It happened in the darkened bed about ten minutes after brushing our teeth – a Christmas miracle. I was lying on my back, eyes opening, closing, trying to count the sheep still meh-ing outside, the bleat of lambs and ewes trying to find each other in the night. Sarah curled into me, a dust storm of pheromones I knew I could survive, as always, by shallow-breathing. But then – a kiss on my shoulder, another on my upper arm. I turned onto my side to face her, stroked her hair, bunched it in my fist. Her fingers on my chest, teasing; taking my hand and guiding it between her legs. Her mouth finding mine, her kisses, the earth taste I’d missed and martyred myself for. And then, not quite believing, getting myself above her – wish me luck, everyone – and then on her, and then, ohmygod, in her. Rhythm, I had that; I had soul.

Sarah panting. ‘Oh, yes.’

Me sweating. ‘Yeah … Fuck … Oh …’

I had to do everything right this time, no slip-ups, but, oh, her smell – dopamine short-circuiting, angle-grinder sparks – Sarah, she was enjoying, actually enjoying … She raised her hips to meet mine with every thrust while I did everything I could not to climax too soon. Eyes closed, I imagined Sarah without skin, my gran eating breakfast, my teeth being removed and replanted upside down – rooted.

‘Your gentleness is your strength,’ I said.

‘The way you’re fucking me right now is yours,’ she said, shoving her pelvis into mine.

* * *

Boxing Day was drawing to a close. Sarah and I sat a few feet apart on the bed, crimson light flooding the room, drinking South Australian red. The kids were asleep. We’d played Lego and had water fights at the farm. And yes, some tears, but fewer than usual, some tension, but less than the norm.

Sarah smiled, sipped her wine.

We’d had sex, and we could do it again, right now. Before we knew it, we’d be banging each other three, even four times a decade.

I stretched my legs, sipped my wine, could draw up the contract right away.

‘The kids went down so easily,’ she said.

‘It’s this country air.’

‘Yeah,’ she said, smiling.

Biddy – butterflies – was two days away. We’d celebrated our six-month anniversary the night before Sarah and I left for Numurkah.

‘What do you feel like doing now?’ I said.

Sarah tensed her lips slightly, looked round the room, smiled. ‘I don’t know. This is nice.’

‘Being on the bed together?’

‘Yeah, that … And being in this beautiful house on holiday with our beautiful kids. Just being together, really. You and me. That’s the most important thing to me.’