Nancy returned very late from an evening out with a group of friends, most of whom she hadn’t seen since her breakdown. Bridie had been there, but they hadn’t talked properly. The ease of their relationship had gone, and now it seemed to Nancy that they performed cheerfulness and closeness, a bit hyperbolic, striking slightly the wrong note. Felix was still up, hanging pictures on the walls. She was sure he had stayed up waiting for her, like her father used to do. He looked at her reproachfully and she pretended not to notice.
She climbed into bed and when he joined her, she knew at once he wanted sex. Her body felt cold and resistant; she wanted to curl into herself and sleep and not dream. She didn’t want to be touched, brought to feel pleasure, another body against her – not tonight, not after everything that had happened.
She thought about the conversations she had had with friends over the past years about inequality of desire, that treacherous grey area between frank and vigorous pleasure and explicit rejection, between wanting and not wanting. He took the book away from her and tossed it on the ground. He kissed first one breast then the other. She remembered how constant Felix had been through the terrible times, absorbing her anger and frustration, just a flicker of hurt crossing his face sometimes before he quickly extinguished it. How had he done that? She could never have managed such heroic patience, and in fact it had been his patience that had most enraged her, because it made her feel coddled and infantilised. She didn’t want to be endlessly forgiven; she didn’t want to be let off the hook. She needed to be held to account.
‘Felix,’ she said. ‘It’s not really—’
Then they heard, as if it was in the same room, a drawn-out coo followed by a rhythmic male grunting, getting louder.
‘Oh God,’ said Felix in a whisper, pulling away from Nancy. ‘Is that…?’
She giggled. ‘Of course it is.’
‘They must be able to hear us like that.’
‘Yes.’
‘Christ.’
He rolled onto his back.
There was a pause while they both lay looking at the ceiling. There was a sinister crack running across it that Nancy hadn’t noticed before.
‘I get it wrong sometimes,’ Felix said. ‘I know that. I’m sorry I called the police without telling you first.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘I want to try to help and sometimes I go too far. I know it can be difficult for you. I’m not surprised you were angry.’
‘I wasn’t angry.’ Nancy, still staring at the ceiling, bit back any comment. ‘It’s more difficult for you. Sometimes I need to do things for myself. Like going to the doctor.’
‘I get that,’ said Felix. He was stroking her hip.
Nancy closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the crack.
‘It’s like something that happened in a dream,’ she said. ‘I met this woman just once and just for a moment, but it was as if we recognised something in each other. I feel I let her down. I think I should probably have a few more sessions with Helena.’
‘The medication is what matters.’
‘Both matter.’
‘Do you ever feel like you’d like to move away from all of this?’
‘Move away? We’ve just moved here.’
‘This can’t be permanent, though, can it? Wouldn’t you like to move to the country?’
‘The country? What does that mean?’
‘Somewhere with trees and fields. Without all the noise and the people.’
‘I like the noise and the people. Remember, I grew up in the country and spent most of my childhood longing to escape it.’
There was a silence.
‘Have you never thought that city life, all of the bustle and the chaos, might have brought your condition on?’
‘No,’ said Nancy firmly. ‘Absolutely not.’