pulled the bedclothes up over him; he’d put a couple of sweaters on top of the clothes, but he was by no means warm. At this rate he’d get pneumonia and end back in hospital.
“Aspirins?” I asked. “You’ve got some painkillers from the hospital?”
He shook his head, screwing up his eyes.
“I’ve got some,” I said, and made my way back to my room. I lit the gas-fire and thought I’d better light his, too. He’d probably been reliving the experiences of the previous weekend in his nightmare. When I turned round, he was in the doorway, a short towelling bathrobe round him, blinking.
“I’ll sit up for a while,” he said. “I don’t want another nightmare like that.”
I watched him take the aspirins. I knew he wouldn’t step over the threshold of my room unless I invited him to do so, not at night. I told myself to be careful, and that I knew nothing good of him. On the other hand, if I did invite him in, and we did get to sleep together, he would be more likely to give me his company during the coming week.
“Come on in,” I said, pulling at his sleeve. “I’ll see you don’t have bad dreams in here. Besides, it’s too cold for you in that room.” I pushed him towards my bed and surprisingly enough he went without argument. I turned out the light, but left the gas-fire on. I slid in beside him and pulled up the covers; he hadn’t taken his kimono off, and he was very tense.
“Come,” I said. “Let me get you warm again.”
His response delighted me. He unbuttoned my pyjamas and laid his cheek first against one breast and then the other. “Sweet Sue!” he said. “Sweet Sue!” It seemed to be enough for him. I lay there smiling into the half dark and felt the rhythm of his breathing slow into sleep.
I woke in the morning only when he placed a cup of coffee at my bedside and called my name.
“Sugar? I can’t remember how many.” He had shaved, washed and dressed in casual clothes. His eyes were now warm and now chill.
“What is it?” He had drawn back the curtains and tidied the room. It was nearly ten o’clock of a dark Sunday morning.
“I must find somewhere else. I can’t stay now.” He put out a hand to touch my cheek. “Don’t cry, Sue. You must see I can’t stay now.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Because I want you — all the way.”
“Is that all? Well, what do you think I brought you home for?”
He shouted with laughter, and I grinned up at him, almost sure of myself for once.
“No, but... darling Sue! You know I’m in the middle of something...”
“Just for one week, until you have to join your boss?”
“One week.” His eyes were hungry. I started to fold back my pyjama tops, knowing that he did at least appreciate some part of me. “Sue, stop it!” His voice was as shaky as his hands as he tried to pull the material back over my breasts. “You’re trying to seduce me!”
“I think I’m succeeding,” I said, giggling. In the struggle that followed he ended up lying on the bed with me.
“Let’s be sensible,” he begged. “Drink your coffee, and we’ll talk about it.”
“Afterwards,” I said, pulling his sweater over his head. “Let’s get our priorities in the right order.”
*
So he stayed. He put on weight, and I lost it. He mended everything in the flat that was broken, overhauled the engine on my car and replaced the door handle. He would have redecorated the kitchen if I’d let him. He was autocratic, jealous, and demanding. Towards the end of the week he began to show flashes of hard-driving energy which left me standing.
We talked of our “need” for each other, but never of “love”, even though I knew I was hard hit by Sunday night. We watched each other, probing to see what each was made of. We talked about ourselves — mostly about childhood and our families. We talked of books and films and cabbages and kings. We talked, and ate, and slept in each other’s arms. He used the room he’d rented only to keep his clothes in, and I sponged him down in the bathroom morning and night because he couldn’t have a bath until all his strapping had been removed.
I told him all about my father, who was an electrical contractor with his own small business, and about my mother, who