Chapter 7

Angela's cottage had only one bedroom. The twins made subtle, but nonetheless obvious, hints that they expected us to take it while they sacked out in the parlour. Another khaki holdall produced two sleeping bags, which they proceeded to unroll.

"Sorry, old son, we're bushed," said Liam, "not too much kip last night!"

We murmured agreement and Angela and I headed off to her room. I was relieved to see a large old-fashioned brass bed with thick quilts. It would have looked inviting even without her beside me. I hadn't slept too well the previous night either.

Angela lit a squat candle and its pale glow lent an appropriate ambience. There was still a chill in the air so we hurried through our ablutions and dived under the welcoming quilts. The sheets were cold and we hugged each other close like a couple of children, giggling and tickling each other with cold hands. Of course, I was aroused but it wasn't urgent. I was happy to lie alongside her, stroking the velvety softness of her skin and learning the intimate topography of her body.

We talked in whispers, sharing little intimacies as new lovers do. The conversation turned to our first time. I recounted my own experience. It wasn't much to write home about. It had been during the summer between school and University. I had gone on holiday to Greece, riding slow trains and hitchhiking under the achingly blue skies of that magical country. After doing the cultural bit, Athens, Corinth, Mycenae, Cape Sunion, I had gone island hopping, catching the slow and crowded ferries that serviced the Sporades, Dodecanese and Cycladese.

One glorious, star-filled night on a beach in Rhodes, I had lost my virginity to a pretty Danish girl. Her skinny, tanned body had been an unexplored country and she let me find my stumbling, hesitant way without complaint. She was sweet and kind to a fumbling young Englishman and her done her best to make it memorable. Unfortunately, it was memorable only for its brevity. I still think fondly of her, for all that. She pretended she was not disappointed and had laughed gently at my chagrin. We stayed together for the rest of the summer and she taught me to please her and to control myself better over the ensuing weeks. I was more than a little in love with her when it came time to part. Looking back now, what I value most was her unfailing good nature. I don't think I ever saw her without a smile. I guess I was one of the lucky ones.

Angela listened in avid silence as I described it all. When I finished, she snuggled against me and said,

"She was a very nice girl, this Astrid."

I could only agree. "What about you," I asked.

She sighed. "Once upon a time, there was this little, fat Estonian girl."

"Fat? Surely not!"

"Don't interrupt! This is my story. As I was saying, there was this little, well, chubby Estonian girl. When she was eleven, her breasts started to grow. When she was fifteen, they were still growing. She used to walk with her shoulders hunched so, so people wouldn't stare so much at her chest. Her sister was a little jealous, I think, because the men did not stare at her in this way. One day, a young soldier came to see my, I mean her, father. He was very dashing, very handsome in his uniform.

"He told her not to hunch her shoulders, to be proud of what nature had given her. He teased her and made her blush. When he passed her in the corridor, he gave her a squeeze, just here."

She took my hand and placed it on her breast.

"And then here"

She moved my hand to her buttocks and pushed back against it with a wiggle.

"Many times he did this and he made excuses to come often to her house. Once, she opened the door to let him in and he kissed full on the mouth, like so!"

Angela rolled on top of me and proceeded to kiss me passionately, forcing her tongue between my lips and undulating her entire body against mine.

"Of course, she was very confused. She liked the way the soldier made her feel but she knew what he did was not polite, not nice. Her body liked it but it heart did not. She could have hidden away, of course, when the soldier came to the house and, after he left, she told herself that this was what she would do, the next time. When the next time came, she couldn't wait to see him. It was very, mixed up? Is that what you say?

"Then her father went away for a while and the soldier stopped coming to the house. She was very sad. She couldn't eat, did not want to go to school. She wanted to sleep all the time. When she slept, the soldier came to her dreams and touched her again. After about six months, her father came back. She was just sixteen, now, and no longer chubby. Her father was surprised and told her she looked like a woman now, no longer a little girl. The young soldier came to visit again. He, too, was surprised. She had changed very much."

I detected a sudden change in her mood. I had the feeling that she just made a decision. She rolled away from me and lay very still. Her voice dropped its teasing quality and became very small as if she was speaking from a distance. The gentle modulations that I had come to associate with her disappeared entirely and she spoke on in a flat monotone.

"One night, he came late to their house. Her father and mother had gone to Moscow for the week. She wasn't expecting him. He knocked on the door and stood there, in the rain. He had some flowers. She let him into the house and later, into her bed. He was very experienced and made it good for her, at first. Then he wanted her to suck him. She didn't know about this, thought it was dirty. He made her do it to him. She was very angry. He laughed at her. Called her a silly schoolgirl. She spat at him. He beat her. Then he left. She never saw him again.

"When she was older, she came to think that he had used her innocence. She never told anyone. Until tonight."

"God, Angela, that's awful! He really beat you?"

"Yes, but he was clever, no bruises would show outside my clothes. He knew I would tell no one. For two reasons, first, I would never to confess what we did and second, he was a Russian."

We lay in silence for a while. I could think of nothing to say and felt the sadness that was in that in her through the tension of her body. I simply held her and let her regain her equilibrium. All desire had deserted me. I was filled with a senseless fury. It had happened years ago. I would never meet the Russian soldier. Still I seethed and raged inwardly. In part it was my impotence to change anything that stoked my anger. She must have sensed this and rolled towards me, putting her hand up to my face and stroking it gently.