He sat by the light of a fire he lit in the kitchen. Sometime later two cars pulled up outside. “There’s no one here, thankfully,” he heard Catherine say as she entered the house. Then she saw the fire. She stood a moment on the threshold in the dark. She switched on the light.

“I thought as much,” she said.

Two of the men were with her. They put their takeaways on the table.

“I’ve brought some friends home,” she said.

“I can see that.”

“If you are going to start an argument I’d be grateful if you’d leave us alone.”

“Why certainly,” said Jack, imitating Stan Laurel. And he stood and tickled the scalp of his head with a bunch of fingers.

“Do you want a can?” asked one of the men contritely.

“No, thank you,” said Jack.

He climbed to the study. In a little while he heard Van Morrison singing. The next time he woke there were voices laughing.

“Fuck off!” he screamed down the stairs.

The voices stopped, and then there were whispers.

“Will you fuck off!” shouted Jack.

“You better go,” Catherine said to them downstairs. “I thought this might happen.”

“Will you be all right?” they asked.

“Yes.”

They withdrew reluctantly. He heard her apologizing to them outside. He switched the light off again and climbed into bed. He heard her moving through the house. Eventually she came into the study and switched the light on.

“Turn the light off,” he said, keeping his back to her.

“Let me in beside you,” she demanded.

“No.”

“Jack, can I go to bed now?”

“No!” he said savagely.

“I’m going to bed now,” she said. He could feel her coming closer. “I must sleep,” she pleaded.

“I’m not stopping you,” he said coldly.

“I just felt I owed them an explanation.”

“I don’t want to know,” he said.

“It’s my career, Jack. They just wanted to be friendly.”

She reached an arm round his neck.

“No!” he screamed.

“Please Jack, let’s not fight. We are going away together tomorrow.”

“You’re going on your own,” he said. “I’ll not be going with you.”

The light went off. She ran downstairs cursing him.

In the morning he woke to find her standing startlingly nude by his bed in the study. Her sunny bush sat high and transparent on her long legs, her small breasts were white and cold. There were red weals across her stomach and shoulders from where she’d lain in sleep awkwardly across some unmade bed. He turned his back on her nakedness.

She laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Jack,” she said, “I’m freezing. Let me in beside you.”

“No,” he said.

She cursed him and went back to her room. Sometime later she was back.

“Jack,” she said, “I’m really sorry, I really am. Please talk to me.”

“No,” he said, “I can’t take any more.”