That Was a Shiver, and Other Stories. James Kelman
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He put his hand to her shoulder again, massaging, gently, then stroking, stroking lightly, was aware of his breathing, now lying on his side in to her: she had turned her back to him but was not resisting his touch and he was aware too of her body, just her bum, the curve of her, the heat! coming from him too, and if he had closed in to her, only centimetres, god. He swallowed saliva.
Fiona murmured, You’re thinking about the blonde woman.
What? No I’m not . . . He had stopped stroking but kept his hand on her shoulder. I’m not, he whispered.
It was her you were looking at.
Andy kept his eyes shut. He needed not to be as hard, not to be as hard as this. He put his hand to her shoulder again. I’m not thinking of her at all.
Ye were looking at her. Ye were.
Well
I knew ye were.
I’ve known her a long time.
I know. Barbara Peters.
Barbara Morrison. Peters is her married name . . . Andy shifted onto his back now but returned his hand onto her shoulder.
Fiona said: I knew the way she asked ye and ye said no, when she asked ye to play, I knew ye knew her, the two of ye, ye knew each other . . . Fiona was still lying on her side facing away from him, but lying very still. Ye dont get many Barbaras nowadays; it’s an older name. I had an aunt called it; she was actually my mum’s aunt.
Andy’s hand rested on her shoulder. She made no attempt to shrug it off. He was not sure what to do but it was uncomfortable lying like this and he shifted back onto his side again and very gently massaged her shoulder.
He couldnt see her face but she could see his. He closed his eyes. After a moment he chuckled.
What? she said.
Sorry, I’m making myself laugh.
What? she said again, and she chuckled.
The way ye said ‘the blonde woman’, it was like how my granny would have said it. In a very disapproving voice, the blonde woman, as though being blonde was grounds for suspicion.
So I sound like yer granny?
Not at all, I dont mean that.
If ye think I sound like yer granny!
I dont. Of course I dont. It’s just like how she used to say things, like how she injected meaning into ordinary words: The blonde woman – dan, di ran dan, my granny would have made it sound like the title of a haunted house horror story. Andy grinned, massaging gently.
Fiona was silent for a while, and she said, I just noticed ye were looking at her.
Well I might have been, I might have been, but I can assure ye of one thing anyway, one thing about Barbara
Dont, dont assure me of anything.
No but
No.
Yeah but
Dont; there’s no need.
No I was just
Honestly, I would prefer ye didnt. Really. I dont care. It was only a thing I noticed. Fiona now shifted onto her back, and turned her head to look up at him: Who was it she came with? Him with the ponytail?
No.
Did she come with somebody?
Eh . . .
See!
See what? What do ye mean?
Ye dont even know who she came with!
Who Barbara came with – Ronnie probably. Ronnie was there. Ronnie Craig. Keyboard.
That’s what I mean, she comes with a guy but nobody cares.
She’s a singer but Fiona.
She wasnt singing when you were watching her.
I’ve known her a long time.
That was obvious.
But the same with most of the ones there. They’re good acquaintances.
Acquaintances and not friends?
Andy sighed. He was now lying on his back, he clasped his hands behind his head. Some are friends, he said, some arent.
She grunted, amused. He glanced at her. She said: You are so predictable, if ye dont mind me saying.
Thanks.
It’s because ye’re predictable we find ye so funny, so stupid. She raised her hand and patted him on the chest. How many times have ye noticed me? How many times? I’m serious.
What?
How many times have you noticed me? Fiona was staring down at him but he still could not distinguish her face. Maybe she was smiling, he couldnt tell. Her hand was on his chest. He closed his eyes, hardly breathing. She sighed.
Sorry, he said.
You are way out. You really are. Way way out. You think we’ve only met this one time but ye’re wrong. You remember my name, but how long did that take ye?
Her hair was sticking up next to her ear. He wanted to smooth it down, he unclasped his hands and reached to do it, and she allowed it.
How long did it take ye? she said. To remember? Fiona chuckled. She patted him again, her fingers in the hair there on his chest. She continued to look down at him, then turned onto her side facing out, but did not move away. Was she going to sleep? She made some sort of noise in her throat but it was peaceful sounding. Maybe she was going to sleep. Fine if she did. He had his work to go to!
His work.
Strange strange life. He touched her shoulder again then he moved to her and kissed very very slightly the side of her neck almost just like his lips nudging her skin. And she stayed so still he wasnt sure if she had noticed. He edged himself back a little. There was no movement from her but he couldnt stop it now and moved forwards onto her, settling against her, her pants, tight smooth, his cock upright: no, and he parted from her again, his right arm round her, brushing her right nipple with his fingers, through the bra material, he felt it, that kind of beautiful just how . . . christ. He tightened his arm round her, kissed the nape of her neck.
Nothing came from her; not in response. He waited moments. Nothing. He returned onto his back; and one of these trapped situations, having to unfankle the boxers and free his bolls, and that summed it up. That summed his life up. In a way it did. He figured she was angry.
So was he!
Well he wasnt.
But nearly! He nearly was. How come? Yet he felt it. Was he clenching his fists! Maybe he was. He pushed down with his arms, straining, feeling it in his upper arm muscles. He turned onto his side again, facing into her back, just the damn erection. Mind and body, just so so stupid. What happens to the flesh? Flesh is not weak, it just operates at a different remove. Cocks dont relate to minds but to flesh, and it doesnt matter whose. It was like the comedian giving his routine about ordering his dick to lie down. It just doesnt happen. Fiona with her bra and her pants. Yet he was glad, he was glad. So much worse if he had been nude. How the hell would he have coped! Never! Bloody never. She would have been the boss. The total boss! Nude hardons reduced to nothing, fuck all. That wasnay a nightmare, that was like an amazing control game. Thinking ‘facial muscles’, oh I can feel you smiling. Can ye not feel the hardon then? No. Oh well, strange. Not think so? Not think it is strange? Even just a wee bit! Jesus christ, all he wanted was a sleep, then to get up and go to work.
You are way out, she said, you really are. She waited for him to reply but he was not sure what she was meaning, being way out, but what about, way out about what?
Fiona said, You were surprised I came home with ye. When ye asked me and I said yes, ye were surprised.
Ye didnt say yes. Ye