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of seventeen and nineteen, who were both beautiful, and a young widowed mother, and there hung about him that glamour of a house of ripe women. I helped him at his exercises, and in return he partnered me in handball. We started to skate in the evenings together on the shallow pond and to go to the river when the days grew warmer. I was often sick with anxiety when he was absent, able to concentrate on nothing but the bell that would set me free to race to his house.
    I tried to get him to read David
Copperfield
so that we could share a world, but always he had excuses. When the school closed and I had to go to the sea, he promised that he’d have it read by the time I got back. At the sea I spent most of my time alone among the sandhills imagining the conversations we’d have about David
Copperfield
on the riverbank when the slow week by the sea would be over.
    The morning we got back I rushed to his house without waiting to eat. As I pursued him with questions it grew depressingly clear that he’d not read a word and he admitted, ‘I did my best to read it but I fell asleep. It’s too hot. I’ll read it when it rains.’
    â€˜You promised,’ I accused.
    â€˜Honest, I’ll read it when it rains. Why can’t we go to the river same as before!’
    â€˜I don’t want to go to the river. Why don’t we go to see Lavin?’ I said in thirst for some perversity.
    â€˜That’s a great idea.’ I was taken aback by his enthusiasm. ‘Why don’t we see old John?’
    I walked slowly and sullenly to Lavin’s, resentful that he had fallen so easily in with my proposal.
    Tools beginning to rust were outside on the old bench and the door was open. Lavin sat inside, his foot upon a footrest. The foot was wrapped in multicoloured rags that included red flannel and stank in the heat. Casey crossed the shavings-littered floor to the empty fireplace to ask, ‘How’s the old foot, John?’
    â€˜Playing me up, Charley Boy, but Himself was never in better order.’
    â€˜I’ve no doubt,’ Charley laughed loudly.
    I stood close to the door in smouldering anger.
    â€˜How are the two beauties of sisters? The thatch must be good and black and thick, eh? Brimmin’ with juice inside, or have they shaved?’ The smile came instantly, the repetitious fondling voice lingered on each word.
    â€˜No. They didn’t shave it, John. It’s as thick as thatch. Not that thatch is going to be all that thick above your head for long,’ Casey laughed.
    â€˜Never mind the roof now. How is little John Charles coming along? Sprouting nicely?’ He touched Casey’s fly gently with his fingertips.
    â€˜You have to show me yours first. You never saw such a weapon as old John has.’ Casey laughed and winked towards me at the door.
    â€˜No sooner said than done.’ Suddenly Lavin opened his trousers.
    â€˜A fair weapon and as stiff as a stake.’ Casey gripped it in his fist.
    â€˜Know the only place the stiffs get in – the cunt and the grave,’ Lavin joked, his mouth showing black stumps of teeth as he laughed.
    â€˜I bet you put it stiff and hard into the gypsy, old Johnny Balls,’ Casey teased.
    â€˜Yeah, and what about seeing little John Charles now?’
    â€˜Fire ahead,’ Casey laughed. I wanted to shout but couldn’t as Lavin unbuttoned Casey’s fly and gently started to play with it in his fingers.
    â€˜Sprouting along royal, fit for milking any day.’
    He fondled the penis until it was erect and then stretched to take a heavy carpenter’s rule from the mantel.
    â€˜An increase of a good inch since the last time, upon my soul,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come up from the door to see which little John Charles is farthest advanced?’
    â€˜No.’ I fought back tears of rage.
    â€˜Come on,’ Casey said challengingly. ‘Let old John compare