it would be good 1961

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 30, 2016

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Submitted: August 30, 2016

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Lizbeth had cycled home after seeing Benny at the small lifeless hamlet where he lived, and entered the kitchen of her parents' house by the back door, where her mother was preparing lunch. Her mother moodily gazed at her, stopping the preparation of lunch. Where have you been to? Her mother asked. Out cycling, Lizbeth replied, wanting to move on and up the stairs to her room. Where did you go? Her mother said, eyeing her daughter over with a critical eye. Out for a ride in the fresh air to see the countryside, and not be cooped up here, on a sunny day, Lizbeth said, wanting to be done with the conversation such as it was. Wearing that short black dress? Cycling? Her mother said, I've told you put it away, it is too short for you now that you've grown. I like it, Lizbeth said. It shows too much, her mother said, leave it out, it will fit your younger cousin. They stared at each other. If I must, Lizbeth said, is that all? Can I go now? Her mother stared at her daughter. If I spoke to my mother like you speak to me, I would have got a good hiding, her mother said, sighing, looking away from her daughter, gazing at the kitchen wall where a clock tick-tocked. Sorry, Lizbeth said, I shouldn't speak like that, but I'm on and it makes me moody. Do you want lunch? Her mother said, turning away from the clock, and gazing at her thirteen year old daughter. No, I'm not hungry, Lizbeth said. Silence settled between them like a dark curtain.They stared at each other. Lizbeth walked off up the stairs. Her mother sighed and settled once more to preparing her own lunch. Lizbeth opened her bedroom door, went in and shut the door behind her, and leaned against it. Third degree each time I go out. She walked to her bed and lay down, her shoes on the eiderdown, which her mother always told her not to do; it was her little bit of defiance, little bit of saying: up you. Benny hadn't wanted to. She thought he might have weakened, but he hadn't. They'd been to the small church again; she had hoped he might have agreed to have sex with her this time on one of the narrow benches, but he didn't. She sighed. Waste of her morning sitting in the boring church hoping he might. He had stared around the church. She had wanted him so much she burned. She thought second time round might be lucky, but no, he was determined not to as she was that they should. They didn't. She had even put on the short black dress for him. She had put her leg against his, his thigh touching hers. God's house he had said the time before. We can't not here he said. Where then? She had asked. He didn't answer. That bloody Jane girl is behind it. He fancies her. The bloody virgin queen. He won't get into her knickers. Lizbeth could hear the radio from the kitchen playing. Classical stuff. Her mother singing along with some woman on the radio some aria. God forbid. The sex book that a girl at school had lent her she had given back after her mother found it and told her father who suggested she give it back(if she hadfinished it he had said). She had. She missed the book. The pictures were fascinating. Her father never saw the book, but her mother had and was fuming about it. The pictures her mother had said were disgusting. Gone now. Given back. Lizbeth turned on her side and gazed at the window and the view beyond. She wanted Benny on the bed. She had almost that time she met him in town, and brought him back, and her mother was out shopping, and he had almost, but at the last moment, he had not, he went and she was left hot. Birds flew in the blue sky. The tree in the garden swayed slightly, its branches waving. If he were here now, what then? If she had managed to get him past her hawk-eyed mother, what would he have done this time? Nothing, I suppose. But what if he had said yes? More chance the Pope being a woman. She turned onto her back and stared at the white ceiling. The pink flowery light shade was her mother's choice. She wanted purple. If he was here now, would he? She raised her legs up so her shoes touched her dress. Her dress fell back down her thighs, showing off her knees. She could pretend he was there. Beside her. She laid her hand on the eiderdown beside her. Him there. She patted the bed. Her mother's voice hung in the air on a high note. She imagined he put his hand on her left leg. She put her hand there. Touched. Gentle. Closed her eyes. He would lift her dress hem. She fingered the hem and lifted it. She almost had him that day. She had undressed before him to seduce him into action. He had just stared after removing his shirt(or she had removed it). No like this he had said. Yes like this she had said. He had dressed and handed her clothes to put back on. Her mother's voice had stopped singing. Silence. She opened her eyes. Benny was gone. The bed beside her empty of him. Hard to pretend. He will the girl at school had said he will weaken. He hadn't. That virgin Jane has him in her purity power. Music began on the radio again. Her mother's voice singing along with a woman again. Lizbeth kicked off her shoes and they fell to the floor with a clunk. She lay there moody. Legs down straight. Eyes staring at the pick flowery light shade. If only he would. Here or in church or in the hay barn or in his bedroom (where she had been once when he had showed her his birds' eggs collection and fossils in a glass tank). If only he would. If only he. If only. If. It would be good.


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