Chapter 8

“‘Difficult’” whispered Sandra with a soft giggle Monday morning. “That was clever.”

I gave her an innocent look. “What?”

“Difficult? Hard?” She elbowed me gently in the ribs. “I liked it.”

“Well, you did sort of suggest to me that you were, you know, naked.” I barely breathed the last word.

“There was no sort of suggesting,” she giggled. “Let’s say, if you were ‘difficult’, I was, erm,” she paused in thought for a few moments, pondering. “Tropical?”

“Hot? Wet? Humid?”

Sandra just giggled and changed the subject as Talulah was walking towards us.

“Well you should know you’ve just made my life very difficult,” I whispered.

Sandra tried to stifle her laughter but couldn’t.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Talulah who was looking at her closest friend in bewilderment. “She’s having a difficult time digesting tropical fruits.” That just sent Sandra off into even more paroxysms of laughter, and Talulah into even more confusion.

Nothing changed much for the next few weeks. Each Saturday from about twelve, until about four pm, I spent with Sandra. We didn’t do much really. We spent a lot of time walking and talking, holding hands a lot, kisses that grew longer and more frequent. We went to a couple of different local art centres that Sandra wanted to see. She taught me a lot about different types of art, and because I had actually gone to see it with her, she didn’t mind when I said I didn’t like this painting or that piece of sculpture.

“But you can see the painting is good, even if you don’t like it?”

“In this instance I don’t know that I can,” I said slowly. “Sometimes yes. This time?” I shrugged. “It seems to me some kids can do better.”

She laughed. “Maybe. As it happens I love this piece. Look at this next one.”

“Maybe,” I said after a while. “I wouldn’t say I like it, but I certainly prefer it to the last one. It seems brighter, more colourful, and even if it does look untidy, at least you can see what it’s meant to be.”

“Which is?”

“A wild-flower meadow of some sort.”

She nodded. “Good. As it happens I like it less than the last ones for exactly the same reason.”

“You prefer the more abstract impressionist type paintings to the more ‘realistic’ type?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

We went to see two films. A romantic comedy that I sort of liked and sort of disliked and sort of found irritating and sort of amusing but which Sandra loved; and an action thriller which Sandra out and out hated and I ended up not enjoying because of it, yet would normally have loved. We decided our taste in cinema was probably too different, but we agreed to try another one, probably some time after Christmas.

The two Saturdays before Christmas Sandra couldn’t join me, but instead, for the first one, came out on the Sunday instead. Sadly for me, the weekend just before Christmas she was really busy and was unable to get away. Each Wednesday evening and Sunday morning Mrs Clarke would come and visit for an hour or so. She made sure I was okay, eating properly, looking after both myself and the house, went through my finances with me. Helped me to pay some bills, and just generally chatted. Often about nothing in particular, sometimes about concubines, or about her plans to help Talulah; and once or twice about school. I still lusted after her, and it almost seemed to me that Mrs Clarke regularly turned up to these inspections deliberately dressed to ensure I stayed in lust with her.

By the time school broke up for the Christmas break, a few people had worked out that Sandra and I were dating. Bondy was the first to realise.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked Talulah.

“Sure,” she shrugged almost disinterestedly. Completely unfazed.

He looked at her. “How long have you known about it?”

“Since the Monday after their first date, which if I remember correctly was the Saturday after half term.”

The fact that Sandra and I were sat there watching and listening, amused by his confusion, and by Talulah’s matter-of-fact disinterest, seemed to make him even more confused.

Higgis already knew of course. He had caught us kissing, but when Blish found out, and also found out that his boyfriend had known all along, the two had quite a bitter fight.

“It’s my fault,” I told Blish. “I asked him to keep it a secret from everybody.”

“But he could have told me,” Blish exclaimed, very upset with us both.

Blish and Higgis were tense around each other for a day or two, but slowly relaxed and a few days later their friendship had obviously been renewed. And, I liked to think, had even got a bit stronger.

I almost lost it when, on the last day of term, Sandra asked me what I’d be doing for Christmas. I managed, just, to hold on, but she instantly knew something wasn’t right.

“What’s up Sweetheart?” she asked softly.

I looked around. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. I shouldn’t even be telling you. But...”

“Go on,” she whispered. There was no force to her request for more information, just open and loving trust.

“I can’t tell you here,” I whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”

There were a lot of people around, and even if none of them heard what I might say, I also knew I was likely to break down in telling, and that would get me a lot of very unwanted attention.

The school was closing early that day, so I suggested we meet up somewhere for a long talk.

“I was going into town after school to do some last bits of Christmas shopping,” Sandra told me. “Will your parents mind if you do the same?”

“Don’t know. They won’t say anything though.” It was agreed, and we met by the bus stop after school. We weren’t getting one of the school buses, which most of the kids caught, but instead waited a few minutes and took one of the regular buses into town. We were almost alone on the bus. Only a couple of first years. The year sevens, or eleven-year-olds.

I’ll jump in and explain the way the British education system is numbered and named at this point.

The academic year runs from the first of September through to the thirty-first of August, and is split into three ‘terms’. Autumn, from September to Christmas. Spring, from New Year to Easter; and summer, from Easter to mid July. If your birthday was 31st August, you were the youngest in the year. If your birthday was the following day on 1st September, you were the eldest in the following year. The first term after a childs fourth birthday, they could, if their parents wanted them to, start in full time nursery. Before that it was either part-time or private. From the September before their fifth birthday pupils start in year zero, more commonly known as reception. The following years were then numbered years one through thirteen. Reception, plus years one and two are also known as infant. The next four years, years three to six are known as Junior. Infant and junior, together, are often known as primary. At the end of the junior years, so at the end of year six, pupils are eleven and at that point they transition to secondary education and always change schools. The change from infant to junior sometimes involves a school change, sometimes it doesn’t, but almost always the two parts were kept completely separate. Even in the same school, the infants and juniors usually didn’t mix at all.

