She nodded, and the light in the room was so soft that it took him a moment as she stood there to see that she was crying. He stepped closer, unsure of himself, and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder.
She shook her head, saying, “It’s stupid of me.” But she held onto him all the same. He could feel the heat of her breath against his neck as she said, “She was so full of life. It was unbearable, and her mother so matter of fact and dignified. I knew it would be terrible to go there.”
“I know you didn’t want to go, I should have . . .”
“No, it’s just me. I’ve been spoiled by life.”
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, but she held him still, and he became increasingly aware of the warmth and softness of her body against his, but more than that, aware of the affection he felt for her and how stealthily it had crept up on him. Without thinking, he kissed her head where it nestled against him and, immediately, he knew he’d made a mistake.
She pulled back, though her arms were still around him, and stared at him with a look he couldn’t quite read—accusing, insulted?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .”
He fell silent, the air charged between them, and he found himself oddly nervous. He still wasn’t sure how to read her or the situation, so he remained motionless and then she kissed him, tentatively at first, but then with more ease and confidence. He felt the first stirrings of adrenalin, his thoughts spinning slightly out of control as she started to pull at his clothes.
Quickly, he worked at her clothes too, and having believed and accepted that she was out of reach, he found himself almost like a teenager again now, a wave of excitement and heightened desire with each revelation; stomach, breasts, thighs. He couldn’t get enough of her, and couldn’t catch up with the fact that it seemed to be mutual.
A couple of times as they made love he wondered at this change in her, if she was bisexual, if she’d ever had a boyfriend before, because she seemed easy and comfortable and self-assured with him. He said nothing, a selfish part of him not wanting to ruin the moment or break the spell.
It was only as they lay afterwards in his bed that he said, “Er, have you . . . always been a lesbian?”
She laughed loud, doubling up, her leg curling around him. He laughed too, not even sure if they were laughing at the same thing.
She fell onto her back again and said, “I’m not a lesbian.”
He felt like punching the air, but he was curious too, and said, “Why did you tell me you were?”
She didn’t reply at first so he turned to look at her and she looked embarrassed as she said, “To avoid this happening.”
“You could’ve just told me you had a boyfriend.”
She turned to face him now, looking into his eyes as she said, “I don’t think you’re the sort of person who would see that as an obstacle.” He was still trying to think of a response to that when she said, “I was wrong though. Despite everything, I think you’re quite honorable, and quite sweet.”
“It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me that.”
“Honorable or sweet?” She was teasing him and didn’t wait for an answer. “You see, you know your way around a woman’s body, but not a woman’s mind. It’s like, in a way, all these years of adventure and always moving on, a part of you has remained . . .”
“Immature?”
“I was going to stay stunted.”
He laughed, but said afterwards, “I don’t want to be that person, and I’m trying to find a way of moving on, but, it’s not easy.”
“Can you ever move on? Isn’t that what some of these other guys did, and it still caught up with them?”
She was right about that.
“I guess I’ll know soon enough. But wanting it’s a start, surely?”
She nodded and leaned in to kiss him, and that amorphous desire for something resembling a normal life seemed even more pressing now, because he realized she wanted it for him too, and that made it feel tangible. She didn’t necessarily see herself as part of his future—why would she?—but she cared about what happened to him, a rare enough occurrence in his life that he wanted to hold onto it.
Chapter Twenty-three
They woke early the next morning but lingered on in bed, and before either of them thought to check the time it had turned nine.
Inger jumped up and said, “We need to be quick if we’re catching that train.”
He smiled, even as she gathered up her clothes and walked through the connecting door into her own room, but then he lay back on the pillow. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, or what it signified, whether it was a one-off or whether there might be more to it than that.