Breakfast time
a school day
Lizbeth sits

poking at
her breakfast
scrambled egg

and sausage
tomato
her parents

sit there too
her mother
looks at her

what is up
with you now?
the mother

asks Lizbeth
nothing's up
Lizbeth says

poking egg
with a fork
I know you

my young girl
you're moody
and poking

at your food
Lizbeth stares
at the lips

moving of
her mother
more moaning

she muses
it's a boy
I expect

her father
interjects
what's a boy?

Mother asks
her bad moods
Father says-

unless he
muses it's
genetics

and she's got
her mother's
moody genes-

what boy's this
Lizbeth dear?
Mother asks

-Lizbeth thinks
of the boy
Benedict

and how she's
attempted
to have hot

*** with him
umpteenth times
without one

successful
episode-
not a boy

Lizbeth says
forking in
scrambled egg

just Monday
and the blues
and I'm on

on what Liz?
Father asks
looking out

over his
newspaper-
on the rag

Auntie's come
periods
bleeding lots

she muses-
Lizbeth stares
at Father

in that way
that she has
and he says

o I see
and looks back
at the big

newspaper
something more
Mother says

more than that
you've not got
pregnant

with a boy
have you Liz?
No I've not

Lizbeth storms
spitting egg
throwing down

her steel fork
on the plate
I've just said

that I'm on
and would I
just have ***

just like that
without you
knowing all

before me?
what about
that Benny

you talk of
he's a boy?
Mother says

Lizbeth sighs
I am still
a ******

innocent
of all crimes
she utters

just moody
Father says
like most girls

Lizbeth picks
up her fork
and eats more

scrambled egg
and thinks of
Benedict

and how she
tried to get
him to have

*** with her
on her bed
some weeks back

but he said
not like this
not just now

we're too young
but Mother
knows there's more

than just moods
and studies
the young girl

as she eats
wondering
if Liz has

with that boy
signs are there
she muses

but deep down
the mother
refuses

to accept
such could be
and sips tea

Lizbeth stares
at her plate
thinks of ***

with Benny
when it comes
if it comes

and what place
it might be
lifts her cup

and sips tea.

Lizbeth finds
dinnertimes
a right chore

sitting there
at the oak
table with

her moody
mother there
facing her

her father
glum as hell
beside her

and Lizbeth
trying hard
to ignore

both of them
its beef stew
thick gravy

and drowned out
vegetables
you're quiet

Mother says
anything
wrong with you?

nothing's wrong
Lizbeth says
gazing at

the beef stew
you've a mood
I can tell

Mother says
if the girl
wants silence

why complain
Father says
I know her

and you don't
Mother says
to Hubby

Lizbeth stares
at Mother
I'm just on

nothing else
Lizbeth moans
on the rag

Auntie's come
sandwich week
THAT'S ENOUGH

Mother shouts
rattling
the windows

I won't have
you talking
like that here

at mealtimes
it's not nice
Lizbeth stares

at Father
as he mouths
the beef stew

in silence
did you know
Lizbeth says

that Tudor
King Henry
the 7ths

mother was
married at
12 years old

and had him
at 13
Mother sighs

your point is?
that's my age
she sprouted

her king sprog
at my age
Mother glares

at her child
with her dark
angry eyes

Lizbeth thinks
of Benny
pretending

he's upstairs
in her room
stark naked

all waiting
eat your stew
Mother says

no more talk
of those things
outside it's

countryside
fluttering
butterflies

a bird sings.

