The woman entered and stood watching her son, who didn't look up. Rain blattered the big windows of the dining room, willows and rowans in the garden whipping in the wind. He sat morosely at the oak table, flicking pages of a book he wasn't reading. They had a tolerant and normally easy relationship, but he was beginning to get on her nerves this Sunday afternoon.
- Sandy, it's driving me daft seeing you like this. Just because you cannie get on your bike's no reason to mope.
- Ach sorry mum. You know I need the training for my easter trip.
She did know that. Sandy and Donald had planned their most ambitious adventure yet for the easter break: an average hundred miles a day between youth hostels, over almost every big pass in the Highlands, with heavy panniers. Sandy had finally been able to buy the bike he'd coveted with eighteenth birthday money: a bespoke Flying Scot, 531 and Campag throughout. He wanted, he said, to 'put it through its paces.'
He and Donald had spent a weekend poring over maps to decide the route and book the hostels, and he'd been training for an hour every day after school, and more at weekends, getting his muscles into trim. She was very proud of his cycling stamina, though she could never have told him that.
- Well sitting here fretting's no doing you any good. Why don't you go up and see Bill and Calum?
- Aw Mum, they're all right. Just a bit boring sometimes. And they move in a different world to mine.
- You need company occasionally. They're nice lads. And they seem to have a livelier social life than you do, from what Seonagh tells me. Go on, it'll do you good...
- Ach, I suppose you're right. As usual.
She reached out and clipped him gently on the lug:
- Less of the cheek young man.
He grinned wickedly:
- Aye... auld wumman.
He managed to dodge a more serious blow, and went through the house to grab his rainwear.
He walked disconsolately up the brae past the golf club, gusts of rain soaking his combat jacket. Turned down the cul-de-sac at the top of the hill, glad of the respite from the wind, and approached the house up its long drive. Bill and Calum weren't close friends, but they lived nearby and he hadn't seen them for a while. And they always had a stash of Export, courtesy of their indulgent Dad.
There was a car he didn't recognise parked before the house, beside Bill's wee Anglia. A brand new Triumph 2000.
Bill came to the door, grinning as he opened it. The Kinks new album sounded along the hall from the open living room door.
- Well Sandy, you timed it nicely. How did you know?
- Err, know what?
- That I have some rather attractive company. More than even I can handle alone. Come and meet them.
Two mini-skirted girls stood at the window, watching the rain, their hips swaying to Ray Davis's words. They turned at Bill's voice:
- Here lassies, meet my friend Sandy. He's providentially dropped by to even up the numbers.
Sandy knew Bill's girlfriend Adrienne, but not the other girl. He recognised her from an inter-schools debating competition though. She'd been quite good, he remembered. And very sexy in a rather puppy-fat way. He'd been interested, but in his paralysing shyness couldn't breach the phalanx of admirers surrounding her after the debate, so they hadn't spoken.
Adrienne stepped up to him, and gave him a rather cool kiss on the lips. She had no idea what Bill saw in this studious, rather withdrawn boy. Hell, he even preferred folk music to the Beatles. He was boring. But politeness overcame her disdain, and she introduced him to her friend:
- Sandy, this is Julie.
- Hello Julie...
He stepped forward to shake her hand, but the girl ignored it and moved closer, her mouth raised for a kiss. Her straight blonde hair was cut in a pageboy, which made her slightly acned face look very young. He bent his head to oblige, ready to brush her mouth courteously, but as their lips met, hers opened. His first encounter with Julie became a brief snog. She drew back after a few seconds:
- Lovely to meet you Sandy. -- a giggle -- I've heard all about you from Adrienne.
- Oh no...
His voice was mock-concerned, to cover his real disquiet. He knew what Adrienne thought of him, and the distance between them was mutual. She was a stuck-up bitch, and not too bright either. He didn't have a girl-friend, and Julie had something he found instantly exciting. He wondered what Adrianne had told Julie. He was querulous enough with girls; knew his single-minded interests, and nervous uncertainty in their company, didn't endear him to many.
Julie giggled again, and patted his arm:
- Don't worry silly. Adrienne's my best friend, but we have different interests. I like folk music.
One of Adrienne's eyebrows rose. She was about to speak, but didn't.
Bill returned to the room, placing a tray of red cans and glasses on the coffee-table:
- Anyone for a beer? The choice is wide: McEwan's Export.
- Thought you were never going to offer Bill. Thanks!
Julie gave him a thank-you kiss, drawing the tall rugby-player's mouth down to do so. She sniffed after the kiss, licked his cheek:
- Mmm, gorgeous after-shave.
Sandy was very conscious that he wasn't wearing any, though fortunately he had shaved his embarrassing bum-fluff that morning. He opened a can, poured a beer, handed it to Julie. Poured himself one.
Bill turned to Adrienne, who seemed a wee bit withdrawn:
- One for you?
- Bill! You know perfectly well that I got that car for my birthday last week! No way am I drinking. May I have a coffee please?
- Sure, one coffee coming up...
Adrienne followed him out of the room. Sandy turned to Julie:
- The Triumph 2000 is Adrienne's car?
