Demo Page 4

  They look at each other for a bit longer. Danny leans back in his chair. Then Julian.

  I look round and see the B&B guy still there. I don’t think he’s noticed anything. I didny know his name was Abensur either. What kind of coffee d’you want? I says to Julian.

  Black. Americano, he says. Large.

  Mother’s little helper, Danny says.

  Mr Abensur smiles at me when I come over. He’s ayeways smilin. And when I says what I want and point to Julian, he looks delighted. He fits a thing like an ice-cream scoop onto the coffee grinder and pulls a lever three times. He undoes it and twists it onto his shiny machine. The smell of coffee wafts up again. Then he takes this like bowl and puts it under the nozzle, presses the red button and the coffee starts to trickle out. When it stops he takes the bowl and holds it under the hot water bit, presses a button. It hisses and steams and the bowl’s full of black black coffee.

  I take it over, the guy says. No handles. Hot.

  I follow him to the table and he sets the bowl of coffee carefully in front of Julian.

  Grazie, signor, Julian says. É molto gentile.

  The guy’s eyebrows go up at the Italian. Prego, he says.

  I think he would’ve stayed and spoke more, but Julian pulls the cuffs of his shirt down over his hands, cups them round the bowl and lifts it up to his face. He takes a slurp and then keeps the bowl up at his chin, props his elbows on the table and looks out the window. Mr Abensur turns to go.

  Grazie, signor, I says, and he flashes a smile at me as he walks away. Prego, signorina.

  Oooh! Danny holds one finger up to his cheek and makes his mouth into a poncy oh. We all speaka da lingo now, do we? I don’t know why he’s bein a prick. Julian pays no attention. He keeps his eyes on the street and takes a sip of his coffee now and again.

  I’m fed up with this. I want to get out and do something. I says, Is anybody goin out before the demo starts? I would like to see the shops an that.

  Shops! Danny says. Shops! You’re in Florence for two days and you want to see the shops? Away tay fuck.

  Well, I don’t know what else to go and see. And I’m no seein nothin sittin here listenin to your crap, am I? I’m goin back upstairs to get the guidebook.

  L’Accademia’s near here, Julian says. Would you like to go there? He looks at me with they blue eyes again.

  What’s L’Accademia?

  Ah… it’s where David is.

  David?

  Yeah, Michelangelo’s David? You know?

  Aye, alright, I says.

  Well, Laetitia and me’s goin to the Duomo, Danny says. He gets up and pushes his chair in. See you back here at two.

  Julian watches him goin, then he turns to me. Clare… he says. He’s lookin down at his coffee. I think he’s goin to say somethin about last night and I can feel my heart thumpin. But he just gets up and says, Let’s go.

  The outside of the building doesny look like an art gallery; there’s just a door straight onto the street round the corner fae the B&B. Julian pushes it open. I’m right behind him and catch a whiff of his dreads. I wonder how he washes them. I wonder if he’s washed off the snot. There’s a woman in a glass kiosk inside the door. Julian hands over some euros and gets two tickets; stuffs them in the pocket of his combat jacket.

  The gallery’s got a big high ceilin and there’s like statues all round the walls. One a them’s got one arm behind him, twisted up his back and the other one coverin his face. His feet are still buried and his prick’s been knocked off. He looks like he’s pure stuck in the stone.

  Another one is sorta sittin in the stone and he’s holdin this big block where his head should be. And then there’s one wae a beard and bands round his legs. The muscles on his chest look deadead real. His arm’s up over his head like the other one.

  Quattro Prigioni, Julian says. No prizes for guessing what that means. He’s lookin at the guidebook, then he looks up at me.

  I don’t know what it means, I says, but they look kinda trapped to me. They look like they’re tryin to pull theirsels out the stone. It’s excitin… and… dead sad.

  Spot on, Julian says. They’re slaves or prisoners. That one’s ‘Lo schiavo barbuto’, the bearded slave. That’s ‘Lo schiavo giovane’, the young slave; and that’s… that poor sod’s Atlas with the whole world on top of him.

  You should’ve been a teacher, I says to him. He sounds like a teacher sometimes. Makes me feel like a wean. And what’s this one? I says. I point to one that looks like he’s lyin in a bed, except he’s standin up, stretchin.