Cows mooed. Birds bubbled in a nearby hedgerow. Butterflies fluttered by. A Gatekeeper, Jane said, pointing to a butterfly fluttering by. Benedict watched as the butterfly fluttered along ahead of them. Wasn't sure, he said. He caught her out of the corner of his eye. Dark hair, let loose, shoulder length; blue flowered dress short sleeved. I ought not to say whom you can see and whom you can't, she said, pausing by the hedgerow, looking up the narrow road leading to the small church, if you want to see that Lizbeth girl it's up to you, she added. Benedict looked at her. She comes looking for me; I don't go looking for her, he said. Her eyes looked at him: dark eyes, warm, searching, honest-to-God eyes. What does she want with you? Jane asked. A sound of a tractor in the distant field. Whatever it is she won't get it, he said, eyeing her lips, how they part slightly, her teeth, small but even. She seemed hooked on you, Jane said. She looked at Benedict's quiff of brown hair, his hazel eyes. Guess she is. He tries to push thoughts of Lizbeth ******* in her room a few months ago and how she wanted him to have *** with her and he didn't want to and didn't. Much to her annoyance. He pictures her body semi-undressed, her bed waiting for them. He couldn't. Jane frowned. I had a word with her in the girl's toilet at school, Jane said, she showed no shame in wanting to have *** with you; I couldn't believe any girl could just do that. Benedict sighed. Some can and do, he said, I didn't want to and so didn't. She seemed relieved to hear that and walked on and he walked on beside her.  Why didn't you? She asked, have *** with her? He thought before answering, didn't want to say the wrong thing. He heard the cows mooing louder as they walked up towards the church lane. I wouldn't, not just out of lust, he said. If you loved her would you? She asked. He didn't love Lizbeth, he liked her for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, but it wasn't love. Don't think so, he answered. She was quiet and they walked on up the narrow lane. A blackbird flew over their heads. The smell of flowers was strong. Cow dung from the farm was as strong. He studied Jane's hand near his: slim, fingers narrow, neat nails. Do you love her? Jane asked. No, he replied. He wanted to say he loved her, loved Jane, but it was a big statement to say and he didn't want just to blurt it out. They entered the churchyard. The small church was nearby. Lizbeth had been here with him twice or so. Once suggesting they have *** on one of the church pews. Narrow wooden pews. Would she have? He asked himself as he and Jane walked past old tombstones. He guessed she would, but he couldn't, not there, not anywhere. Jane paused by a grave. He was a tractor driver who died when his tractor fell on top of him, Jane said, pointing at the grave. It looked new: new stone, fresh dug earth, flowers. O my God, he said, how sad. Yes, it is, she said. His wife and children had to leave the tied cottage afterwards. Benedict caught her perfume as she leaned near him. He couldn't identify the flower smell. He couldn’t imagine her wanting him to have *** with her anywhere. Yet, oddly he felt he could with her, but he knew she wouldn't so it was safe to think it. But not like Lizbeth who was gagging for it-to use her expression-, but out of a love feeling, maybe. No, he couldn't imagine Jane doing such. What did you think when that Lizbeth girl brought you here? Jane asked. Thought she was just going to show me around the church; she said she was interested in the architecture, he said. She lies good, Jane said. He nodded. They walked on around the church, walked past other graves, older, moss covered stones. Were you tempted to have *** with her on one of the pews? Jane asked. Of course not, he replied, looking straight at her. Never dawned on me that she'd want such a thing. How could she even suppose you would? Jane said. Because she wanted to, she imagined I must want it, too, he said. But on a church pew? She said, her voice having tones of disbelief. He sighed. I know and when I said people might come in she said serves them right for coming in, he said, trying to recollect her words exactly, but couldn't. Jane opened the small wooden door of the church and they entered. It was cool. The walls were white painted. The windows were painted with religious figures. This is God's house, Jane said, she shouldn't have even thought of such a thing. Benedict looked at the altar end. A small crucifix stood on an altar table with a white cloth on it. He looked at the side pews. He tried to find the one he sat in with Lizbeth and she suggested having *** there. It made him go cold thinking of it. Jane walked to the altar end and sniffed. Incense from Sunday, she said. He smelt it too. He smelt her perfume more. She was close to him now. Her body was inches from his. His body tingled. He knew he loved her. He wanted to say so; wanted to say it loudly to her, but it was the wrong place. He looked at her body encased in the dress. Slim, narrow, her ******* were small, but tight. She was curved. He looked away. He knew he ought not to think of her in that way, least not here. Let's sit and pray, she said, and walked into one of the side pews and sat down. He sat next to her, pushing thoughts of Lizbeth from his mind. Keeping the image of her lifting her skirt and showing him a glimpse of her thigh from his mind. Jane had closed her eyes in prayer. She was a parson's daughter; prayer was natural to her as breathing. He closed his eyes. Smelt her perfume mingled with incense. How did one pray at a time like this? He thought, pushing Lizbeth's thigh from his inner eye.

Lizbeth stood in front
of the tall mirror
inside her mother's wardrobe  

she was wearing
a short black dress
her hair was tied
in a bun at the back

I stood watching her
uncertain why
we were in her parents' bedroom
and why she was *******
her mother’s clothes
hanging on hangers inside

I looked around the room
a big bed made tidily
a chest of drawers  
a built in cupboard
a picture on the wall
opposite the bed
of some country scene
and above the bed
a huge crucifix
made from wood
with a plaster Christ

look at this one
Lizbeth said

I looked at her hand
taking out a long red dress
she held it up
then put in front of herself
and turned to face me

what do you think?

it's a bit gaudy
I said

shall I try it on?

no I can see
what it would
look like on you
I said

she sniffed it
she must bathe
in **** scent
Lizbeth said

she did a spin
holding the dress
against her
how do I look in it?

she's taller than you
it'll fit her better
I said

not so sure
Lizbeth said
hold this

I held the dress in my hand
she unzipped her black dress
at the back
and pulled the black dress
over her head
and stood there
in a white bra and *******

give it here
she said
and taking the dress
she put it on
her own black dress
was on the floor
here zip me up
at the back
she said

I zipped her up
at the back
watching the straps
of the white bra disappear
as I zipped her up

she turned on the spot
and looked at herself
in the tall mirror

well? how do I look now?

well at least
it's longer
than your own black dress
I said

it came to her ankles
she looked down at it
yes too ****** long
she said
unzip me Benny
she said

I unzipped her
seeing the strap
of the white bra
come back into view

she pulled the dress
over her head
and put it back
on the hanger

she stood there
in bra and *******
how do I look now?

undressed
I said

do you like me
like this?

I feel kind of
uncomfortable
you standing like that
I said

why do you feel
uncomfortable?

what if your parents
come home now
and see you like this
and me here with you
and you in your underclothes?

she smiled
guess they'll feel
uncomfortable then
she said

I picked up her black dress
best out it on
I said

now?

yes now

my parent's bed is over there
all made up and fresh
and waiting for us
she said sexily

I stood holding
the black dress in my hand
where are your parents?

out some place

when will they be back?

don't know

best get your dress on
and out of their room
I said

what about my room?
the bed's smaller
and unmade
and the room's untidy
but we can still
do it there?

