something had to be said. He could not let this moment pass.
He lifted a glass of wine.
‘A toast, I’m afraid. We have to have one. Jordan, pour Tim some wine.’
No protest came from Kirsty, whose eyes and earrings sparkled with candlelight. Tim put aside his orange juice and Jordan grinned at her brother as she decanted a half-measure of Chilean red. Steven was determined to do this properly.
‘To us, to the Naremore family, and to our new home. We would like to thank the Hollow for having us, and we hope that it will keep us always.’
‘Here here,’ said Jordan, chinking her glass against Tim’s.
The sparkles in Kirsty’s eyes were tears. Steven’s chest tightened with unbidden memories of other tears. The glass in his hand was crystal, very easy to shatter with too heavy a grip.
Kirsty dabbed her eyes with the back of her new-old glove and touched his glass with hers. She mouthed ‘I love you’ at him and took a deep drink.
‘Magic,’ she said out loud.
They ate.
* * *
J ordan lay on her old mattress in her new bed. She was a little tipsy. Halfway through the meal, she realised her parents were looking at each other the way she and Rick looked at each other. It was the feeling she associated with Peggy Lee singing ‘Fever’, that finger-snapping, languid beat of mutual desire.
Right now, in the other tower, her parents were having sex. She was more aware of it than she ever had been in the flat, though her room there had adjoined her parents’. One or other of them had been sleeping out of the flat or on the front-room sofa for what seemed like three-quarters of the time.
She supposed it was a good thing, Mum and Dad making love. But, still, well…
ugh!
The landline wouldn’t be hooked up until tomorrow and she hadn’t been able to exchange more than a few words with Rick’s father on Dad’s mobile. She gathered Rick wasn’t at home. She hadn’t expected him to stay in, missing her, though that would probably have made her feel nice.
When she had a phone in her room, she would be able to talk to Rick every night. She tipsily pondered this phone sex thing. How did it work exactly? Like Rock Hudson and Doris Day in their split-screen baths in
Pillow Talk
?
She didn’t feel alone or lonely.
There were tiny movements in the room. The chair by the window was rocking, not vigorously, not noisily. It was a comfort. The rocking was in time to ‘Fever’.
All at once, she fell asleep and dreamed.
* * *
S he kept her glove on, enjoying the feel of him through satin, hooking her arm around his neck. In the dark, they were new people, without all the baggage of a marriage. Kirsty forgot everything beyond the bed.
Afterwards, she was too exhausted to sleep. The rhythm still beat in her body, and she still felt him close, pushing gently against her, pressing down tenderly. He had most of the duvet but she was warm enough, wondering if her skin was glowing with the heat she felt inside.
Steven had dropped off and was sighing in his sleep. He only snored when he had the flu.
She slipped out from under his arm and rolled off the bed, landing like a cat.
Perspiration dried on her back.
The moon shone through the curtains. She crawled across the floor, feeling the bare boards between the rugs, relishing the scent of the old wood, and sat cross-legged in front of her magic chest.
‘Thank you, Weezie,’ she whispered.
She peeled off her glove, finding her arm and hand slick with sweat, and popped it into the top drawer. She made the glove go away, padded back across the room, and slipped into bed. She gently wrestled a stretch of the duvet onto herself, snuggled against the comforting presence of her husband, and surrendered to night and darkness.
* * *
T he family all dreamed the same dream. They were together, at the Hollow, on the crazy paving patio beyond the French windows of the Summer Room, looking at the orchard, which was crowded with more trees than they had imagined. The
He lifted a glass of wine.
‘A toast, I’m afraid. We have to have one. Jordan, pour Tim some wine.’
No protest came from Kirsty, whose eyes and earrings sparkled with candlelight. Tim put aside his orange juice and Jordan grinned at her brother as she decanted a half-measure of Chilean red. Steven was determined to do this properly.
‘To us, to the Naremore family, and to our new home. We would like to thank the Hollow for having us, and we hope that it will keep us always.’
‘Here here,’ said Jordan, chinking her glass against Tim’s.
The sparkles in Kirsty’s eyes were tears. Steven’s chest tightened with unbidden memories of other tears. The glass in his hand was crystal, very easy to shatter with too heavy a grip.
Kirsty dabbed her eyes with the back of her new-old glove and touched his glass with hers. She mouthed ‘I love you’ at him and took a deep drink.
‘Magic,’ she said out loud.
They ate.
* * *
J ordan lay on her old mattress in her new bed. She was a little tipsy. Halfway through the meal, she realised her parents were looking at each other the way she and Rick looked at each other. It was the feeling she associated with Peggy Lee singing ‘Fever’, that finger-snapping, languid beat of mutual desire.
Right now, in the other tower, her parents were having sex. She was more aware of it than she ever had been in the flat, though her room there had adjoined her parents’. One or other of them had been sleeping out of the flat or on the front-room sofa for what seemed like three-quarters of the time.
She supposed it was a good thing, Mum and Dad making love. But, still, well…
ugh!
The landline wouldn’t be hooked up until tomorrow and she hadn’t been able to exchange more than a few words with Rick’s father on Dad’s mobile. She gathered Rick wasn’t at home. She hadn’t expected him to stay in, missing her, though that would probably have made her feel nice.
When she had a phone in her room, she would be able to talk to Rick every night. She tipsily pondered this phone sex thing. How did it work exactly? Like Rock Hudson and Doris Day in their split-screen baths in
Pillow Talk
?
She didn’t feel alone or lonely.
There were tiny movements in the room. The chair by the window was rocking, not vigorously, not noisily. It was a comfort. The rocking was in time to ‘Fever’.
All at once, she fell asleep and dreamed.
* * *
S he kept her glove on, enjoying the feel of him through satin, hooking her arm around his neck. In the dark, they were new people, without all the baggage of a marriage. Kirsty forgot everything beyond the bed.
Afterwards, she was too exhausted to sleep. The rhythm still beat in her body, and she still felt him close, pushing gently against her, pressing down tenderly. He had most of the duvet but she was warm enough, wondering if her skin was glowing with the heat she felt inside.
Steven had dropped off and was sighing in his sleep. He only snored when he had the flu.
She slipped out from under his arm and rolled off the bed, landing like a cat.
Perspiration dried on her back.
The moon shone through the curtains. She crawled across the floor, feeling the bare boards between the rugs, relishing the scent of the old wood, and sat cross-legged in front of her magic chest.
‘Thank you, Weezie,’ she whispered.
She peeled off her glove, finding her arm and hand slick with sweat, and popped it into the top drawer. She made the glove go away, padded back across the room, and slipped into bed. She gently wrestled a stretch of the duvet onto herself, snuggled against the comforting presence of her husband, and surrendered to night and darkness.
* * *
T he family all dreamed the same dream. They were together, at the Hollow, on the crazy paving patio beyond the French windows of the Summer Room, looking at the orchard, which was crowded with more trees than they had imagined. The
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