  That’s ‘Lo schiavo che si ridesta’, the Awakening Slave.

  If he lay back down, the stone would fold over him again and cover him up.

  And there he is… ‘the ugliest masterpiece of Western sculpture’… according to the guidebook. Julian points at the huge statue at the end a the gallery. The David. I look up at it. And then I look back at the slaves. It’s like… that’s it … if you manage to get out the stone… you… you can… he’s so amazin… I don’t care what the guidebook says. You’ve saw him so many times before on like postcards and different things, you wouldny think it would be a surprise. But it is. He’s so big. And still. He’s got that frown on his forehead and his eyes are lookin into the distance, as if he can see for miles… Through the walls of the gallery. Over the city. Right across the fields and the mountains… I feel my eyes pricklin.

  … Clare. Clare? You still with us?

  What?

  I was saying, look at the size of his hands… compared to his dick, Julian says.

  What? Oh… yeah. He’s… amazin.

  That’s not what I said.

  What? Julian’s startin to annoy me. I wish he would leave me alone.

  Come on, space cadet, what planet you on? Julian comes right round in front of me, takes both my hands and stares at me. Why, I do believe you’re crying. And for that great adolescent lump of marble too. But he puts his hands up to my cheeks and thumbs away the tears. Then he slides them down to my mouth and I can taste the salt on them.

  Clare. He pulls my head towards him and kisses me on the forehead. His dreads all fall forward and cover both our faces. Like hidin under a tree when you were wee. Come on, he says, dead soft. Let’s take a closer look.

  Julian takes my hand and we walk towards him. David. He grows bigger the nearer we get. The floor is dark polished wood. Light from the high windows is lyin in squinty squares on it, crisscrossed with the shadows of the wooden frames. There’s hardly anybody else there. Just a guy and a woman walkin about arm in arm. He’s got silver hair – no grey, silver – and a long sort a mac. He looks dead classy. She’s got blonde hair and a mac too and her hand’s in a leather glove peepin through at the crook of his elbow. They look like they’re going thegether, even though they must be pretty ancient. Older than my ma and da. We walk past them. The man covers the woman’s hand with his and looks into her face, smilin.

  Do you reckon we make as handsome a couple as they do? Julian takes my hand under his arm like the guy and pats it and looks right at me and smiles. I get that feelin again low down, sharp and sweet, and my knees go wobbly. But I keep walkin.

  He’s dead big, the David. When we’re right in front of him he towers over us. Well, what do you think of our boy close up? Julian says. You know Michelangelo started it when he was about my age, twenty-six, and finished it by the time he was thirty. He pulls the guidebook out his pocket. ‘Michelangelo always saw carving as a form of extraction, believing that his task was “merely to release the figure from its stone prison”.’ Hence the prigioni.

  Somethin about it makes me want… to no talk. Just look.

  D’you see what I mean about his hands, though? Julian says. And his prick. Should’ve kept his fig leaf on. Look – he points to a screen in the corner – there’s the interactive computer programme. Let’s have a go.

  No, you’re alright. I’ll stay here. He looks at me funny. I want to see the real thing, I says. He goes off
to the computer hissel. I just stand there in front of the David. And look.

  *

  By the time we start walkin out the gallery there’s a lot more folk in. Some a them have badges on and like berets and hats and T-shirts of Che Guevara and must be goin to the demo too. One guy is campin it up for his pal and doin a pose like the David wae his hip out and his other knee bent a wee bit. And he hangs his scarf over his shoulder like David’s sling.

  Let’s get out of here, Julian says. If you’ve seen enough?

  Yeah, there’s too many people now, you can’t see anythin properly.

  Julian looks at me and laughs. His dreads look all happy again and dancin. Quite the culture vulture, aren’t you?

  No I’m no. It’s just… I’ve never saw anything like that afore. I feel silly and my face is goin red again. I’m comin back here someday, I says.

  We can hardly get by people on the pavement now, it’s got so busy. And noisy. And it’s no safe to step onto the street, cause the cars and scooters are roarin by that fast. Julian looks around at me.

