THE FIRST TASTE OF DESIRE, AND LOSS

DURING MY SIXTEENTH SUMMER, MY mother’s new boyfriend, Ben, took us on holiday to Cyprus. A thick wall of heat shimmered as we got off the plane. The air smelled of burnt grass and hot butter and everything was new to me: the pink bougainvillea, dense eucalyptus and the dark, sticky pull of adulthood, almost within reach.

My parents had got divorced a couple of years beforehand and my mother and Ben had been together for a few months. In our white-walled apartment complex, I watched my mother unpack tiny shorts and bikini tops she had bought especially for the trip. Ben’s hand on the small of her bare back made me feel uneasy, yet there was a bright new sheen to her that I wanted for myself. I noted the arch of her wrist as she pulled her fingers through her hair and the pink razor she left on the side of the bath.

The unfamiliar heat felt suffocating, yet it also hinted at a verdant, tropical world beyond the damp, grey city that I grew up in. We ate Nutella on toast for breakfast with huge slices of watermelon, then walked to the beach in the midmorning sun. My mother and Ben headed straight for the sea. I was worried that the water would wash off my spray tan, so I picked my way across the stones and stretched out on my towel, pressing my spine into the sand so that my stomach would seem flatter. My body was a source of strength and shame. I wished that I was thinner and more beautiful, yet I noticed the eyes of older men snag on my leopard-print bikini and it felt like power.

I dozed off beneath my heart-shaped sunglasses and woke to a tall, tanned teenage boy standing above me. Seawater glittered across his chest and I propped myself up on my elbows, trying to make myself look smaller. He said something in Greek that I didn’t understand and then repeated himself in English.

‘Nice tits,’ he winked, and then ran off across the beach. His beauty glared beneath the yellow sun and I couldn’t believe that he wanted me.

One evening, we went to a nearby taverna and sat outside eating black olives and fat tomatoes as stray cats brushed our legs. I went to the bathroom and when I returned to the table, tension crackled between my mother and Ben.

Ben stood up and drained his drink. ‘I’m going to head back, then.’

‘We’ll stay,’ smiled my mother, pouring some of her lager into my water glass. Ben raised his eyebrows, threw a couple of crinkled notes on the table and left.

A few days later, we sat at a beach bar strung with fairy lights, watching a pale moon rise over the water. A group of local girls and boys were close by, the gold ends of their cigarettes flashing in the dark. My mother followed my gaze. ‘Why don’t you go and sit with them?’ I looked at her in horror, until I noticed the tall boy from the beach in their circle. He caught my eye and my stomach twisted in want.

I watched my mother drink from a bottle of beer with her head thrown back, dark hair grazing bare shoulders. Ben’s eyes lingered on her mouth as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and then smiled at him softly. The space between them was charged and I felt excluded.

I stood abruptly and made my way over to the teenagers. The group opened to let me in and I wavered uncertainly, regretting my decision. ‘You can sit on my knee,’ the boy from the beach smirked. His skin looked smooth in the darkness and I wanted to touch him, but my cheeks burned with fear and shame. I looked back at my mother and saw Ben lean forward to kiss her. I breathed in the smell of sweat and sea salt, then moved tentatively towards the boy, grasping at adulthood. He pulled me onto his knee and his friends laughed.

I barely listened to their conversation, my attention seared to the white-hot thrill of the boy’s hand moving steadily up my thigh. I glanced nervously at my mother and Ben but they were oblivious, caught up in each other. The boy’s hand moved across my skin until I squeezed his fingers to make him stop.

‘Do you want to French kiss?’ he breathed and I shook my head. He held my wrists tightly and pushed his face close to mine. My head began to throb from the heat and smoke. I felt proud that he wanted me and I thought that I wanted him, but desire was heavy and new and I didn’t know how to hold it. I heard a ripple of laughter as he brought his teeth to my lip and bit down hard. My eyes filled with tears and I felt pathetic. I wanted to be loose and easy, the kind of girl who was up for anything, and I was angry with myself for losing control of the situation. There was something forceful in the boy’s gaze that made me feel childlike, as if he had taken something that was mine.

When we returned home a week later, my mother told me that Ben had proposed to her in Cyprus, but she said no.

‘It feels a bit soon, sweetheart,’ she said when I asked her why. ‘I want to belong to myself for a little while.’ I remembered the sweltering air and the endless sky. I thought of the bright sheen on my mother’s skin as she came into herself again and the way it rubbed off on me. I imagined the power I felt in my leopard-print bikini and how easily the tall boy took it away. My body felt

I NOTICED THE EYES OF OLDER MEN SNAG ON MY LEOPARD-PRINT BIKINI AND IT FELT LIKE POWER

dangerous and I didn’t know what to do with it. I told my mother that I understood and she gave me a sad smile. Jessica Andrews is an ELLE contributing editor and the author of ‘Saltwater’ and ‘Milk Teeth’.