I heard voices from downstairs
is that them back?
I said in a low voice

Lizbeth pulled a face
**** me yes
let's get to my room
and so she put
the red dress back
in the wardrobe
and shut it up

and we rushed across
the landing to her room
and shut the door
behind us

I looked around her room
it was as she said
untidy
the bed unmade
books
LPs
soiled washing
over the floor
and the curtains unopened

that was kind of close
she said

yes
I said

downstairs the voices
were loud
and a row seemed
to be going on
but Lizbeth seemed unconcerned
standing there
in her white *******
and bra
holding the black dress
gazing towards
the unmade bed

but I had other problems
swimming around
inside my teenage head.

Lizbeth cycled in from the town
and set her bike
against a fence
and asked your mother

where you were
out somewhere
your mother told her
bird watching

or digging up old bones
in the woods
oh ok
Lizbeth said

and walked back out
on the dusty road
and walked down
the small lane

by the cottages
birds calling
mostly rooks
high up

in the trees
or the flutter of wings
as birds flew
from hedgerows

at her approach
she trod carefully
between the cow pats
on the lane down

her black Wellingtons
touching the hem
of her black skirt
the green top

short sleeved
showing
her thin arms
a steam ran slowly

on her right
over pebbles
and stones
and weeds

and then she saw you
by a tree
looking up
through binoculars

unaware
of her approach
didn't know
you bird watched

she said
breaking
into your world
of birds and nature

with her words
you gazed at her
her red hair
drawn tightly

into a ponytail
at the back
of her head
her freckled skin

the greeny eyes
not much else
to do
you said

us London boys
have a lot to learn
in this
off the beaten track

of a place
she nodded
and stared
her eyes focusing in

at the bird book
in your hand
and binoculars
around your neck

what's London like?
she asked
like Dante's Inferno
you replied

whose?
she said
who the heck is he
when he's at home?

you walked towards her
tucking the bird book
in the back pocket
of your jeans

Italian poet
you said
wrote the Divine Comedy
you added

she raised her eyebrows
and gave you
that I'm none the wiser stare
thought I'd come

and see you
out of school
she said
remembered

your address
nice of you to come
you said
unsure why she'd come

to this neck
of nowhere land
I saw your mother
Lizbeth said

she told me
you'd be bird watching
or digging up bones
in the woods

she had that
I'm getting bored look
the way she stood
don't get the chance

to talk with you
at school
what with
the separate playgrounds

and nosey kids in class
thinking there's
a big romance
if you talk

to a member
of the opposite ***
she looked older
than her 13 years

much older than you
being the same age
and the boys
are pretty much

dumb arses in class
except for you
she added
looking at you

with her green eyes
want to see
my collection
of bird eggs

and old bones?
you said
where are they?
she asked

in my bedroom
you replied
oh
she said

odd place
to keep old bones
nowhere else
to keep them

you said
ok
she said
and walked with you

up the country lane
and in the gate
and along the path
to the cottage door

will your mother mind?
she asked
why should she?
you asked

no reason
just that my mother
would give you
the third degree

under a bright light
she said
you took her
in the back door

taking off
the muddy boots
and so did she
standing there

in her white socks
just taking Lizbeth
to see the old bones
and bird eggs

you told your mother
ok
she said giving Lizbeth
a quick glance

don't let him bore you
to death
your mother added
with a smile

Lizbeth smiled too
and followed you up
the narrow stairs
to your small bedroom

she looked around
the room
at the wooden
chest of drawers

and double bed
who sleeps
in the bed with you?
she asked

my younger brother
you said
oh
she said

staring
at the small window
that gave view
of the garden below

and the fields beyond
you showed her
the bird eggs
you'd collected

and the old bones
from the woods
kept in a glass tank
you handed her

a blackbird egg
it lay in the palm
of her hand
it looked good

and blended well
with her soft skin
and lifeline
and headlines

across the hand
fragile isn't it?
she said
bit like my heart

she added softly
she handed back the egg
and wiped her hand
on her skirt

removing invisible
or imaginary dirt
what do you do
when not watching birds

or digging for bones?
she asked
get the cows in
from the fields

or help weigh
the milk
or help my father
in the garden

or go for walks
on the Downs
you said
you certainly know

how to live
on the wild side
she said
oh not always

you said
sometimes
it can get
quite boring

and I have to read books
or watch TV
she smiled
do you think

about girls?
she asked
not much
you said

why's that?
she asked
what's to think about?
you said

seldom see them
out here in the wilds
and at school
there's little time

or opportunity
or too many
complications
or too many

ears and noses
and eyes
what about now?
here now?

she said
gazing at you
and the double bed
what about now

and here?
you asked
putting away the egg
in the tank

and closing
the lid
to keep out air
or dust

she frowned
and sighed
as if a moment
had burned out

or an old world
had died.

Lizbeth sits
on her bike
by the hedge

her short skirt
showing thighs
her white blouse

open necked
Benny sees
her from his

bedroom view
sitting there
on her bike

he goes down
out the front
to see her

well I'm here
Lizbeth says
weather's warm

we could go
for a walk
or a ride

Benny knows
why she's come
and stands there

by the gate
I'm with Jane
not with you

he tells her
but will she
-****** queen-

that Jane girl
let you have
*** with her?

