Born of Woman (42 page)

‘No—I drank it all last week. Had to steel myself to make that appointment with the doc. There's some very classy whisky, though.'

Jennifer shuddered. Not whisky again. She could taste Oz's Haig-flavoured kisses, tongue searching out her …

‘Tell you what—' Susie sprang up from the bathroom stool, hair flicking in Jennifer's face. ‘Let's make cocktails—you know—those ones you had with Jonathan.'

‘We can't. They're made with liqueurs and grenadine and things. Matthew hasn't got those.'

‘Yes, he has. Well, not grenadine, maybe, but lots of other stuff. His sideboard's bulging with it. Anne told me to help myself to what I needed.'

‘She meant … food, though.'

‘What's the difference? We'll have a liquid lunch instead of … Oh, go on, Jen—don't be such a meanie. You've been knocking back cocktails all week. Can't we have just one?'

‘Susie, I love you.'

‘Love you, too, mate. Love Micky Mouse. Love Mohammed Ali. Love …'

‘Hey, stop splashing, will you? The water's tipping over the side. This bath wasn't built for two.'

Jennifer shifted her bottom, unhooked her feet from Susie's, displacing still more water, and peered over the edge of the bath. The floor was soaked, their clothes a sodden jumble. She giggled.

‘Want another Brain Buster?' Susie grabbed one of the liquor bottles ranged along the side of the bath next to the pine-foam and shampoos.

‘No, thanks.' Jennifer clutched the taps for support. The whole room was shimmying. ‘I prefer the Double Devils. D'you think we should have mixed them, though? I feel a bit … well … floty.'

‘Shouldn't worry. They're all the same basically. Have some brandy straight. It works like medicine. Here, swig it from the bottle.'

Jennifer swigged. The bottle felt cold against her pink-flushed breasts. She lay back in the water. Susie had poured in at least a pint of Crazy Foam. The bubbles seemed to be seeping inside her skull, shimmering and popping in her head. She wasn ‘t exactly sure how she and Susie had landed up in the tub together. They had been sitting on the bathmat, mixing cocktails, she wrapped only in her towel still. Susie had brought up half of Matthew's sideboard, turned bathroom into bar. The bath was ready run and cooling. At some point, Susie had started slooshing gin into the water.

‘In Hollywood they bath in booze, Jen.'

‘Champagne, though, not Gordon's. And don't waste it.'

After that, things were more a blur—still were. She opened her eyes. Steam was billowing round the ceiling, drops of water sweating down the tiles. The room had lost its square and solid walls and was bulging out of shape.

‘D'you ever bath with Lyn?' Susie was popping bubbles with her finger.

‘N … no.'

‘Sparrow's got this thing about doing it in water. I suppose it's because he's Pisces. His great ambition was to do it under Niagara Falls in one of those plastic raincoat things they give you. Hey, Jen …'

‘What?'

‘Did you really not notice my bulge? I imagine everyone's sort of … gawping at me.'

Jennifer was still cradling the brandy bottle. She took another gulp. ‘
I
felt that when I was pregnant. Thought the whole world was admiring.' She glanced at Susie's stomach, another blur beneath the bubbles. Her child had never made it to fourteen weeks.

‘Jen?'

‘Mmm?'

‘You know you said you loved me. Did you mean it?'

‘Mm.'

‘No one's ever loved me. Not really. I mean, lots of blokes have said it, but only because I've sucked them off or something. It's just lust with them, I reckon. Sometimes I wish I'd never slept with anyone.'

‘Why? Oh—you mean the baby.'

‘No, I don't. It's just that … well—it hasn't ever really meant much. I mean, for you it all seems sort of … holy. I used to think you were just a prude, refusing to sleep with anyone but Lyn—and not even with him—but now I almost envy you.'

‘I shouldn't.' Jennifer lurched forward to replace the brandy, picked up another bottle. ‘Have a gin.'

‘No. I'm trying to be serious. Anyway, that's beer shampoo, not gin. Listen, Jen, d'you think someone like me could change—be more like you? D' you realise, I started when I was twelve and didn't really care who the hell I had it off with. Yet you were still a virgin at nineteen—and you've stuck to the same one guy every single day since then.'

Jennifer shut her eyes. Peacock coloured water was still frothing beneath her lids. ‘Not … quite.'

