Confessions from a Luxury Liner

‘Completely,’ she says.

‘You must get very lonely,’ I say, giving her arm a squeeze and nuzzling her barnet – it is like a pan scourer with all that lacquer on it.

‘I do,’ she says. ‘Especially at nights. It’s not sex.’

‘No, of course not,’ I say hurriedly – I mean, I would never think of that, would I?

‘It’s the companionship. Somebody to talk over the events of the day with.’

‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘I know just how you feel.’

This is not strictly true but I am working on it. I run my hand up Natalie’s arm, lightly dust my digits over her bristols – almost accidentally, like I did not know they were there – and then descend for a warm, friendly squeeze of the hand. She smiles up at me and I kiss her on the end of the nose. Tender stuff, I am certain you will agree and not far removed from the love interest in a Walt Disney movie. Still, there are more ways of skinning a cat than by leaving a dead mouse at the bottom of your spin drier, and a lot of storms start with a small ripple running across the surface of still water – watch the old movies on the telly if you don’t believe me.

‘You’re different to what I thought you were,’ says Natalie. ‘Underneath, you’re shy, aren’t you?’

It is always favourite to agree with this kind of statement because it allows the bird to plot her own downfall. They all have this fantasy about introducing a shy, inexperienced boy to the delights of sex – even if they have never found them themselves – and you can discover yourself immersed in a lot of grumble and grunt if you let them have their way.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ I say awkwardly.

‘Wouldn’t say what?’ says Sid getting into the car and reaching across to open the door for Gloria – I don’t know what he was doing to her in the doorway but it looked as if he was trying to sit her on the doorknob.

‘He’s trying to tell me he knows what it’s all about,’ says Natalie.

‘Don’t believe him,’ says Sid. ‘He’s a babe in arms where you-know-what is concerned. Keeps asking me embarrassing questions about where babies come from. He tries to talk big but it’s all a front.’

‘I thought so!’ Natalie sounds pleased with herself and grabs hold of my arm. ‘There, there, Timmy. Don’t be frightened. Aunty Natalie isn’t going to eat you.’

‘If you’d have told me that earlier, I wouldn’t have come,’ I say.

‘All talk,’ says Sid. ‘Coarse but harmless.’ He winks at me and shoves the car into gear.

117 Marsh View Gardens is not a lot different to 119 and not totally dissimilar to 115. I don’t take a lot of notice because it is late when we get there and there is more activity from the neighbouring houses. An old biddy pops out of 115 and says that some men have been looking for Natalie and the curtains of 119 are stirring as if fanned by a strong breeze.

‘Nosy old bitch,’ says Natalie, though I don’t know who she is talking about.

‘They’re terrible round me, as well,’ says Gloria. ‘The tongues never stop.’

‘What a lovely thought,’ says Sid rubbing his hands together.

‘You are awful, Sid!’ says Gloria delivering a playful push. ‘I’m not surprised your first wife left you.’

‘What’s that?’ I say.

Sid looks uncomfortable. ‘Gladys,’ he says. ‘You remember Gladys?’ There is a note of pleading in his voice

‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘I didn’t think you could bear to mention her.’

‘I can’t usually,’ says Sid. ‘But you know what it’s like. Sometimes the past opens up like a book.’

‘I’ll get the glasses,’ says Natalie. It is clear that Sid’s words have touched her.

‘That’s right,’ says Gloria. ‘Don’t let’s get morbid.’

‘It’s a lovely picnic basket,’ says Sid. ‘You did well there, Timmo. How are you doing with that bottle?’

I don’t have to answer him because the cork shatters the Toby jug on the mantelpiece and the champagne soaks the china ducks like they have flown into a heavy rain storm.

‘You’re a suave bugger, aren’t you?’ says Sid. ‘Noel Coward must have snuffed it without a care in the world when he knew you were following on behind.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Natalie. ‘I never liked that jug anyway.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I—’

‘Don’t worry about it!’ Natalie ruffles my hair and pushes me into an armchair. ‘I’m in too good a mood to worry about that.’ She takes the bottle from my hand and starts filling the glasses. Sid gives me the thumbs-up sign behind her back.

‘Shall I put a record on?’ says Gloria.

‘That old cow next door will start thumping on the wall,’ says Natalie. ‘Still, I don’t care. It’s Saturday night, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ says Sid. ‘Let yourself go. Let it all hang out.’ He unbuttons his shirt down to the beginnings of his paunch and runs his hand up the back of Gloria’s leg underneath her skirt.

‘Stop it! You’ll give him ideas.’

‘Natalie knows how to handle him,’ says Sid. ‘Come here!’ He hauls Gloria on to his lap and starts double parking his lips.

‘Don’t you want a drink?’ says Natalie. Sid continues trying to rearrange Gloria’s cakehole, so she comes over to me and perches on the edge of the armchair. ‘You’d like a bit, wouldn’t you?’

‘Definitely,’ I say. I take the glass and stare at her knockers over the top of it. She must have loosened something while I wasn’t looking. She is wearing a black bra and I can just see the lacy bit at the edge.

‘What are you looking at?’ she says.

‘Nothing,’ I say.

‘Nothing! That’s not very nice.’ Natalie looks down at her bristols with a hurt expression on her face.

‘On the contrary,’ I say. ‘That’s very nice.’

‘Oh,’ she says, her voice perking up. ‘You’re a bit forward, aren’t you?’

‘Some of me is,’ I say glancing down to where Percy is beginning to play Snakes and Ladders up the inside of my Y-fronts. From the feel of him, he has just thrown a double.

‘Cheeky boy.’ Natalie takes a sip of her champagne and ruffles the hair at the back of my neck. I turn my head and kiss the inside of her arm. ‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’

She is talking about the champagne and I nod. ‘We earned it, didn’t we? I’m sorry I dumped you on your fife. It’s all right, is it?’ I don’t wait for an answer but pull Natalie closer to me and start massaging her sit feature. Sid and Gloria have now disappeared behind the settee and I don’t think they are looking for a missing caster.

‘It’s getting better,’ says Natalie. She tilts back my chin with her forefinger and settles on my north and south like she is frightened that she might bruise my lips. Very gentle, it is. I squeeze her tighter and pull her on to my lap, parking my champagne glass beside the armchair. From now on I am going to need two hands. Natalie dips her fingers in her glass and pushes them inside my shirt so that they lie cold and damp against my chest. I shiver because I know that I am expected to and feed a couple of inches of brewer’s bung into her cakehole. This has all the makings of a cosy evening before they discovered television and I begin to feel more kindly disposed towards Sid and his quest for nautical information. They way things are going I am going to get my two pounds thirty pence back with interest. Natalie prises her lips off mine long enough to take a swig of champagne and then thoughtfully pours the rest of the glass over my trousers.

‘Oh dear,’ I say. ‘I’ll have to take them off, won’t I?’