Read Online John the Revelator by Peter Murphy - Free Book Online Page A

what age?’
    â€˜Fifteen.’
    He looked at me sidelong and gestured around the room.
    â€˜We’ll have to sort you out some cute Mercy bird. See anything you like?’
    All the girls looked good to me, but there was one particularly pretty pale girl with red hair sitting with her friends at a table.
    â€˜Her.’
    Jamey followed my line of sight.
    â€˜Oh man,’ he said, ‘you can pick ’em. That’s Rachel Cullen.’
    â€˜She’s nice.’
    He grinned.
    â€˜It’s all war paint. She slow-danced with me once one night and put her head right here’—he patted his shoulder—‘next morning I woke up and found the imprint of her face on my good shirt. It was like the Shroud of Turin.’
    I felt the alcohol buzz kick in, that feeling of being surrounded by a force field, like I had the gift of temporary invincibility.
    â€˜I don’t care,’ I said. ‘I’m going to ask her up.’
    The girl’s table was at the other side of the lounge. To get there I had to negotiate an assault course of chairs and tables and feet. The girl saw me coming and broke off from her conversation. She looked even better up close. Her friends stared like they expected me to make balloon animals or something.
    â€˜Would you like to dance?’ I said, leaning across the table.
    â€˜What?’ she yelled back.
    Her friends exchanged glances and smirked and looked into their drinks.
    â€˜WOULD YOU—’
    The music stopped.
    â€˜â€”LIKE TO DANCE?’
    Rachel Cullen covered her mouth, and the friend to her left coughed
‘freak
into her fist.
    â€˜No thanks,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m with someone.’
    The music restarted. I murmured something lame and beat a retreat. Jamey was holding my pint out.
    â€˜Shot you down?’
    I tried to act nonchalant.
    â€˜You were right. She didn’t look that good up close.’
    Jamey put his arm around my shoulder and leaned in, confidential.
    â€˜See what you did wrong there, though?’
    Like I needed a post-mortem to prolong the ordeal.
    â€˜You walked over there like you were apologizing for being alive. Next time, put your shoulders back and stick your chin out. It’s all attitude, man.’
    â€˜Nah,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘It’s not that. Girls just don’t like me.’
    Jamey flicked my ear.
    â€˜Don’t be stupid. Course they do.’
    â€˜They don’t. I’ve got a bad name around the village.’
    â€˜Why?’
    I drew in a deep breath. It was kind of embarrassing, but I figured if he was my friend, I could tell him.
    â€˜Well,’ I said, ‘this one time in school there was a free class. Everyone was playing spin-the-bottle. When the bottle pointed at you, you had to tell some sort of secret. When it came around to me, I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think of any secrets, so I made one up.’
    â€˜So what did you say?’
    â€˜I said I had a secret desire to stick it in a jar of worms.’
    Jamey snorted.
    â€˜You’re joking, man.’
    I smiled a bit.
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜And did you?’
    â€˜Naw, I just wanted to shock them. It was all over the school in no time. All these Mercy girls kept coming up to me on the street and asking was it true. I just said yeah. It was easier than explaining.’
    â€˜Oh boy,’ Jamey said. ‘A jar of worms.’
    The slow set ended. The DJ put on something loud and angry sounding, and couples dispersed like it was a fire drill. Blokes wearing cut-off denims charged the floor and played imaginary guitars and whipped their greasy hair in a rotary motion.
    We drank our beers and Jamey got us a couple more. It was so hot I gulped it down, but didn’t seem to be getting any drunker. The DJ played another slow set and one long fast one and then the national anthem. The lights came on and everyone stood except for Jamey, who