Stonemouth

‘Jealous, Gilmour?’ he drawled.

‘Envious,’ I conceded.

He sighed, sat up, looked at the stub of J and flicked it into the fire. He jumped to his feet. ‘Restless,’ he said. He nodded his head to one side. ‘Walk with me, Stewart, why don’t you?’

I took another look at Ellie and Josh as their laughter sounded out round the fire, vanishing into the dark airs, then I got up too. ‘Might as well.’

We sauntered down the beach, keeping to the firm sand just up from where the waves were breaking. Ferg lit a cigarette, an American brand he got from a specialist tobacconist in Aberdeen. He sucked on the anorexically slim pale tube and blew the smoke out again immediately. He was almost the only one of us who smoked anything other than dope; he claimed it was because it just looked so good, and anyway he didn’t inhale.

When we were well into the darkness, beyond the glow of the fire, the thumping music a sequence of dull thuds behind us, he said, ‘Kind of cuntstruck with Ellie, are we?’

‘Well, I am,’ I admitted. ‘If you want to put it like that. I mean, like, so romantically.’

‘Yeah, well, we’re all cockstruck, cuntstruck or both,’ Ferg said tiredly, sounding like some archaic roué looking back on a now-spent life of outrageous debauchery, rather than a spotty-faced eighteen-year-old with the ink barely dry on his Sixth Year Studies certificate. That was all right, though; I felt that way myself sometimes. Ferg studied the end of his cigarette. ‘Pity about Josh, in a way, then, I suppose,’ he said.

‘Thing is,’ I said, ‘I like Josh. Can’t even wish him dead in a car crash or something. Especially as I’m liable to be in the same car,’ I added, having just thought this through.

‘Well, it’s been handy for both of them,’ Ferg said, sighing, looking out to sea.

‘What? What’s been handy for who?’

Ferg turned to me and we stopped. I could just about see his teeth as he smiled. ‘Have you ever thought you might be even slightly gay, Stewart?’

‘Meh,’ I said, waving one hand. ‘Yeah, but no. Definitely not.’

‘How do you know if you haven’t tried?’

‘Dude, I haven’t tried chlamydia, but I don’t want that either.’

Ferg placed one finger gently on my chest, just below the hollow of my neck. ‘I might be able to do you something of a favour, young Gilmour,’ he told me.

I looked down at the finger, still resting on my skin. ‘Ferg,’ I laughed, ‘are you hitting on me?’

‘No,’ he sighed. ‘But I do demand a kiss.’ He gazed into my eyes. ‘Just one. A token price, for the service about to be rendered.’

‘Ferg, you’re my best pal—’

‘More than Josh?’

‘More than Josh, probably, though don’t tell him, but yes. But I don’t want to kiss you.’

‘I know you don’t want to; I’m asking you to fucking pucker up and bear it, for your best friend, for somebody who’d love to be more than that but is reluctantly resigned to never being any more than that, and also to make me feel better. And to provide some small, trivial, purely symbolic payment for the favour to be conferred, as aforesaid.’

‘Drug coming on, is it?’

‘Yes. Please don’t change the subject. Kiss me.’

‘What is this favour?’

‘Can’t tell you. Might not work, might not happen. If it doesn’t you’ll never know. If it does you’ll thank me later. Don’t be a cunt, Stewart; kiss me. I swear it’ll lead to something better, or at least the chance of it. Take it.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But no tongues.’

‘Of course tongues, you idiot,’ Ferg said, grasping me by the back of the neck and bringing our mouths together.

I did sort of open and there was some tongue action, but I was distracted, wondering if we could be seen from the fire. We both wore jeans and white or pale shirts, so we might be quite visible, even though we were a few minutes’ walk away. What if Ellie saw this? She’d never fancy me. Would she? Ferg and I were sort of side-on to the fire. I thought about manoeuvring us round so one of us had our back to the fire, making a smaller target, as it were. Ferg’s face was quite scratchy and his breath smelled of smoke. My mouth was a little dry, probably because of the pill, despite the amount of Ferg’s saliva that his poking, rolling, probing tongue seemed to be bringing with it. This actually wasn’t quite as gross as it might have been, but it was no turn-on either. Nice aftershave — Ferg always had good aftershave — but still that very scratchy sensation. I wondered why girls ever let boys kiss them.

Ferg pulled away with a sigh. He’d raised himself a little to sort of kiss down on me but now he came off his tiptoes, back to level ground. He shook his head and sighed again. ‘No, your heart really isn’t in it, is it, my love?’

‘Neither’s anything else,’ I said, wiping my mouth. ‘Sorry.’

Another sigh. ‘You can be such a lunk sometimes, Stewart.’

‘Sorry. But, dude, I did let you kiss me.’

‘Oh, let’s head back.’