Hidden by Derick Parsons, John Amy Page B

occasion demanded.  He was also, perhaps more surprisingly in a politician, able to listen.  Listen with apparently genuine interest.  So well did they connect, and so easily did the conversation flow, that the whole subject of his daughter had somehow been pushed into the background.  How far a politician’s smooth, easy charm could be trusted was debatable but he had really seemed interested in her, and she had found herself falling deeper under his spell as the evening progressed.  And look what that had led to.  Oh, shit.
    Even now she was finding it hard to believe that she had gone back to his apartment with him, ostensibly for a coffee, but with both of them knowing what was coming.  He had said, with a little smile, that he had told his flat mate about her, and warned him to return to his work base in Cork a day early, and she had smiled in acceptance of his meaning rather than his words.  She closed her eyes again; had she quite lost her mind ?  Getting involved with a patient’s father?  She wasn’t sure if it breached her professional code of ethics –it was certainly nothing compared to sleeping with a patient- but it definitely breached her personal ethics.  Why had she done it?  Michael was attractive, yes, but that attractive?  No.  The bottom line was that she was lonely, not just for company but for physical affection, for the touch of another human being.  Although she knew all about her fear of commitment she hadn’t realized that she was equally scared of being alone.  Even though her life, before Peter, had consisted of a succession of short-term relationships, each of which served an immediate purpose without ever fulfilling her.
    Kate smiled wryly at her own reflection; she couldn’t even blame the wine as she had only had two glasses.  She flushed the toilet and brushed her teeth using Michael’s toothbrush, in spite of a sudden, unreasonable reluctance to touch anything belonging to him.  After what they had just done together prudery over using his toothbrush was foolish, but she had to overcome a stab of revulsion nonetheless.  She returned to the bedroom and looked down at the sleeping Michael, knowing that she could not now spend the night with him as she had intended.  Not until she sorted out the confusion of her feelings.  Because while she was being honest with herself she might as well go all the way; was tonight just her way of finishing with Peter once and for all?  In her own mind, at least?  She had told Peter it was over, and had not seen him in weeks, but this act was the decree absolute, wasn’t it?  Because now there was no going back even if she wanted to.
    Not that I did, she hastily told herself, I positively did not want to see him again.  But that was not entirely true.  Although she had definitely wanted to finish it a part of her had of course wondered if she was making a mistake; after being with him for so long she would have had to be more than human to feel any other way.  And now at least she couldn’t go back.
    As she began quiet ly dressing she felt no release, only a vague sorrow.  Because this didn’t feel like freedom.  Rather it smacked of a desperate burning of her boats, a way of ending her conflict without ever really confronting it.  A cold hand gripped her heart as it occurred to her that her feelings for Peter might not be as dead as she had believed, as she had told herself.  She put it all from her mind, refusing to think about it anymore; it could wait until the morrow.
    S he slipped noiselessly out of the still apartment and walked the empty streets until she found a taxi to take her to where she had parked, just off St. Stephen’s Green.  It was only when she was back in her own car that her composure returned, and some perspective.  She started the engine and drove away, a little too fast as usual, grimacing ruefully as she drove; the sex hadn’t even been that good.  Pleasurable enough but certainly not worth