Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 3

'What are you two doing up here being all antisocial?' asked a self-a.s.sured, slightly tipsy voice from the gate down to the sh.o.r.e. 'Come on. We need everyone we can get down on the beach.'

Alex looked up to see Freya standing in front of them, holding an elaborate c.o.c.ktail.

'We're just hanging out here for a few minutes,' replied Grace, sitting more upright in the tiki swing.

'Is he serenading you?' Freya smiled, nodding her head towards the guitar. She walked over to Alex and picked up the instrument, strumming the strings with her long painted fingernails and making an ugly noise.

Alex winced. 'Careful with that, eh?'

She looked at him and gave a playful half-smile. 'Music's not my strong point. Why don't you show me how to play? Then I can tell everyone the new John Lennon taught me the guitar.'

Feeling flattered, Alex glanced nervously up at Grace, but she just raised her eyebrows.

Sighing, he took the guitar and put his arm round Freya. 'OK, put your first finger here on the G string,' he said.

'Saucy,' she purred.

Alex flushed as he felt his c.o.c.k go hard. Behind him Grace's sandals clattered on the decking as she stood up.

'I've just got to go somewhere for a minute.'

Alex put the guitar down and frowned. 'Where are you going?'

'Back to the dessert trolley probably,' sn.i.g.g.e.red Freya under her breath.

He watched Grace disappear through the gate, and by the time he had turned round, Freya had lain down along the side of the pool, her top riding so high up her torso he could see the curve of her tanned b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Unable to help himself, he pictured her naked and wondered, not for the first time that holiday, what s.e.x would be like with her. Part of him definitely wouldn't mind finding out.

'Where's home again when we leave Angel?' she asked languidly.

'Ches.h.i.+re,' said Alex, hoping it sounded posher than Macclesfield.

'Are you ever in London?'

'I will be in September. My college is in Marylebone.'

'My boyfriend has a flat not too far from there.'

'I might b.u.mp into you then,' said Alex, wis.h.i.+ng he could think of something more funny or interesting to say.

She leant up on one elbow, looking at Alex searchingly. 'He wants me to move in with him.'

'And you don't?' he replied, wondering if they were about to have a deep and meaningful conversation.

Freya sighed. 'I should, he's every girl's dream really. A banker, got a Ferrari and a huge p.e.n.i.s,' she whispered conspiratorially. 'But I think I'm too young to be tied down, don't you?'

She sat up, swept her hair off the back of her neck and tied it on top of her head. The long, tanned nape of her neck was beautiful, just like the skin of an apricot.

'I'm going inside,' she said. 'Are you coming?'

Something in the way she was looking at him suggested she wanted to have s.e.x with him, which prompted a sudden, inexplicable flurry of nerves. She looked experienced in bed. Too experienced.

'Shouldn't we go back to the beach? Bit rude to leave everyone for too long.'

Freya touched the top of his thigh. 'I wouldn't bother,' she said. 'Sarah's had a skinful and Grace, I love her, but she's such a b.l.o.o.d.y bore.'

'I think Grace is a laugh.'

'Are we talking about the same person?'

Her disloyalty surprised him. 'I thought you two had been friends for a million years?'

'Well, yes,' giggled Freya,'because her daddy's got the best private island in the Caribbean.' She moved towards him and ran her finger down his arm. 'Look, I've got some Es in my room.'

Alex almost laughed. Here he was, on a tropical island with a gorgeous twenty-something girl offering herself and some expensive drugs to him, so why was he hesitating? He looked at her. Yes, she's fit, Yes, she's fit, he thought. he thought. But she's a b.i.t.c.h But she's a b.i.t.c.h.

'I don't think this is a good idea,' he said.

'Why not?'

'Well, for one thing, you've got a boyfriend back home.'

'A proper rock star wouldn't bother about things like that.'

There was a cough behind them and they both turned.

'Not disturbing anything here, am I?'

Miles' voice was barely audible thanks to the French cigarette that was dangling out of his mouth. He was carrying a slim green bottle and a pitcher of water, which he put on the table by the pool.

