ONE

 August 1984

Danny was sitting in the kitchen waiting for the bathroom when his mother came in. She passed behind his chair, pausing to look at the back of his neck. "You're peeling again."

Danny flinched away from her. He heard the fridge door open and close, the sound of a milk bottle. He did not turn. "Tell me about it."

He rubbed his stinging neck, trying to ease the stiff nettling pain, then dropped his hand in disgust and took a swig of beer from the can on the table. He didn't even know whose it was.

He heard the kitchen door open and close as his mother went out again, the television babbling briefly in the front room, playing to no-one in particular. He stood up and crossed to the dresser, picking up a piece of pie crust from the dish. It tasted unpleasantly salty. He threw it back on his plate and sat down again heavily.

The dog wandered into the kitchen and lapped noisily at his water bowl then fell into the doorway in an undignified heap, trying desperately to catch the slightest stirring of air through the open door.

The kitchen door opened yet again, with a suddenness that made Danny look up. John came in, wrapped only in a towel. His dirty brown hair, bleached with the sun, curled wetly on his neck. He looked twice as naked as anyone else would have done in similar circumstances.

Their eyes met briefly, away again. John pulled the towel tighter about his waist before saying, "Plenty of hot water left."

Danny nodded. He heard the glass cupboard door behind him open and close. He got up with a noisy scrape of his chair and went out quickly before John could say anything else.

The bathroom window stood wide open, letting in the last of the evening light. It was a pink room and the red setting rays of the sun deepened the roseate light. The large mirror above the basin streamed with long streaks of condensation and odd sworls where the others had attempted to clear it to shave.

Danny undid his jeans and peeled them off, throwing them in the wash basket, then his shorts. He turned on the shower and stepped under the sharp scalding spray. He could almost feel the weariness seeping out of his bones and running down into the shower tray. He lay back against the wall and turned his face up into the spray, running his hands up slowly over his chest. He jumped guiltily when someone pounded on the door.

"Don't be all bloody night in there."

"Oh fuck off," he whispered fiercely, turning his back to the door and scrubbing water from his eyes.

"You hear me?" More pounding.

"I hear you!" he yelled back.

Nothing. Silence. He let his forehead drop against the wall and closed his eyes.

After a moment he straightened up and took the soap and washed down, careful not to linger or rub too hard. He shampooed his hair and rinsed.

The towel was rough and dry and he got a masochistic pleasure out of rubbing his sunburn. He could not see himself in the mirror to shave and did not try. He moved to the bathroom window, letting the air blow dully on his damp skin. It felt shivery and cool and vaguely disturbing.

The bathroom faced onto the back yard. He could see the tractors parked below, looking oddly desolate and abandoned, John's parked awry as usual.

He wondered briefly if anyone could see him up here.

He turned away abruptly, feeling that odd prickling sensation of arousal again.

He went to the sink and brushed his teeth with a punishing enthusiasm that left his mouth numb. His mother always bought the same clear bright green toothpaste that blew your mouth off. He couldn't feel his tongue afterwards. Maybe he ought to scrub his prick with it.

"Danny!" The door thumped again.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming." He grabbed a towel and knotted it round his waist then opened the door.

"Don't know what the hell you find to do in here." His father pushed past him, slamming the door in his face before Danny could even frame a reply.

He stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the door, then stuck his tongue out with an intense childish pleasure.

He turned away and went along the hall to his room.

He pushed the sash window up a little higher and stood looking out onto the village green. The sky was noticeably darker at this side of the house, but the breeze was still poor and dull. Danny stood at the window and ran his hand through his damp hair. It always formed a thick tangle of curls when it was wet. Time-it-was-cut season again. Well they could fuck that.

He could see the vague forms of people moving about on the green below, hear the odd murmur of conversation. He felt restless and irritable. He was over-tired and his hair was wet. He hated sleeping on wet hair, but it never had a bloody chance to dry because that lot never let him have first shower, fucking...

Rab banged suddenly on his door. "Put that down and get to sleep."

He heard John's low laugh, could almost see his smug smile. "You probably woke the bugger up."

Danny gave them the finger but did not answer them.

"Night Danny," Rab called but Danny still did not answer. He heard them laughing together then their doors closing in succession.

After a minute or two he heard the toilet flush and then the bathroom door open and his father shouting something down to his mother. She, too, finally came upstairs. He could hear his father's muttered replies until their door, too, clicked shut.

Danny lay down with a sigh and immediately felt his wet hair cold and unpleasant against his neck. He sat up with a jerk, cursing under his breath, and reached for a cigarette.

He lit it and sat watching its glow ebb and flow as he smoked. He wasn't supposed to smoke in his room.

Well she can fuck that too, he thought irritably, defiantly letting the smoke stream out of his nostrils.

After he finished the cigarette he realised he was thirsty.

He went out of his room carefully, stealing past his parents' room, wishing he'd put something on. All he needed was someone to bump into him wandering around the house like a bloody nudist.

Downstairs the dog thumped his tail lethargically on the kitchen floor but did not bother to get up.

"Don't blame you dog," he whispered, pouring himself a glass of cold milk and shoving the fridge door shut with his foot.

He wandered back upstairs, glass in hand. On the landing he nearly spilt the lot.

"Danny?" The figure was peering at him. It was John. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting something to drink. What does it look like?" They were whispering.

"Well since you ask..."

He could feel John looking down at him. He blushed, glad of the darkness. "I didn't expect to bump into anyone, did I?"

"You say." He could see John's teeth glint in the gloom.

"Oh, fuck off John."

He made to pass him, but John was already turning away, pushing open the bathroom door. He whispered back suddenly over his shoulder, "Watch or your mother will hear." There was no laugh.

Danny gave him the finger and slammed back into his room.