The first woman she slept with came home with her effortlessly after only a couple of hours in the bar. She said her name was Rachel. Rachel had a bob like they had worn in the early nineties. Margaret ran her hands through Rachel’s hair as they kissed. It was straight and shiny. There was slightly more of it, but she seemed to be able to forget that. She held Rachel’s face in both her hands and felt the angle of her cheekbones and the way Rachel’s jaw felt as her mouth worked. Rachel’s neck was millimetres shorter and Margaret hit the clavicle faster than she’d thought she would, but Rachel’s breasts were perfect and for a second Margaret was able to explain herself back to herself as a separate, complete thing, not waiting or looking for anything or anyone, not wrong. They were in the spare bedroom, with all the computers. Every part of the house reminded her except for this room. Greta and Peggy had sex in this room but not as often, and the hum of the computers was enough to change the temperature. It was early in the morning. Sex early in the morning tended to be in Peggy and Greta’s bed in the other room. They would roll into each other and hardly wake. Kissing softly, penetrating slowly – eyes never opened. In rhythm, lacklustre stroke for stroke so that it felt like masturbating. Leaning more than anything, then coming and falling back to sleep as the calm and pleasure rolled through them.