'No, no. I was just coming,' said Alex, picking up his guitar.

'Is that so?' Miles smiled, glancing at Freya then back to Alex.

'What's that?' asked Freya, nodding at the bottle.

'Nothing for young ladies,' he said, stubbing his cigarette out on the table.

Freya fixed her mouth into a thin, pinched line and tossed her hair over her shoulder. 'Have it your way, then,' she said, glaring at Alex, then turned and walked into the house.

'So, are you going to f.u.c.k her?' asked Miles as she disappeared.

'No,' said Alex quickly.

'Never say never, old boy.' Miles smiled. 'The night's still young, and from what friends in Bristol tell me, she spreads her legs more often than a Russian gymnast.' He looked at Alex with an amused arch to his eyebrow. 'Want a drink then?'

Alex picked up the bottle and looked at it. 'What is it?'

'Absinthe.'

'Really? Isn't this stuff banned?' asked Alex, looking at the label. He'd heard of absinthe it was supposed to be the drug of choice for artists and poets. He liked the sound of it.

'It's not technically illegal,' said Miles. 'You can get it if you know where to look. This is from Czechoslovakia. I got it back in February when I stayed in Prague.'

Miles produced two small gla.s.ses, a spoon and what looked like sugar cubes from his shorts pockets.

'It's eighty per cent proof. Excellent quality,' he said distractedly as he poured a measure of the green liquid into each gla.s.s. Placing a sugar cube on the spoon, he dipped it into one of the gla.s.ses then balanced the spoon on the rim. Glancing at Alex, he flicked his gold Dunhill lighter and with a 'pop!' the sugar cube lit up.

'Wow,' said Alex, genuinely enthralled by the ritual. It was one thing he had noticed about the rich: they liked their rituals.

Miles tipped the sugar cube into the gla.s.s and poured water on top, dousing the flames. He pa.s.sed the warm gla.s.s to Alex, who gingerly lifted it to his lips and took a sip. It didn't taste all that great but he was determined not to show it.

'Baudelaire, Rimbaud, even Aleister Crowley, the wickedest man in the world, loved this stuff,' said Miles as he set his own drink on fire.

'Aren't we supposed to see a green fairy or something?' said Alex, feeling his lips burn.

'f.u.c.k knows,' said Miles, knocking his back. 'Just drink it and see.'

They each had another, then Miles gestured towards the beach.

'Let's walk,' he said. 'And leave the b.l.o.o.d.y guitar here. I've had enough of Angus' singing tonight.'

'But I've had absinthe,' said Alex with a smile. 'I'm supposed to be at my creative peak. Maybe the world's greatest pop song will come to me as I stare out to sea.'

'I'm prepared to take that risk,' said Miles.

They walked down a path along the side of the house which sloped gently downwards towards the beach at the east of the island. The vegetation thickened and for a few minutes they were walking through dark forest, the only light coming from the moon s.h.i.+ning through the trees.

Alex was grateful when they emerged on a small crescent of sand known as Paradise Cove. The moon sent a cone of s.h.i.+mmering silver across the black sea and they walked out to the water's edge.

'Can I ask you a question?'

'Course.'

It was something he had been desperate to ask Miles for a long time. 'Why are we friends?'

It had taken Alex a long time to fit into Danehurst. For the first three years he had taken refuge with the two other music scholars.h.i.+p boys, Kim Yip, a violin prodigy, and Ivan Blade, whose parents had defected from the Soviet Union. They stuck together like glue, bonded by their furious work ethic. Not that Alex needed endless practice because to him, playing music was as natural as breathing. But by the time he joined the sixth form, he considered himself quite cool. He loved bands like the Jesus and Mary Chain and The Fall, read magazines like The Face The Face and and ID ID and kitted himself out in army surplus clothes. Cool. But not cool enough to be friends with Miles Ashford. and kitted himself out in army surplus clothes. Cool. But not cool enough to be friends with Miles Ashford.

'You've been quite a project in social engineering, son,' said Miles with a slow grin. 'I think I've proved how anyone, even a horrible northerner like you, can acquire social polish just by hanging around with me.'