  What a very definite girl you are. At first I think he’s takin the piss. But he’s lookin at me dead serious. I believe you will. Come back one day, I mean. And it’s been my great privilege to accompany you on your maiden voyage.

  He stops on the pavement, turns round and takes my hand. But today, come back to the hotel, he says. With me.

  It sounds like an order but I know it’s really a question, cause his eyebrows are up and his eyes look a bit scared. Dead blue. But scared.

  Aye alright, I says. And he smiles and starts walkin faster.

  Julian’s room’s different fae ours. Only one bed. But it’s big, a double bed. The duvet’s sorta pinky orangey. Colour of a sunset. The walls are yellow. And there’s photos of the Ponte Vecchio on them. No Our Lady.

  This time, Julian’s took his jacket off as soon as we come in and he flings it in the corner. He goes back to the door and turns the key. That’s us locked in. He smiles at me, then he opens the other door and goes into the toilet.

  I sit on the bed but I keep my coat on. When Julian comes out, the zip of his jeans is still down and I can see his pants. He’s got a hard-on already.

  Clare. He comes and stands in front of me and pulls me up by the hood of my coat. My head comes to just under his chin and his wee beard tickles my forehead. He pushes me back and takes my face in his hands.

  I lick my lips. He takes my hand and puts it to his mouth. Then he bends down and kisses me on the lips… kissin and kissin me. His mouth is soft and wet. He puts his tongue between my teeth and touches my tongue. It tastes salty.

  Then he steps back. Clare, he says. And he starts to take my coat off. When he’s got my arms pinned to my sides with the fur of the hood soft on my bare back, he kisses me again.

  We’re gonny miss the demo. He’s holdin my face and his fingers are up the back of my head. He laughs.

  No, we’ll make it. Don’t worry, I’ll get you there. And he pulls me to him and starts kissin me again, all over my face. My coat slips down my arms onto the floor. He pushes me back towards the bed so I have to sit down. Then he puts his knees on too, one either side of me and lies down on top of me so I have to lie back. I push my boots off with my toe on the heel and they clatter to the floor. Julian puts his arm round the back of my waist and hoists me further up so’s my head’s on the pillow and I’m lyin diagonal across the bed. His dreads are hangin over his face and his white pants are bulgin out the V of his zip. He takes my hand and puts it on his thing. It still feels dead weird to be doin this. I squeeze my hand in over the top of the elastic that says cK cK cK and burrow through the hair till I hold it in my hand. But he’s different this time… impatient. He jumps off the bed and hauls off his boots and socks and jeans. Then his pants. His… cock… springs back up out them when he pulls them down. He gets on the bed again and starts unzippin me and pullin hard at the waistband. I push up my hips to help him and he peels my jeans right off, inside out and flings them across the room.

  Julian, wait

  It’s OK. Just relax. He takes hold of my knickers and rips them down. The lace scratches me. I can hear it tearin.

  Wait… Julian…

  But he’s on top of me now and his dreads are coverin my face and I can’t get my hands up to push him off. He prises my legs open and next thing… he shoves into me… and I scream…

  Julian, stop… you’re hurtin me.

  But it’s like he can’t hear me.

  Julian…

  He keeps bangin it into me and bangin and bangin.

  Please, Julian…

  And then he lets out a groan and he shudders and falls heavy on top of me. He’s breathin fast into my ear and it feels all wet.

  Oh fuck, he says. It sounds thick and muffled through my hair and his. Oh fuck.

  I don’t say nothin. Just lie there. I can hardly breathe the way he’s got me pinned down. I have to just lie there.

  The one picture of the Ponte Vecchio is all the traders and tourists. I have to blink to see it right. In the bottom left-hand corner there’s the edge of this stall with models of the David. They look funny. I blink again, harder. They’re too long. Skinny. The wrong white. Maybe it’s the photo. The other picture is of the bridge fae a distance, with the bits stickin out like the backs of sheds and the red roofs of the houses. The brown river runnin underneath. Different fae Glasgow.

  Totally different.

  Julian’s breathin quieter now, so I shift under him. He pushes himsel up on his hands with his arms straight. He’s still in me. I can’t see his face for his dreads but I get the feelin he’s smilin. I pull mysel up the bed on my elbows and I can feel his prick wee and soft slidin out of me.

