Nicola Barker - Wide Open

“Did I lose my trousers?”

Connie put out her hand for the shirt. He passed it to her and she tried to wring it out, then pulled it on, but with difficulty. The wet fabric clung to her and was tricky to manipulate.

“I can’t see them,” Jim said. He was suprised by his own voice. “I think they were washed away first.”

He took a step backwards, still holding her g-string. She reached out her hand for it. He looked down. “Oh,” then passed it to her. She squeezed the water from it and then stuck it in her shirt’s pocket before pulling down the hem and turning to wade for the shore.

“You’re soaking,” she observed, kicking water out in front of her.

“It doesn’t matter. I only live there.” Jim pointed to the prefab.

“You only live there?”

He thought she was mocking him and frowned. She hadn’t meant to mock at all. She noticed his frown. He was serious. And odd-looking. Pale and hunched but with eyes like peanut brittle. “You must be one of Lily’s friends,” she said kindly. Jim paused, considered this statement, rebelled internally but still said, “Yes.”

“Well, I’m Connie. A distant relative. Of hers, I mean.”

Connie held out her hand to Jim. For an instant he pretended that he hadn’t seen it, but she continued to hold it there, outstretched, up to her ankles in the swell. So he took it.

“Like a fish,” he muttered. It slipped out.

Connie smiled. “What was that?”

“The water’s cold.”

Jim walked on. Connie followed. “A fish?”

She was grinning. He didn’t answer. He had noticed how bruised her knees were. It seemed a particularly babyish injury.

“I don’t suppose you’d have a towel I could borrow?”

Jim picked up his trainers. Connie picked up her sandals. He radiated indifference. She persisted. “It’s just that Lily will probably disown me if I have to walk all the way home like this.”

She glanced up the beach to where Lily was sitting. Jim glanced too, scowling.

“What are they doing?” Connie asked.

Jim shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

He began walking towards his prefab, hoping that she wouldn’t follow, but she did.

“It must be amazing living here,” she said.

“Amazing.”

“Did you say what your name was before?”

He stopped walking, turned. “I’m Jim.”

“And you have alopecia, Jim?”

He stared at her, stunned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling awful, “that sounded very rude.”

She regretted her own nauseating self-assurance.

“If you wait here for a moment I’ll go and fetch you a towel.”

Jim withdrew into the prefab. She didn’t dare follow. Instead she walked on further, to the front of Luke’s prefab, where she peered in through the window. She couldn’t see in beyond the nets. She walked back on herself and then, at a whim, down in between the two buildings. On her right side, above her head, was a small kitchen window, but too high to peek into. A few feet in front of her was another much lower one.

Connie took a couple of steps forward and then paused. This window was slightly ajar. Its nets billowed out. She had not considered that the prefab might be inhabited. It was definitely out of season.

She hesitated and would have turned back when the nets billowed again, higher this time and she saw right inside, into a bedroom, sparsely furnished. And two people. A man on a bed, laughing, and a woman nearby, facing Connie, almost, but holding a camera to her eye, taking a photo of the man and his large, erect penis which he held in his hand like a bunch of flowers.

The camera flashed. Connie blinked. The woman lowered the camera, and then the nets, on cue, billowed back in again, but not before the woman saw her. She was seen.

“Oh shit,” Connie turned on her heel. She ran out from between the two buildings.

Jim stood in front of his prefab clutching a towel. He looked at her. She put her hand to her mouth and spoke through her fingers.

“I’ve just done something so embarrassing…”

He was not particularly interested. He offered her the towel, saying nothing.

“The people next door…” She pointed.

“It’s empty,” Jim said, still offering her the towel.

“No,” she took the towel from him, shaking her head, whispering almost, “it isn’t empty.”

Connie grabbed hold of Jim’s arm and pulled him sideways, into his own prefab, shut the door behind her and then tied the towel around her waist. His arm had felt warm. She was freezing.

“There’s a man next door. Fat, well tanned. And a woman. My aunt.”

Jim’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been aware of Luke’s return.

Connie bit her lip. “When I say my aunt I mean Lily’s mother, Sara. I just met her for the first time this morning. She said she was going to get netting from a local farm…They were naked. I’m certain she saw me.”

“And so?” Jim was unshakeable. He did not care.

“But how will I face her? And Lily?”

Jim shrugged.

“Should I just pretend it didn’t happen?”

He shrugged again. “That’s up to you.”

“Do you think Lily knows?”

He shook his head. “That’s none of my business.”

“Yes.”

Connie calmed down slightly. She looked around the room. “Do you live here alone?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got sand on your floor. Do you have a broom?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She paused. “God!”

She stared at him.

“What?” Jim hated being stared at. He always felt ugly inside other people’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Connie blinked, “you just reminded me of someone.”

She turned and took hold of the door handle. She was suddenly tearful. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s just that my dad…”

Her throat contracted. She coughed. Her cheeks were bright. She was burning. “I’ll return your towel as soon as I can.”

Her eyes were scorching.

“Keep it.”

She was gone, though, before he’d finished speaking.

Margery noticed the change.

“I phoned earlier,” she said, glancing at him over a glass of icy vodka, “but you were out.”

“Really?”

Nathan wiped the foam off his top lip with the inside of his wrist. It was a disarming little movement, but she was not disarmed.

“So where were you?”

“I was at an art gallery.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The National.”

Margery stared at him. They were in a pub. It was quite empty.

“I didn’t know you made a habit of going to art galleries.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “I don’t. It was just a fancy. I went straight from work.”

Margery continued to stare. There was a liveliness in Nathan’s face which she had no recollection of ever noticing before. A glint. A fervour. He seemed less transparent, more translucent . She felt a vague moment’s unease at her sudden inability to see straight through him. It had been a knack. A gift. Had she lost it? Was it gone? Was it merely mislaid?

Or was it him. Was it Nathan? She crossed her arms. Nathan idly watched the cleft at the top of her breasts deepen as her flesh blossomed out under the pressure of her wrists.

“So what did you see?”

She meant business.

“Uh…” he frowned slightly, as if it was difficult for him to recollect, “the newest wing. Sainsbury’s.”

“Modern pictures?”

“No. Quite old ones.”

Margery smiled, willing him to change his story. “Were you really there?”

He smiled right back. “Yes. Of course I was.”

But when he smiled his eyes were blank, were filmed. Because suddenly he did not see Margery at the other side of the table. Instead, in her place, he saw a delicious little angel, just glowing, just dangling.