gns.throwback-第32部分

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　her　own　life。　If　there　was　a　type　then　she　certainly　wasn't　it。　She　was　adapting　slowly。
　　
　　The　calves　had　vanished　one　night　about　a　fortnight　ago；　Jon　had　found　where　they　had　been　killed；　driven　into　a　corner　of　the　field　and　probably　been　clubbed　to　death。　It　didn't　matter　much　because　he　did　not　have　enough　fodder　to　see　them　through　the　ing　winter；　and　as　he　did　not　eat　red　meat　himself　there　was　no　point　in　slaughtering　them。　All　the　same；　he　felt　sorry　for　them　that　they　had　to　die　so　brutally。
　　
　　The　winter　was　going　to　be　the　big　test　for　all　of　them；　mostly　for　the　throwbacks。　If　they　were　going　to　attack　the　holding　they　would　do　it　then　when　they　were　short　of　food　and　their　crude　houses　were　proving　inadequate　against　the　blizzards。　In　the　meantime　they　just　lived　from　day　to　day；　tried　not　to　think　about　tomorrow。　He　just　wished　he　knew　what　had　happened　to　Jackie　though。
　　
　　He　found　himself　looking　up　towards　the　thorn　bushes　again。　There　was　no　sign　of　that　guy　and　for　some　reason　he　felt　more　uneasy　than　usual。
　　
　　Sylvia　had　finished　her　routine　chores；　put　another　boiling　of　beetroot　on　the　Rayburn。　Surely　there　wasn't　much　point　in　pickling　any　more；　there　was　a　limit　to　how　much　beetroot　you　could　eat　even　in　a　time　of　food　shortage。　There　wasn't　and　wouldn't　be　a　shortage；　though；　eating　would　just　bee　boring。　Jesus；　what　would　she　give　for　a　meal　at　a　restaurant；　served　for　her　and　the　washing…up　done　by　somebody　else　afterwards！
　　
　　She　crossed　to　the　window　from　where　she　had　a　partial　view　of　the　smallholding　and　on　up　to　those　steep　fields　beyond；　the　rough　one　dotted　with　thorn　bushes　where　they　had　spied　that　lurking　figure　day　in；　day　out。　He　wasn't　in　view　now　but　she　shivered　all　the　same；　could　almost　feel　his　eyes　burning　into　her。
　　
　　Her　train　of　thinking　flipped　back　to　Eric。　For　some　reason　lately　they　were　much　closer；　closer　than　they　had　ever　been。　Which　had　to　be　a　figment　of　the　imagination　because　they　had　not　seen　each　other　since　early　summer。　And　were　not　likely　to　see　each　other　again。　Ever。
　　
　　A　feeling　of　sadness　had　her　searching　the　hillsides　with　misted　vision；　felt　a　tear　trickling　slowly　down　her　cheek。　Oh　Eric；　e　back；　please；　I　need　you。　I'm　so　sorry　for　everything。
　　
　　She　couldn't　see　Jon　any　longer；　he　was　somewhere　up　the　far　end　of　the　holding　working　on　that　strip　of　Jerusalem　artichokes。　He　could　bloody　well　stop　there　for　all　she　cared；　Christ；　she　couldn't　stick　this　for　the　rest　of　her　life；　chained　to　the　kitchen。　Give　me　a　hand　with　this；　give　me　a　lift　with　that。　We'll　be　glad　of　it　when　winter　es。　Live　for　the　bloody　winter　because　it's　going　to　be　hell。　Never　mind　the　summer；　winter's　on　the　way。　Bang　your　head　on　the　wall　because　it'll　be　lovely　when　you　stop。
　　
　　The　weather　had　certainly　turned　much　more　showery　and　Sylvia　was　keeping　the　Rayburn　in　all　day。　Jon　had　promised　to　lug　another　load　of　wood　soon。　（They'd　need　it　because　winter　was　ing。）　Raining　again；　slanting　spots　on　the　window；　just　a　shower　because　she　could　see　a　patch　of　blue　sky　behind　the　dark　grey　cloud　formation。
