November 1971 (part 1)

Three

Ardee Cinema, after closing, three weeks later

Amelia felt smug as she locked the doors behind Matthew. She had successfully avoided Jonathon for weeks, despite his persistent presence at work. His flirting had become less and less, and she distracted herself from her annoying fantasies about him by spending her evenings working late, doing inventory and deep cleaning jobs. She had volunteered to stay after closing that day to wash the stains off of the lobby walls. Eileen was visiting Arthur and these tasks had piled up in her absence. Truthfully, Amelia needed the distraction. She was constantly wondering what Eileen would say to Arthur- Amelia had made sure to gush to Eileen, telling her how happy her new man was making her, how she was falling in love all over again. How Arthur was irrelevant. She both regretted and felt proud of this- on one hand, she wanted Arthur to know how happy she was, and how desirable she was. But on the other, if he thought she was content without him, he may never come back to her. It was a tight rope, and Amelia wasn't very good at walking it.

Hours passed as Amelia sat peacefully in the darkened cinema. The quiet was her friend- she had considered turning on the radio, until she remembered the music she used to make in her mind. Her thoughts were running ten to the dozen, and the rhythmic motions of scrubbing the yellowed stains, swirling her cloth on the wall, swirling it around the bucket, were soothing to her. She felt as though she was in a hypnotic trance... until the sharp rapping on the glass of the door jolted her out of it. She looked up, and sighed.

Jonathon was standing at the door, dripping in the rain. "Let me in!" He shouted at her through the c***k in the door, and she rolled her eyes before going over.

"What are you doing here?"

He pushed closer to the door she opened its tiny window. "I forgot my wallet!”

"How did you manage that?"

"I don't know, I just did!"

“Why do you need it now?”

“Off to the pub, let me in!”

"Why are you so wet?"

He grinned. "I don’t drive, so I had to walk- now who's asking too many questions?"

She felt taken aback and slowly unlocked the door, standing in his way for a moment against the rain before reminding herself of his proximity and moving abruptly aside. "Fine, get your stupid wallet and leave."

He stared at her intently for a moment, then disappeared into the staff room.

She sat back down on the floor next to her bucket of soapy water and continued to wash the walls. She was starting to slip back into herself, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "What are you still doing here?" Jonathon asked.

"I'm cleaning- didn't you see what a state this place was?"

"I guess I don’t notice that stuff.”

The air was pulled tight over the both of them. The silence was no longer calming, but rather was full of friction that felt like it was chafing. 

"Don't you have to get to the pub?" She was desperate for him to leave, if only because his presence filled her with so much apprehension.

"I can help, if you want."

She hesitated before speaking. "Okay. Will you help me with these walls? I can't get this mark off."

"I have a better idea." He held out his hand, and after a second of hesitation she took it, and pulled herself to her feet. "Come with me to the staff room, I'll show you a home mixture that will cut through any stain- no, seriously!" He laughed at her expression of incredulity. "Trust me."

“And why do you know this?”

“I’m a modern man, Amelia.”

She smiled, kinder than she wanted to, and followed him to the staff room. It took her longer than necessary to let go of his hand.

"So, what's this concoction then?"

"Let me show you."

She was suspicious. "Seriously Jonathon, we don't have time for this."

He held his arms out. "It's the middle of the night. No one is here. You're not clocked in or out. You're working on your own schedule tonight. We have time." His voice was suddenly soft.

He focused his eyes on her. I can only imagine the tension between them- her fantasies clung to him like ivy creeping up a wall, and this moment, the first moment, was what spun her imagination into a frenzy. Writing this, years later and hundreds of miles away, even I can feel the anticipation in that room.

And then he kissed her.

Amelia exploded; her usually icy exterior melted into him, and she pressed herself against him with a ferocity which she wasn't used to. His mouth tasted like the nectar she had needed forever, and she lost herself. Within seconds his hands had taken her clothes off, and she swiftly threw his into a pile on top of hers. She ran her hands over his chest; it was chiselled and strong, and his arms around her body felt so safe and yet so dangerous.

It could have been seconds or hours, neither of them was sure. It was a blur of hands and tongues and lips, until Amelia snapped back to her senses. "We can't do this!"

Clearly frustrated, Jonathon pulled back to look at her. "And why not?"

She scrambled for an excuse. "Because we're at work; it's wrong." In truth, Amelia was scared to let the man who both excited and aggravated her so close. "Can you pass me... I think my bra is hooked around your ankle."

He looked down, and they both laughed as he handed it to her. "I get that. But no one is here..."

"Still, it's wrong."

Jonathon nodded as he got dressed, handing her items of clothing which she pulled on in haste. Suddenly the intimacy of nudity felt too raw, despite her lips still tasting of his. "Do you fancy going for a drink then?"

"Now? But I still need to finish cleaning, and what if someone sees us?"

