her hand again and the warmth of his touch shot through her.
‘I’m still married.’
Still married. What sort of feeble defence was that? Thank God, he didn’t know the half of it. Married, in what sense of the word? Her husband at the light station dreaming of another woman. And here she was, broken and unable to rise from her chair.
‘So where is he now?’ His face was triumphant. He knew. He bent over her hand again, kneaded his thumbs into her palm, kissed her fingertips. She moved to protest, but he slipped her sleeve up and ran his fingers along the underside of her arm, and she sat transfixed, watching him.
He led her to the couch and her body followed him, her mind receding. She was cold and his fingers had warmed her. She wanted to know more.
Softly, he made circles on her thigh with his thumb. She was all at once liquid and light and hot. The touch of his lips on her neck was the promise that had faded from her dreams over the years.
As he kissed her, the pain flowed away, draining like sand through straw. She wanted his hands on her. Wanted him to reach beneath her clothes. Wanted him to take what had always been Jack’s. Surely, it was hers for the giving. Jack hadn’t wanted it for years. She’d been invisible to him. And now, here was a man who made her feel alive again. All need. How could it be wrong?
It happened in her bedroom. A small death that made her a woman renewed. Afterwards, he lay replete beside her, his sweaty skin sticking softly to hers. She knew she ought to feel guilt, but all she felt was euphoria. What she had done felt right. It felt good. And if she had this past hour over, she’d do it again, and without regret.
His hands explored her lazily, languorously, a fat smile on his lips. Then he became insistent, teasing her, seeing what was left of her. And she was his all over again, drowning in the delight of it, years of desire unleashed.
When it was over, he lay looking at her, his cheek on the pillow beside her. ‘You should have seen yourself when you were sixteen,’ he said.
‘That was a long time ago.’
‘You were so beautiful. So untouched . . . That’s the way I always think of you. Young and undamaged. The only woman I’ve ever desired.’
‘Everything changes,’ she said. ‘Nobody stays sixteen forever.’
His eyes were soft with the image of a girl that no longer existed. ‘You don’t have to go back,’ he said.
She hesitated for a moment before slowly shaking her head. It wasn’t a future she could seriously consider. Maybe in her dreams, but in reality, she had only ever seen herself with Jack. ‘He’s the father of my children.’
Adam’s face flickered with sadness. ‘So that’s your last word?’
She nodded silently.
His smile was resigned. ‘Well, I suppose that’s it then.’ He sat up, swiped moisture from the corner of his eyes. ‘You see, I promised myself this was the last time. All these years my life has been on hold: picking fruit and shifting to the next town. It’s amazing how fast the days slip by. And then your youth is gone and you wonder what you’ve got to show for it. I’ve been hoping you’d come back to me. But I’ve been fooling myself, haven’t I? Using you as an excuse to avoid commitment. You’ve never come seeking me. So I have to stop doing this to myself. There might still be time to find a wife and have a family of my own.’
Her cheeks were wet with tears for him. She reached out and drew him back down to her. And he took her once more and then dressed and slipped quietly out the door.
31
She was lying sprawled, her legs heavy, when the light came on and she thought she heard a murmuring of voices, a conversation far away. The light went off again. And then it came on. Blindingly.
She dreamed of a voice, vaguely familiar. ‘It’s the sun, Mary. See, it’s come out from behind a cloud.’
The sun?
Then it was dark again. And cold. She thought perhaps she wanted to speak. But everything in her was so slow. So weighty. She wanted to open her eyes, but it was too difficult.
Light, dark, sound, breathing. All of it, a burden.
Someone was speaking again, a breathy whisper of sound. ‘We’re outside, Mary . . . Let