介绍:
That’s that, he thought. Nothing was less conducive to sexual desire than a long black political
T-shirt, except perhaps that Tracy Chapman album. Resigned, he picked her degree certificate off the floor, rolled the elastic band along the length of the scroll, and announced ‘English and History, Joint Honours, 1st Class.’
‘Read it and weep, two-two boy.’ She grabbed for the scroll. ‘Eh, careful with that.’
‘Getting it framed, are you?’
‘My mum and dad are having it turned into wallpaper.’ She rolled it tightly, tapping the ends. ‘Laminated place mats. My mum’s having it tattooed across her back.’
‘Where are your parents anyway?’
‘Oh, they’re just next door.’ He flinched. ‘God, really?’
She laughed. ‘Not really. They drove back to Leeds. Dad thinks hotels are for toffs.’ The scroll was stashed beneath the bed. ‘Now budge up,’ she said, nudging him
to the cool side of the mattress. He allowed her in, sliding one arm somewhat awkwardly beneath her shoulders, kissing her neck speculatively. She turned to look at him, her chin tucked in.
‘Dex?’
‘Hm.’
‘Let’s just cuddle, shall we?’
‘Of course. If you want,’ he said gallantly, though in truth he had never really seen the point of cuddling. Cuddling was for great aunts and teddy bears. Cuddling gave him cramp. Best now to admit defeat and get home as soon as possible, but she was settling her head on his shoulder territorially, and they lay like this, rigid and self-conscious for some time before she said:
‘Can’t believe I used the word “cuddle”. Bloody ’ell – cuddle. Sorry about that.’
He smiled. ‘S’alright. Least it wasn’t snuggle.’
‘Snuggle’s pretty bad.’
‘Or smooch.’
‘Smooch is awful. Let’s promise never, ever to smooch,’ she said, regretting the remark at once. What, together? There seemed little chance of that. They lapsed into silence again. They had been talking, and kissing, for the last eight hours, and both had that deep, whole body fatigue that arrives at dawn. Blackbirds were singing in the overgrown back garden.
‘I love that sound,’ he mumbled into her hair.
‘Blackbirds at dawn.’
‘I hate it. Makes me think I’ve done something I’ll regret.’
‘That’s why I love it,’ he said, aiming once again for a dark, charismatic effect. A moment, then he added, ‘Why, have you?’
‘What?’
‘Done something you regret?’
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