Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,44
on her neck. “Sometimes I think I should give up men altogether,” she said as she pulled down each of the straps of her bikini top to smear lotion on her shoulders. “Become a nun, go and live in a convent.”
“Really?” I asked.
“No, of course she’s not going to be a nun,” Tracey said. “They wouldn’t take her. She’s too much of a slag.”
“Yeah, well, takes one to know one,” Amanda said, scowling at Tracey. Then she looked at me again. “So what do you think I should do, Jesse? I do get sick of lads. They’re only after one thing, anyway. Don’t you think?”
“I, er, I don’t know,” I said, shuffling awkwardly on the grass.
Amanda laughed. “Yeah, well, keep it that way. Stay sweet and innocent for as long as you can.” She gave me a wink.
I felt color flood into my cheeks. I stood there wordless while Amanda squeezed lotion across the top of her breasts.
“Come on, Jesse,” Tracey said, grabbing my sleeve. “Who wants to listen to this rubbish? Let’s go and get a sandwich.” She tugged me toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Jesse, before Miss Nasty Knickers here drags you away …” Amanda waved her hand loosely in my direction.
Without thinking, I shrugged Tracey’s hand off me. “Yes?”
“I think I want to turn over—you know, get some sun on my back. Do you think you could rub some lotion on me?”
“Okay,” I answered, ignoring Tracey’s loud grunt, her stomping retreat toward the kitchen.
“I don’t know why you bother—you only burn,” Tracey called over her shoulder. “Got Irish skin, to match your Irish brain, haven’t you, Amanda? You’ll never get a tan, you’ll only end up red as a beetroot. Who knows, maybe Stan will finally realize how ugly you are, see some bloody sense, and dump you.” Then she marched through the door, slamming it behind her.
“Don’t take any notice of her. She’s only jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah, she doesn’t like it when I get on with her friends. She’s very possessive, is Tracey. And bossy, in case you hadn’t noticed. Of course, having an older sister makes it difficult for her. It’s not like I’m going to let her tell me what to do. Get more than enough of that from certain other people round here.” She paused and looked toward the house. Then she smiled up at me. “Now, can you make sure and do every inch of me? One thing Tracey’s right about is that I burn something terrible if I’m not careful.” Amanda eased herself over to lie on her stomach.
I picked up the bottle and poured out the lotion so that it pooled in my palm. Then I put my hand on Amanda’s shoulder and began rubbing it over her. The lotion was warm, warmer than her skin, and it seeped so easily into her flesh that I kept having to pour out more. I found myself fascinated with the way it oozed over her, following the curve of her spine, dripping down the valleys below her shoulder blades. It ran in little brown rivulets, washing over the tiny golden hairs that patterned her legs.
“You’ve got very soft hands, you know.” Amanda let out a long breath and shifted her hips sideways. “Hey, I’ll have to get you to come round and do this more often.” She laughed a soft throaty laugh.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t think I could. My heart was beating too hard, thumping like an immense timpani drum against my chest. My throat felt dry, and though I was trying desperately to control them as they slid across Amanda’s slick and freckled skin, my fingers were trembling.
THAT EVENING, MY MOTHER announced that she needed a break from doing the garden. I had to admit that she’d made remarkable progress. After she’d hacked away the thistles and brambles, she telephoned a local nursery. The following day, a man had arrived with a petrol-powered rototiller in the back of his van, hauling it out to the driveway and providing my mother with detailed verbal instructions and a spare can of petrol before he drove away.
“Just don’t let her do anything stupid, will you, Jesse?” my father said as he eyed my mother pulling on the rototiller’s starter cord before he left for work.
“No, Dad,” I answered, imagining myself trying to prise my mother’s hands away from the machine’s handles if things went awry or throwing my body in its path if that strategy failed.
Fortunately, everything went smoothly and my mother worked until dusk, pushing