Lizbeth asks
I don't want
to have ***

with you or
anyone
Benny says

not until
I'm older
not thirteen

Lizbeth sighs
inwardly
wanting him

sexually
and had come
very close

a few times
the ******
that girl Jane

needn't know
if we do
Lizbeth says

anyway
we can still
have a walk

I promise
to be good
Lizbeth says

just to talk
nothing else
Benny says

but of course
she tells him
so Benny

walks with her
down the lane
by the side

of the house
between high
hedges filled

with song birds
she speaks of
her mother

and her moods
her father's
indifference

the latest
rock and roll
long player

she'd bought
he listens
to her talk

smelling her
strong perfume
her red hair

tied in two
ponytails
the freckles

on her skin
she thinking
as they walk

side by side
how he'd look
above her

having ***
in her room
back at home

both naked
and that Jane
watching them

Benny thinks
of the hawk
-sparrowhawk-

he had seen
while with Jane
its power

flying high
hovering
waiting for

the big ****
and Jane's hand
near to his

as they walked
but Lizbeth
talks about

a new dress
she'd been bought
a bright red

with flowers
of yellow
and quite short

and Mother
doesn't like
its shortness

she says it
shows too much
nonetheless

I have it
Lizbeth says
then she stops

you can come
and see it
at some time

at my place
I promise
to be good

Benny says
that he could
-not that he

ever would-
then he tells
her about

seeing the
sparrowhawk
hovering

above them
Jane and him
powerful

and mighty
in the sky
Lizbeth thinks

it boring
just a bird
she muses

wanting him
inside her
in her bed

in her room
but she'll wait
bide her time

like the hawk
for her prey
and have him

some hot day.

Jane passed the church, walked past the gravestones of those long dead, smelt the scent of flowers, heard the songs of birds in nearby hedgerows and trees. Benedict said to meet her there the day before while leaving the school van, about midday he had said. She had cycled from the vicarage where she lived with her parents, down through the narrow lanes, passed the water tower by the farm, riding carefully past the cottage where Benedict lived with his parents and siblings, on through narrow lanes until she had reached the church. She was happy to be meeting him again, from the time she had awoken that morning she felt a sense of excitement at seeing him, being in his company. Her mother had asked where she was going and she said to meet Benedict at the church on the other side of the hamlet. Her mother smiled; she liked Benedict, he was trustworthy, unlike some of the boys round about whom she would have felt uneasy about Jane meeting...Benedict sat in the churchyard in the corner away from the nearest grave, where the name and date had worn away over the years until just a few words remained visible. He looked around him, studied the shapes and size of the gravestones, many had become dilapidated over the years, but it was peaceful and he liked it being amongst the dead sensing the feeling of being beyond the here and now. He waited for Jane to come. He had asked her to meet him there the day before. She said she would. He looked forward to seeing her, having her  near him, seeing her eyes looking at him, her dark hair, brown eyes, that shy smile...Jane saw Benedict sitting on the grass in the corner, he was looking at the gravestones, his hands around his knees. He was in blue jeans and white shirt and black shoes. She passed a few graves when he looked up and saw her. A thrill of excitement went through her, her stomach churned, her heart beat fast...There she was, standing not far away, Benedict stood up from the grass and went to her and she smiled at him. Not late am I? she asked, putting a hand out to touch his. No, he said, just on time, looking at the watch on his wrist, feeling her hand touch his, buzzing his nerves with her touch...Jane sensed her tongue becoming stuck in her mouth; her eyes scanned him taking in his eyes, hazel bright, his brown hair with that quiff that she loved, that smile so warm and yet inviting. Her hand was in his, warm, soft, his thumb rubbing her skin...Benedict felt alive; felt so here and now that his heart beat so that it seemed it would crash through his chest. How are you? He asked, rubbing her hand, not wanting to let it go, but not wanting to hold it too long. I'm all right, she said shyly, wanting his hand to stay there, to feel him near her, listening to his every word...Jane looked around at the churchyard, saw the flowers on some of the graves, some dying of neglect, some fresh planted. Shall we look in the church? She said, see  the interior? Yes, he said, why not, not seen inside for ages(although he had a few weeks before when the girl Lizbeth had taken him there and had tried to ****** him inside on one of the pews and he had left and declined)...Jane looked at him, seeking to see if he mentioned the girl Lizbeth whom Jane had heard had taken Benedict there a few weeks before. She trusted him, but needed him to tell her about the girl from their school, thirteen like them, but more forward, more dangerous. I heard you were here with Lizbeth a few weeks ago, Jane said, not wanting him to be unaware that she knew, but wanting him to be honest with her...Benedict blushed and looked at her, releasing her hand reluctantly. Yes, he said, she took me here, or rather we came here.  He didn't know what to say, but he couldn't lie, not keep things back. She came to the cottage and asked me to bring her here because she said she was interested in the architectural aspects of the church, but she just wanted to do things, he said looking at the nearest gravestone, feeling unsettled. Do things? Jane asked, looking at him, seeing his blush still there, wondering what he had done. She wanted me to have *** with her on a pew in the church, he said, but that was after we were in the church and she tricked me...Jane caught her breath, brought her hands together in front of her, trying to make sense of what he was saying. *** with her on a pew? She said, the words soft almost choking her. You didn't did you? She asked, not believing she was asking him. No, of course not, I would never have come here with her had I known that was what she was after, he said, gazing at Jane, unsure of her reaction. She felt her heart beating fast in her breast, her mind was becoming out on a limb. How could she think you would? She asked, not sure what to say or asked any more...Benedict felt the world becoming almost too big for him. He wanted to take Jane and say it hadn't been for real that he had been tricked, that he wanted to be near her not Lizbeth. I don't know, Benedict said, I never encouraged her, thought she was interested in the church, but inside she changed and said we could have *** on one of those pews. Jane sensed an unease enter. And what happened then? She asked, looking at him shyly. Nothing, I left the church and she followed and I cycled back home and she followed me, but them rode off, he said, feeling undone, feeling as if the ground was about to swallow him up...Tears were rising to her eyes, she could sense them. Did you kiss her? She asked, wanting to know, yet not wanting to know. No, nothing at all, he said shaking his head, I wanted none of that. She bit her lower lip, tried to hold back the tears in her eyes. She sensed he hadn't, but she needed to be sure. She had heard about the girl at school, but had he fallen for her charms such as they may have been? Why did she want to have *** with you? She asked, blushing at the word *** in her own mouth. No idea, he said, seems to have this fixation with me and ***. She sensed the tears falling from her eyes and on her cheeks. She wiped them off with the back of her hand. Can I trust you? She asked, the tears making her throat feel sore. Yes, he said, I’d never betray you, never. Not with her or anyone, he added, feeling his world emptying like a fish thrown on dry land. She put a hand on his arm, squeezed it, drew him to her and he embraced her uncertain if it was for real or just a gesture. I trust you, she said, wanting him to hold her close to him, sensing her tears rub on his shoulder, dampening his shirt...Benedict held her tight, not wanting her to go from him, not wanting to lose even this one moment in her closeness. He smelt that naturalness about her, an apple scent, fresh air, purity like new snow, blossoms...She kissed his cheek; lips to skin, not pressured, but there wanting to express how she felt, how her heart felt, not lust like the Lizbeth girl, but love, yes, love for him...Benedict sensed her lips kiss his cheek, warm, soft. He held her tight, feeling her body close to his, sensing her soft ******* against his chest as he held her...Jane put a hand behind his head, drew him closer, her lips kissing his ear, his lobe, his cheek again, then she pulled away a little to look at him. I should not have doubted you or your what you would do or not do, she said softly, her eyes watery, her cheeks damp. I heard about her and her visit to you, but I wasn't sure if it was true or not, but it doesn't matter now, because I trust you, she said...Benedict held her as near as he dare, not wanting her to go from his hold. I would never hurt you. I didn't know what she was after. Jane put a finger on his lips. Hush, she said softly. Let us not give her the benefit of thinking she has undone us. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as if someone was punching him from the inside...Jane turned his head towards her and kissed him on the lips. He kissed her, too, his lips pressing against hers. She put her arms around his waist and hugged him as she had never hugged anyone before, her lips sealing him from breath, from leaving her, from going away...Benedict sensed her body so close now that his heart seemed to beat with hers in a duet of thumping inside. His lips felt as if welded to hers, wet and warm and soft and he sensed himself filling with tears, tears he'd not shown or felt before to this degree...Jane took his hand and they walked past the gravestones into the church and sat in a side pew next to each other. His hand was in hers; he rubbed his thumb against her skin, rubbed it gently. She squeezed his hand, turned and kissed him, then sat back and stared ahead. God's house, she said, she should never had thought you would do anything like that here, not in here...Benedict said, not anywhere with her, certainly not here. He recalled that day here with Lizbeth, how she had suggested they have *** on a pew and he taken aback by such a thing and how she thought it quite possible...Us, Jane said, us and not her, not anything she thought possible. He nodded and looked at the altar where a brass cross stood alone. Do you love me? She asked. He turned and gazed at her, his eyes searching each aspect of her features. Yes, I do, he said, as much as its possible to love. She smiled shyly, wiping tears from her damp cheeks. I love you, too, she said... Benedict closed his eyes. He wanted to capture her and her words and that moment for ever in his mind. He wanted being here with her now to over brush the image of Lizbeth here with him those weeks before, to have that image and words of Jane captured in his mind like a camera snapping it all and holding it in frame and picture for evermore... Jane breathed in and out slowly. He had closed his eyes. His hand was still in hers. His pulse pulsed with hers, a gentle beat, a soft thump, a mixture of one becoming two, an uncertainty going, a truth and love becoming true.