"They won't see us. Why don't you go and fix your lipstick- you need to- and I'll go and make the lobby look presentable."

"Okay."

"Matthew won't notice if it isn't perfectly spotless. Plus, Eileen is back tomorrow."

Eileen! "She can't find out!"

He looked perplexed. "Why would she? And why not?"

"Well, I'm not great at keeping secrets. And to be honest... it's a long story."

"Then you can tell me over drinks." His hand lifted her face to his, and he kissed her tenderly, just once, before leaving the room with his shoes in hand.

She wished her mother was there. Catherine would know what to do. There were so many reasons not to go with Jonathon: he was rude, and flirtatious, and irritated her beyond comparison, and then there was Arthur... if Eileen ever found out, she would undoubtedly tell Arthur. She may have a soft spot for Amelia, but her son was her priority, and her loyalty would never falter. But Jonathon… the traces of his rough cheeks burned her face and her body wasn’t going to let her say no.

When he put his head around the door of the staff room and asked if she was ready to leave, Amelia was all too eager to take his hand, and walk into the night with him, one anticipating step at a time.

A pub, I can’t quite remember its name, hours later

Amelia snorted on her drink with laughter. "That can't be a true story!"

Jonathon was giggling too. "I promise, it's true. And it's funnier than anything that you've volunteered tonight."

"It's cruder, actually. Not necessarily funnier."

"It's more honest, actually.” He flashed her a look which bit into her. “It's strange, Amelia."

"What's strange?"

"We've been sat here talking for hours- everyone else is at home now- and I still feel like I don't know you at all."

This saddened her- she knew she shouldn’t, but she wanted him to know her. All at once, she wanted him to know her. That stupid kiss... "Okay, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Amelia Cassidy," she told him through hiccups. Perhaps she was drunker than she thought. "Nineteen, bored, and demotivated. Who are you?"

"Nice to meet you, Amelia Cassidy. I'm Jonathon Moore, twenty five. English- I apologise- and a wanderer of all sorts."

"All sorts?"

"I'm not very good at staying in one place for very long. Putting down roots... it isn't really my thing."

"I'd love to be like that." She was wistful- and yes, definitely drunker than she thought.

"Why can't you be like that?"

"I have roots," she explained. "Deep ones. My mother, my cousin, my job..."

"You can find another job! Besides, you don't seem to me like the kind of girl who grew up wanting to be a cinema attendant."

"That's true. I wanted to be a vet."

"What happened?" He seemed genuinely interested; she felt welcomed.

"Well, Paul- my ex boyfriend- moved to the city."

"Why did that make you give up?"

"He was meant to take me with him, so I could study there. Then we broke up."

"You couldn’t go without him?"

She shook her head. "It wouldn't have been the same without him. And then I started working at the Ardee, met Arthur..."

"He's the one who I replaced?"

She nodded, with a smile- yes, Jonathon had replaced Arthur. "He's also my ex."

"But Paul was really the one?"

Amelia had to think about that for a few moments. "Well, either neither of them or both of them were the one. I loved Paul, I loved Arthur, and ultimately they both left."

"And now?"

"I'm not so sure. Arthur still feels raw, but it also feels like a distant memory. And Paul is so far in the past that it's ancient history."

"How long has Arthur felt distant for?" I'm sure that Jonathon knew what a strange question this was- Amelia would ponder this for years to come.

"About four hours," she replied honestly.

"You’re very young to have loved so much."

"And hopefully I'm not finished yet." She held his gaze- it felt like if she blinked he would disappear.

A bell rang from the bar; it burst the bubble they were sat in. "Closing in ten," came the bartender's gruff voice. "Get out."

 "Do you really need to shout?" Jonathon asked the bartender. "There's only two of us in here."

"And if it weren't for you two I could have closed hours ago!"

Jonathon looked at Amelia, and leaned in close to her ear. "Let's cheer this moody old fart up." He stood up, and raised his half empty glass. "A round for the entire pub, including the bar staff! It's on me!"

Amelia's eyes were watering as she cackled and almost fell off the barstool. "Jonathon there's only three people in this entire pub, and we're two of them!"

"Then three drinks- on me!" He sat down next to her, and brushed his knee against hers deliberately. The bartender set down three small glasses of whiskey on the bar, and all three of them emptied their glasses within seconds.

"Now, clear off!"

Amelia and Jonathon laughed their way out of the pub. She was elated, even though she knew that her mother was probably worried, her boyfriend- whatever his name was- would be wondering where she was, and that her hangover would be painful the next day.

"Walk me back to my car?" Amelia asked him.

He nodded, and wrapped his arm across her shoulders. The rain had stopped; they knew it wouldn't be for long, and was rare, and so they ambled through the quiet streets, talking about themselves and their lives with abandon.

"I wonder what this place would look like if it wasn't this way," she sighed.