　　
　　Eric　again。　The　best　times　had　been　the　early　days　before　they　were　married。　Her　parents　had　not　liked　him；　they　didn't　like　anybody　who　might　just　take　advantage　of　their　sixteen…year…old　virginal　daughter。　You　take　a　tip　from　us。　Sylvia；　don't　get　tied　up　with　one　boy；　have　plenty　on　the　go。　Safety　in　numbers。　Sure；　mother；　I'd　like　plenty　of　boyfriends。　Good　girl！
　　
　　Sylvia　was　sixteen　and　a　half　when　she　got　pregnant。　It　had　happened　at　the　Jamiesons'　twenty…first　party；　at　least　that　was　what　she　told　her　parents。　True；　it　might　have。　She'd　named　Roy　Patterson　as　the　father。　Again；　it　just　might　have　been；　and　to　be　fair　to　him　he　hadn't　cut　and　run；　had　stood　like　a　man　and　owned　up　to　it。　Except　that　the　odds　were　that　it　was　Eric　Atkinson　who　had　put　her　in　the　family　way。
　　
　　The　Jamiesons　had　gone　away　for　the　weekend　which　was　why　the　party　turned　out　the　way　it　had。　By　10。30　there　were　couples　snogging　all　over　the　place　from；the　conservatory　up　to　the　sixth　bedroom。　Slow　smoochy　music　from　the　stereo　and　if　you　were　a　boy　you　grabbed　the　nearest　girl　and　tried　your　luck；　and　if　it　was　out　you　tried　another。　Sylvia　reckoned　Sue　Ballon　was　the　first　one　to　get　laid　because　she　was　always　boasting　about　having　it　off　with　somebody　and　judging　by　the　way　she　was　squealing　and　giggling　it　wasn't　just　one　of　the　lads　having　a　bit　of　finger　on　the　Chesterfield。
　　
　　Anyway；　that　was　none　of　Sylvia's　business　and　it　wasn't　long　before　Roy　Patterson　was　doing　his　best　to　have　a　feel　at　her　under　the　guise　of　doing　a　very　slow　samba；　a　new　version　that　you　had　to　be　slightly　drunk　even　to　contemplate。　A　circuitous　tour　of　the　corridors；　up　the　stairs；　and　then　they　found　themselves　in　Jerry　Jamieson's　bedroom；　the　bed　was　empty；　still　warm；　and　there　was　a　damp　patch　on　the　bottom　sheet。
　　
　　By　this　time　Sylvia　was　wanting　it　very　badly；　still　remembering　the　loss　of　her　virginity　only　ten　days　ago　（with　Billy　Farr）　and　desperate　to　relive　the　experience　all　over　again。　Roy　was　almost　too　drunk　to　get　aroused　properly　and　she　had　to　give　him　a　helping　hand。　Then　he　fumbled　and　dropped　his　French　letters　on　the　floor　and　it　took　him　five　minutes　on　his　hands　and　knees　with　his　trousers　round　his　ankles；　striking　endless　matches　and　threatening　to　set　the　pile　carpet　on　fire；　before　he　finally　found　them。
　　
　　She　told　him　not　to　bother　with　one；　even　tried　to　roll　it　off　him　when　she　got　really　randy　but　he　was　adamant。　Damn　him！　That　was　why　it　hadn't　been　such　a　good　screw；　that　and　the　fact　that　he　couldn't　keep　his　hard…on。
　　
　　So　later；　her　appetite　already　whetted；　Sylvia　had　gone　in　search　of　another　screw；　and　stumbling　about　in　the　darkened　house　that　now　resembled　a　Soho　brothel　she　had　found　Eric。　Good　old　Ek！
　　
　　He　had　confessed　years　later　that　a　bird　had　gone　cold　on　him　and　he　was　off　to　find　a　nice　quiet　place　to　jerk　off　and　sod　the　birds！　Sylvia　had　taken　him　upstairs　and　on　the　way　they　had　passed　a　still…drunk　Roy　who　had　dropped　something　else　and　was　striking　matches　again。
