Flick by Abigail Tarttelin Page B

to go down on her and come up choking on salt water. People walk past and stare at us, then one of us will pop up and they’ll look quickly away again, at the sight of my dick or Rainbow’s tits.

RAINBOW TIME
    We walk to Rainbow’s place to dry off. It’s a fifteen-minute walk along the beach towards Ness, and then about five minutes inland. The house is detached, probably Georgian, and made of huge stones painted in soft yellow. The inside is large and bright and covered everywhere with framed kids’ drawings in pinks and oranges, inspirational quotations from famous historic people, maps of the solar system. Every bit of wall space is filled, and I hear my mam’s voice mutter darkly in my head: “There’ll be Blu-Tack marks.” Rainbow points out the wooden floor they’ve redone themselves and pads about, showing me around, proudly gesturing to the decoration, which has all been done in the two months since they moved in.
    There are photos of them everywhere, Rainbow in her school uniform a few years ago; Tim, her brother, at about the age of seven running a race with a load of other kids; her mums standing with the kids at some sort of rally, the Houses of Parliament behind them, the two kids in their early teens. I realize there aren’t any baby photos, then think, Of course, ’cause two women can’t make a baby. I guess I’d just presumed Rainbow belonged to one of them, maybe from a previous marriage or something. Feeling a bit awkward, I say, “So did one of your mums . . . you know . . .”
    She raises an eyebrow at me and laughs. “Give birth to me?”
    I grin. “I was gonna say ‘push you out,’ but yeah, that’s probably a nicer way to put it.”
    Rainbow shakes her head. “Nah, they adopted me. They fostered me for a while first, but we pretty much knew we were meant for each other right away.”
    She’s smiling, like it’s a happy memory, but I still don’t know what to say to that. “Huh,” I manage. “How old were you?”
    â€œEight when they started to foster me, eleven when we made it formal. Pretty old really. But they wanted to adopt an older kid.”
    â€œYeah, babies are a lot of work.”
    She gives me a look. “I think it was more to do with the fact that a lot of people don’t want to adopt older kids, so they get left in the system.”
    â€œOh. Shit. I mean, yeah, of course. Sorry.”
    She laughs and walks into the kitchen. It’s bright because it’s in an extension and the roof and walls are all glass. Bow opens the fridge and takes out a carton of chocolate soy milk. “It’s okay. You want one?”
    â€œIs it like Nesquik?”
    She frowns. “I guess. We’re not allowed stuff like that.”
    â€œStuff like what?”
    â€œPowdered milk, Pop-Tarts. You know, junk.”
    I splutter. “Junk?”
    â€œYou don’t think they’re junk?”
    â€œI eat Pop-Tarts like they’re a food group.”
    She hands me out a glass and we toast, grinning.
    â€œSo what about Tim?” I ask, gesturing to a picture and getting milk on my arm. I suck it off my sleeve. “Is he adopted?”
    â€œYeah, he’s three years younger than me and they fostered us both around the same time, so he was five years old. They adopted him pretty much immediately though, ’cause his parents are dead.”
    â€œAh, I see, and they wanted to wait with you ’cause you might have turned into a troublemaker?” I nod and wink at her. “I get that.”
    Rainbow grins and pokes my stomach in a sexy way. “Well, you have to be available to be adopted,” she says softly, which I don’t really understand, but then she floors me with a suggestive eyebrow lift and I forget what we were talking about, how to ask questions, my own name, etc. Bow murmurs, “Shall we go