This short chapter is less sex and more talking about sex, gearing up for the final chapter in this arc. Future stories of Laura and friends will be delayed by the day job...
That final weekend, Richie and I could have gone to London and stayed with Sanj. But we agreed it would be an unnecessary culture shock, being in her mum's pristine apartment -- us looking more scruffy than ever -- and then back to a campsite for a final week. Not to mention the six to eight hours in a rammed minibus with a dozen gobby teenagers. 'Known to the police' was the euphemism used. With the younger kids, that might be via social services or because of their parents' doings, but with these, thirteen and fourteen, most of them had records in their own right. Which half of them liked boasting about.
Until Andy pointed out that having a record meant you were stupid enough to get caught. He deliberately let slip some of the less-pleasant features of adult jails. The detailed descriptions of slopping-out might put a few of them off crime, if we were lucky.
One more week.
I would, in fact, miss most of the kids, for all their cheek and surliness. I'd miss the wonderful local countryside and the river even more. On the other hand, I couldn't wait to have access to a proper bathroom again. Even Tesco's toilets seemed luxurious, now.
Richie and I had a leisurely weekend. On Saturday we lounged around reading or explored, separately, reuniting for a pub dinner.
On the Saturday evening, we helped each other 'shower' with some buckets of almost-warm water, then hung out in the tent.
Richie was as chilled-out as I'd ever seen him.
"Fancy a fuck?" I asked.
"Sure. Why not."
He filled me from behind, deep and hard.
I luxuriated in being able to make noise. Not exactly screaming, but certainly I let satisfied groans escape the tent walls.
Only the birds to hear.
He and I spent all of Sunday in the pub, reading and chatting with the few locals and staff from other campsites, avoiding the rain, until the last set of children were due to arrive.
Meanwhile, Andy and Ali drove a minibus back to London. Richie might have guessed how their weekend went, but I didn't find out until later.
I'd overheard Ali tell Jude coldly, "No, I won't be at yours this weekend," but I hadn't asked where she would be. I did notice she seemed very cheerful when she and Andy returned on the Sunday, with their dozen eleven-year-olds, but I'd put that down to a weekend in London without Jude. I should have guessed.
Seeing as he and Ali were both rota'd to be in London for the coming weekend, Andy had sought Al for a private word, a few days earlier.
"Do you want to stay at mine this weekend? It's not much, but if you're not comfortable at Jude's no more..."
"Could I? Oh, please!"
"Course. Any time." He looked like he wanted to have said more, but clearly the words so far had been as much as he could produce.
"You're a star, love."
He really was a bright spot in Ali's life. She'd come to really value his quiet support and humour over the last year, as she'd watched him slowly get used to busy London and crowds of people. Women, he still didn't seem completely used to. If he had been, she might have got together with him instead of Jude!
Possibly just as well. Jude was a lot more experienced at relationships and could damn well cope with being dumped. Andy, more likely, could have easily been broken. But now he seemed much better at coping with life. The summer in the country had really suited him, being able to take quiet moments to himself, and to show off his youth management and woodcraft skills. Several kids had responded to him who had ignored Sam or herself.
Ali was now sufficiently over her previous relationships to seriously think about Andy in ways that went beyond a potential ill-judged fling. He was pretty. All the dark curly hair and long eyelashes! Pure muscle and sinew, no fat! And modest with it all!
Ali awoke late on the Saturday morning. The throbbing pain in her wrists, which physios insisted must be from too much computer use, was back, despite her not having been near a keyboard in two months. She knocked back more painkillers and sighed. Perhaps it would get better on the journey.
"You OK to drive the first shift?" she asked Andy.
"Sure."
Twelve young teenagers present and correct, Andy drove out of the field, with his usual admonitions that if the kids got too noisy, he got to choose the music. As usual, by the time he'd reached the motorway, half of them were dozing. He'd reached Heston services, on the edge of London, before needing to offer a comfort break. They'd got it down to a fine art, frog-marching the kids to the toilets, waiting outside, taking it in turns themselves to run in. Luckily, this lot might be noisy but none had snuck off into any shops nor indulged in any obvious thefts.
"Phew," Andy said as he let the group walk ahead back towards the minibus.
"Mm. Andy? Could you keep driving?"
"Aye. You all right, hen?"
"Arms hurting. Again. I'm sorry."
"Huh. Best give them a break, aye. No worries."
Children reunited with their parents or carers, both Ali and Andy drew large sighs of relief.
"Back to mine?" he asked.
"Please."
He nodded shortly, and led her in silence through back streets to a somewhat dilapidated Victorian terrace, multiple doorbells betraying that it was divided into flats or rooms. "My bedsit's on the top floor."
Ali didn't reply, saving her energy for the stairs.
"Here's me. Sofa's all yours."
Ali looked around the room. Double divan bed with hideous duvet cover, battered 50s wooden wardrobe to the side. The chipped melamine on the small bedside table suggested it had been retrieved from a skip or the street, by Andy or his landlord. The large window had even uglier curtains. The sofa pushed up against the foot of the bed, facing both a TV on a table and a short run of kitchen cupboards, which housed a sink and under-counter fridge, a Baby Belling oven with two hot plates, and kettle and microwave. The units were dated, battered, but clean and tidy, like the rest of the room.
"Bathroom?"
"Toilet and bathroom both on the landing -- there, look. Two other guys in the other two rooms -- don't mind them, they're odd chaps, but they won't mess with you."
Ali nodded, used the facilities, and returned to Andy. Andy passed her a welcome mug of tea.
"Agh!" Ali had fumbled the handle and sloshed boiling hot tea over her hand. She plonked it on the floor and leapt to the sink to douse her hand in cold water.
She seemed to be shaking more than the minor burn deserved. "You OK?" he asked, pointlessly.
As Ali rested her weight on the counter, Andy sprang to her. "I've got you, hen. A dook under the tap'll sort it, just let the water run a while. Eh, love, don't be greeting, it's nae bother. It's the shock that's got you, just a wee burn."
Ali said nothing, just watched the water run.
"No matter if your legs are all wobbly, I'm holding you. I've got you. No worries, pet. Ah, it's just a minor burn, hardly a mark." Andy kept talking, trying to reassure her with his soothing tone. "Eh, let's get you laying down, here, on me bed. The settee's not so comfy. You bide there a while, rest yoursel', right? You need more of your tablets?"
"What tablets?"
"Them ones you take when you think no-one's looking, usually before you say you're having a migraine. If they're meant to stop the headaches, they clearly ain't working."
Ali's stiff body seemed to collapse, giving in. "They're painkillers. Supposed to help the muscle and nerve pain, prevent spasms..."
"They help?"
"At night, yes. I can sleep. But the side-effects are like being drunk, so I can't take them in the day, not if I'm going to be driving. I only need them when I get a flare-up -- suppose after six weeks of camp it was time? But 'migraine' always sounds better than 'my body is falling apart'."
"Huh. Right. I'd offer you a cuppa -- here, it's probably cooled down now."
"Thanks."
"You look like you need a nap."
