Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

“You’re hardly boring.”

“Thank you.”

Neither spoke for a while. Then Anna asked, “So what is your real name?”

Zeppo hesitated again. “Oh, you don’t want to know that.”

“Oh, I do. Come on, it can’t be that bad.” Anna’s diction was slightly slurred. There was a muttered answer from Zeppo, too low for me to hear. I had no doubt that was what he intended. But Anna had no such compunction. She burst out laughing.

“Crispin?” she exclaimed. “No! You’re joking!”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. I just can’t imagine you as a Crispin!”

“Neither can I,” he said, drily. “My parents were religious. They named me after a saint. Of shoemakers, would you believe? The patron saint of cobblers.”

Anna was convulsed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she gasped at last. “Does anyone actually call you Crispin?”

“No, thank God. I try not to broadcast it.”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Does Donald know?”

“Probably.”

“What about your parents? Don’t they still call you that?”

“They don’t call me anything. They’re dead.”

I could feel the effect his words had on Anna. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The laughter had suddenly gone from her voice.

“It’s okay. No need to apologise. It happened a long time ago, anyway. I was only a kid.”

He seemed to be deliberately inviting questions. I wondered what he thought he was doing. “How old were you?” asked Anna.

“Thirteen. It was a car accident. I went to live with an aunt afterwards. I don’t think she liked kids. She certainly didn’t like me. I left as soon as I was old enough.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, there’s just me. I used to wish I had some when I was younger. I was pretty lonely for a while. But I don’t suppose I have to tell you what that’s like, do I?”

I listened with disbelief. I wondered if he was doing it to spite me.

“No,” Anna said. Her voice was pitched very low.

“Is it still as bad?”

A small laugh. “Bloody awful, actually.”

“I know it’s different for you, with Marty being missing. But I can still imagine what you’re going through. You’ve just got to give it time.”

“Mm. I know. That’s what everyone says. But... oh well. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, go on. Please.”

There was a brief silence. “Well, I just... I just wish I knew what had happened to him, that’s all!” Her voice rose, close to breaking. “If the police came and told me they’d found him, dead, I could cope with that a lot better than this not knowing. I know some people think he’s just run off with someone, and sometimes I catch myself thinking that they might be right, that he might be still alive somewhere. But then that only makes it worse. I know he’s dead, but I don’t know how, or why, or if he suffered, or... or anything. It’s that I can’t...” Her voice finally broke. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I heard a chair being pushed back.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on.”

“God!” She sniffed, loudly. “I’m such a silly cow! I’m sorry. I’d better go.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“What a farewell party for you.”

“That doesn’t matter. I only used it as an excuse to see you again, anyway.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “I bet you wish you hadn’t bothered.”

“I’m glad I did.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft; calmer. “I’m all right now. Sorry for being such a crybaby.”

“You’re not a crybaby.”

There was a long pause. “I must look a mess. I’d better clean myself up.”

“You look lovely.”

Another silence. It seemed to go on and on. Then Anna broke it. “Zeppo, I don’t...” That was all. I stared at the outline of light. Anna said, “Zeppo...” once more, so quietly I barely heard her, and then there was nothing. I waited, wondering what they were doing, hoping Zeppo had not forgotten himself. I was considering creeping out to listen more closely when the lounge door opened.

I leaned back from the crack, not daring to close my own door. I held my breath as I heard them cross the hallway and go into the room next to mine. Heart pounding, I quietly rose and made my way back to the adjoining wall, guiding myself by touch in the darkness. Hands outstretched, I felt the table and tentatively searched with my fingers for the hole in the brickwork. After a moment I found the smaller hole in the plaster. I stooped and put my eyes to it.

At first I could make nothing out. The room beyond was as dark as my own. Then there was a click and I flinched as a bar of light shone directly into my eyes. Blinking to acclimatize them, I peered through the narrow gap.

I was looking out over an enormous bed, sideways on. An imitation Tiffany lamp now provided a soft glow. Facing me was a huge mirror. It showed the wall behind which I was hidden. A stack of shelves fixed to it held plants, books and racks of cassettes and CDs. My spy hole was invisible amongst them. At the base of the bed were Anna and Zeppo.

She had her back to him. His hands were on her shoulders, stroking. He gently turned her around until she faced him, then lowered his head and softly kissed her mouth. Anna tilted her head to him, but otherwise stood passively. He kissed her again, still gentle, a mere brushing of the lips. His hands lightly stroked up and down her back. He began to kiss her more insistently, and when her arms hesitatingly went around him, he lengthened the extent of his caress until he was stroking the uppermost curve of her buttocks. But when she began to respond, he stopped.

“Anna... I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” His voice was low, husky. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You aren’t.” And this time she drew his head down to hers, arching herself against him. His hands ran up into her hair, pulling her head backwards by it, and then one of them went to the buttons at the back of her blouse.

One by one they came undone, revealing a deepening vee of brown skin under the white fabric. He slid his hands across her bare back, one of them sliding beneath the waistband of her skirt. She tugged his shirt from his trousers and began to unfasten it. Still kissing him, she pulled it off, and as she did he slipped the skirt over her hips and let it drop to the floor. It formed a pool of white around her bare legs. I stared at it. There seemed something familiar about the sight, and again I felt a faint, uncomfortable flare of deja vu. This time it brought with it an unaccountable flutter of unease. I hastily looked back to Anna and Zeppo, trying to ignore it. I wanted no distractions now.

Anna wore only a pair of brief white pants under the skirt. They seemed dazzling against the tanned darkness of her skin. Zeppo removed her blouse and eased them down, sliding them over the swell of her behind, and then she was naked.

She was even more splendid than I remembered. Her back was to me, and her spine arched in a deep, indented curve to the dark cleft between her buttocks. A whiter strip of skin, an echo of her bikini bottom, cleanly bisected them. Below it her thighs were strong and graceful.

Zeppo’s clothes joined Anna’s on the floor. She tilted her head back as he kissed her throat, his hands cupping her breasts. She hooked one leg behind his, and then he was lifting her, holding her by the buttocks as she wrapped herself around him. He turned, taking the single step that brought them to the edge of the bed, and as he lowered her on to it, I had my first sight of his body. His tan matched hers, a ruddy brown to her gold, but unbroken by any strip of white, testimony to the privacy of a sun lamp. He was taut and sleek, with no fat to soften the marked definition of muscle. His member was erect, surprisingly dark and, it seemed to me, abnormally long. I had a moment’s fear that it might prove impractical, and then his body came down on to hers.