Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

The idea of cycling back to his lodging seemed an anticlimax. He turned into Bloomsbury Street, trying to imagine his room, to evoke its atmosphere and appearance, in order to decide whether he wanted to return there. He decided abruptly that he didn't.

Then he remembered Miss Quincey's invitation to call on her. It was half past three; still early enough to drop in for tea. At Camden Town station he crossed the traffic lights instead of turning right for Kentish Town. Halfway up Haverstock Hill he dismounted and pushed the bicycle. He felt too hot, too irritated by traffic, to exert himself to the extent of pedalling further.

At the corner of the Vale of Health he stared after the girl who was walking away from him, up the hill; there was something familiar about her. He pulled the three-speed lever into bottom gear and cycled after her. Before he was ten yards behind her he was certain of his recognition. He called:

Hi, Caroline!

She turned round.

Hello, there! Gerard! What are you doing here?

I was going to call on Gertrude.

She's not in. I've just been.

What are you doing here?

I'm staying overnight. I just took the afternoon off. You do look hot.

He outbreathed deeply, and balanced the bicycle against the kerbstone.

I am. Bloody hot. Where are you going to now?

To have a cup of tea in the cafe. Are you any good at climbing?

Fairly. Why?

Because you could climb over Aunt Gertrude's back gate and see if her spare key's there. She usually keeps it in the gardening shed.

All right. Let's go and see.

He took her hand as they walked into the Vale of Health; she immediately detached it.

You hadn't better. Aunt might come up behind us in the car.

Would it matter?

Not to me. But there's no need for her to know more than she has to.

He glanced at her, struck by a note of hardness and common sense in her voice.

She kissed her lips at him, smiling.

He leaned his bicycle against the wall of the house. She pointed to the tall wooden fence with a gate in it.

Can you climb it?

I expect so.

He leaned the bicycle against the fence and stood on the crossbar. He was able to swing himself astride the gate, and clamber down into the back garden. She called: Is the gardening shed locked?

He tried the door.

No.

Good. Open up.

He unbolted the gate for her. She went into the shed, and emerged a moment later with a key. Sorme looked around the back garden; it was the first time he had seen it in daylight. There were tall hedges on either side and a concrete path that wound across a lawn to some apple trees at the far end. In the centre of each lawn were two big circular flower beds. He said:

Will she mind? I mean, will she mind us breaking in like this?

Oh no. She's expecting me, anyway. Come on in.

She unlocked the back door. He said:

She's damn' lucky to have such a place.

Why don't you try proposing to her? You might move in.

Don't be silly.

He removed his raincoat and hung it at the bottom of the stairs. She was filling the kettle and setting it on the gas. She said:

I'm not. I would if I was a man.

Sorme came behind her, and slid his arms around her waist.

I wouldn't mind if you lived here.

She leaned her head back, and let him kiss her mouth. He allowed his hands to rest against her, feeling the flatness of her thighs and the hard shapes of suspenders against them. She said:

Ooh, stop it! We ought to behave.

Why?

Aunt might come.

All right.

He stepped away from her, aware of a tenseness in his stomach at the warmth of the contact. She said softly:

I don't want you to stop.

Neither do I.

He pulled off his jacket, feeling suddenly tired. He said:

I'm going to wash. I feel a wreck.

In the bathroom, he stripped off his pullover and shirt, and washed his chest and neck with warm water. He leaned against the wall and yawned deeply. In the bedroom next door he could hear sounds as Caroline moved around. His shirt was damp with sweat. He tucked it into his trousers, then combed his hair, beginning to feel slightly better. He had washed his face with an almost dry sponge. Looking at it closely in the mirror, he saw he needed a shave.

Her bedroom door stood open. He said:

What are you doing?

Changing.

Can I come in?

She was wearing a flowered cotton dress. He stood behind her as she combed her hair, seated in front of the mirror.

Do you keep your clothes here?

Some of them. Old ones mostly.

This doesn't look old.

He leaned over her and allowed his lips to brush her ear. He said:

I should have come in a few minutes sooner.

She smiled at him from the mirror, then stood up. He tried to put his arms around her. She pushed them away.

No. Let's go down.

Why?

Aunt might come.

We'd hear the car.

The kettle should be boiling.

He turned her round and pulled her closer. She was wearing no shoes, and he had to bend to kiss her. She put both arms around his neck. If he had straightened up, she would have swung six inches off the floor. He felt the warmth of the out-thrust underlip, then the yielding as her lips parted. Her body was bent back in his arms. He said: You're too short.

She said, laughing:

You're too tall.

He pressed her waist close to him and lifted her off the ground.

I'd get a stiff neck if I had to keep bending down there!

He carried her two steps backwards, then lowered her against the bed. The backs of her knees pressed on the edge, and she allowed herself to be released on to it. She said plaintively:

Do behave yourself. She might come.

He lifted her legs and pushed them across the eiderdown, then lay down beside her and kissed her again. He felt the same excitement and tension as on the previous evening, and a sense of repetition. He also recognised instinctively that she was not as excited as he was, and kissed her more firmly, caressing her left breast with his free hand.

She stopped resisting, and allowed him to lie half way across her. When he stopped kissing her, she said:

You are naughty. We oughtn't…

He stopped the words by kissing her, and felt her tense under his weight, then relaxed and lay beside her, his face against the pillow. She said pleadingly:

It isn't the right place. Let me come and visit you. It's no good here.

He said: All right. The hoarseness of his voice surprised him. He cleared his throat, and looked at her face. Her chin looked sore, and he remembered that he needed a shave. She was lying with her cheek on her right arm, making no attempt to move, although he was no longer holding her. The wide hem of her skirt spread behind her across the counterpane. He slipped his left arm underneath her neck and pulled her to him again. She could feel his excitement, and he was aware of the beating of her heart as he kissed her. His right hand pressed into the back of her thigh, then moved up to her buttock, and felt the smoothness of her knickers against his fingertips. She said: Please not now, Gerard…

They both heard the noise of the car simultaneously. He said, groaning:

Oh, Christ, just my luck.

She sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling down her dress. She glanced in the mirror and switched at her hair with her fingers. She looked at the expression of gloom and ferocity on his face, and bent to kiss him.

Come on. Get up. Let me tidy the bed.

He rolled off unwillingly, muttering. She said, laughing:

Stop scowling and go and make the tea.

They heard the sound of a car door slamming. He said:

I can't. I'm ready to rape the first girl I see. Even Gertrude.

I expect she'd be delighted!

She ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He went into the bathroom, and sat on the edge of the lavatory seat, staring at his feet. The excitement began to die out of his shoulders and thighs. He heard a key inserted in the front door, then the door opened.