Only September, Joss thought, and already it’s frosty at night. She drew the duvet up over her naked breasts and lay staring at the tulip patterns on the cupboard door, touched by the moonlight that was coming in through a gap in the curtains. Beside her, Gray was already fast asleep. His side, his thigh, his leg, the whole length of him was touching her. She could move away, turn over and go to sleep, but she chose not to. She chose instead to be awake, to taste each separate minute of this night, close to him, safe with him, happier than she’d ever been and also sadder, because this was the last night. The last time. Don’t say that. Don’t say last time, he’d told her earlier, murmuring the words into her hair and breathing them on to her skin, as his hands stroked her and touched her and opened her and his arms brought her so close that all she could feel was their hearts beating together and then she couldn’t hear anything any more and she thought she must be dying, overcome with pleasure, and she cried out and she’d never cried out before, never been the sort of person who lost herself entirely in lovemaking and he’d covered her mouth with his hand, murmuring Hush my darling hush. She’d always kept something separate, watching, assessing, but this was more: this was taking her like a wave and a cry rose unstoppable in her throat and her body arched itself into a madness of sensation she couldn’t contain and which came out of her mouth as a groan and a shuddering series of sighs and then it ebbed away, leaving her soft and slick with sweat, her breast heaving with sobs and then he was brushing away the tears and his mouth was on hers kissing her and kissing her and saying, Don’t cry my darling please don’t cry and her saying, I’m not I’m not crying I love you I can’t I won’t … .
Earlier that day, they’d gone to the Shipwreck Café again. The visit was supposed to bring back happy memories for them, but it didn’t. Joss tried to be as joyous as she had been for the last four days and couldn’t. Could you be nostalgic about something that wasn’t even over? She thought of the last few afternoons when it had been enough just to sit on a bench together outside the house. She’d managed to go through the motions during workshops, during meals, and reckoned that no one could tell she was in a kind of fever. Every night, by the time the knock came at her door, and she ran to open it, she was in such a frenzy of desire she could scarcely speak.
They’d walked back to the house almost silently. Everything had been said. There was nothing to add. They would phone one another on the silver phones whose numbers were known only to the two of them. It wasn’t much, but it was, as Gray said, something. And he spoke again about the divorce, about leaving Maureen, about how in the end it was the right, the moral thing to do. He’d almost convinced her, too, but she knew that once Bob was back from Egypt, there in the house with her, everything would be harder. She’d feel guilty because she wasn’t very good at breaking rules, at misbehaving, and his presence might shake her resolve. Today, in the café, Gray asked if she could ever get away on her own.
‘We could meet from time to time,’ he said. ‘In a hotel.’
‘I love hotels,’ said Joss, ‘but what reason could I give for going to one by myself? When I’m in London, I stay with Zannah and Em.’
‘What about the prize-giving? For the Madrigal Prize?’
‘Bob won’t want to come to that with me, I’m sure, but it’s in London, so both girls will be there. Isis, too, if it’s early enough in the evening.’
‘Can’t you make something up? Tell Zannah and Em that your publisher’s paying for a posh hotel and you don’t want to miss out on the treat. They’d understand, wouldn’t they?’
‘He’s offered. My publisher, I mean. Mal knows I’ve got family in London, but I suppose I could say that the spare room was already taken … ’
‘There you are, then,’ said Gray, looking properly happy for the first time since they’d sat down. He picked up the teapot and refilled his cup. ‘Something to look forward to. November the twenty-eighth. I’ll make sure to fix things at the hospital. I wish I could come to the ceremony, but I’ll meet you later at the hotel. Can’t wait.’ He squeezed her hand.
‘How d’you know the date? I’m sure I didn’t tell you.’
‘I looked it up on the Madrigal website.’
Two months to go, almost exactly, Joss thought now, staring at the curve of Gray’s back under the duvet. She turned on her side and slid an arm round his waist, pressing herself to him. He stirred and murmured and she clung to him.
‘What’s the matter?’ He was suddenly awake, speaking in an almost normal voice. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Go back to sleep.’
Too late. He’d seen that she was wide awake and unhappy. He whispered. ‘Come here,’ and she came to him, burying her face in his chest.
‘I don’t want this night to end ever. Ever,’ she said.‘What’ll I do? How will I get through the time, Gray?’
‘We’ll think of one another,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll write and phone, and soon it’ll be November. And then May and after the wedding, however hard it might seem, in the end, it’ll be you and me.’
He started to kiss her.
‘We can’t,’ Joss whispered. ‘It’s nearly morning. There’s no time, Gray … ’
‘Don’t speak.’
She closed her eyes, and as he touched her she had a vision of herself as nothing more than the separate strands of her desires and needs: wound up, urgent, tangled into a knot that he was unravelling, smoothing out. Her darling. Her darling Gray. Hers.