Nicola Barker - Behindlings

To pry

To gain gentle access to those secret recesses

To check out

To investigate

To gauge

To be firm and calm and unobtrusive

Between her finger and thumb she slowly gripped a folded wad of… of…

Like those machines in the Amusement Arcade

Full of prizes

The chocolate bunnies

The cheap watches in bubbled plastic

The teddies

The silver pincer; swinging, dipping, tightening…

She remained still –

Holding

— for what seemed like forever. Listened. Wesley’s breath on her neck was exactly — if not more –

Was that possible?

— regular than before. She –

Oh Lord, can’t help it

— suddenly shuddered –

The thrill

‘ then quickly pulled herself together. Was cautious –

Excitable

‘ as an adder — early evening — public park — hiding under a discarded sheet of corrugated metal –

Old roof — wall — shed —

Sharp-edged

Orange with rust

— waiting, only, to slither free — unblinking — frozen — heightened.

Slowly –

Slowly

— she began to withdraw –

Thumb

Finger Elbow

In the slightest coordination

Many minutes –

So many

— passed. Millimetre by millimetre. Until finally –

YES

— that papery object was free. She had it.

I have it!

‘No you don’t,’ Wesley leaned a fraction closer (whispering softly into the hairs on the back of her neck), placed his hand firmly over her hand and took the object from her.

Josephine froze — gave it up readily –

‘I was…’ she said, ‘it must’ve just slipped into…’

‘Your arse is grass, Bean,’ Wesley murmured (his voice wicked with grin — or vindictive, was it?) into the brushed-cut softness of the hair behind her ear. ‘Give me my jacket back you sneaky little viper.’

She felt his fingers on her, around her neck. Froze harder –

Will he kill me? Like he killed his brother?

— but the hands did not tighten there, merely gripped the lapels of the jacket and slid it firmly from her shoulders. She pushed herself up a little, onto her elbow, to facilitate the coat’s removal. He yanked the sleeves down to just above her wrists then left it there, pulled her down again, roughly –

Arms all constricted…

Behind my…

Cannot…

— then leaned up onto his forearm, curving around her — like an insinuating sepal, cupping a wildflower — slightly higher now than before, breathing onto her left cheek, his lips close to the line of her jaw.

Electric tickle from ear to nipple

Then — even — uh –

Lower

He opened his right hand –

Firm — index-finger

— and traced the curve from the back of her ear to the tip of her chin –

As if rehearsing some kind of incision

— then brushed his thumb over her cheek, to the corner of her lips.

Her mouth fell open. She breathed through it. A tiny expulsion. ‘Tell me who you are,’ he said –

No longer a smile there

‘I’m just a… just a Follower, like all of the others.’

Her voice was shaking; more, even, than she’d imagined. Her mouth was dry.

He chuckled at this, ‘No…’

Bent in closer, whispered into her ear, ‘… if you were just a Follower I wouldn’t be here. The sugar people sent you. The fat man with his gold-buttoned blazer. They’re panicking.’

She tried to shake her head, ‘ No … I don’t…’

Her arms were already aching –

Twisted neck

— the cuts were stinging.

‘My arms… ’

Wesley slid his finger from her mouth, over the contour of her jaw, down her throat, across her chest, around her waist, to her elbow. ‘Boo-noo,’ he whispered, gripping it, hurting. He pushed his face into the nape of her neck. She could feel his lips –

Tongue

— tracing an inexplicable pattern there. She felt like a mystical deer –

Shot

Bleeding

— fatally injured by its huntsman-lover.

‘Then who? ’ his chin –

Stubble

‘ was tucked –

Rubbing

‘ into the curve of her shoulder, making her throat tighten and her chin jerk forward, unintentionally.

‘Or is it local industry? Is it the Gas Terminal people? Have they sent you down here to try and bribe me?’

‘No.’

She felt the badger-cold of his nose behind her ear again –

His breath

‘Your friend told me that you’re involved in environmental causes.’

He gripped her ear-lobe between his teeth, tugged at it, enough to –

Hurt

— make her expostulate. He seemed to enjoy the small noise she uttered.

‘Is that the sound you made,’ he murmured, ‘when you were fucking the headmaster?’

No

She tried to twist her head away, disgusted.

‘ Poor baby Bean,’ he said, clucking.

‘Which friend?’ she asked, angrily –

Hurt

— but shaken. Her neck curving away from him.

He pushed his cheek into it again. Grazed its soft skin. She turned her head back around — a few inches –

Strained

‘ suddenly found her mouth right –

Right

‘ next to his. He kissed her then, but from a strange angle, so that their lips met like two silver sprats tangling together quickly in a fishing net –

No ‘

But —

Uh—

— his hand was flat on her belly –

Thumb circling belly button, in a crazy constellation of twinkling

— then firm on the sharp bone of her thigh –

Pushed it open

— brushed over her hip, then moved lower –

Have to —

Need to —

Must turn around, to feel his…

She pushed herself flat onto her back, her arms still bound and pushing up her chest. His hand was now resting on her opposite hip. She reached her chin up to find his lips.

‘The policewoman,’ he said, then kissed her. She could feel his mouth pulling into a smile, and then softening, opening, his teeth snagging the soft, top corner of her lip, pulling it up, his tongue following, like a tiny asp, slithering along her gumline, withdrawing.

She blinked. His hand –

Left hand

— moved from her waist, under the tight material of her vest, over her ribs –

Wide hand

— his thumb tracing a firm line through the centre of her diaphragm, the remaining fingers strumming each curving bone like individual harp strings –

The soft flesh under her arm tingling

Wind-chiming

Jangling

‘ until those two disparate hand-parts came together again, curling, gently — like a gardener caressing the cool head of his prize chrysanthemum — to cup the tender bulb of her breast –

Tightening

‘ until she winced.

He kissed her. This time like a grazing animal plucking a mouthful of grass from the pasture — a nuzzle — a brush — soft-faced — almost lipless. Then back again. But on the return movement he pressed into her — shifted his body over — between hers –

Pushed

‘ lifted her. She lifted.

‘I’ll be needing to punish you,’ his wet lips warned her burning ear, his flat hand instructed the dip in her spine, his bruising hip scolded her tender thigh, ‘and very harshly, for this.’