A sea mist rose slowly off the placid surface of the calm sea,
and the darkening sun hung, paused in its slow western descent. The
moment hung too, an idyllic hiatus in the flurry of life. The
coastline was deserted except for one sole, slim, figure. The
olive-skinned girl watched the sunset in silence; she gazed at
the western horizon. Her sullen eyes flickered, watching
the sea birds dive for food, far beyond the craggy shoreline rocks.

Lalo sighed, her heart sank, and she wondered if she would ever
understand her longing for the west. What was it that called to her?
Was it the southern tip of Ireland, the Scilly Isles? Whatever it
was the pull was strong, strong and dark.

An involuntary shiver ran down her supple spine. Tears stung at her
young eyes – she must keep this to herself, mum for one would never
understand. Lalo remembered the countless arguments her restlessness
had caused over the years. Why wouldn’t her mum let her travel?
Just what was her problem?

A deep sigh racked Lalo’s young frame, and frowning she turned her
back on the lapping sea. She began her long trudge up the cliff. Her
face brightened; she had remembered that her dad would be back
tonight. Things were always happier when he was there, and the
small family was complete.

————————————

Maldea worked industriously cleaning every inch of her beloved kitchen.
As she scrubbed she hummed a simple lullaby from her childhood. She
was happy; soon Jeff would be home and the weekend could begin in
earnest. Maldea heard the door slam, followed by the TV resonating
from the living room.

“Hi honey, is that you?” Maldea called out.

“Nope mum, it’s me,” Lalo shouted back.

“Hi, have a good day at school?”

“Oh you know, nothing special!” Lalo paused, “What’s for tea?”

“Pasta with a fresh Bolognese sauce,” Maldea shouted over the
increasing din of MTV.

“K, I’m gonna shower in a minute – if I have time?” Lalo asked.

“No problemo, plenty of time – 45 minutes or so.”

The conversation petered out, and Maldea started to prepare
the vegetables. Just as her knife reached the ripe skin of the first
tomato, her heart froze. Icy hands gripped her spine, as her ears
heard a long forgotten song. She swung away from the work surface,
and almost ran into the living room. In front of her daughter
the female band cavorted on the screen, in a display of wanton flesh.
Maldea tore the remote out of Lalo’s hand and switched off the TV,
disgust written all over her pretty face.

“Hey I was watching that!” Lalo protested.

“You are too young to be interested in that!” Maldea almost spat
her words.

“True, the Bitches are more your era than mine, but I do know
about that stuff – and it doesn’t interest me!”

“What stuff, come on what stuff!” Maldea demanded.

“You know, lesbianism – they talk about it in PSE at school, I
think Cath Hebbert may be one…”

“It’s not about that – it’s about them,” Maldea’s voice calmed a
little.

“Bullshit! You are just a homophobe,” Lalo shouted, she immediately
gulped.

Maldea exploded.

“How dare you speak to me that way, you are not with your friends
now, young lady!” Maldea paused for effect. “I’m grounding you this
weekend.”

“That’s great, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere around here anyway –
the only place I want to go is New York!”

“Never, I have told you – NEVER!” Maldea sucked in her breath.

“Why? It’s where you and dad come from, where I was born – why not?”
Lalo asked, tears of frustration rolling down her face.

“You wouldn’t understand – you can never know. I have to protect
you,” Maldea raged.

“Well a bit of New York is coming here, Les Bitches are doing a
European tour,” Lalo paused, “And I’m going to see them at
Bristol.”

“You are not! Who gave you that idea?” Maldea paused to wipe the
sweat from her brow. “Over my dead body!”

“Fine!” screamed Lalo, as she raced to the stairs, “Just fine!”

Maldea stood alone, fuming.

“Shit!”

——————————-

Jeff positioned the car carefully on the rutted driveway; slowly
but accurately he guided it down a hundred yards of steep incline.
Finally he relaxed as the Beamer slid into the garage.

‘Home at last, god why do we live somewhere this remote?’
Jeff wondered, `Is there still a need?’

He flipped down the garage door with a resounding clunk, then all
was still – just the slow lapping of the sea at the base of the
cliff. Jeff stood listening for a long recuperative second.

‘There are compensations, I can still hear the Atlantic when I
need it most’ he thought, as a smile played on his weary face.

“Hi Maldea, Lalo – I’m home!” Jeff called, stepping through
the threshold.

Maldea rushed up and pecked his sallow cheek, greeting him.