At the end of year eleven, so when pupils are sixteen, also known as the fifth form or fifth year because that’s how long they had been at secondary school, they take a series of up to about ten GCSE’s, General Certificate of Secondary Education. The exact subjects, generally between eight and ten, are usually selected at the end of year nine.

Years twelve and thirteen, so the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds (at the end of the years) are collectively known as the sixth form, and these students study A-Levels. A fewer number of subjects, four or five, but to a much greater level of understanding. Some secondary schools do sixth form, some don’t, and a few schools are sixth form only. So there may even be a school change at the age of sixteen.

At eighteen, at the end of year 13, pupils can go on to university, or they can leave education altogether.

Our school does ages eleven through eighteen. School years seven through thirteen. So when I say there were a few first years on the bus, what I mean is that there were a few pupils who would turn twelve sometime before the end of this school year.

Sandra and I held hands all the way into town, saying nothing, just relaxing in each other’s company.

I had found out previously that Sandra liked swallows. So when I spotted a very pretty set of dangly earrings with little swallows on, I had to buy them for her as a Christmas present. I took note of where they were, so that I could come back later.

After Sandra had finished her shopping we went and sat in our favourite coffee shop. It was very busy, and also very noisy.

“So what’s up love?” Sandra asked. “Why did asking you about Christmas get you all worked up earlier?”

I took a deep, raggedy breath and told her some of what had happened over the half-term break.

“My parents aren’t with me,” I started. “Nor is my sister. I live alone now.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Why?” she whispered. I couldn’t hear the question because of the noise, but I knew what she’d asked.

“They were all collected by the Confederacy at the start of the hols. Along with about seventy other people. A third of them kids.”

“How do you know? Did you see it?”

I nodded. “It was a pre-pack. Dad and another bloke organised it. There were eleven sponsors, including Dad, about thirty-five concubines, and about thirty kids. Give or take. The actual collection was done at my house. I was there. I saw it all.”

Sandra moved around the table and sat beside me, holding my hands tightly. “You’ve been alone ever since?”

I nodded dumbly.

“But why didn’t you go? If you were there, you should have gone? Shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t have any concubines, and in any case I wanted to help Talulah. Dad knew some about her, but not enough to do anything. I asked him for advice. If it hadn’t been for Talulah, maybe I would have gone, even though I didn’t have any concubines of my own.”

Sandra frowned at me. “When did you tell your dad?”

“The same day Talulah told me and Bondy. Back when you were still suspicious of us and I was still scared of you.”

She gave a grunt of amusement at that observation, but then went serious again. “So what did you tell him?”

“Only that a girl at school needed my help, but that I didn’t know how to help. I told him what was happening to her, and I told him about her sister. I didn’t tell him anything else.”

Sandra nodded slowly, a slightly unhappy look on her face.

“Look,” I said softly. “You told Mrs Clarke and asked for help, I asked my dad. It amounts to the same thing.”

She nodded slowly. “I guess.” She paused. “So that’s why you didn’t go with them?”

I nodded.

“And you’ve been alone ever since?”

I nodded again.

Her voice dropped a little. “So you’ll be alone on Christmas day?”

Once again I nodded, feeling suddenly very miserable.

Sandra just wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight.

“Come stay with us,” she whispered.

“I can’t. Your parents will wonder why I’m not at home with my family.”

“But you can’t be on your own.”

“I’ll cope,” I whispered. I would, but I knew it would be hard.

We talked a little longer about that day, but I didn’t tell her about witnessing, and especially not about being part of, the sexual orgy that had gone on. Obviously I didn’t tell her about the knickers, nor that I had lusted after my own sister. I did however tell her that Mrs Clarke had found out and came around twice a week, for about half an hour or so each time, to make sure I was okay. That eased her worries a little, though not much.

The other thing I didn’t tell her was that Mrs Clarke had agreed to be my concubine. I knew I had to, it wouldn’t be fair on her not to, but at the same time I also knew that it wouldn’t be fair on Mrs Clarke if I did tell Sandra. Who would be angrier? Who would be more hurt? Who would I rather go with?

I nearly told her, but at that moment the alarm on her mobile went off and she quickly got up to head for the bus station. At the bus station she just held me tight until her bus came in.

“Don’t tell anyone. Please?” I begged her.

She nodded reluctantly. “All right. But you shouldn’t be on your own.”

“I’ll be okay,” I said. I then nodded at her bus. “But you won’t be if you’re late home.”

She smiled slightly then kissed me hard. “I’ll see you very soon,” she said, letting go of me.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I said to her as she got on.

I watched her bus as it left the station, then before heading home, dashed back to get the earrings I had seen. After I had bought them, I suddenly realised I didn’t know how I would get them to her for Christmas day. I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

Mrs Clarke turned up again, as normal two days later on Sunday morning. Today was the 24th of December. Christmas eve. Her inspection seemed, if anything, much briefer than it had previously, and for some reason she seemed a little jumpy.

After the inspection was over, she looked at me for a moment. “I had half planned on going to my parents for Christmas,” she said softly. “But after my dad died two months ago, my mother decided she would come to me instead. I don’t think she wants to be in her own home, without her husband, on Christmas day. Would you like to come and join us, just for a few hours? I can’t imagine you’ll enjoy being at home alone tomorrow.”

“I’d cope,” I said, “but I’d hate it. So yes please, that would be brilliant.”

She smiled. “I’ll come and pick you up about ten?”

I nodded. “I’ll be ready.”