  Clare?

  I don’t answer.

  He rolls off me onto his elbow and looks at me. Are you crying? Clare?

  I roll over the other way and pull myself off the bed.

  Where are you going?

  I pick my jeans and my knickers off the floor and go into the bathroom. It’s white too, same as ours. I lock the door. My face is pale in the mirror and my hair is stickin to the side of my head where Julian’s slavered on me. I set my clothes on the bidet and fill the basin with hot water.

  Julian’s at the door. Listenin.

  Clare? Clare, please talk to me. What’s the matter?

  I pick up my torn knickers and dip them in the water and squeeze them.

  Are you alright? Clare!

  Then I wash myself down there. I’m still sore. When I look at my knickers, they’re all blood and slime. I rinse them again. The water turns pink.

  Talk to me, Clare. Are you there?

  I wash mysel and rinse and wash and rinse and wash and rinse. Then I pull the plug out. All the pink water swirls away.

  Clare! He bangs once on the door. C’mon. What you doing? You’re scaring me.

  I take one of the white towels off the chrome rail and dry between my legs and where the water’s ran down them. I hang the towel back up. There’s only a faint pink smear. I hope Mr Abensur doesny see it.

  He thumps again. Harder. Clare!

  I lift my jeans, put my arm down the legs and turn them the right way out. Then I step into them, pull them on and do them up. I make sure the zip doesny catch any a the hairs in my pubes.

  Clare, you’re being childish. Open the door.

  I pick my knickers out the basin, squeeze the water out, drop them in the pedal pin beside the sink. No. I press the pedal again with my bare foot and fish them out. It might be Mr Abensur who empties the bins. Or his wife. I squeeze them a bit more into the sink. Then I stuff them in the pocket of my jeans.

  Clare, I’m going to break the door down… if you don’t talk to me… tell me what’s the matter.

  I slide back the chrome bolt and open the door. Julian steps backwards. It looks like the whole room behind him is full of sun. But it’s only the yellow walls and the orange duvet.

  Clare. Julian takes my hands
and looks at my face. His eyes look worried. Clare, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. Tell me, Clare. It’s just I thought…

  I’m alright, I says. I walk past him and pick up my boots. Then I go to sit on the bed to put them on. There’s a stain right in the middle of the duvet. Like a big red poppy.

  Oh God! I start to cry again. Look what we’ve did…

  Julian sits on the bed beside me and puts his arm round my shoulder. Clare, it’s alright. I’m sorry… I didn’t realize you were… I didn’t know you hadn’t … you’d never… you know… done it before.

  I told you…I told you…I told you…

  Shhh, Clare, shhh. It’s alright. I’m sorry. It’s alright.

  Somebody hammers on the door. Really loud.

  Julian, you there?

  It’s Danny!

  Time to go, man. Demo’s due to start.

  I stop breathin.

  Is Clare wae you?

  Julian puts a finger to his mouth and squeezes my shoulder with his other hand.

  Julian?

  They should be back by this time, Danny says to somebody. Twisted cunt, that yin.

  A woman’s voice answers. Laetitia it must be, but I don’t hear what she says. Danny gives the door one last thump. Then they go away.

  Julian comes round the front of me and kneels on the floor. Forget about Danny, he says. He pulls his hand inside the sleeve of his shirt and uses it to wipe my face.

  Don’t cry, Clare. Please. I’m really sorry. That was insensitive of me.

  Is that what you call it? I think to myself. I’m cold. I cross my arms over my chest. Julian takes my arms and pulls them apart. Slow.

  Don’t, I says.

  Clare… don’t be like that. Please. He puts his hands under my oxters, stands up and pulls me up at the same time. I notice he’s got his jeans on again. He presses me to him and puts his arms round me and sorta rocks me. And sways me. Then he like starts to slow dance me round the floor. Singin.

  No woman, no cry…

  He kisses the top of my head.

  No woman, no cry …

  He combs my hair with his fingers and sings about Trenchtown and havin good friends and losin them and dryin my tears. His voice is soft. It doesny sound posh when he sings. He even looks a bit like Bob Marley, only white. He kisses my eyes.