“God am I glad to see you,”

“Hey, what’s up?” Jeff queried.

“Later, just get a drink and relax, dinner is in five minutes”
Maldea grinned.

Jeff shrugged and walked off to the drinks cabinet. He pulled
out his favourite bourbon and poured a liberal shot; something
told him he was going to need it!

Dinner passed in the uneasy politeness that told Jeff where the
problem lay. It was all too obvious that Maldea and Lalo had
fallen out; was he to play referee yet again? When the
meal ended, Lalo made what seemed like a tactical withdrawal.

“Night dad, mum – see you in the morning.”

“Niters La La, sleep well,” Jeff cooed at his daughter.

Lalo smiled, and touched Jeff once on the shoulder, then she
was gone.

“You are not going to believe this,” Maldea started, “Do you
know what she wants to do now?”

Half way to the drinks cabinet Jeff paused.

“Do you want one too?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, please honey, vodka and tonic – make it a large one!”

Jeff settled into the sofa, wrapped a supportive arm around
Maldea and waited. Over the next half hour he listened to the
sorry tale without comment.

Finally he spoke.

“Think about it, Maldea, that has to be wrong. They have never
left the US. How can they make a transatlantic flight? They
could only send day walkers…”

Jeff felt Maldea stiffen in his arms.

“Unless,” she stuttered, “Unless, they can day walk!”

“Christ! Surely not?” Fear echoed in Jeff’s deep tones.

Jeff retrieved the remote, and switched on the TV – he fumbled
through the unfamiliar pages of text.

“Let me,” Maldea laughed, “You never have got the hang of
tele-text”

The news page appeared seconds later, and together they scanned
the headlines. There it was, item 5 page 307: ‘All female rock
band announce UK dates.’ Maldea’s fingers flew over the keypad
and the page popped up.

‘US rock phenomenon Les Bitches are to visit Europe for the
first time in their 15 year history. The UK tour starts next
month, venues include…’

Maldea switched off the TV; tears welled up in her eyes.

“They can day walk, Jeff, they are coming for us!”

Jeff tightened his hold on his quaking wife.

“They will never find us here, come on – in a month it’ll all
be over!”

Maldea sobbed long and low, shuddering against Jeff’s solid chest.
Jeff just held her, waiting for her fear to subside. His face was
blanched, and his eyes held a haunted expression.

‘Had Maldea been right? All those years ago – should they have
gone back, finished it? She had seemed so certain, so brave.
Running had been his idea…’ doubts poured through Jeff’s
troubled mind.

—————————–

As she mounted the steps onto the bus Lalo marvelled at how fast
her weekend had skipped by. After a shaky start it hadn’t
turned out so badly, she had enjoyed the long days on the
beach – slowly browning in the late August sunshine. She walked
swiftly down the cramped aisle, and went to sit down beside
Darren.

“Not today, Lalo, the seat’s reserved… Sorry.” Darren grinned
up at her impishly.

The bus shuddered and lurched forward sending Lalo sprawling
onto the empty rear seat. She wriggled, making herself
comfortable – without drawing any more unwanted glances than
she already had.

A few hundred yards later the brakes screeched, and the bus
opened its doors to the flood of children from Tintagel. As
usual her friend Cath was there, as was that bitch Rachael.
Cath plonked herself down beside Lalo with her customary
greeting.

“Hiya mate!”

Lalo was too sullen to reply, her eyes were fixed on Rachael.
Her rival, her nemesis – had sat down, beside Darren! Lalo felt
her face flush hot with unrestrained hurt. She stared at the
girl’s blonde curls with contempt, then watched in anguish as
Rachael took Darren’s right hand and shifted it to her lap. Lalo
felt the colour drain back out of her, as she followed the
ripple of Rachael’s crouched shoulders.

‘They can’t be, not on the bus!’ Lalo’s thoughts crowded around
her.

Suddenly Rachael stiffened in her seat. Immediately Darren
pulled up his hand and stuffed it triumphantly under the nose
of Dave Turner, sat just one seat in front of him.

“Told you, told you I could, and before we are half way to
Camelford!” Darren giggled.

“Big deal, she’d come for anyone…” Dave grunted.

“Oh, jealous are we, Dave – never mind…” Darren dissolved into
laughter, which was abruptly stopped by a sharp dig in the
ribs from Rachael’s left elbow.

“Boys, only one thing they care about… Morons,” whispered
Cath to Lalo.