Lizbeth walked home from school in a mood passed shops without looking in the windows as she usually did walked past Mrs Hooley without her usual chat about her cat up the pathway to the cottage into the back door passed her mother in the kitchen who was preparing dinner barely taking note of her mother's words of welcome and criticism about her bedroom and the mess there and up the stairs to her room where she opened the door and closed it behind almost in one motion and throwing her school satchel to the floor lay down on her double bed and stared at the ceiling crossing her legs at the ankles how could he tell her the ****** queen about us in the church and the pew and wanting to have ***? What was he thinking wait until I see him next how could he? She fumed and uncrossed her legs and looked at the curtains moving in the slight wind that came through the open window bringing to mind the girl Jane confronting her in the girl's toilets at school at afternoon break and saying how could you tempt Benedict in a church of all places? Tempt him with what? Lizbeth had asked *** Jane had said blushing as she said the word as if it was too hot for her mouth to stay there too long what do you mean ***? Lizbeth had asked looking at the girl with her brown eyes peering and he dark hair tied back in a ponytail he said you tricked him into going to the church and tempted him with having *** on a pew Jane said standing stiff and if the words had temporarily frozen her Lizbeth had gazed past the girl hoping another girl would enter and end the conversation what's it to you? Lizbeth said did you want him first then? The girl Jane blushed more and looked away then walked out of the toilets tearful Lizbeth put her hands behind her head and looked at the room at the picture of Elvis pinned to the wall-much to her parents' disapproval- at the mirror of the tall boy where she could see herself laying there like another self in parallel world he'd seek out Benedict and have a word with him how could he let that ***** Jane know all the details about them and that day in the church and about the *** bit that was a bit low and what a waste of time it had been anyway all that way on their bikes and he wasn't a bit interested in the idea and she had been so wanting to so warmed up for it and wore her short skirt especially and o how she fumed that day on the way home on her bike it wasn't as if she slept with other boys in fact she hadn't had *** with anyone yet in fact she didn't want *** with just anyone she wanted to have *** the first time with him with Benedict and she was till a ****** still untouched still boiling over especially when she saw him at school or when she cycled to his parent's cottage in the hamlet a few miles away and all he wanted was to show her bird's eggs or nests or butterflies or dead animals bones she sat up on her bed and sighed she'd read the book on *** that the girl at school had lent her with its long words and vivid diagrams and photos she'd read it cover to cover and absorbed the diagrams and photos so well that she could bring them to mind when she felt the time was ripe she moved to the side of her bed and remembered the day she'd managed to get him into her room when her parents were out and still he wouldn't agree to *** even though her bed was there and ready and she had begun to undress before him and still he refused leaving her at boiling point and then her mother had returned early from the shops and well that was it the chance blown and having to pretend to her mother that she was just showing Benedict her record collection-not that she believed- she stood up and took off her school uniform before dinner standing in front of the mirror pretending Benedict was watching her from the bed behind her egging her saying get them off get them off but she knew he never would he'd look out the window or close his eyes and momentarily she stood there gazing at herself standing there in her small bar and underwear wishing he was there behind her on the bed and watching but he wasn't there just her teddy bear laying there disinterestedly gazing into space she took out a blouse from her chest of drawers and a skirt and put them on kicking her school uniform into a corner in a mood hoping he mother wasn't going moan at he rover dinner or her father yak on about his day at work and who he met and who did what and to whom she stood there and gazed at her red hair and few freckles and her eyes staring at her how could he say that to her of all people? That ****** queen? I could have slapped her one I should have done slapped her innocent stare off her ****** face but she liked him liked his hazel eyes that quiff of hair that stare that smile so Elvis like o to have him here to have him in my bed o to have it with him her mother called her for dinner her mother's voice breaking into her thoughts breaking up her desires and wishes like a brick through a window she sighed blew kiss to herself in the mirror and walked down the stairs in her mood wanting *** and Benedict not her mother's company or food.

