Matty started to move off the sofa.

‘Where are you going?’ said Brigid, her voice wisped.

‘Going to – get ready for bed.’ It was far too early.

‘Will you not stay here a bit longer?’

Matty lay carefully back down and pressed a knee up to Brigid’s crotch in a way that made her whimper.

***

‘Morning.’

Matty had gone to the back bedroom in the end, saying it was better for the ribs. Came into the kitchen to the smell of coffee, which Brigid didn’t normally drink. Obviously a special occasion. ‘Morning.’

‘You OK?’ Her voice was very soft. ‘Is anything wrong?’ She was different, like she’d been unpinned. The storm clouds had vanished.

‘No, nothing.’ Meaning plenty.

‘Have a nice day. Go gentle, still.’

She hadn’t said that last night.

***

‘My husband never did that.’

The next night. Brigid’s pungent, doughy smell was mixed in with the cinnamon of the candle.

‘Did what?’ Matty gave a rangy stretch and put an arm under her neck, trying to concentrate on the pleasure of being so close to her. Trying to blink away the muted doubt that it wasn’t right.

‘What you just did.’ She rolled her head away and looked at the ceiling. ‘Made the wrong choice there.’

‘Yeah, you did.’

‘Yeah, I did. You’re very good at that.’ Her hand was on Matty’s cheekbone. It was a pale yellow now, the cuts thinned to small slits. ‘Did you ever go with a man?’

‘Depends what you mean.’ Brigid didn’t say anything. ‘Yeah.’

‘You’re a tiger, aren’t you, Matty?’

Tiger. Crackerjack. Scout.

‘I’d ask you to teach me to return the favour but I’m guessing you’d rather not right now?’

‘Yeah. Not right now.’

The shadows oozed on the wall, the candle almost out. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened to you, Matty. It shouldn’t happen to anyone.’

‘What about him? Are you sorry about him?’

‘He shouldn’t have done it. Sounds like someone was probably coming for him anyway, down the road. It doesn’t make it better, I know. But I’d sooner some criminal was in prison than you.’ Brigid’s fingers were at the back of Matty’s neck, moving upwards. ‘You seem lonely.’

The words hung there. They felt like something that would bruise internally, over days.

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’ve been lonely, too.’

Being here doesn’t make me any less lonely, Matty realised suddenly, watching the shadows on the wall.

Tiger. Aged seven, bouncing like Tigger, then trying to do the rich voice of Shere Khan, flexing huge paws. Joe sniggering, saying, ‘Tony from Frosties, more like.’

He might be so close.

‘Can I borrow your car?’ Maybe it would be possible now. The left wrist was starting to have some life in it.

She shifted her head down, gave a surprised hum.