Lalo turned away hiding her tears, and stared into the passing
greenery all the way to the outskirts of the town. Silently
Lalo watched the others rush to get off at the gates of Sir
James’s. To her horror she witnessed Rachael pull her sticky
gusset away from her crotch, as she waddled up the bus. Lalo’s
heart sank.

“I hate boys,” she breathed to no one in particular.

Cath snuck her hand briefly into Lalo’s.

“Me too, me too,” she mouthed.

The morning and lunch passed in a mire of boredom, until they
spilt out onto the playground. For the girls there was only
one topic of conversation.

“So are you really going, Suze?” asked a breathy Caroline.

“Yep! My mum said I could, dad’s getting the tickets today – on the
internet…” Suze replied, smiling.

“Wicked!” replied an impressed Caroline.

“Don’t know why you want to go, they’re a bunch of has beens –
so 1990’s” sneered Rachael.

“Leave her be, you always have to know best don’t you?” Lalo
warned a shocked Rachael.

“Oh, got a tongue have we, well why don’t you go use it on your
little lezzy friend. She needs it much more than me!” Rachael
spat.

The group dissolved into howls of laughter, leaving Lalo red faced
for the second time that day.

Lalo seethed inside.

‘You will regret that, Rachael, you will regret that – today!’

——————————-

The afternoon session began with English, Lalo’s favourite, not
due to any particular love of language; her crush on Dick
Dreyfuss, the English teacher, had more to do with it.

“OK class, Shakespeare guides out Macbeth four, you all know your
parts,” Dick’s clear authoritative voice rang out.

Lalo winced, Shakespeare – not her favourite, and she had no part;
just an understudy. She sulked a little, and as the lesson progressed
her mind wandered to…

Revenge, if she concentrated – perhaps she could still do it. Her
‘party trick’, she bowed head slightly and narrowed her eyes.
Her mind focussed on Rachael, if she could just bring those
feelings back.

Rachael concentrated upon the play unfolding around her, her part
was coming soon. She shifted her weight on the plastic chair and
felt her body squelch against its hardiness. She thrust her hand
down to the front of her panties in panic.

‘I can’t have come on, I’m not due for a week’ she wondered
desperately.

The fingers that returned were wet, but not with the expected
redness. Just clear juice, Rachael smiled slyly, and furtively
licked a delicious finger, then she slid her hand back under her desk.
Furiously Rachael pretended to make notes in her textbook with her
right hand, while her left busied itself in the soft folds of her
wrinkled, damp labia.

Images flooded into her young mind, not of the normal boy bands,
but hot inviting flashes of a writhing female rock band. Her mind’s
eye feasted on the leather, the expanses of soft cleavage, and the
darkly inviting valleys between their gyrating thighs. Her thumb
located her slickly swollen bud, a few more strokes and…

“Miss Savage, Miss Savage, are you with us today?” Dick’s voice
boomed through the classroom.

Rachael visibly jumped, scattering her books to the floor,
quickly she retrieved the guide, and scrambled through it for
her lines.

“Page 12 Macbeth VI, i, 44 ‘By the pricking of my thumbs’,” Mr
Dreyfuss prompted.

Rachael scanned the page frantically, but it was no use. The words
just seemed to jumble themselves up, dancing around and teasing
her pleading eyes. Suddenly the words cleared, and in relief she
read parrot-like from the shaking page.

“Ahem, By the pricking of my thumbs, I want to lick Cath until
she comes!” Rachael’s face fell as the final word left her lips.

For a second the room was hushed, then catcalls, laughter, and
whistles broke the silence. With a glance Dick quietened the
bedlam, and in two long steps he was by the mortified girls side.

“Straight to the head!” Dick paused, and picked up Rachael’s
English book, “And take this obscenity with you!”

Mr Dreyfuss held the tattered book by its corner, just as if he
was handling high explosives. Through tearful eyes Rachael saw
the familiar blue cover, adorned as it now was by a rudimentary,
but accurate, drawing of a girl’s sex. Rachael gurgled something
unintelligible before grabbing the book and scurrying from the
hostile classroom.

“Quieten down, the show’s over!” Mr Dreyfuss barked, “Now who is
the understudy?”

“Good, Lalo now read the text from Rachael’s book, so we may all
hear the Bard’s intended version.”

Lalo smiled broadly, stood and delivered the piece to the class,
perfectly.

“By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes!”