one of the few I’d kept. Perfume. Bare legs. Heels. I put on make-up in the bathroom cabinet and stood back in the doorway, craning to see myself. I looked like someone else. Like Mrs Mack.
In the kitchen, I prepared everything I could, setting out the frying pan, the garlic and oil, making a rocket salad. The kitchen knife flashed as I chopped peppers and tomatoes.
Afterwards, I went through to the settee and armchairs and sat in the window, looking out over the valley. I folded my hands in my lap, imagining unseen eyes watching me. This was my signal to them, to the world, that I was ready for what the night might bring.
Slowly, the light mellowed and thinned. The dying sun bled across the far valley, giving way at last to darkness. The thick, leafy foliage, drawing a curtain over every approaching path and track, turned black. I strained to see, to hear him approach.
A twig cracked, invisible but close to the barn. I jumped. The darkness rubbed against the windows. I crept back through the barn towards the front door and stood there, listening and waiting.
A tap on the wood, so light it could be a branch blowing against the gables. The low rattle of a key in the lock. The door opened.
He stood there, silhouetted against the night.
A whisper, ‘Helen?’
‘Hello.’ I crept forward and reached my arms around him, pressed my body against his. He was leaner and fitter than I’d ever known him, his shoulders solid with muscle.
I stroked the back of his neck and he inclined his head, leaning his face towards mine. I kissed him.
‘Miss me?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I smiled in the darkness. ‘Shut the door. Come inside.’
Ralph found glasses and poured the wine he’d brought, then stood, leaning back against the spiral staircase, and watched me while I cooked. I fried the steaks in a haze of garlic and spitting fat.
His eyes followed the curves of my body as I moved around the small kitchen adding spices, black pepper, turning the meat, dressing the salad. The swaying of my breasts and hips was augmented by the high heels. He was interested, but wary about making a move. I sensed it all. I knew him. It had been such a long time since I’d dressed to please him. It was a dance the two of us had almost forgotten.
When the steak was almost ready, I threw him the matches.
‘Would you light the candles?’
He moved down the dining table, lighting the row of candles I’d arranged between two place settings there. Once the candles flared and he’d replaced their stubby glass chimneys, I switched off the kitchen lights and brought our food across.
The room was eerie with shadows. We sat opposite each other together in the soft candlelight, knees touching.
He reached forward and cupped my cheeks with his hand.
‘You look amazing, Mrs Mack.’ His eyes were gentle. ‘You are amazing.’
I gazed back at him. For a moment, in the low flicker of the candles, the years seemed to melt away. I saw again the younger man, the man I’d fallen in love with. The thoughtful poet. My love.
His expression changed. ‘What’s wrong?’ He peered more closely at me through the gloom. ‘Why are you teary?’
‘I’m just happy,’ I lied, pulling away from him and lifting my glass in a toast. ‘Happy to have you home.’
I made a supreme effort during the meal, shooting him endless questions about his favourite topic, himself. His cleverness in finding and fitting out the barn. His poetry. His hopes for the future. Even, when the conversation lulled, his thoughts on a new four-wheel drive car. I listened with large eyes and moist lips, pretending to be enthralled.
Quietly, I checked the time when I could, willing it to hurry.
After the steak, I fed him chocolate cheesecake and refilled his wine glass whenever I could. I barely drank myself. I was almost there. Another half an hour, perhaps. The spoon trembled in my hand and I set it down and made fists in my lap.
When I cleared away the dishes, he got to his feet and headed to the downstairs toilet. Once he was inside, I snatched his phone from my bag and slipped it back into his jacket, hiding it as best I could in a deep pocket.
I checked the clock. Fifteen minutes. It was almost time. If I could trust him. If everything went according to plan.
I started to set up the coffee maker, shaking so hard that the packet