In Loco Parentis Read Online Free Page A

armpit. A concentrated body odour with a bit of skunk thrown in. It makes us laugh.
    Standing up feels good. I like being high up. Stretch up and onto my tiptoes. Almost make the ceiling.
    â€œIt’s great up here. Try it.”
    She puts her tea down. Tries to reach up. I watch her top rise and her jeans lower leaving a deliciously pale strip of midriff exposed, an amethyst sparkling blue at her navel.
    She’s seen me looking. It’s too late to pretend.
    â€œLooking trim,” I tell her.
    â€œI’ve been working out.” She stretches higher, revealing more skin. “Work has a gym.”
    It’s clearly working for her. Her stomach’s flat and tight. I want to kiss it.
    At some point we both reach too far, wobble and collapse into each other.
    From inside my arms she looks up. Maybe it’s the drugs, but she looks like a goddess. I try and remember the last time I saw her. Quickly try and blank it out.
    Her face gets close. She turns and rests her head on my chest. I lift my hand and give her hair a stroke.
    â€œMissed you,” she says.
    We start swaying to the music. It’s nice to have her close.
    â€œMe too.” She looks up and I see tears in her eyes.
    â€œReally?” she asks.
    â€œReally.”
    Her head drops again and we sway together until the urge to smoke takes over from everything else.
    A couple of smokes and a fresh cuppa later and the music’s done.
    Jenny springs forward right at me. “Bumpers,” she says and sets to rubbing the wall behind me. “Fucking bumpers.”
    â€œI thought bumpers stopped you from swearing,” I remind her.
    â€œShove the fucking bumpers up your arse. Look at the mess.”
    Turning my head I see it, like an enormous purple bruise on the wallpaper where I’ve been leaning.
    â€œBumpers,” I say and burst out laughing.
    When she laughs too, I feel the warm sensation of relief build into desire.
    We’re inches apart.
    It’s too late now.
    Our lips meet and move and find a rhythm of their own.
    And I think to myself, ‘Oh God, what have I done,” before getting on with the kissing and letting my fingers stray to the metal ring in her nipple.

mea culpa
    I can’t face telling her I’m off, so I wait until she’s out for the day with her mates.
    I’ve told her I’d cook the dinner, so I’ve bought a pizza from Booths with a ready made salad, a tiramisu pudding and a bottle of sparkly wine for her when she gets in.
    Next to the food on the table is a video from down the road. It’s ‘Gone With The Wind.’ It’s supposed to be my little joke. I hope she thinks it’s funny.
    I pack my bag, clean up a bit behind me and sit with a pen and paper.
    â€œDear Jenny,” is as far as I get.
    Screwing the paper up, I throw it at the bin. And miss.
    There’s nothing to say, yet it has to be said.
    I go to the fridge. Move the magnets around.
    Find an ‘m’ and an ‘e’ and an ‘a’ and know what to write after all. My mistake, 3 letters and 5.
    The car’s parked by the river. It knows just where to go. Penwortham, Lostock Hall, Bamber Bridge, London.

home
    Four hours is a lot of thinking time. Too much if you ask me.
    It was rattling round in my head along with the shake of the exhaust and the humming of the engine.
    Like a scratched record, my brain, the way it clicks into a thought and repeats it until I can’t bear it any more. Only difference is a record only needs a nudge to get it moving again.
    Starts off with the guilty feelings that mass in my stomach. It’s like nausea, except it expands like cancer. Makes me want to tear it out and chuck it away.
    I imagine the way she’ll feel when she gets home. The phone calls we’ll have just like the last time and the time before. I picture taking her in my arms to make it better, then taking her to bed and putting the world to rights. And then the