Lizbeth holds the dress against her. It's new, her mother had bought it for her. The cloth is smooth and soft, but she doesn't like it. She looks at the dress in the mirror inside the wardrobe. She puts the dress down on the bed and takes off the dress she is wearing and lets it drop to the floor, kicks it out of the way. She picks the new dress off of the bed and put it on and pulls at the hem to pull it down fully. She twirls, looking at the dress and how it looks as she twirls. The colour's all wrong; the hang of it she loathes. It falls beneath her knees; too far below. She lifts the dress until it comes above her knees. She twirls again. If only Benedict was here, see muses, if only his eyes were here looking beside me. She lifts the dress higher and smiles. Mother would never approve of that length. She lets the dress drop to the given length. Boring. The material is old fashioned, she thinks, ******* it, pulling at the hem. The dress she pointed out to her mother while shopping in Midhurst was shorter and more colourful and didn't have silly bows at the back. Her mother didn't like it. It would make you look like a ****, her mother had said, like one of those tarts on that pop music show prancing around semi-dressed. She hadn't thought her mother had watched the 6.5 Special Show, but she had. She twirls again and looks in the mirror for any saving details of the dress, but there aren't any. The dress is drab and she will not wear it; she'll put it at the back of the wardrobe and forget it's there. She takes it off and lets it fall to the floor and stamps on it, then kicks it away. She sighs and gazes at herself in the mirror in underclothes and bra. Where is Benedict when you want him? She muses, putting her hands on her hips. Probably on the farm; working in the milk sheds weighing the milk or clearing out the cowsheds, as he did on weekends or after school. She had managed to get him to this room once while her parents were out, but it was to no avail and nothing happened. Her mother is downstairs preparing lunch; she can hear the pots and pans being used; a radio playing some classical stuff. She picks up her old dress and puts it back on. The new dress she hangs on a hanger and puts it at the back of her wardrobe and shuts the door. The old dress, black with red flowers, is becoming small and tight. It reaches just above her knees now and her mother said it was not decent to wear any more, but she wears it and loves it, even if it is tight and holds her firm. She walks the length of her room like a model, swaying her hips, hand held aloft, head tilted. She flops onto her bed and throws out her arms and looks at the ceiling. To think she had Benedict here on this bed that time and nothing happened; God how frustrating. There is plenty of time to think of boys, her mother had said, you're just thirteen, why when I was your age I was playing with dolls and skipping with a rope. Lizbeth hadn't played with her dolls for years; her skipping rope was at the bottom of the wardrobe unused. She sits up and looks at her room. The record player is on the floor by the window; an LP of the Everly Brothers in on the turntable; the sleeve is on the floor next to a cup and saucer, partially covered by soiled underclothes. She was a lazy girl, her mother said, too lazy for her own good. Her father(when he was home at all) said nothing much except how far he had travelled and how many orders he had managed to obtain. A girl at school( in a higher class) had given her a book with illustrations about *** with orders not to let other see it. She had gone through the book umpteen times(mostly gawking at the photos and illustrations) and trying to put into practice what she had read there. The book is at the bottom of the wardrobe in a brown paper bag tied with string( just in case her mother snooped around.) She wants *** with Benedict. She has tried to get him to perform many times, but he is reluctant, makes excuses. She doesn't want other boys. She wants one boy. Benedict. The book has an illustration what the boy has to do and the girl also. She has studied it so many times it is printed on her mind. There is also other illustrations about other things which she finds a bit distasteful. If her mother ever found the book, there would be hell to pay(providing her mother didn't drop with shock). She sighs. Closes her eyes. Embraces herself. Kisses her arms; pretends it is him, his lips kissing. She opens her eyes and stares; he is not there; he is missing.