"What do you mean?" Jonathon noticed her shivering, and pulled his scarf off of his neck and onto hers in one deft motion, and stopped walking for a minute so that he could wrap her up in the soft wool.

"It's almost derelict. Everything closes so early. I mean, when you left work at six, didn't you notice that everywhere was closed? Shops, restaurants, cinemas... there's a reason we had to go so far to find a pub that was open!"

"Things will be different soon."

"How soon? This is why I wanted to go to the city… I heard it’s different there. My aunt- Alice's mother- she lives there, and she sends us all these wild letters, telling us all about her adventures."

"I've lived there," Jonathon volunteered.

"Tell me about it."

"Why?"

"Because, as you said, we've been talking for hours, and I still feel like I don't know you." This was a lie- Amelia felt that she knew him inside out, despite knowing nothing about him.

"Well, I moved to the city when I was fifteen. It's much the same as this."

"Why did you move there?"

"My mum met a bloke. Boring man, but a good man I suppose."

"And why did you leave?"

He smiled sadly. "There was a girl. Holly. Honestly, I thought I'd be with her forever. I really loved her..."

Amelia didn’t respond; she felt that giving him space to talk would eliminate the possibility of her drunken tongue saying something insensitive.

"But I wasn't enough. She left me. Told me she needed space." His grip on her loosened slightly. "Then she ended up in bed with my friend three days later."

"That's awful! I'm sorry I got you to talk about this..."

"No, it's okay." He didn't seem too uncomfortable. This tale was calculated, rehearsed- told through the lips of a man who had disconnected from its emotional toll long ago. "I'll be okay. But anyway, after that I just wanted to leave. I was twenty, and had itchy feet, so for the last five years, I've been all over. I'm quite well travelled."

"Where have you been?"

"All over this country, back to England, to Spain, France, Greece."

"And why here?"

"I'm not sure really. One day I was walking past the train station when I went back to visit Mum and the next train was to here. Something told me to get on it... so I'm here."

"You're crazy," she told him, as they stopped next to her car. The rain was starting to fall again.

"Isn't crazy exciting?" Jonathon asked, but his voice had softened as before, and he was entwining his fingers with hers. His eyes sparkled wickedly, seeming to pulsate in time with her audible heartbeat.

"You're crazy," Amelia repeated, almost under her breath. "Absolutely insane. I could never get bored of you."

The raindrops fell on his face and rolled over his cheeks. Why was it that he seemed so much more hers when they were alone in the dark? He had become a being of transcendence, belonging both to her and to the wildness of his own world, and in the space of one night his gravel words had turned to caramel. And his touch on her hands... his fingertips dancing over and then into her skin left her dizzied- mad, almost. She was so nearly conscious that the skies had blackened, and that the air was full of either tension or rain. She became aware of him talking, but she was too focused on feeling all of her intimacy leave her body through the gaping hole in her chest, and flooding over him. She looked up at him- his face was illuminated by the moon and nothing else, this pale light hiding so much of him: a shadow longing to be stripped.

His hands grazed her hips as he spoke- it was such an innocent touch, barely brushing her, yet it thickened the air and she found herself leaning close, hardly noticing the movement of his mouth, aligning her breathing with his. She allowed her hands to wander, floating down her body, inches from her chest and millimetres from his, down lower until she could trace his fingers with hers and hold them to her hips. His hands were rough, and she wanted them on the softest parts of her.  This time, when he suddenly stopped talking and touched his lips to hers, she conceded. Then, all at once, it happened.

His dancing fingers became claws, tearing the sodden clothes off her body and flinging them to the muddy ground; her hands were in his hair, on his bare stomach, and his were pulling her through the car door opened in haste. He lay her down and wasn't sure if her moans were of pleasure or if the handbrake was pressing into her, but neither of them cared. Her elbows knocked against the steering wheel and his were constricted as he grabbed her waist and pulled her close, and the bruises reddening were forgotten as quickly as those formed by his teeth on her neck. His palms were laced with sweat, and they swept down her body, tearing strips off her composure, drawing her further into him and dragging her from reality. Her breath moistened his arms as his fingers gripped at her, his skin melding into hers with almost poetic precision.

As her wet skin clung first to the leather seats, and then to him, she lost her autonomy and he owned her body. She was glad to give it to him. Her mouth dried as she gasped, jolting closer to him, dragging her teeth over the flesh wrapped tightly around his body- she wanted to rip it off, as though his shedding his clothes was not nearly bare enough. She shuddered unintelligible words, knowing that he wasn’t listening, and not minding either way. All she knew was the door of the car against her head and the cold breeze on her bare feet as they hung over the edge, and the desperation begging him silently for every inch of him to touch her.

Endlessly she fell into him, his hands and her thighs and his tongue and her chest, soft and open, aching with the desire for what she already had wrapped around her body, but she wanted more. He clutched her tightly, his breath hotter and quicker, and she thought to herself, he can own my body forever.