6. October

Eve

Eve hears footsteps. The scent of bonfire and apples drifts into the bedroom, the donkeys bray once from their paddock. Distant traffic hums against the quiet of the weekday afternoon. Her ring glints red from the bedside table; the old-fashioned settings leave scratches on skin. The footsteps are coming closer. Eve freezes, her lips on Martin’s shoulder; her mind empties of pleasure.

‘Martin, listen.’

He opens his eyes, frowns at the unfamiliar ceiling then sees her; the fan of wrinkles around his eyes deepens but she clutches his arm.

‘Someone’s coming.’

He looks about as if for a place to hide and, pulling the duvet around him, rolls off the side of the bed furthest from the door; there is a muffled thump, a snort of laughter.

The girls are at school, Ash is at nursery for another two hours and Eric is scoping out a project for a musician’s garden near Brighton and not due back till evening. Igor was left in charge of the bonfire; might he be prowling the house? What if Melly has walked over for coffee? It could even be Grace calling by before school pick-up. Eve gets up and straightens the sheet, her mind scrabbling for words. Sorry, I was in the shower – that’s what she’ll say – give me a few minutes. Yes, that’s Martin’s car in the drive. He took a notepad down the garden, I think he was after some peace. While she makes tea for her visitor, Martin could dress, sneak out by the front door and re-enter from the back. She kicks his clothes under the bed, tightens the belt of her dressing gown and sweeps open the door.

‘Sorry, I was in the shower …’ Her gaze lowers, lowers further. Not even a child, just the dog, half sitting, half lying against the wall, whining quietly. Her legs weaken with relief. She lets herself slide to the floor. ‘Noah! What are you doing here?’

She kisses his smooth head and he pads after her into the bedroom.

‘I thought it was Eric coming to kill me.’ Martin begins to laugh.

‘Not funny.’ She retrieves his clothes from under the bed but he catches her hand.

‘Come back to bed.’

‘We can’t.’

‘We have an hour at least.’

‘The poor dog—’

‘He won’t say a word.’ He pulls her down, narrowly missing Noah.