‘What d'you mean? I thought you said …'

‘I'm getting out now. My skin has gone all wrinkly. It must be that foam. It's full of chemicals.' Jennifer stood up. The bathroom walls were made of steam, writhing in and out.

‘No, tell me, Jen. If Lyn wasn't your first, then who the hell …?'

‘He was.'

‘You mean you had an affair
after
you were married?'

‘No. Well … not an
affair.'

‘But you told me you'd never even …'

Jennifer was shivering on the bathmat, little bubbles still pricking on her skin. ‘Where are all the towels? There's only this grubby thing and it's soaking wet already.'

‘There's about half a hundred in the laundry basket. The boys went swimming every day and I never got round to doing a wash. Look, come upstairs to my room and you can borrow my towelling dressing-gown. That'll mop you up. It's even semi-clean. Hold on—I'll get it for you.' Susie heaved herself out of the water. ‘Seems a shame to waste these bubbles. Still …

‘She shrugged, followed Jennifer up the attic stairs, both girls dripping wet and naked. They dried each other with a combination of Susie's towelling dressing-gown and a couple of Aertex shirts.

‘My feet are still wet.'

‘I'll dry them.'

‘Don't! It tickles.'

‘You've got funny feet, you know.'

‘I haven't.'

‘Nice and funny. Stop wriggling! You can't be all that ticklish.'

‘I am. Ow! Don't! Susie stop!' Jennifer yanked her feet away. Susie lunged, grabbed them, tipped her off the chair. She sprawled on the carpet, still laughing, the scratchy cord rough against her breasts. She had lain like that with Oz, naked again, laughing again … She reached out her hand for Susie's drunken golliwog propped against the skirting, its stuffing leaking, its limbs splayed out, as slack and pie-eyed as she was.

‘Listen, Susie …'

‘What?'

‘If you really want to know …' She was addressing the golly—he was too stupid to be shocked. ‘I hadn't slept with anyone—not until last night, that is.'

Susie rocketed up. ‘Last night? You mean …?'

‘Yes. In Newcastle. Oh, Susie. I hardly knew the guy.'

‘And you had it away, you mean?'

‘Mm.' The golliwog's cheeks were two burning scarlet blobs. ‘I feel an utter slut.'

‘Come off it, mate! What's one little screw when you've gone more than a year without it? I'd have been humping the whole of Newcastle.'

‘It wasn't one. We did it at least five times—no, six.'

‘Christ! Who the hell was he? Son of James Bond?'

‘Well, he was introduced as Oz Steadman. But halfway through the night, he admitted he'd been christened Brian.' Jennifer tried to laugh, but it came out like a sob. ‘Brian … B … Blenkins.'

‘Blenkins?' Susie giggled. ‘I don't believe it. Where did you pick him up? In the lift?'

‘No, he's a … photographer.'

‘Cor! you lucky dog! Did he take your picture?'

‘Not … then, silly.'

‘Well, he might have had a Polaroid. I can just see you on Page 3, Jen!'

Jennifer shuddered. ‘Don't.'

‘Cor! I've never had a guy come more than twice. Beginner's luck, I s'pose. If it was
me
who'd gone to bed with him, he'd have been a premature ejaculator or into S.M. or something. Tell me what he did. I want a blow-by-blow account.'

‘No, Susie. It's … embarrassing. I don't want to talk about it.'

‘Why not? In our Women's Group, sex is the favourite subject.'

‘Yes, but only sexual rights and things. Not all the actual … details.'

‘You'd be surprised! Our leader's a bit kinky, I suspect. She's always on about sex and bodies and things. Jo, she's called—probably short for Joseph. She's so butch herself, I doubt if she'd want a bloke, but she laps up all our stories as if she's dying for it. Then she turns round and says we don't need men at all—we've got to love our own bodies. We're meant to admire ourselves in the mirror and buy flowers for our own birthdays and give ourselves massages and … Tell you what, I'll give you a massage.'

‘N … no, Susie. We ought to get dressed.'

‘What for?'

‘Well, we can't just sit here naked all afternoon.'

‘Why not? Jo's always telling us to strip off and walk around in the altogether. She says we've got to feel at ease with our bodies and tell ourselves we're beautiful, even if we're twenty stone or got leprosy or something. Want some of this?'

‘What is it?'

