Still smiling at her in the mirror, keeping his eyes on her, Zachary took her hand, bent over it, thoughtfully kissed the inside of her wrist. — I’m less original. I hunger for things in the present too.

— Well yes of course. But not in this moment.

— The past makes me more hungry.

— I do love you, you know, she said. — I can always talk to you, Zach, you’re my brother.

Then he sighed noisily. — I always seem to be everyone’s brother, don’t I?

Christine turned her whole gaze, dismayed, away from their reflections onto her friend’s actual face: between them in their surprise they almost let the mirror slip – he grabbed at it. She saw him differently: his animated boyish brightness, grey wiry hairs threaded in amongst the black of his beard, darkened anxious skin around his eyes, broken red veins on his nose, alert intelligence looking back at hers. Zachary never usually asked for any attention to himself – his geniality was a gloss, deflecting enquiry. Heavy against her, his body was scented with something nice and he gave off vitality like heat; when he kissed her wrist again she was startled by the tickling soft pressure of his beard. — Zacky, what do you mean? What about Lydia? You’re not her brother.

— Aren’t I? Or something faintly ignominious like it.

Christine thought that she must tread as delicately among these revelations as if they were jagged glass. — No. I don’t know. You’re not ignominious anyway.

— Well, that’s good.

— Only you two always seem so happy.

— We’re happy, it’s OK, don’t worry.

— I know Lydia can seem oblivious sometimes. She’s so imaginative and intelligent but there’s something fixed in her. Like Humility on the ceiling. She doesn’t change, and that’s her greatness – but also she doesn’t see you changing. Doesn’t see you seeing things.

— I suppose that’s about it.

Christine pressed on, disconcerted. — Have you ever had other women, Zach? Since you’ve been with Lydia. I think you haven’t.

— Not ever, no.

— And she’s never had other men. I’d know, I’m sure.

— We’ve both of us been absurdly faithful.

— Oh, and me too! Absurdly!