Myles had taken hold of her hand again, drawing her back into his arms as the song began to fade. Helen leaned heavily against him, resting her head on his shoulder as another song started to play. She didn’t recognise it, but it was lovely . . . lilting guitar, a man’s tender, heartbroken voice.
Her face was close to his neck, he smelled good, all crisp and male. Helen was intensely aware of the feel of his body against hers as they swayed to the music. Urges that had long been suppressed, that she had forcibly suppressed, were rising up inside her so that she started to feel giddy and a little breathless. All of her senses seemed heightened; the smell of him, the touch of him, the reality of him in her arms was becoming intoxicating. She nestled closer and he leaned his head against hers, his lips brushing her hair. Helen brought her hand up to touch his face, and he covered it with his own, drawing it to his lips and kissing her palm. She lifted her head to look at him. They were both breathing hard. Helen moved first: she drew herself up taller, wrapping both arms around his neck, and brought her lips onto his. It was almost a shock at first. Actually, finally connecting, tasting his lips, kissing him. She was kissing another man.
She stopped suddenly, pulling back, her heart pounding, holding her hand to her mouth.
‘What’s the matter, Helen?’ Myles asked gently.
‘I, um . . . I don’t know . . .’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s just pretend that didn’t happen.’
‘No, no,’ she said in a daze. ‘Unless . . . is that what you want?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean, um, I want whatever you want, Helen, I just don’t want you to think I planned this, trust me . . .’
‘Of course I trust you, Myles,’ she said. ‘I was the one who started it.’
‘Okay, but it doesn’t have to go any further,’ he assured her.
‘Why not?’ she asked, her heart beating fast. ‘Don’t you want to?’
‘Oh Helen,’ he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. ‘I want to, you don’t know how much, but maybe this isn’t the right time, maybe it’s too soon for you, maybe we should wait . . .’
‘Maybe you should stop talking,’ she said huskily, her lips hovering against his. Helen just wanted to do it, do it fast and hard and not talk, not say anything, not think. Especially not think.
But Myles still hesitated, drawing back to look at her. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ he said, searching her eyes.
‘I’m sure, just don’t talk.’ This time she kissed him hard, opening her mouth against his and pressing her body into him. She heard him moan deeply, and finally he wasn’t holding back any more. They were kissing almost ferociously now, their mouths tasting, biting, sucking, pleasuring. Helen wanted to feel his skin against hers. She fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt as she felt his hands on the zipper at the back of her dress, his fingers sliding from her neck right down her spine, following the zipper as it opened. Helen knew she wasn’t going to last much longer. She stepped back from him, slipping the dress off her shoulders and peeling it the rest of the way down, till it fell from her hips onto the floor. He was watching her, breathing heavily, as she stepped close again and opened his shirt, pressing herself against his chest, his warm skin, his heart beating against hers. His lips found hers again and he walked her backwards into the bedroom, taking the lead now, kissing her urgently. She could feel his hands tugging at the catch of her bra until it sprung open and he leaned back to look at her, his chest rising and falling, as Helen shrugged the bra off and tossed it aside.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he murmured, burying his head into her breasts as he lifted her up, and in one or two strides they were on the bed, writhing around, discarding what was left of their clothes, till it was just them, skin to skin, nothing between them. Helen felt exhilarated, free, her sensations so charged she could barely stand it . . . but as Myles finally plunged deep inside her, she felt tears well up all of a sudden. She held them back, wrapping her legs around him and thrusting hard against him, driving all thoughts away as she forced herself to stay in the moment, to focus on the sensations only, until they finally engulfed her.
And then Myles came, surging into her with a cry, before collapsing against her, breathing hard. His lips found hers briefly, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, catching his breath.
Helen could feel his body pulsating on top of her, inside her still. But she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, and then her limbs began to shake uncontrollably as the lump rose up again, filling her chest with a choking pain as tears sprung into her eyes. She couldn’t stop them now, they came like an avalanche, building to loud, wailing, gut-wrenching sobs as Myles gathered her up in his arms and held her close, pulling the bedclothes around them, soothing her gently, patiently. Gradually she grew calm, her limbs still, her breathing steady. She felt as though she was floating along, with Myles, drifting with the tide. She imagined she could quite possibly stay like this forever.
‘Helen.’
His voice, bringing her back into the room, back into the reality of lying here, in his bed, naked. She lurched up suddenly, turning away.