‘Boots' Dry Skin gunge. My skin's all grotty since that bath. It's a wonder Robert hasn't got leprosy himself if he always baths in Crazy Foam.'

‘He doesn't use the whole bottle, though. Mmm—smells nice.'

‘It shouldn't. It's only shark's oil or axle-grease or something. Hold on—I'll rub some in for you. Lie on the bed. This carpet's like a hair-shirt.'

Jennifer eased up from the floor, flopped on to the bed. Her body still felt limp, limbs floppy like a rag-doll's. Susie was a second doll sprawling there beside her, a doll with working hands. The Women's Group was right—there was nothing wrong with bodies. It was only Lyn who had made her doubt her own. Susie was admiring it. So had Oz, last night.

She closed her eyes. Thinking of Oz had stirred up strange sensations. Or was it Susie's hands? They were stroking low along her back now, had already reached her buttocks. She could feel Susie's own excitement feeding on Oz as well. She kept sipping at him like a new exotic cocktail.

‘Did he … kiss you? You know, lower down?'

‘Y … yes.'

‘A lot of men won't, I find. They expect you to almost choke on them, but it's all a one-way business. Was it good?'

‘Mmmm.' It was good now, the soft lulling pressure of Susie's hands, her tickly hair teasing across her shoulders.

Susie dolloped out more lotion. ‘Turn round again.'

She turned. Oz had given commands. She could feel his hands busy on her breasts, rubbing in the lotion. Hands too soft and gentle for a man's. Yet how could a woman's hands arouse her, stir up such deep feelings?

‘Susie, don't … I …'

‘Have you ever used a paint-brush? One of those very soft ones made of squirrel hair? They're fantastic on the nipples. Sparrow tried it on mine when I was doing art at night-school and had all the different brushes. He even painted my nipples once, but the brush feels better dry. Hold on a sec—I'll show you. This is only a lip-brush, but there's not much difference Nice?'

‘Mm.'

‘Do it on mine. Bit harder. That's great! Now the other one. You've stirred them up. Go on—rub some lotion in. It'll stop me getting stretch marks.'

‘You don't get stretch marks on … boobs.'

‘Yes, you do. The doctor told me. Don't just dab—rub hard.'

Strange to touch another woman's breasts. Pregnant breasts, taut and swollen as if they were already full of milk. Jennifer traced the tiny bluish veins throbbing under Susie's skin. The nipples were hard and stiffening like her own. She was only excited because of Susie's baby—the fact and closeness of it, the thought of the man who had put it there. One of three—that made it more exciting. She could see the three, throwing off their clothes—the schoolboy with his small shy hands, Sparrow under Niagara Falls shouting in the spray, the foreigner just passing through Susie's body on his way back to his wife's. She wanted all of them—Oz and Lyn as well—all shooting sperm inside her, giving
her
a baby.

‘Don't stop, Jen. It's fantastic.'

She had to stop. Susie's face was moving down towards her, trapping her in a tent of still damp hair. Susie's lips were reaching for her own lips. Women didn't kiss.

The kiss felt strangely soft. No bristly chin like Oz's, no two-day stubble like Lyn's on a Sunday night. Jennifer sank back. She could smell strawberry-scented hair conditioner instead of after-shave, taste chewing-gum and brandy. Her mouth was opening as it had with Oz. Not so different, really. The same wet, seeking strangeness, tongues twined and probing. Minutes passed before she pulled away.

‘What's wrong?'

‘N … nothing.'

‘You're a great kisser, you know. Thought you said you'd never kissed a bird.'

‘I … haven't.'

‘Don't believe it. Kiss my breasts.'

‘N … no.'

‘Why not? What's wrong with 'em?'

‘Nothing. It's …
me
. I keep thinking we shouldn't really be …'

‘Don't think. Jo says you have to kick your mind out of the bedroom to stop it lousing up your body. Hey—look at your nipples! You've got one stiff and standing up and the other sort of squashed. That means half of you fancies it, and the other half doesn't. Why don't you relax, Jen? They were both stiff before. That's how I knew you wanted it.'

‘I didn't, Susie. I've never …'

‘Just lie back and enjoy it, can't you?'

Jennifer lay back. Simpler to obey. Susie was using the brush again, painting soft and shivery circles on her stomach, her other hand stroking across her breasts. She smoothed back Susie's hair. Susie grinned. She traced the outline of the smile, touched the soft open lips with just one finger.