The bikes were parked outside the small church by a hedge where cows were mooing on the other side black and white cows mooing loudly it was warm the sun was almost over head the church silent other than the mooing cows and the occasional birdsong from hedgerows surrounding the church and churchyard where there were gravestones some quite old some more recent with flowers in vases or pots inside the church sat Lizbeth her red hair let loose over her shoulders dressed in her favourite black dress which was too short-her mother said although Lizbeth liked it so- and white ankle socks and black shoes slightly duffed she sat gazing at the altar end where coloured glass windows let in narrow shards of sunlight that settled on the small altar and the flagstones on the floor next to her sat the boy Benedict who looked at the church roof thinking of the girl wondering if it had been wise to come here again with her after the last time when she had proposed they have *** on one of the pews which they didnt of course as he had rejected such a thing it being a church and all but he had come after she said she wouldnt suggest such a thing again not in the church anyway the roof looked old he thought but it didnt seem to leak and that was good being such a small church and it seemed people seldom came except on the odd Sundays when a parson could be found he sensed her beside him her elbow touched his her thigh pressed against his he knew she pressed it so because he felt her move closer to him in the pew knees touched also it felt as if she was pressing more he couldnt decide for sure but it seemed so if she was going to try it on again he would get up and leave but she seemed content just to sit there and gaze at the altar end at the sunlight coming through the coloured glass windows at the brass crucifix on the altar table where a Christ was welded to the brass cross he sniffed the air surreptitiously her perfume was there strong powerful-she must have bathed in it to get it so strong- the churchy smell dead flowers old stone he closed his eyes briefly wanting to strengthen his senses other than sight other than the visual the sounds hearing sounds birdsong from outside she shifting beside him on the seat of the pew her foot tapping gently on the wooden praying form her hands tapping on the top of the pew smelt her more strongly he decided it was too strong too seductive and that was unsettled him that smell that deliberate soaking herself in such perfume she watched the sunlight shards of it with dust and such floating in the light like small planets in a vast universe of light she knew he was unsettled beside her he seemed rather stiff uneasy as if he feared she was about to pounce upon him and have her wicked way with him undressed him and then both naked **** for all they were worth but she knew she wouldnt get as far as undoing his top button of the shirt he was wearing no more likely than unbutton his jeans and look for his ***** and pull it out with her fingers like a bird with a worm in its beak she sat and stared at the sunlight feeling him beside her his thigh next to hers warm feeling him there stirring her but she had to control the urge fight back the temptation to grab him and kiss him and no no she had to do as she promised and settle for just being there beside him she hoped he could smell the perfume she wore-her mothers half a bottle it seemed splashed over her naked body that morning in the bathroom-you stink to high heaven her mother had said that morning at breakfast and its my perfume youve soaked in no need for so much you smell like a brothel her mother said but whether that was a good thing or not Lizbeth didnt know not knowing what a brothel smelt like anyway or caring for that matter who are you seeing? Her mother asked a boy Lizbeth replied what boy? Lizbeth said just a boy and said no more much to her mothers dissatisfaction and annoyance making her mother more depressed and anxious than normal Benedict looked sideways at her taking in her hair red and loose her freckled skin her bright eyes she looked around at him leaving the altar and crucifix sight alone quiet here she said he nodded I wonder how many people come here on a Sunday she said wanting to hear his voice she didnt care a fig how many dull people came to the church but his voice just the sound of it not many I guess he said more people buried outside than in here she said smiling he liked her smile but it also unsettled him made him feel things he didnt want to feel guess so he said she eyed him he seemed unsure of her maybe he felt unsure of her and himself of what his body might act if it acted at all shed put the short black dress it showed more leg revealed her thighs and if she parted her thighs just so it gave the impression of darker places just about concealed nothing would come of today visit she knew no *** would result no big kissing session much as she wanted it shed be lucky if anything came of it but she needed to keep in touch with him have him not far from her despite the ****** Queen Jane warning her off in that gentle manner at school she sighed he looked at her his hands tucked in his lap her hands wanted to do something wanted to touch him to feel him and deep down some part of her wanted him all wanted him inside her she dreamed of such in her nightly sleep some nights it seemed so real that she leaked O God she thought-God just a word to her not a concept or a being as such- Ive written an essay on this church he said for R.E at school and got good marks for it he added she couldnt give a **** about that but she listened and smiled and said thats good and it must have been interesting she said sure she wouldnt want to read it even if she could he smiled his eyes hazel she thought settled  on her moved over her he settled back in the pew felt the wooden rail against his spine the seat was hard couldnt sit too long here he thought let alone have *** like she wanted that time before he couldnt imagine it in any way seemed too out on a limb and why did she want *** so much what was it about *** that caught her and drove her he wondered keeping his hands away from touching her in case she got the wrong impression she wanted to touch him place a hand on his squeeze his hand put his hand under her dress and let him feel her but no she darent yet not today she turned and faced the altar end again and knew she'd have to dream a dream of this day but have things differently him having her away away and away.

