the books to the stockroom, affecting indifference but
thrilled that Ivan had followed him.

The air in the room was warm, smelling of paper and dust. Josh watched
Ivan close the door behind them. They stood for a moment without
speaking. Josh, aware of the rhythm of his own breathing, the hum of
distant traffic, felt a hard-edged excitement
coalesce inside him. Then Ivan spoke:

'I just want to talk to you.'

'You always say this but you never talk to me about anything.'

'Let to talk to you now.'

Ivan moved closer, a fleck of saliva gleaming on his full lower lip.
His hands were warm. He smelt of sacred places, of incense and foreign
darkness. Their kiss felt like falling.

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Something woke him. A sound. Muffled noises in the hallway. He lay
still, eyes
wide, his breathing shallow and fearful. He waited but heard nothing,
just the
clock's low ticking, the breeze in the trees at the back of the
garden. Thinking he'd been dreaming, he allowed himself to relax,
drowse back into sleep. He inhaled deeply and turned over. The air in
the room was warm, full of the wet freshness of summer rain. Thunder
rumbled in the distance. Then the sound came again, a rustling like
trapped birds. Josh sat up, sure now that he was not alone. When he
spoke his voice was taught

'Who's there?'

He could hear someone whispered in the dark of the hall. Then a scamper
of feet, a flicker of movement in the denser shadows in the corner of
the room. Josh felt his heart contract. He scrambled for the lamp, fear
tightening around his throat. The light was sudden and golden.

'Josh.' A soft whisper, some laughter.

They were standing at the edge of the light, two slight figures in pale
clothing. Their smiles were mischievous. Cathy sidled towards him. She
was barefoot and moved like a dancer, depositing herself lightly on the
end of the bed.

'You're not angry with us, are you, Josh?'

'I&;#8230;' The words shrivelled in his mouth. He stared at Cathy,
at the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the loose cotton shirt,
aware of Ivan's soft approach in his peripheral vision.

'We only want to talk to you.' Ivan's voice was softly ironic.

Ivan placed his hands gently on Josh's shoulders. Cathy pulled the
sheet away,
gathering it to herself and exposing his partially naked body to their
bright-eyed
scrutiny. The air was heavy with their scent: nuance of bruised
citrus, feral essence of crushed, green wood. The dark musk of their
skin.

'Relax, Josh. Lay back and relax.'

He closed his eyes, fear retreating, aware of Cathy's soft mouth on his
stomach, Ivan's exploring fingers.

'We don't need the light.' Cathy reached for the lamp and darkness
covered them.

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He knocked at the door, waited for a few seconds then knocked again.
Cathy opened it. She smiled, exposing her small cat's teeth.

'He gave you the address, then. Come in. I was just busy with
something.'

He followed her through the empty hallway to a sunlit sitting-room at
the back of the house. The room was white-painted and sparsely
furnished. A bunch of white lilies drooped in a sky blue vase, its
petals moist and luminous. Josh looked around,
puzzled.

'You were busy with something?'

She gave him a sharp look.

'You know, thinking.'

'I see.'

There was silence in which she gazed at him, an expectant look on her
face. He
cleared his throat, feeling uneasy.

'I came to see Ivan.'

'He's not here. He's out arranging something.'

'A party perhaps?'

'Perhaps.' She took a flower from the vase and crushed it between her
fingers.

'There are other people to think about.'

Discarding the crumpled petals, she opened a cabinet, taking a small
bottle from the gleaming collection within. She handed it to him.

'He asked me to give you this. He makes it.'

Josh pulled the stopper from the bottle and inhaled. The fragrance of
citrus and sandalwood was potent, evocative, as if Ivan were in the
room with them. A spirit released from the glass. Cathy smiled at
him.

'It's more him than anything else.'

The bottle was cool in his hand, heavy.

'Thank you, I&;#8230;'

'I've really got to get on. As you can see, I'm busy with
things.'

Minutes later, he was on the street.

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The August night was stifling, the air sluggish and humid. Josh lay
naked
and sleepless beneath the sheet, his head achy with hayfever. He
scrambled from the bed and opened the window wide. Dogs barked in the
distance. The sky glittered with high-summer stars. He thought ruefully
of Ivan, of Cathy's teasing laughter. He hadn't seen them for weeks.
The postcard they'd sent from Santorini said nothing. They hadn't even
told him they were going. He sighed, filled with melancholy desire,
imagining them wearing white, sand under their fingernails, gazing out
at the
deep blue Aegean.

His cigarettes were on the dressing table. He pulled one from the box
and
fumbled, in the half-light, for a match. His fingers brushed against
the bottle Cathy had given him on that last afternoon. As always, the
glass felt cool to the touch, its pale green contents glimmering.. He
opened and dabbed a little onto the back of his neck. The fragrance
infected the air with the sharpness of limes still clinging to
the
branch, an undertone of root and forest floor. Then there was a trace
of something darker, an odour of ceremony, of things burning in the
shrine. Their olfactory code.

Blood rushed to the marks they had left on him and he glimpsed again
their half-
closed predatory eyes, felt their wet mouths on him. Theirs was a
poison that entered the body through the skin. His heart quickened and
a rivulet of sweat ran cold between his shoulders. He started, aware of
the sound of laughter in the street, crude and drunken. Then he
returned to his bed. Eventually he slept but his dream was
troubling.

Ends.

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