Stonemouth полностью

A breeze brought their voices and a hint of Ellie’s perfume up to me. ‘No, listen, Dean, stop. No, no, just stop,’ I heard Ellie say as he tried to kiss her again. Dean was maybe my height: dark hair, pretty fit-looking. Kilty outfit, sporran currently to the side, where you put it to dance. Or if you’re hoping for a shag, I suppose. Ellie pushed him away. ‘That’s enough.’

‘Aw, come on. Old times’ sake, El,’ Dean said, pulling her back towards him. They’d turned a little by now so I wouldn’t be in his line of sight if he just raised his eyes.

‘No! I shouldn’t have let you kiss me, let alone — no! Come on, before somebody sees us.’

This should have been Dean’s cue to look about, maybe see me, but he only had eyes for Ellie. She did look good in that dress: hair still up, just a few wisps shaken loose by dancing.

‘That all you’re worried ab—’ he started to say.

‘No! No, it’s not! Just stop. Come on; let’s head back. It’s just a false alarm.’

‘Aw, El, come on, you know you—’

‘Will you just—’

‘Hon, you’re not even married yet; come on.’

‘This isn’t—’

Dean tried hard to bring her close enough to kiss again, pulling at her, making El bend back and push hard against him, protesting.

Finally she stamped on his right brogue with her heel, leaving him hopping and going ‘Ow!’ Then she slapped him on the cheek for good measure. I didn’t think people slapped like that any more, only in movies. Looked like a sting-y one. Good for you, lass, I thought. Ellie marched off for the nearest steps, leaving Dean to half sit, half fall onto a bench.

I pressed part-way into a handy bush but Ellie didn’t look right or left as she walked purposefully up the steps. I gave it a minute or so, feeling oddly complicit, even guilty. I smelled tobacco smoke and peeked out again; Dean was sitting smoking a fag and gazing — I was guessing ruefully — out to sea.

There. Nothing had really happened; just a blip. A trying, a testing, and Ellie had pretty much passed. At least as well as I’d have, in similar circumstances, I supposed. But it was over, and I’d been right not to react immediately. Hanging back, not being impetuous, had been the right thing to do. Maybe I really was starting to get mature after all. I could forget about this.

I went up the steps and found Ellie after a minute, talking to some mutual pals. ‘Here you are,’ I said, just as the fire brigade arrived.

There was some quite vocal female appreciation of the firemen, and some grumbling male resentment that the womenfolk were so easily distracted, but the boys in the yellow helmets were gone within ten minutes and we all filed back into the hotel, emergency over.

I thought I’d better check that Jel knew it was safe to come back in.

She was still in the plastic chair, talking to one of the hotel waitresses. Jel’s feet were still sore so I carried her back in.

‘This a fireman’s lift?’ she asked as I walked up the service corridor with her in my arms, one of her hands round my neck and her other carrying the stilettos.

‘No, more just your standard Hollywood guy-carrying-girl grip.’

‘Girl could get used to this,’ she told me, smiling conspiratorially. ‘Hope El realises what a lucky girl she is.’

‘Yup; so do I.’

I was about to kick open the door to the ballroom when I saw her looking at me. I hesitated. ‘What?’

She looked at me levelly for a moment or two. Her perfume filled the air.

Jel sighed. ‘Nothing,’ she told me. ‘You better put me down here. I can hobble the rest.’

‘Aye, next time we’re all here, probably be fur ma funeral. Ye’ll come fur that, eh?’

‘Joe, do you mind? Next time we’re all here is next week, for my wedding, mine and Ellie’s. You can’t kick the bucket until we’ve had two or three grandchildren for you. There’ll be dandling to be done. Sorry, but you’re just not allowed to keel over. Not for another ten or twenty years. Minimum. Nope; sorry, done deal. No negotiating.’

Joe, bless him, found this quite hilarious. He’d always been an easy audience. He sat chuckling silently and wiped at his rheumy old eyes with a white hanky. I’d sat down at the Murston family table, between dances. Mr Murston Senior had put on a bit of weight since we first bumped into each other in the hills, years earlier; he was positively rotund now, his face was puffy, he wobbled when he did the silent laughter thing, and tears seemed to leak from him at the slightest excuse, as though forced out by the sheer pressure of his bulk.

‘Aye, well, we’ll see,’ he told me, stuffing the hanky away. ‘But a buddy gets tired, ken?’

‘We all get tired, Joe.’

‘Aye, but there’s tired an there’s tired.’

‘Oh is there, now?’ I narrowed my eyes theatrically. ‘This had better be good wisdom here, Joe.’ I reached over and tapped him on the forearm. ‘You old geezers have a responsibility to provide us whippersnappers with choice stuff.’

‘Ach, get on wi ye!’ he wheezed, as his eyes started to fill and the hanky came out again.