Page 18 of Enticement
Expecting a full blown account of poor Laura’s unfortunate choice of companion, Doris’s next knocked him for six.
“I didn’t think we’d see you back here.” Her wizened face fastened intently upon Kit’s face. “Flora always believed. It’s why she told the cat’s home to F off. Wiltshaw kept pestering her for money. He told her that if you had any sense you’d stay in whatever hellhole you’d found yourself in, and Kirkley would be all the better for it. Well, of course, Flora didn’t like that one bit.”
Nor it seemed did Kit. His smile wavered.
“I stayed with her to the end,” Doris continued, oblivious to the strain slowly colouring Kit’s face. “Flora was ever so upset you didn’t come, but I don’t think she’d have recognized you anyway. Poor thing had quite forgotten you’d all grown up. Kept telling us all that you only ever stayed for the summers and that you were with your parents. She kept calling my Laura ‘Sammie’.”
Ross heard the air stall in Kit’s throat. He didn’t realize the remark had much the same effect on himself until his lungs began to scream in protest. They inhaled in unison, two volubly loud breaths. Several heads craned in their direction. That was it; within minutes the whole village would know that Kit had returned, assuming they didn’t already. Laura still hadn’t returned from the toilets. Ross had a sneaking suspicion she was in there texting her mates.
Kit pulled on his jacket. “It’s been lovely seeing you again, Doris.” He cut her off mid flow and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Ross and I are off now. Things to do, places to be.”
“Tea,” she blurted, her eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. “You must come round, both of you. I still like to have my Thursdays. And Ross, you must bring that lady of yours with you. She’s such a dear. Everyone at the big house says how smashing she is. We’re all looking forward to the wedding. You’re not going to have one of those horrid registry affairs, are you?”
“I’ll mention the tea,” Ross muttered. Kit’s hand locked around his wrist. They didn’t speak until they were back outside and several hundred yards from the pub.
“Wedding? Have you got plans you aren’t telling me about?” Kit remarked as they strutted across the icy green towards the Post Office cum shop. Years of old habits swung them away from home and in the direction of their old hunting ground out by the ruins.
“Of course not. Although, even if I did I don’t see how it’d be any of your business. Whatever you think is going to happen between us, forget it. What you started six years ago, ended then too. You can’t walk in and out of people’s lives like that and expect everything to fall into place the way you want it.”
They paused at they end of the verge and waited for the car approaching to pass. “You have no idea what I want.”
“I wouldn’t lay money on that.”
Having passed them, the car swerved ninety degrees and mounted the curb. Seconds later a crumpled can sailed towards them, founting dregs of lager. It landed woefully short of their position and rolled into the gutter. “Fuck off, Skye. You fucking murdering bastard. You’re not welcome here,” yelled a duo of voices from within the car.
Kit turned his back on them and started walking back towards the house with his head bent low and his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.
And so it begins, thought Ross as he jogged to catch Kit up. “You all right?”
Although paled by the experience, Kit nodded his head. “Name calling I can weather. It’s no more than I expected and no worse than I got every summer I spent here. The local boys never liked me on their turf.”
“That’s because you nabbed all the girlies.” Kit, who haled from beyond Kirkley and its adjacent parishes had, even at the age of fourteen, seemed like an exotic creature from another planet. Ross recalled how his friend’s arrival in the village each summer would cause a wave of gossip and an upsurge in the sale of mascara. The intrigue over whom Kit had been with, or had even just been seen talking to would last them all summer. The older Kit grew, the more intensely the hearsay raged. There’d been too many people around with already sharpened staves when the news about Sammie had spread.
“I don’t want to discuss it. I don’t need to go over it,” Kit growled. He kicked open the front gate and barged through. Ross allowed the wrought iron to bang a few times before he followed.
“I’ve not told Evie,” Ross said when he joined Kit by the front door.
“What’s there to tell? Nothing happened, Ross, we both know that.”
“Yes.” More doubt filled his voice than he’d intended. It didn’t matter how determinedly Kit tried to brush things off, the past had a way of sneaking up on you, and deliberately hiding it from Evie, when no doubt the whole village would be talking about it within a few days just smacked of guilt. Not that he believed for a second that Kit was guilty.
Evie opened the front door while both he and Kit were fumbling for keys. “You’re back quick. Thought you’d be hours. You haven’t run out of things to say already, have you?.”
“It was just a bit busy,” Ross mumbled. He inwardly cursed himself for the lie. Kit offered him a wary smile. “Besides, we can open some wine and spend the evening together.”
“A great idea,” seconded Kit. He made himself comfortable on the nearby sofa, whereupon, Evie’s kitten leapt upon his lap. Kit shooed it away. Ross ruefully found a space on the floor and set about stoking some life into the fire. If they were planning on settling in for the night, they may as well get comfortable. Evie produced wine, chips and dips a moment later, and they fell into a discussion on films. Consequently, despite all his mutterings about keeping things from Evie, Ross pushed the episodes in and outside of the pub, and Kit’s past, to the back of his mind.
Afternoon extended into evening, the night descending over Kirkley like a thick, swaddling fog. Kit took charge of the kitchen, leaving Evie and Ross to fight it out for the TV remote. For the second night running, food, alcohol and candlelight smoothed the irritation Evie felt at Kit’s presence. If he’d been vexingly flirtatious and charming this morning, by night Kit transformed into a beguiling angel. Candlelight softened his sharp features and made his already deep, dark eyes shine like rain-washed slate. He didn’t touch her, his body language towards her was no different to that with Ross, and yet he managed to imply everything and nothing with a few choice words and his glittering gaze. Just the way his words curled around his tongue as he spoke left her feeling wet, so much so, that when she finally fell into bed with Ross, the urgent quickie they shared barely quelled her feelings of rampant lust.
“Evie… Evie…” The sound of her name being called seemed to echo into her dreams, where a strange conglomerate of Ross and Kit had transformed the bottom of the garden into a hermitage with internet access, from which he liked to record podcasts on the nations favourite sexual fantasies, peeping through windows being his personal favourite. He’d stare though various upstairs windows in the village and phone her up to describe the lewd goings on inside, until one or both of them ended up unbearably aroused and desperate to shag. Then only in the absolute dead of night would he come to her as an elusive incubus.
Evie stirred, hot and parched, arousal stripping her body. Vision still hazy with sleep, she rolled onto her back. A streak of light streamed around the edge of the bedroom door. Kit must have left the landing light on when he’d followed them upstairs to bed, and then she guessed the cat had found her way upstairs and nudged the door open. Evie tensed, anticipating an imminent dip in the bed and the delicate press of paws upon her body as the little kitten sought out the ideal spot. Instead, something weightier settled upon her ankles. Groggily, she peered at the foot of the bed. Kit gazed back at her. The pale outline of his body shone with lamp begotten hues—shades of orange, brown and bronze.
“What is it?” she asked, aware that beyond the solid composition of the bed and its tactile reality, the room was drawn with hazy strokes.
Kit didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted the foot of the duvet and dipped his head below the cover.
“Kit?”
