Oh, what a nice thing to say, she replied. Thank you. I feel much better. He retrieved the sponge from the bottom of the sink. And how are you? she asked. He smiled down at the dishwater, a resigned smile. I’m alright, he said. She went on watching him.
Glancing at her he said humorously: What? She raised her eyebrows, innocuous. I’m not sure what the story is, she said. I mean, with you and Eileen. At that he returned his attention to the sink. Join the club, he answered. She was twisting the tea towel thoughtfully between her hands. But you’re just friends now, she said. He was nodding his head, dropping a spatula on the drying rack, answering yes. And you’re happy, she went on. Finally he gave a laugh. I wouldn’t go that far, he said. No, it’s the old life of
quiet desperation for me, I’m afraid. The back door opened and Felix came inside, stamping his shoes on the mat, closing the door behind him. Beautiful evening out there, he said. And overhead the creak of footsteps, Eileen’s soft tread down the stairs.
Alice folded the damp wilted tea towel in her hands. They had all come to see her. For this reason they were all in her house, for no other reason, and now that they were here it did not matter much what they did or said. Felix asking Simon if he had ever been a smoker. No, I didn’t think so. Too healthy-looking. And I’d say you drink a lot of water as well, do you? Conversation and laughter, these were just pleasant arrangements of sounds in the air. Eileen in the doorway and Alice getting up to pour her another glass of wine, to ask her about work. She had come to see her, they were together again, it did not matter much now what they said or did.
/
A little after one in the morning they went upstairs to bed. Lights switched on and off again, the noises of taps running, cisterns refilling, doors opened and closed. Alice let the blind down in her room while Felix sat on the side of the bed. She came to him and he started to unbutton her dress. I’m sorry, he said. She put her hand on his head, smoothing his hair back. Why are you saying that? she asked. Because we had a fight?
He exhaled slowly and for a moment said nothing. It wasn’t really a fight, though, was it? he said. I don’t mind. You can call it that if you want. It won’t happen again, whatever it was. Sadly she went on looking down at him a little longer, and then she turned away and finished unbuttoning her dress. Are you giving up on me? she asked.
He watched her slip the dress from her shoulders and drop it into the laundry basket. Ah no, he said. I’m just going to try being nice to you for a while. Unhooking her bra, she let out a high laugh. I might not like that, she answered. He got onto the bed then,
smiling to himself. No, I thought not, he said. But you can’t always get what you want.
She lay down on the bed beside him. Stroking her breast with his hand, he said: You’re happy she’s here, aren’t you? Your friend. After a moment, Alice said yes. Yeah, it’s cute the way you love each other so much, he said. Girls are like that. You should get time on your own with her while she’s around, don’t let the lads crowd in on you. Alice smiled. We’ve been apart for too long, she said. We’re shy with each other now. He turned over on his back and looked up at the ceiling. That won’t last, he said. And I like her, by the way. Alice smoothed her hand slowly down his shoulder, down his arm.
Will you spend some time with us tomorrow? she said. He made a kind of shrugging gesture. Yeah, why not, he said. Closing his eyes, he thought again, and then added: I’d like to.
/
Slowly the breath of the sea drew the tide out away from the shore, leaving the sand flat and glimmering under the stars. The seaweed wet, bedraggled, crawling with insects.
The dunes massed and quiet, dune grass smoothed by the cool wind. The paved walkway up from the beach in silence now under a film of white sand, the curved roofs of the caravans glowing dimly, parked cars huddled dark on the grass. Then the amusements, the ice cream kiosk with its shutter pulled down, and up the street and into town, the post office, the hotel, the restaurant. The Sailor’s Friend with its doors closed, stickers on the windows illegible. The sweeping headlights of a single car passing. Rear lights red like coals. Further up the street, a row of houses, windows reflecting the streetlights blankly, bins lined up outside, and then the coast road out of town, silent, empty, trees rising through the darkness. The sea to the west, a length of dark cloth.
And to the east, up through the gates, the old rectory, blue as milk. Inside, four bodies
sleeping, waking, sleeping again. On their sides, or lying on their backs, with the quilts kicked down, through dreams they passed in silence. And already now behind the house the sun was rising. On the back walls of the house and through the branches of the trees, through the coloured leaves of the trees and through the damp green grasses, the light of dawn was sifting. Summer morning. Cold clear water cupped in the palm of a hand.