'Right,' said Alex, fearing all along that that might have been the answer.

'I'm joking,' he said flatly.

Alex felt relief, and then a strong pang of affection for his friend. 'Well in that case, I'm going to miss you.'

'We've got the grand tour of Europe to come yet.'

'I thought you were just showing off to Oscar and Angus.'

'Me? Show off?' Miles smiled.

'Come on, Miles. You know I can't afford a trip like that.'

'If you can pay for your travel, I'll sort out the rest.'

Alex put a friendly arm around Miles' shoulder and took his cigarette off him for a long drag. 'When do you start at Oxford again?'

'October sometime.'

'That's late, isn't it?'

'Short term-time for the elite, my friend,' said Miles as he lit another cigarette. 'Still, you can come down any time of course, although I expect I'll be very busy. The thing about Oxford is that there are more opportunities than there is time to take them up.'

'What do you have in mind? President of the Union? The student paper?'

'G.o.d no! The social life.'

'You can come to London, too.'

'And stay in your fleapit student digs?' Miles said mischievously. 'No thank you.'

'I need to sit down. That absinthe is evil.'

'Over here.'

They walked back up the beach to the gentle slope of still-warm sand that ran up to the virgin forest behind them and flopped down. For a few minutes they lay in silence, looking up at the inky star-sprayed sky. Alex wished he had his Walkman with him. A moment like this deserved a soundtrack something bittersweet and melancholic like The Smiths or REM. He closed his eyes, trying to lock the memory into his brain.

'What are you doing?' asked Miles, laughing gently. He had turned on his side and was propping himself up on his elbow, watching his friend with amus.e.m.e.nt.

'Trying to remember the moment. You know, for when I'm stuck in my fleapit student garret with a view of nothing but dry rot.'

'Alex?'

Before Alex even realised what was happening, Miles had moved towards him, cupping his hand around Alex's chin to pull him closer, his lips descending on to Alex's in a soft kiss. For a moment Alex relaxed into Miles' embrace; it felt strange, but not unpleasant, like biting into some unknown exotic fruit. Miles' tongue gently pushed into his mouth, his breath shuddering with arousal, and they were caught in a moment of desire. But, in a rush, Alex suddenly felt Miles' erection through his thin linen shorts and he sprang away as if he'd been burnt by fire. He scrambled to his feet then froze, paralysed by embarra.s.sment, looking intently away from his friend, not daring even to breathe.

'I thought that's what you wanted,' said Miles quietly. His voice was low, with a hint of menace.

Alex glanced at his friend, who was now lying back on the sand, and suddenly he felt angry. It was typical of Miles to twist this situation and make him feel as if that sudden, unexpected kiss had been his own fault. Alex certainly had affection for Miles, in fact it may even have bordered on hero-wors.h.i.+p at times, but this wasn't wasn't what he wanted, not at all. He felt his stomach clench: had it been what Miles had wanted all along? Was what he wanted, not at all. He felt his stomach clench: had it been what Miles had wanted all along? Was that that why they had been such unlikely friends? He searched his mind for memories at Danehurst an unwanted touch perhaps or a lingering look as they showered together after rugby but there was nothing. He shook his head. Miles wasn't gay; he'd been going out with Sasha for ever. why they had been such unlikely friends? He searched his mind for memories at Danehurst an unwanted touch perhaps or a lingering look as they showered together after rugby but there was nothing. He shook his head. Miles wasn't gay; he'd been going out with Sasha for ever.

'Come on, Miles,' said Alex with a nervous laugh. 'We're both just a bit p.i.s.sed. No need to get all soppy, eh?'

Miles sat up and fixed Alex with a stare as he lit a cigarette. 'You f.u.c.king started it.'

Alex suddenly realised they weren't alone. Both boys looked back towards the path. Standing watching them was a young man in Angel Cay's navy-blue staff shorts and polo s.h.i.+rt.

Miles jumped hastily to his feet and gave the boy a confrontational stare. 'What are you looking at?'

The boy took a few steps back. 'Sorry, nothing.'