John Halkin - Squelch

‘Dead, unfortunately,’ he added. ‘The landlord of the Bull had the initiative to collect them up after his pesticide spraying, though he told me most of them mysteriously disappeared. They creep away to die, I imagine. It would help if we could get hold of some alive.’

They became so completely immersed in discussing the caterpillars, listing everything they knew about them — which was not a lot — that Ginny hardly noticed the time passing. In the end, they were among the last guests to leave the restaurant.

The rain had stopped, though it was not at all cold. From among the trees and bushes came a whisper of discreet sounds. Water dripping from leaves. A movement among the branches overhead. A sudden rustle.

Ginny slipped quickly into Bernie’s car and slammed the door to shut it all out, imagining caterpillars all round her.

During the drive home neither of them spoke. Perhaps they had exhausted everything they wanted to say; or perhaps Bernie, too, could sense the restless activity among those fields and woods.

The house was dark when they arrived. She had her own key and could have gone in to switch on the lights; instead, she chose to stay with him as he retrieved his bag from the back seat, then locked the car. Inside, they paused briefly at the foot of the stairs.

‘I feel so much better,’ she confessed. ‘I was in such a tense mood, I could’ve snapped.’

‘But you didn’t.’ His eyes wandered over her face; his hand rested on her arm. ‘You’re really a very strong person, Ginny. And don’t imagine I’m not grateful for all your help.’

He leaned forward to kiss her goodnight, his lips aiming for the edge of her mouth; the ‘brother-in-law kiss’, as someone had once described it. Without thinking, she turned her face to his. Her lips parted. Her arms went around him, holding him tight. She felt a tremor passing through his body and knew he wanted her.

But she broke away. ‘Thank you, Bernie, for a lovely evening,’ she said softly, almost whispering. ‘See you in the morning.’

Bernie nodded, an enigmatic smile crossing his face. ‘Goodnight, sister-in-law. Sleep well.’

In her room she undressed quickly, then stood for a few minutes at the window looking out across the dark garden. By now the clouds had gone; the sky was a mass of hard stars. This time she’d no guilty feelings towards Lesley. They had parted virtuously downstairs, hadn’t they? Nothing had happened. Almost nothing.

Before getting into bed she raised the sash window a little higher and poked her head out to check yet again that the creeper was not too close. There were more caterpillars out there, she could feel it in her bones. Probably thousands of them. Perhaps they didn’t always attack. The one exploring her tummy while she was sunbathing had done her no harm; even the rash was disappearing.

But then she thought of Lesley in hospital, and Mrs Kinley, and the others, and she closed the window firmly despite the warmth of her room. Climbing into that high, creaking bed, she wished Bernie could be with her.

Pete Wright stood in front of the tarnished mirror in the men’s washroom and pulled a comb through his long hair. Not too long — he kept it cut straight, reaching his neck and partly covering his ears. He was no slob. His fingers still had the letters H-A-T-E tattooed across the knuckles, first done when he was fifteen, and he wondered idly how he could have it removed. It was his birthday today, and at twenty-four years of age he somehow felt he just didn’t need that stuff any more.

Like words painted on his leathers, all that old shit — I beg your pardon: ‘rubbish’. Nothing wrong with it for kids, but he’d grown out of it by now. His black leather jacket was studded, but there was nothing stupid on it. His open-necked black shirt was an expensive, fashionable make and he’d paid the full trade price for it. No cheap tat on his back.

He was on his way.

Up to where the big money was waiting — where else?

The fact that it was his birthday he’d kept secret. No one else’s business, was it? If he let it out, the whole crowd would be wanting to drag him down to the pub for a spot of high-speed boozing. That was the last thing he wanted with this new chick in tow ripe for the plucking. Maureen, she called herself. He’d got the van outside, too; everything ready for the sex olympics. Passing his hand over his crotch he hitched himself up before going out into the passage to wait for her. From inside the disco came the amplified voice of the DJ introducing his next choice. Then the deep, heavy beat started, shaking the glass in the window frames.

Maureen came out of the Ladies smelling of eau de cologne. She’d touched up her green lipstick, he noticed; probably added some glitter to her cheeks, too. Sixteen, he guessed; no virgin, though. He hoped not: too much like work. If he had his way, he’d send all virgins to their family doctors to have it fixed before they were let loose on the world. Wash all the stuff off this one and she’d be just your ordinary mousy girl, but she knew how to do herself up a treat with that green punk hairstyle, brown leather mini-skirt and open shortie waistcoat with fringes. Every time she swung around you could see her hardened nipples through the almost-transparent green blouse she had on. Green tights as well, to match.

Dressed up to kill, his old auntie would have said. He grinned at her, passing his tongue over his lips. Wait till he got her in the back of the van; she’d die before he did.

‘Yer ready?’

‘Yeah.’ She snuggled up close to him. ‘Come on, let’s go before my friend comes out an’ sees us. She ain’t ’alf nosy, an’ it’ll be all over the village once she starts talkin’.’

‘Who cares?’

‘Yeah, who cares? Only you don’ come from round ’ere, see.’

‘An’ that makes a diff’rence?’

‘They’re funny round ’ere. Funny that way, any road.’

He led the way to where he’d parked his van, stepping carefully around the dark, muddy pools of rainwater left by the storm, holding her hand to guide her so that she didn’t get those green tights in a mess. Real bloody gentleman he was, that night. A right git, some of his other girlfriends would’ve thought. But Mo seemed to like it. She gave a pleased little giggle.

‘Think I’ll call you Mo,’ he said as he unlocked the door and held it open for her. ‘Maureen’s too long, an’ Mo suits you. I once knew a top model called Mo. It’s got more class, like.’

‘Yeah. Mo. Mo.’ She tried it out a few times while he went round to the driver’s side and let himself in. ‘If yer want. I don’ mind.’

He slipped the key into the ignition but before he could turn it she was leaning over, her arms around him, pulling him towards her. Her lips clamped on to his greedily, and her tongue probed, exploring… inviting… suggesting…

‘Hey!’ he laughed, trying to break away from her. ‘Let’s get away from this place an’ find somewhere quiet.’

‘I like it ’ere,’ she pretended to pout. She took his hand, placing it on her leg beneath that short skirt. ‘And ’ere.’

‘What if yer friend comes out?’

‘Oh, ’er! She’s no angel ’erself. Used to play with ‘er little brother’s willy. Claimed she didn’t but everyone knew she did.’

‘Bet you did the same!’ he teased her as he started the engine.

‘Never ’ad a little brother, did I?’ she retorted. Then, with a laugh: ‘Yer dirty bugger!’

Pete had worked out exactly where to take his new find. About three miles along the main road was a lane leading to the University of Lingford Research Station where he’d sometimes delivered packages in his van. He’d been lucky to get the van, he knew. Bought if off the delivery firm he’d worked for till they went bankrupt. Knew their list of customers by heart, he did, so he picked up a lot of their small business once he struck out on his own. This place was one of them. Not much traffic down that way even in the daytime. Hardly any after dark.