MORNING SERIAL

IT was then he gave me the signal. He did it with his head, motioning it from one side to the other, a kind of nod towards the wall. Then you had to go behind the wall and kiss him, and his tongue was wet like an eel, but his lips were soft and it was good to be close to him. His hands were up my skirt, and I didn’t stop him until he was inside my knickers. His hands were dry and fidgety.

“Stopia wan,” I said then, and I laughed, and for a few seconds he didn’t stop and then he did.

The music on the radio swells again, all full of love and happy endings and I sway in the room with that feeling of spring coming. Perhaps Llion will ask me out properly now I’ve kissed him. Or perhaps he won’t. The music changes on the radio, and it’s a rap song, American, angry and about love. To this song I think about how I’ll feel if he doesn’t ask me out. Angry, and sad at the same time. Rejected. It’s a sore feeling, but almost delicious too, and you know you’ll have to come back to it, like picking a scab.

I know Cher’s coming up the stairs before Efa shouts to tell me. I hear the familiar thump of Cher’s slow, heavy feet. Then Efa calls.

“Iola. Cher’s coming up! Efa’s voice is thin and bare, like an old, frayed guitar string. I can always hear Cher coming up the stairs anyway, Efa doesn’t need to announce it, but I’m glad she has, Efa, because it’s speaking to each other, and we don’t do much of that now, and Efa’d said my name. Iola. And that’s speaking to me. Directly.

Cher knocks on the door of my bedroom. You always have to knock. Everyone needs ‘privacy’.

When I open the door Cher’s stood in the doorway, panting from coming up the stairs, from carrying her own body, which is awkward and big. Cher’s stood there, with the same slow expression she always has ever since then. “Come in. Listen!” I tell her. The song that’s on the radio’s full of drums and a high voice that’s like a computer, it’s good and it makes your heart thump to hear it. CONTINUES TOMORROW