　　
　　Eric　had　thought　his　luck　was　in　when　she　told　him　not　to　bother　using　anything；　didn't　even　ask　if　the　time　of　the　month　was　OK。　God；　he'd　really　pounded　her　that　night；　managed　it　twice；　and　it　had　been　four　in　the　morning　when　she'd　got　home。　Her　mother　was　up　waiting　for　her。　Girls　who　stop　out　till　this　time　end　up　pregnant　before　very　long！　Not　with　Roy　Patterson　though。　His　name　threw　a　better　light　on　the　scene；　she　didn't　mention　Eric。
　　
　　Roy　had　stood　by　her　but　the　baby　had　been　adopted　so　it　was　really　academic。　She　didn't　want　to　go　out　with　him　again；　just　biding　her　time　to　produce　Eric　out　of　the　conjurer's　hat。　e　back　Eric；　I　need　you。
　　
　　Those　early　days　had　been　really　good。　They　could　have　kept　them　going　if　they　had　both　worked　at　it。　She　could　see　his　face　now　as　clearly　as　though　it　was　only　yesterday；　that　cheeky　smile；　a　quip　when　you　expected　a　lazy　draw！。　A　good　lover；　the　best　she　had　ever　had。　Jon　Quinn　didn't　amount　to　much；　he　fucked　when　he　was　in　the　mood　but　mostly　he　was　too　tired　at　nights　to　do　anything　other　than　fall　fast　asleep　the　moment　he　got　into　bed。　Oh；　Eric；　I　wish　you　were　here；　we　missed　out　on　such　a　lot。　We　were　damned　fools；　both　of　us。
　　
　　She　saw　his　face　again；　she　had　to　look　hard　to　make　sure　it　really　was　him　because　he'd　grown　a　beard；　his　hair　was　long　and　matted　and　his　features　were　much　more　squat。　But　it　was　Eric　all　right；　the　old　flame　of　desire　lighting　up　his　eyes　the　way　they　used　to。　She　closed　her　eyes。　Opened　them　again。
　　
　　He　was　stilt　there；　head　and　squat　shoulders　framed　in　the　window　like　a　3…D　painting；　nose　flattened　against　the　glass。　That　was　when　she　screamed　and　almost　fainted；　recoiled　against　the　table；　knocked　over　a　jar　of　beetroot　so　that　it　ran　blood…red　across　the　scrubbed　pine。
　　
　　Her　mind　boomeranged；　came　back　and　hit　her　with　stunning　force。　Realisation；　so　wonderful　and　yet　so　awful。　Staring　back　at　an　empty　window；　only　half…praying　that　it　had　been　a　trick　of　the　mind；　hearing　the　door　click　open；　thud　back　against　the　wall。
　　
　　Eric；　I　need　you；　but　God　I'm　scared　to　hell！
　　
　　He　was　in　the　kitchen。　She　could　hear　his　stertorous　breathing；　smell　him；　a　kind　of　indoor　canine　odour　like　a　dog　that　has　been　curled　up　on　its　mat　for　most　of　the　day。　She　closed　her　eyes；　wanted　to　remember　him　as　he　had　been　that　night　of　the　Jamiesons'　twenty…first　party。　You　don't　need　to　use　anything；　Eric；　I'll　be　OK。　Maybe　we　could　invite　Alan　round　again　one　evening。　Or　perhaps　we　could　go　look　up　the　Joneses　again。
　　
　　She　felt　her　eyes　opening；　couldn't　stop　them。　It　wasn't　a　shock　because　she　knew　what　to　expect；　braced　herself　for　it。　He　was　kneeling　over　her；　his　face　only　inches　from　hers　so　that　she　smelled　his　breath。　Spring　onions；　you've　been　pinching　from　Jon's　garden　at　night；　haven't　you？　Oh　Christ；　that's　really　funny。　You　always　loved　onions；　Ek；　even　when　we　were　courting。　If　I　close　my　eyes　I　can　g