The Swap by Antony Moore Page B

what I'd like to know,' when she came over and joined them. 'Hello, Maisie,' Rob broke off to greet her. 'We are just talking about having sex with household implements,' he added helpfully, 'in case you have any interests in that area.'
    There was a collective leer in which Harvey steadfastly refused to join.
    Maisie smiled. 'No, I prefer garden tools to be honest. Have you seen the garden, Harvey?'
    'Er, no,' Harvey lied loudly to cover the sound of melodramatic intakes of breath from the circle around him.
    'Be gentle with him, Maisie. He's new at this, he may not be ready for the lawnmower. Stick to the shears . . .'
    He followed her out through the open French windows.
    The day had taken a turn towards rain and a light spittle darkened his denim jacket. They walked round the side of the house and found some shelter under a denuded willow tree. She took a cigarette from him and he had to cup his hands round hers to make a wind-break. For a moment it was as if he was holding her hands in his own, as if he was sheltering her. 'Thanks.' she looked at him and he dropped his eyes to concentrate on lighting his own cigarette. Then he looked up and met her gaze. He shivered. He had not seen her outside before, the wind was flicking her autumnal hair out from its neatness and into a wilder frame for her face. It was like watching her lose her civilisation for a second, watching her animalise. He groaned. 'God, you're lovely.' It was the first time he had said anything of the kind and she looked troubled by it, but he did not take it back.
    'Thanks, but you shouldn't say that.'
    He wondered if he had spoken too much or too soon, but really he didn't care. It was not a day for worrying about the niceties. 'Does he tell you that? Jeff, I mean. He should tell you every hour. If you were mine I'd tell you every hour.' Looking back that evening, Harvey found it hard to imagine that he had actually said these words to another human being. He was forced to wonder if perhaps being involved in a major crime had somehow achieved an alchemical reaction in him: transformed him into the dashing and irresistible lover he had always dreamed of being. If so, it was a terrible price, but he was not at this moment sorry to pay it.
    'No, he doesn't tell me that, and nor should you.' She said it as a criticism but he heard the longing in it and felt his stomach turn over. He was suddenly aware how much he wanted her. It was hard to remember anything that he had ever wanted so much. Except, of course, the Superman One . He pulled a face and turned away to look into a different emotion: he could see again the plastic cover and it was stained with bloody fingerprints. 'It's funny, I came down here with Jeff on sufferance. I thought I was going to absolutely hate it.'
    'And you don't?' He hadn't cleaned the fingerprints off because it wasn't there. He could feel the nausea again, the sudden certainty that things weren't going to be all right.
    'Not completely, no. Not completely.'
    Harvey turned back but found she was not looking at him. She had turned too so they had been standing for a moment back to back. He knew that this was a moment. But it was a terribly wrong moment. If he said the right thing to her now he might get what he had just realised he wanted more than anything else. Even that. Especially that. Shit. There had been blood all over his hands. He could feel it on his fingers, feel that sticky, runny, KFC quality it had as he cleaned up. He shook his head from side to side, uncaring of the hangover that still hung like a net curtain around his skull, like that grey net curtain. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 'Oh Christ, Maisie, I don't know what to do.' It came out unexpectedly, as a sort of strangled cry, and he could feel an actual sob in it. He was almost crying and he never cried, or only at ET , never at real stuff and now he was going to cry in front of a woman he was desperate to impress. 'Oh Jesus Christ.' But, completely unexpectedly, the horror