Iain Banks: The Crow Road

"No," she said, shaking her gorgeous head, all tawny hair and flushed face. "It's just you and me; I never thought this was going to happen."

And, later, when she cried out, I heard the crystal bowl on the table by the side of the bed ring, pure and faint, as if in reply.

It was later still, when we'd put the lights out and had agreed just to cuddle, exhausted and drained, but had not been able to merely cuddle, and so had coupled once more, and I still lay on top of her, inside her, while she breathed and I breathed and our hearts gradually slowed down again, that I did what I'd done before in that situation, flexing whatever muscle it is in the male genitals or the associated support systems that briefly fills the slowly detumescing penis with blood again, sending a small pulse of socketed touch into Ashley's body. She gave a little exhalation half-way between a sigh and a laugh, and then squeezed back with her vaginal muscles, like a hand round me.

There was a pause, and I thought I felt her go very still for a second, and then she squeezed me again; two quick grippings in succession. There was a pause, and I responded, but she dug her fingers into the small of my back as though to stop me, and so I relaxed.

She squeezed again, four times, the second pulse longer than the other three. Another pause, during which I realised — it was morse! Then another four pulses, the second one short and the others long.

I.L.Y.

I had raised my head away from her shoulder while I concentrated on what she was doing in there; now I lowered my face to her skin again. I laughed, very lightly, and after a moment so did she, and then I sent the same signal back, with a single long pulse at the end: I.L.Y.T.

And I swear the sending made the signal all the truer.

And that falling was followed by two more shared fallings, as we fell apart, and then asleep.

I woke and she was dressed, standing by the bed, a beatific smile across her face, which was washed and glowing and framed by neatly combed hair. I struggled to get up on one elbow.

"Ash?"

She put one hand to the back of my head and kissed my lips. "I have to go," she said.

"What? But — you mean to Canada!"

"Prentice, I promised. I have to."

I felt my jaw drop. I rolled onto my back for a second, then sat bolt upright. "But last night!" I said, spreading my arms wide.

Ashley smiled even more broadly and climbed half onto the bed, one black-stockinged knee on the crumpled sheets. She kissed me. "Was wonderful," she said, "but I have to go."

"You can't!" I slapped myself on the forehead with one palm. "This can't be happening! It's a dream! Stay!" I reached out to her, held her face between my hands. "Ashley! Please! Stay!"

"I can't, Prentice. I said I'd go. I promised."

"I'm serious!" I said. "I don't —»

She put one soft hand gently to my mouth, shushing me, then kissed me long and tenderly. "I'm going, Prentice," she said, "but it doesn't have to be for ever."

"Well, how long?" I wailed.

She shrugged, stroked my shoulders with her hands. "You get this degree, okay? If you still want me then, well…»

"Promise?" I said, in what was meant to be a terminally sarcastic manner, but came out pathetically. She smiled. "I promise."

"Oh my God!" I said, looking at the clock by the crystal bowl. "I don't believe this!" Maybe, if I could just stall her…

"There's a taxi waiting," she told me. "It's all right." She smoothed some hair away from my eyes, her touch like silk. "But I was going to drive —»

"You rest," she said. "You probably had too much wine last night, anyway. The taxi really is waiting." She slipped her hand under the covers, held my penis as she kissed me, then slipped away as I fell forward, trying to embrace her, hold her, keep her.

"Ashley!" I said desperately. She was at the door.

"Yes?" she said.

"I didn't dream that… signal last night, did I?"

She laughed. "Nope. Meant every letter; every word. With all my heart." One brow flicked. "Amongst other organs." She tipped her head to one side, eyebrows raised. "And you?"

"The same," I gulped.

She looked down at the floor, then back at me, still smiling.

"Good. Well, we can take it from there, okay?"

"I'll write every day!" I told her. "Don't be ridiculous," she laughed, with one shake of her head. "Just pass those exams."

"They'll be over by mid-June," I said, more to keep her there in my sight for a few seconds longer that for any other reason.

"Then I'll be back in mid-June," she said.

She pulled her black gloves from her jacket pockets and put them on. "Bye, Prentice." She blew me a kiss.

"Bye," I gulped. She closed the door. I flopped back, stunned, staring at the glittering red chandelier.

I jumped out of bed as the front door banged closed; I tore downstairs bollock-naked and waved to her from one of the drawing room windows, which went from about human knee level to giraffe's head level.

She saw me; I could see her laughing. She pushed the window down and waved, and pointed to my groin and made a shocked expression as the cab started away. The driver saw me too and looked amused and shook his head. The cab drove off around the curbed terrace. I opened the window and leaned out, waving, and Ashley pushed the cab's window right down and stuck her head and arms out and blew me kisses through her wildly waving, slip-streamed hair all the way until the cab rounded the corner and disappeared.

I sat down on the parquet, staring at the white gauziness of the huge net curtains, all my muscles complaining, my head pounding, my penis tingling, my flesh goose-pimpling against the cool wood of the floor. I shook my head. I collapsed back, banging my already internally abused head on a Persian rug. The carpet's pile was luxuriously deep however, so it didn't hurt as much as it might.

I looked up at the ornately carved wooden ceiling, not entirely sure what to think. Then I started to laugh, lying there in the enormous room, naked, tummy wobbling, laughing like an idiot and hoping the resemblance ended there.

"Oh well," I said, laughing, to the ceiling. "Here's hoping."

"Good; you're getting sensible," mum said. She walked carefully towards me, the big blue sheet folding and drooping between us. She took the sheet's other two corners from me.

"Getting?" I said indignantly.

Mum smiled, folded the sheet over twice more and put it on top of the tumble drier. I pulled another sheet down off the old clothes pulley that hung under the ceiling of the utility room. We took an end each, stood apart, pulled the sheet taut.

"Mm-hmm," she said, tugging at the sheet again. "I think selling the Bentley is very sensible." She folded the sheet over, hand to hand; I did the same. We pulled it taut again. Mum looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should sell that ancient thing sitting in the garage out there, as well."

"The Lagonda?" I said. We folded the sheet over again.

"Yes," mum said, walking towards me again. "It's just a waste of space at the moment."

"You mean you weren't thinking of going in for classic car restoration after you've finished the harpischord?"

Mum smiled as she took the sheet from me. "Well, actually that had occurred to me, but… " She wrinkled her nose. "No; I don't think so."

"Well, we won't get much for it in the state it's in at the moment." I pulled another sheet down.

"I'm not bothered about the money," mum said. She folded the sheet away, shot me a mischievous look. "And besides, whose fault is it the car's in the state it is, anyway?"

"What?" I said. I stood looking at her.

Mum took the sheet from me and put two of its corners in my hands as she backed off, pulling it tight. She smiled. "It was you who tipped the big dresser down onto it in the garage that time, wasn't it?"