Claire lifted herself and looked over the sleeping body at the fluorescent numbers. 2.46. She sighed and pulled a pillow to her chest. Should she leave her husband of thirty years for this?
She watched the shadowed leaves sway outside the window. She listened to the man’s breath next to her; he was a protuberance in the lilting darkness.
Why now, why so late in life?
The man stirred.
‘You okay?’ he said.
She turned to face him. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘S’alright.’
She peered through the darkness at the body that had, only four hours ago, been welcomed into her with searing abandon. It’s in the wee hours that our self-doubts and loathing occur.
She touched his face, thrilled again at the stubble on his jowls. His hand took hers and he kissed it softly. She pulled his hand to her and breathed in his scent. He moved close and encircled her in his long arms. She tucked her face on to his neck. Again, his scent, and that of their lovemaking.
‘I wanted you,’ she said. ‘All those years ago.’
She grimaced, waiting for a reaction. He hugged her more tightly. Relief and yearning flowed through her. The room seemed lighter; maybe her vision had adjusted.
‘But I was scared.’
They lay silently. Was he going to ask what of?
He kissed her scalp. She loved that, when that happened. Gathered in his embrace, and kissed on the hair. She felt sheltered, wanted.
She pulled back, and raised herself on to her elbow.
‘You know that, right?’ She could see his features now, dark in the night, but a clear outline. ‘You knew that then, yes? Back at uni?’
‘I had an inkling,’ he said, ‘but we were in different cities and rarely saw each other.’
‘When you were in Canberra, when you poured that sculpture, I came, to watch you.’
His muscles had glistened in the burning furnace. His hair tied back, his eyes fixed on the task of pouring the gold heat into the mold. She had marvelled more at him than the art of the pour.
‘My first commission.’ She sensed the smile that followed. It was a smile that drew you in, as if you were part of the joke, part of the enterprise. ‘For the foyer of the Exchange Building. Parole d’honneur, the promise you have to keep.’ He touched her forearm. ‘It’s not there anymore.’
Why hadn’t she lunged at him then? Why hadn’t she risked all and declared her want? Why had she always held back?
‘Do you know where it went?’
He shook his head.
She slumped back on to the pillow face up to the blank ceiling.
‘I could have had a different life,’ she said. ‘We could have.’
He moved to her and brushed her hair off her forehead. He was above her, his face in shadow.
‘We had lives,’ he said, ‘even the ones we wanted.’
She curled up and away. Tears wet the pillow. Not the life she had wanted. She had missed out on him, on what could have been with him, on the excitement, the uncertainty, the figuring out, the … creation. She turned and said,
‘I’ve got a husband, and three kids. And they’re wonderful and they mean everything to me. We had certainty.’
‘Then we’ve both had good lives,’ he said.
She pulled herself up.
‘Did you? You’ve got two, and an ex. Is that what you wanted?’
This time she saw the smile, and felt drawn in. ‘It’s been a good life so far,’ he said.
Her body ached for this man, her heart yearned for resolve. She’d be heartbroken if she left her family, all thirty years of its making. She’d feel the cold sting of compromise if she didn’t.
She pulled her knees to her chest. ‘David’s a good man. He’s been an exemplary husband. A fantastic provider, gentle, generous to a fault, there’s nothing wrong with him, even his dad bod’s not too … dad boddy.’
She stared through the dark at him. ‘Why am I telling you this? Look at you, you’re smart and fun and gorgeous. You’ve still got hair for goodness’ sake, and you’re thin and fit and lithe. I always loved you.’
He sat up next to her, leaning on the headboard. His gaze was open and welcomed her and wanted only the person she wanted to be.
‘I made promises, Hugh,’ she said.
‘I understand,’ he said.
She looked at his lean figure, the shock of hair, the thin nose and the dense stubble. His chest, with its beads of hair, flecked, she knew, with silver. The long arms, and his firm and strong hands. She turned to him.
‘Fuck me again.’ And placed her mouth on his.
She straddled him, and her heart was florid with wanting, her body exhausted in the search. She invaded his mouth with her tongue, gasped for breath as she writhed with a brittle ecstasy. As he lifted her, she pounded her fists on his chest and he held her, strength against strength as she fought and sought to lose. She finally came when his hands grabbed her hips and suspended her in his grasp. She cried out then, and clung to his head as he turned her over and let her give herself to him.
When she woke the daylight obscured the numbers on the clock. The space next to her was vacant.
She was filled with a sudden dread. Surely he wouldn’t have just gone?
She pulled the sheet over her head and her mind flooded with worry. She should get back home. What would David say? What did Hugh think about last night? It was all stupid, she should never, she should have, was pleased she did. She’d rung him, arranged the meeting last night, while she ‘was away on a girls’ weekend’. And now twice last night, my god it’s been so long and never twice, and now her heart was a hot mess. What to do? David or Hugh? Would she for once in her goddam life, forsake certainty and chase the dream? Or was it too late? Too much to lose?
The door swung open. She flung back the sheet. Hugh, dressed in a robe, carried a tray with coffee on it.
‘You mentioned you like it black in the morning.’
He placed the tray on the bedside table and leaned over to kiss her. She sat up and accepted the mug he offered.
‘To our time together,’ he said, ‘however long or short.’
He’s giving me permission. That’s one of his admirable qualities. The fucker’s not telling me what to do. Damn.
Her phone vibrated. She checked it and said, ‘My youngest, the twenty-three year old, the last one still at home. Reminding me he’s got friends coming over tonight.’
Hugh smiled that conspiratorial smile of his that said we’re all in this together. He gave her a warm hug and said, ‘Don’t be a stranger.’
* * * * *
Photo by Barry Bibbs, C/- Unsplash
