Lizbeth's hand
is on the metal ring handle
to the church door.
The hand twists.

Hard to move,
jerks, pushes.
The door gives
and they are in.

Smell of oldness
and damp.
He closes the door
behind them, his

hand giving gentle push.
It clicks, holds firm.
Small and old,
the walls a fading white.

Old beams, pews,
altar table clothed
in white a cloth.
She looks around,

eyes scanning,
hands by her side,
fingers of one hand
holding her blue dress.

He follows, footsteps
after hers, scans her
before him, the walls,
the old wood pews.

They stop and turn
and look back
at the smallness
of the church.

Here will do,
she says,
pointing to a pew.
He shakes his head,

we can't, not here,
people may come.
No one comes here,
except on the monthly

Sunday or the odd
visitor or tourist.
He scans the pew,
old wood, wood knots.

Who's to know?
She asks. He walks
down the aisle
touching pew tops.

She watches him,
his reluctance,
his hesitation.
Some boys would

jump at the chance,
she says. But not
here, he says, turning
to face her, not in

a church, on a pew.
Some might, she says,
running a hand
over the pew top.

They had parked
their cycles outside,
at the back
of the church wall.

The sun shines through
the glass windows.
What if someone
comes and finds us?

She smiles. Moves
towards him.
Touches his face.
Imagine their faces,

she says. No, I can't,
he says, not here.
He stares at her,
her smile, her eyes

focusing on him,
her red hair loose,
about her shoulders,
her blue dress,

knee length,
white ankle socks,
brown sandals.
We're only 13,

he says, shouldn't
even be thinking
of such things,
let alone doing them.

His body language
tells the same.
She gazes at him,
his short hair,

his eyes wide
with anxiety,
his grey shirt,
jeans, old shoes.

We'd always
remember it,
she says, here
on a pew, me

and you, this
small church.
We could come back
years later

and view
our love scene.
No, he says,
not here, not

anywhere.
He looks at
the walls,
the roof,

the pews,
the altar table,
white cloth,
brass crucifix.

She sighs, looks
at the pew,
imagines the place,
the area of pew.

He and she.
But it is just
imagination,
mere thought,

she has not so far,
nor he, just an
impulse on her part,
an urge, a hot

compulsion to
experience,
experiment.
Let's go, he says.

Wait, she says,
let's just sit
in the pew,
just sit.

He studies her,
her eyes lowered,
her smile gone.
Ok, he says,

and they enter
a pew and sit.
The sunlight
warms them.

He looks at
the high windows,
at sunlight.
She sits and looks

at the brass crucifix,
the distorted Christ,
the head to one side.
She wonders how

they would have done it,
he and she, here,
on this pew.
She is unfocused.

She feels the sun
on her. Blessed,
she thinks, maybe.
He feels a sense

of gain and loss.
He has stepped
to an edge,
stepped back,

gazed into
a dark abyss.
She turns to him,
leans to him,

thank you,
she says.
They close eyes,
lips kiss.

Lizbeth had hoped that getting Benedict to the small church on a week day during the holidays might be the moment of truth or sexuality which to her was the same thing the thing she had wanted ever since she'd read the book given to her by a girl in a higher form all about *** and the whole aspect it involved and with pictures and since she first saw Benedict that day at school getting off a school bus and passing her by but getting him to the church was one thing she still had to persuade him to make love there on one of the side pews not too wide and not particularly comfortable and to do that was another thing and having got him there riding on their bikes and entering the church she had pretended architectural interests he walked just ahead of her looking around running a hand over the top of the pews as he went then he paused and said it's quite small and looked at her she looked at the pew she thought might be best for the love making she crept in and sat down he came and sat next to her she patted the pew and said we could do it here? do what? make love he frowned at her looked back at the door at the back then at the altar end we can't why not? some one may come in no one comes in here weekdays they might she looked at him putting on her sad gaze we could do it no one will know he shifted away from her along the pew no I can't can't or won't? she pulled up the hem of her red dress to reveal a sight of her thigh to catch his eye can't do it here some old dear may come in and see us and have a heart attack so? what a way to go having witnessed that he stood up and walked along the aisle she pulled the hem of her dress down and sat gazing at him you disappoint me I never said I would I never even thought about it I never think about it she shifted along the pew I always think about it I dream about it even in class during a boring maths lesson I think about it he walked to the altar end and peered at the brass cross on an altar this is God's house we can't do that kind of thing why not? it's only an empty church a sepulchre of a dead God she said he stared at her sitting in the pew in her red dress her hair pulled tight in a ponytail that look of sulkiness about her he knew she was determined but this was not the place if any place was with her and he didn't want to not yet best go he said she looked at him pouting her lips not yet just stay awhile he shook his head and walked down the aisle towards the back door and turned to look at her coming? she sighed the effort had failed the scheme had not worked she felt empty as if it had been a waste of her time and effort where then? where can we go? he went out of the church door and was gone from sight she swore and got up and out of the pew and out the door to follow him he was standing by a gravestone by the side of the church and she stood beside him gazing at the gravestone the writing was almost worn away the name and dates illegible that's how we all end up she said buried and dead we'd best get back to the farm I’m helping with the milk weighing later he said and he walked down the narrow pathway to get to their bikes and she followed staring at his back at his blue shirt and jeans and wished they had done it even if only a quickie and so they got on their bikes and rode back towards the farm along narrow lanes with high hedges each side she sensing disappointment and thinking of *** with an empty feeling inside.