thought of, whether he was still using it, and if it might take the life I was supposed to have saved. I hadn’t yet thanked him but now I did, and he said it was nothing, as people do, and then he said, would I hold him in my arms again as I did when I found him in the hallway.
He was gay. I had never had any doubt about that, but doubt came quickly then. The kiss he gave me was a lover’s kiss, and the hands that began touching me were a lover’s. Why didn’t I stop him? Why didn’t I just say no gently and kindly, take my mouth away from his, slide away from under him, and remind him who and what we were? Andrew’s lover and Andrew’s sister. Trusted absolutely because trust was taken for granted, trust wasn’t even necessary to think about. So why didn’t I? Maybe because, skeletal though he had become, he was attractive. I’d noticed before, but I’d made myself not be affected by his attractions because he was gay and because he was Andrew’s. I forgot all that, yielded in silence and participated in silence. No arguing, no protest, no words at all, but a simple and intensely pleasurable giving and receiving.
We were on Verity’s sofa in Verity’s study, and because we made no sound but for a faint sigh, a quiet gasp, we came to a mutual climax on a deep, long sigh. He held me afterwards witha tenderness I took for gratitude, and that surprised me. I moved away from him, expecting remorse, but none came and I thought to myself, it must have been the sherry, that unfamiliar, old drink that may have been Verity’s favoured tipple. The date would be right.
Still silent, we got back into those clothes we took off, and at last I said something. I said what was bound to be said sooner or later. “I thought you were entirely gay.”
“So did I.”
“But?”
“I was married once, so I suppose you could say I’m bisexual, but I haven’t been since my divorce, and I never think of myself that way. Grace—what a lovely name that is—Andrew must never know.”
Perhaps he wouldn’t mind. After all, it was over and we were not going to do it again. That I was sure of and sure too that Andrew would mind very much. “It won’t happen again. We should tell him it happened once.”
“No, Grace, no.”
“We must tell him, but we can take two days and a night to think about how we’ll do it.”
And that was what we were doing. Apart, of course, for I was in my part of the house, my living-room, and James was in Andrew’s part with Andrew. At about eight I heard them go out. I heard them talking as they crossed the hall where James sat hunched up in despair, and then I heard him laugh, a carefree, happy laugh, the like of which hadn’t been heard since the murder of Bashir.
7
W HATEVER CONCLUSION James may have come to, if he had thought about it at all, I knew we must tell Andrew or our failure to tell him would hang over all my relations with my brother and spoil them. He had to be told, whatever came of it. This was what I would tell James in the morning after Andrew had left for work. And in thinking this way I saw that I was already on the path to deception for I had never before thought of keeping a secret from Andrew. And such a secret.
But for the time being they had gone out and were having a happy time, if James’s laugh was anything to go by. This was the first time I’d heard him laugh for weeks. I had planned to use this evening reading at least the beginning of The Child’s Child, wondering if it might possibly be of use to me in my thesis, and anyway, I wanted to know what happens. But as I went into the study, a strange thing happened to me, or perhaps not strange at all. My thoughts went back to what had happened there a few hours ago, not with sentimentality or any enhanced view of my feelings for James, but with guilt and a degree of shame. What it came down to was, I shouldn’t have done it. I could have said no to him and sat up and hugged him again. Now I have forgotten
He was gay. I had never had any doubt about that, but doubt came quickly then. The kiss he gave me was a lover’s kiss, and the hands that began touching me were a lover’s. Why didn’t I stop him? Why didn’t I just say no gently and kindly, take my mouth away from his, slide away from under him, and remind him who and what we were? Andrew’s lover and Andrew’s sister. Trusted absolutely because trust was taken for granted, trust wasn’t even necessary to think about. So why didn’t I? Maybe because, skeletal though he had become, he was attractive. I’d noticed before, but I’d made myself not be affected by his attractions because he was gay and because he was Andrew’s. I forgot all that, yielded in silence and participated in silence. No arguing, no protest, no words at all, but a simple and intensely pleasurable giving and receiving.
We were on Verity’s sofa in Verity’s study, and because we made no sound but for a faint sigh, a quiet gasp, we came to a mutual climax on a deep, long sigh. He held me afterwards witha tenderness I took for gratitude, and that surprised me. I moved away from him, expecting remorse, but none came and I thought to myself, it must have been the sherry, that unfamiliar, old drink that may have been Verity’s favoured tipple. The date would be right.
Still silent, we got back into those clothes we took off, and at last I said something. I said what was bound to be said sooner or later. “I thought you were entirely gay.”
“So did I.”
“But?”
“I was married once, so I suppose you could say I’m bisexual, but I haven’t been since my divorce, and I never think of myself that way. Grace—what a lovely name that is—Andrew must never know.”
Perhaps he wouldn’t mind. After all, it was over and we were not going to do it again. That I was sure of and sure too that Andrew would mind very much. “It won’t happen again. We should tell him it happened once.”
“No, Grace, no.”
“We must tell him, but we can take two days and a night to think about how we’ll do it.”
And that was what we were doing. Apart, of course, for I was in my part of the house, my living-room, and James was in Andrew’s part with Andrew. At about eight I heard them go out. I heard them talking as they crossed the hall where James sat hunched up in despair, and then I heard him laugh, a carefree, happy laugh, the like of which hadn’t been heard since the murder of Bashir.
7
W HATEVER CONCLUSION James may have come to, if he had thought about it at all, I knew we must tell Andrew or our failure to tell him would hang over all my relations with my brother and spoil them. He had to be told, whatever came of it. This was what I would tell James in the morning after Andrew had left for work. And in thinking this way I saw that I was already on the path to deception for I had never before thought of keeping a secret from Andrew. And such a secret.
But for the time being they had gone out and were having a happy time, if James’s laugh was anything to go by. This was the first time I’d heard him laugh for weeks. I had planned to use this evening reading at least the beginning of The Child’s Child, wondering if it might possibly be of use to me in my thesis, and anyway, I wanted to know what happens. But as I went into the study, a strange thing happened to me, or perhaps not strange at all. My thoughts went back to what had happened there a few hours ago, not with sentimentality or any enhanced view of my feelings for James, but with guilt and a degree of shame. What it came down to was, I shouldn’t have done it. I could have said no to him and sat up and hugged him again. Now I have forgotten
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