But why feel guilty? She hasn’t kissed him. What’s the harm in imagining? She’s committed no sin.

But tomorrow she will ring the number on the Hot Yoga leaflet. She will ask if she can buy him a drink to say thank you, and on Thursday they will meet in The Cartwheel in Fordingbridge, and she will drink a little more than she intended. She will blurt out a sentence or two of unhappiness. Not enough to haunt their friendly drink with her husband’s ghost, but enough for her eyes to well, and for the locum, in an act of compassion, to reach for her hand. Achilles will be curled up at her feet, as if to guard her mistress from intruders. But Achilles will be the opposite of protection. Achilles will be the reason Jules and the locum will walk into the forest; the dog could do with the exercise. The locum is all for exercise. And soon they will be deep, deep in the forest, deep in the pockets of their coats, deep in the intoxicating possibilities of something neither of them dare imagine. He is married. She is married. But all the trees have gathered around them; their leaves are shushing and no one is listening. The alcohol will soften her fear: Go on, it will say, go on. She will feel his eyes reading her. She will watch her own feet with a smile, like a girl, and every time she looks up she will see those eyes brightly upon her, both asking and knowing. When will the game mutate from playful to serious? When his hand knocks against hers and she snags his fingers. That will be her sign to him. Then he will stop her with a locked arm, as though he has captured a burglar. She will think he could capture a burglar. He is capable and fearless. Capable and fearless, he will kiss her. It will feel like a game. But for the first time in a decade, she will know the taste of another man’s mouth, bitter with hops. Lips softer and wider than she is used to. His tongue unpredictable, probing for hers, asking, More? More?

‌Medication

Are you going to stay on it? she asks.

She means the medication.

The thought of coming off it is— interrupted by the chemical eraser she wishes to discuss. She is filling a pan of water from the filter. Logan wonders why she is still in her coat.

Sorry, what was the question?

She sighs, stops, puts the pan on the counter top.

How long will you stay on the Anesthine, do you think?

He knows she wants him to come off. How would that feel? Again, the blank. This time he registers its presence. Must be fear, he thinks. Fear, washed into forgetfulness. This drug is like a creature evolved for its own survival.

Are you cold? he asks.

What?

You’re still in your coat.