As she went, she took her phone out once more and re-examined the photograph. Then
she cleared her throat. The street was quiet. She pocketed the phone and smoothed her hands firmly down the front of her jacket, as if wiping them clean. Crossing the street she began to walk more briskly, with long free strides, until she reached a tall brick townhouse with six plastic wheelie bins lined up behind the gate. Looking up, she gave a strange laugh, and rubbed her forehead with her hand. She crossed the gravel and rang the buzzer on the front door. For five seconds, ten seconds, nothing happened. Fifteen seconds. She was shaking her head, her lips moving silently, as if rehearsing an imaginary conversation. Twenty seconds elapsed. She turned to leave. Then from the plastic speaker Simon’s voice said: Hello? Turning back, she stared at the speaker and said nothing. Hello, his voice repeated. She pressed the button.
Hey, she said. It’s me. I’m sorry.
Eileen, is that you?
Yes, sorry. Me, as in Eileen.
Are you okay? he asked. Come up, I’ll buzz you in.
The door-release tone sounded, and she went inside. The lighting in the hall was very bright and someone had left a bicycle leaning up against the postboxes. While Eileen climbed the stairs, she felt at the back of her head where her hair had come unravelled from its clasp and carefully with her long deft fingers refixed it. Then she checked the time on her phone, which showed 23:58, and unzipped her jacket. Simon’s door was open already. He was standing there barefoot, frowning into the light of the hallway, his eyes sleepy and a little swollen. She stopped on the top step, her hand on the banister.
Oh God, I’m sorry, she said. Were you in bed?
Is everything alright? he asked.
She hung her head, as if exhausted, or ashamed, and her eyes closed. Several seconds passed before she opened her eyes and answered: Everything’s fine. I was just on my way home from Darach’s thing, and I wanted to see you. I didn’t think— I don’t know why I assumed you’d be up. I know it’s late.
It’s not really. Do you want to come in?
Staring down at the carpet still, she said in a strained voice: No, no, I’ll leave you in peace. I feel so stupid, I’m sorry.
He closed one eye and surveyed her where she stood on the top step. Don’t say that, he said. Come in, we’ll have a drink.
She followed him inside. Only one of the lights in the kitchen was switched on, illuminating the small apartment in a diminishing circle outward. A clothes horse was set up against the back wall with various items hung out to dry: Tshirts, socks, underwear. He closed the door behind her while she was taking off her jacket and shoes.
She stood in front of him then, gazing humbly at the floorboards.
Simon, she said, can I ask a favour? You can say no, I won’t mind.
Sure.
Can I sleep in your bed with you?
He looked at her for a moment longer before he answered. Yeah, he said. No problem.
Are you sure everything’s alright?
Without raising her eyes she nodded. He filled her a glass of water from the tap and they went into his room together. It was a neat room with dark floorboards. In the centre was a double bed, the quilt thrown back, the bedside lamp switched on. Opposite the door was a window with the blind pulled down. Simon turned out the lamp and Eileen unbuttoned her dress, slipping it off over her shoulders, hanging it over the back of his desk chair. They got into bed. She drank some of the water from her glass and then lay down on her side. For a few minutes they were still and silent. She looked over at him but he was turned away from her, only the back of his head and his shoulder dimly visible. Will you hold me? she asked. For a moment he hesitated, as if to say something, but then he turned over and put his arm around her, murmuring: Here, of course. She nestled up close against him, her face against his neck, their bodies pressed together. He made a low noise in his throat like: Mm. Then he swallowed. Sorry, he said. Her mouth was at his neck. That’s okay, she said. It’s nice. He took a breath in then. Is it, he said.
You’re not drunk, are you? Her eyes were closed. No, she said. She put her hand inside his underwear. He shut his eyes and very quietly groaned. For a while she touched him like that, slowly, and she was looking up at him, at his closed eyelids, damp, his mouth a little open. Can we? she asked. He said yes. They took their underwear off. I’ll get a condom, he said. She told him she was on the pill, and he seemed to hesitate. Oh, he said. Like this, then? She nodded her head. They were lying on their sides, face to face.
Holding her by the hip he moved inside her. She drew a quick breath inward and he rubbed the hard fin of her hipbone under his hand. For a few seconds they were still. He pressed a little closer to her and with her eyes shut she whimpered. Hm, he said. Can I put you lying on your back, would that be okay? I think I could get a little bit deeper inside you that way, if you want that. Her eyes were closed. Yes, she said. He pulled out