Sean Happens 8

'He dropped me off around the corner from my house. I stood holding open the car door to prolong the moment, but I couldn’t think of anything good that happened or anything good to say. The car engine idled, a drumbeat thrumming through the sole of my high-heels. I’d a hardon pushing through my red mini-skirt, which I tried to smooth away without drawing any more notice to the unpregnant bump. ‘Thanks for the wonderfully fantastic meal,’ I gushed.

'He ran his fingers through his hair, leaned across the clutch. I crouched, eyeballing him and puckering up, hoping to at least be kissed, but he almost trapped my head by yanking the door shut. He eased into gear. Took off, engine gunning, wheels spinning, leaving behind the stink and taste of burnt rubber.

‘I’m tired,’ said Sean.

‘I’m tired too honey,’ said Miss Dill with a pretend yawn. ‘Why don’t I walk you home?’

He seemed confused. With the story Miss Dill had told him, he hadn’t noticed Mr Martin was no longer playing the piano.

Miss Dill rubbed her knees through her dress. ‘I have got legs,’ she joked.

Sean sipped at the coffee and made a face because it was cold and pushed the cup away. ‘You don’t need to walk me,’ he said. ‘It’s not that far and Mum doesn’t bother too much.’

‘But I bother, replied Miss Dill.’ She turned her head, listening for Mr Martin. ‘We care very much—and you’re no bother—in fact, you’re a note of joy in our sad, little lives.’

‘You too,’ said Sean, his eyes flickering away from her painted face.

He leaned in dutifully when he stood. Miss Dill hugged his head and shoulders.

He noticed Mr Martin, out of the corner of his eyes grinning. Trotting forward to join them.

‘Group hug,’ he murmured.

‘Scarlet and red are a very daring combination.’ With a flick of his wrist, he twisted and pulled out Miss Dill’s cape from behind his back. Presenting it like a matador. ‘So that she wouldn’t get cold,’ he said.

She twirled around like a wobbling pink jelly on a turntable as he helped secure it around her neck with a gold chain.

‘What happened to The Spider?’ asked Sean.

He showed them a shortcut through a hole in their fence, which they both said at the same time needed to be repaired and laughed together.

‘Oh, The Spider,’ Miss Dill seemed to have forgotten him.

‘Well, what you’ve got to remember Sean,’ said Mr Martin, stepping over the fence and holding out his hand in a ladylike way to aid Miss Dill, ‘is most of the time we were bored out of our heads'.

Sean could understand that. Before Mr Martin and Miss Dill appeared, he didn’t understand how boring his little life was.

‘And the uncommon truth was Miss Dill had gained certain notoriety,’ he said.

Miss Dill cut in. ‘To put it plainly, I was jailbait. Not yet sixteen. I took delight in all the things my so-called friends were saying about me and The Spider. The murkier the rumours got the better I liked it—and liked him. He was a strange beast. But I was kinda hoping the rumours would come true.’

‘A spider’s not a beast,’ said Sean. ‘It’s arachnid, which is an insect.’

‘Good for you,’ Mr Martin scrimped his hair as he patted his head.

They were near the box hedge and he was almost home, but he lingered.

‘I went back to school,’ said Miss Dill. ‘And my stock plummeted so low with the other kids, I gave up and began to study with a mute resignation. I didn’t go out and night. I stayed in my room and studied. Even putting away my makeup and beautiful clothes.’   

Mr Martin squeezed Sean’s shoulder in an echo of sympathy.

‘I was out at the local shop,’ she said. ‘We used to call them Paki shop in those days, which is pretty shocking, my little Gabriel.’ Her red lips pursed. ‘It was a Sunday afternoon. There was nowhere else much to go. I was dressed as a boy, but obviously I’d put on some lippy and mascara.’

‘You looked gorgeous,’ Mr Martin said. ‘In whatever mode you inhabited.’

She patted his wrist. ‘It was the engine I heard behind me. I’d the weird sense of my destiny catching up with me. He pushed open the door and I got into the front seat beside him.’

‘His tape-deck blared the same old Thin Lizzy. He didn’t speak. His Levis were darker and stiffer looking and I longed to run my fingers along his leg and up his thigh. We didn’t touch. But everything was different. He wore shiny Doc Martins with yellow laces and  put the foot down. I was content that he could take me wherever he wanted and do whatever he liked with me.’

‘He drove me to the Pleasure Beach in Blackpool. I knew there would be hell to pay with mum and dad reporting me missing. He bought me us a poke of chips and slipped me ten pence. I slipped away to phone my parents. It was only when I was away from him that I realised he’d scouted the best places to find me.’

‘My father on the phone was his usual self. Dour, punctilious, and completely insane.’

Sean crackled with laughter at that.

Mr Dill smiled proudly, like the accomplice he was. ‘Our father,’ he reminded Miss Dill. ‘Who art in heaven? But you did tell him some godawful porkies.’   

‘Quite,’ she said, pulling out a hanky and sniffing into it. ‘Outright lies have their place in the grand scheme of things—besides, he knew the truth, but was never willing to admit it.’

Sean piped up. ‘You want to come in and my mum can make you a cup of tea?’

They looked over his head and communicated with raised eyebrows and lip synching.

‘We’d rather not,’ said Mr Martin.

‘Maybe another time,’ said Miss Dill, patting Sean’s shoulder and pushing him forward towards the back door, just as his mum opened it and looked out.

She stood with the light behind her back and squinted. ‘Yeh should have been ages ago,’ she barked at Sean.

‘Our fault,’ said Miss Dill, clapping her hands together. ‘We claim full and utter irresponsibility.’