Page 21 of A Midlife Marriage

‘Do you feel unwell?’ He frowned.

‘Yes,’ she said. Then, ‘No. I don’t know …It’s just hot.’

‘Caro.’ She watched as he came over and sat on the edge of the bed, shifting her weight to accommodate the space he took up. The sofa, the bed. He wasn’t even a big man, but everything shifted when he joined her.

‘What’s the matter?’

Looking back at him, Caro shrugged. She loved his eyes. They had been the first thing she had noticed about him, and the thought that she was causing the trouble so clearly reflected now, hurt her. But she couldn’t take it away. She couldn’t give him the answer he wanted, say,Nothing! Nothing is the matter!bounce off the bed, go downstairs and eat roast pork. Let alone roast pork with tomato and courgette sauce, not after bottling gallons of the stuff last week. She sat up and looked at her hands, at the shimmering lilac gel of her manicure winking back at her now, tenfold.

‘Forget dinner,’ he said. ‘You’re tired. Come down when you’re ready.’ And lifting her damp hair from her neck, he pressed his lips against her skin, a soft pressure, like a pillow she wanted to lean into. She watched him stand, the bow to his legs and the very slight stoop of his shoulders as familiar to her now as her own imperfect body.

Exhausted by the day, she rolled onto her side, watching the sun sink lower. Her eyelids drooped and her cheek pressed her hand and by the time the sun had taken its leave, Caro too had fallen asleep.

She was wokenby the twit-twoo of owls calling through an inky twilight. Like they were lost. Like one was calling,are you there,are you there? And another was answering,I’m here, I’m here.Apart from that, the cottage was quiet. Downstairs, she found Tomasz in the kitchen, drying what looked like the last of the dishes. Aside from a neat pile of jars by the sink, the room was spotless.

‘Tomasz.’ She put her arms around his neck. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘I could do with sitting down,’ he whispered, his hand in her hair.

‘Me too.’ And taking the tea-towel from his hands, she led him through to the front room, poured them both a glass of wine and handed him the remote control. Within another minute, her feet rested in his lap and his hand rested on her thigh, a quiz show played harmless on the TV, and outside the owls had fallen silent.

‘Sydney,’ Thomaz said, nodding at the TV.

Caro frowned.

‘Summer Olympics, year 2000.’ He took a sip of wine.

She put her head to one side. ‘Wasn’t it Athens that year?’

‘No. I was in Gdansk, and I remember getting up at six to watch before work.’

‘I must have been closer,’ she murmured. ‘I vaguely remember it being on in the evenings. Singapore?’ She looked at him.

‘You don’t remember?’ How about if I do this …’ He squeezed her big toe. ‘Does that help?’

Caro sneezed.

Laughing, Tomasz squeezed again.

‘Stop it!’ She managed, but she was still sneezing and laughing herself now.

‘What this? Stop this?’ He kept squeezing and now she was rolling from side to side, helpless with laughter. ‘You like it,’ he said as he let her foot go and leaned forward to kiss her.

Smiling, Caro fell back against the cushion. Yes, she liked it. She liked all of it. The ease, the gentle companionship, these spontaneous explorations they undertook together, excavating fragments of their past lives as carefully as if they were pottery pieces from a lost civilisation. It was only last week that he’d told her about the raised fist of the Communist Salute, he’d been expected to perform at school. And she had told him about her dungaree-wearing drama teacher who’d run off with the deputy head. And they had laughed, and she had thought how it was true. How love is wasted on the young.

‘Sidney, Australia,’ the TV host said.

‘Told you.’ Tomasz patted her leg. ‘Let’s see how many more we get.’

But she didn’t get any more, because she didn’t hear any more questions. She didn’t hear the theme music that marked the end of the show, and she didn’t feel him ease the glass from her hand. Her feet still in his lap, her head on the cushion, she fell into an easy but dreamless sleep.

17

The next day.

Caro: I missed your call last night. Everything ok?

Helen: Just something I wanted to run by you.

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