Lizbeth insisted
on us going
to the small church again

we walked
as she had parked
her bike
by the shed door
at the back
of the cottage

it seems longer
when you walk it
she said

same length
different speed
I said

she'd put on
her short black dress
for some reason
not fitting
for this kind
of countryside
her shoes had mud
on them already
where a tractor
had deposited it
all along
the narrow road

don't you have
buses here?
she asked

once a week
I said
Saturdays
2 hours
to do your shopping
in town
then back

2 hours?
she said
I need longer
than that to shop

that's all there is
I said

I hate the countryside
she said
the smell
the quiet
the emptiness
the silly blue sky
and those puffy
white clouds
she seemed annoyed
Benny
how do you stick it?

it's ok
I like it
it has a sense
of peace here
and there are birds
to study and butterflies

O my god
Lizbeth said
I’d die
of boredom here
you'd find me stiff
in some corn field
or whatever ****
grows in these fields

we walked on
in a uneasy silence
for a while

what's she like?
Lizbeth said

who?
I asked

that girl
who lives near you
the girl with
the long straight black hair
and a face like a ******

I knew who she meant
but I said nothing
but pretended
not to know
she lives near me?
I said

yes
well she gets on
your school van
in the mornings
and afternoons
always dresses
like she's going
to a funeral
I see her
in the girl's playground
little Miss No Mates

O you mean Jane
I said
she's good
we have long walks together
and she knows a lot
about nature and birds
and butterflies and beetles
and so on

you walk with her?
Lizbeth said

sure
we often go for walks
when its fine and warm

what do you do?
is she up for it?

up for what?

you know
***?
Lizbeth spat out
the last word
as if
it were too hot
for her tongue

we don't think
about that
kind of thing
I said

Lizbeth looked at me
with raised eyebrows
thought not
she said

we walked up
the narrow lane
to the church
sunlight warming
our heads and backs

if the church is empty
maybe we can
she said

can what?
I said

you know
have S E X

I looked
at the church
appearing above
the hedgerow
and hoped to God
someone was there
some visitor
or vicar
or anyone
to save my day
and stop her fun.

The small hut
on the Downs
unused now

near the hedge
is not what
Lizbeth thought

it would be
is this it?
she mutters

Benedict
nods his head
this is it

there's no light
inside there
probably

got spiders
Lizbeth says
likely to

he replies
and woodlice
and beetles

and field mice
she stands back
mouth open

wide open eyes
she had thought
before this

she could get
Benedict
to have ***

with her here
a nice hut
she had thought

the blanket
an old one
she had brought

from her home
on the ground
cosy warmth

making love
Benedict
entering

into her
with birdsong
going on

the outside
having him
at long last

after months
of planning
and now this

this old hut
damp and dark
with spiders

and field mice
and beetles
and woodlice

making love
in that place
she muses

looking in
wouldn't be
one bit nice

Benedict
unaware
of her ploy

to have ***
in the hut
says mildly

with a smile
bet this place
hasn't seen

no action
in a while.

It was raining
and we were in
the school assembly hall
waiting
for the school buses
to take us home

Lizbeth put her hands
around my waist
and said
guess who?

Mrs G
with the stutter?
I said

she released her hands
and I turned around
no it's me
she said

I guess as much
I said

why did you say
Mrs G?

the first name
that came
into my head
I said

she frowned
then looked around
the hall

how long
before your bus comes?
she asked

shouldn't be long

I wish
there was a room
in this **** school
we could go

why's that?
I asked

she looked at me
seriously
and drew me
away
from other kids nearby

so we could
she said

could what?

you know

play cards?

no
you know
her voice
was a whisper
but a heavy loaded one

play strip poker?

she spelt out the words
with her lips
S-E-X

O I see
I said

I tried hard
to imagine
any room
for such a purpose
but she looked
around the hall
as if a magic room
would appear

can't have it all
I guess
I said

hey Benny
a voice called
the bus is coming

sorry got to go
I said to Lizbeth
try not
to carry on
without me

and I went through
the crowd of kids
and prefects
to the exit
and out through the rain
to the bus
that was waiting

I thinking of Lizbeth
and her need
for *** and mating.

Lizbeth dreams
of Benny

having him
in her bed

just for kicks
her parents

down the stairs
in the lounge

unaware
she's upstairs

with Benny
having ***

in her bed
the first time

at long last
so she dreams

inside her
13 year

old young head
Benny dreams

of Spitfires
in dogfights

or finding
in hedgerows

a blackbird's
nest and eggs

all untouched
or holding

in his palms
a Peacock
butterfly

wings unspoilt
settled there

he dreams not
of Lizbeth

or of ***
anywhere

not in church
or her bed

and knows not
what's inside

his 13
year old head.

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 *****
her finger
imagines

it belongs
to the boy
Benedict

with eyes closed
savouring
each flavour

part salty
vinegar
(having ate

fish and chips
earlier)
tomato

of ketchup
the red thrills
***** deeper

whole mouthfuls
of finger
thinking on

that church pew
old dark wood
where they could

but didn't
have made love
she ***** slow

finger length
the painted
finger nail

salty still
each flavour
so distinct

even in
her chosen
warm darkness

of closed eyes
she passes
over both

her knuckles
warm wet skin
imagines

so hotly
between thighs
him within.