Читаем Blacklands полностью

“He was too scared. Last time he chased her round there she hit him with the hose. But I went round cos I knew Dad had used the hose to wash the car yesterday and it was out front. And she was just standing there, so I shot her, but she wouldn’t fall down cos of that muck, you know?”

Steven knew. He’d died into the muck round the back of Lewis’s shed a few times.

“So I says, ‘If you don’t fall down, I’m taking you prisoner,’ so she says, ‘Okay, then,’ so I put her arms behind her and tied them with my jumper, right?”

Steven nodded. He’d also been tied with Lewis’s jumper on a number of occasions. It didn’t hurt and wasn’t hard to get out of.

“And then she kissed me, right on the lips.”

“She kissed you?”

“She kissed me.”

“With tongues?”

“Tongues?” Lewis looked puzzled.

“Yeah,” said Steven. “Did she put her tongue in your mouth?”

A look of revulsion flashed across Lewis’s face. “That’s disgusting!”

Steven flushed. Somewhere he’d heard that that was what girls did, but now—flustered by Lewis’s instant disapproval—he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it and whether the source was reputable. His natural deference to Lewis in all things worldly was an integral part of their friendship and now he felt that not only had he stepped out of line but he’d stepped out of line into a bog, and he needed to turn around fast and get back onto solid ground.

He shrugged and looked apologetic. Lewis scowled at him.

“Did you touch her tit too?” Steven thought that handing Lewis the opportunity to brag would be his path back to terra firma, and he wasn’t wrong.

Lewis looked glazed for a moment and then nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, both of them. At the same time. I got a stiffie and everything.”

Steven knew it was a lie. Not all of it. He was sure Chantelle Cox had kissed—or been kissed by—Lewis. But he could always tell when Lewis left his own path and strayed haphazardly and inexpertly into the minefield of lies. A tiny, shifty look in his eyes preceded any such deviation, as if his inner eye were scanning the horizon for the possible pitfalls of his imminent dishonesty. Steven always let it go. It was like the good half of a sandwich. What was the point in arguing?

And besides, he thought with a sudden rush of unfamiliar maturity, just last week he’d apologized to a real-life serial killer; allowing Lewis his imaginary stiffie behind the garden shed seemed paltry by comparison.

Plus, kissing Chantelle Cox was something to boast about. She wasn’t that pretty, and she was a tomboy, but she definitely had little breasts, although she never teased boys with them the way Alison Lovacott did. Apparently. Steven had heard that Alison Lovacott had flashed her boobs to John Cubby in the lunch queue. He could hardly believe it, but if it had happened to anybody it would have happened to John Cubby, who captained the Under-16s soccer team and was plainly the best-looking boy in the school.

This reminded Steven that it was John Cubby he’d overheard about the tongues and that it was therefore almost certain to be true. Too late now—he’d already backed down over that. The thought of Chantelle Cox putting her tongue in his mouth didn’t disgust him, though. In fact, the idea sent a little shiver through him that was not at all unpleasant. He blushed. Maybe he was not normal. Not normal the way that Arnold Avery was not normal. He frowned, disturbed by the thought, and wished it had never entered his head.

“What’s with you?” Lewis was staring at him quizzically.

“Nothing,” he knee-jerked, and looked up to see they were almost at Lewis’s house.

They said good-bye and Steven walked on to his house alone.

He smiled at Nan in the window but she just pursed her lips at him as if he’d done something wrong just by walking home from school.

Davey had spread every toy he owned in the hallway behind the front door. Something cracked under Steven’s foot as he entered and he looked down to see a broken pink jack. He kicked it skittering towards the skirting board.

“Steven?”

His mother’s voice sounded strained and Steven stood motionless, wondering whether he could still back out of the front door without her knowing he’d ever been in.

“He’s just come in.” Nan’s voice was sly.

Steven couldn’t keep the wariness out of his voice: “What?”

“Could you come in here please?”

He looked up to see that Nan had come to the door of the front room to enjoy his heavy walk to the guillotine of the kitchen.

His mother was sitting at the kitchen table holding a letter from Arnold Avery.

Steven felt his bladder clench in terror and almost doubled over as he barely managed to stop himself pissing down his legs. It was the Lego space station all over again.

Lettie looked at him coldly.

“You got a letter.”

He couldn’t find words. Couldn’t remember how to find words. He felt the back of his neck prickle and burn. His life was over.

Lettie looked down at the letter and cleared her throat.

“A photo would be nice,” she read.