‘Helen,’ said Myles, sitting up behind her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I have to get dressed,’ she said, trying to cover herself with the sheet.
‘Helen, don’t. Please stay, it’s going to be all right.’
‘I have to put something on, Myles,’ she insisted, her voice breaking.
‘Okay, okay, no problem. Here,’ he said, hopping off the bed to grab his discarded shirt and wrapping it around her. She pushed her arms into the sleeves and crossed it over in front of her, hugging herself, while Myles found his trousers and pulled them on. He sat down beside her again. ‘Are you okay?’
Helen nodded, not looking at him, not daring to meet those eyes.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
She shook her head. What would she say?
He brought his arm around her and leaned his head against hers. ‘I understand how you must be feeling –’
‘No you don’t,’ she cried, breaking away from him and standing up. ‘Myles, how can you understand what I’m feeling if I don’t even understand it?’
He got to his feet, facing her. ‘Helen, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.’
‘But it’s not.’ The ache in her throat was making it difficult to speak. ‘I’ve never felt like this before, Myles, never had feelings like that,’ she cried, pointing at the bed as though she were accusing it. ‘I don’t think I’m ready. I don’t think I can handle this. I’ve never . . .’
‘What?’
Helen took a breath. ‘I’ve never had sex like that before in my life, Myles.’
He gazed steadily at her. ‘Neither have I.’
She stared at him.
‘Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone,’ he went on. ‘I love you, Helen. You must have known, must have felt it. I fell in love with you from the start, I think, a little. And it kept getting stronger every time I saw you, till I didn’t know how I could hold myself back . . . But I did, and I waited. I waited for something from you, some sign, some indication that maybe you felt the same way, that you were ready. I probably shouldn’t have brought you up here tonight, and I didn’t mean for this to happen. But I’m not sorry it did.’
Helen was breathing hard. Her mouth was dry.
‘Maybe the timing’s wrong,’ said Myles, ‘or maybe you would have felt like this no matter how long you’d waited. Did you think of that, Helen? Maybe you just have to get through this.’
She swallowed. ‘I don’t know how.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.
‘Then let me show you,’ he said, moving closer, so close she could feel the heat off his skin. ‘Slowly, I think we should go very slowly.’ Her shirt was hanging loose now, unbuttoned, and Myles slipped his hand inside, his fingers skating across the surface of her skin, making her quiver under his touch. Helen’s heart starte
d to pound again as he drew his arm around her, bringing her hard up against him. She looked up and he brought his mouth down onto hers in an overpowering, knee-weakening kiss, and Helen surrendered to it, her body melting into his. He led her back to lie on the bed. And then he made love to her, slowly, painstakingly, long into the night. Till she was completely and overwhelmingly spent, floating once more with him, drifting on the tide.
When she opened her eyes she could hear Myles breathing in a steady rhythm behind her. He was sound asleep. And suddenly she felt wide awake. It was still dark, she didn’t know what time it was. Very carefully she raised herself and turned to look across Myles at the bedside clock. It was nearly four. God, she had to get home, what if Noah woke up and she wasn’t there? Myles stirred, shifting onto his back as the arm that had been across her slid away and dropped onto the mattress beside him. Helen took the chance to slither quietly off the bed. She looked back at him; he murmured, then rolled over onto his side, his back to her now. Helen gazed down at him, flashbacks from last night playing out in her head, bringing a rush of feelings – part of her wanted to climb back in beside him and press her body up against his and feel his lips on hers, his arms around her. The other part of her, the part filled with guilt and shame and confusion, just wanted to get out of here and not have to look into those eyes, not have to deal with this. That part appeared to have the upper hand at the moment.
Barely ten minutes later Helen was standing in front of the building, feeling dishevelled in yesterday’s clothes and a bad case of bed-hair. Thank God there was no one around, because she might as well have been wearing a sign to announce she’d had sex. She peered up and down the street, dubious about her chances of getting a taxi at this time of the morning after a quiet Monday night in the city. She started to walk in the direction of the Quay, where she would have more chance of finding a taxi, or even a ferry across to Balmain, though she had no idea what time they started up. When she finally arrived at the end of Macquarie Street, Helen was relieved to see three taxis waiting in the rank in front of the station.
It was a quick trip home at that time and it was still dark when she got out of the taxi, though first light was just starting to break in the sky. As noiselessly as possible, Helen slipped inside the house and closed the door with a single click, then crept down the hall to her room. But she stopped in the doorway, somehow afraid to go in. A strange, unsettling sensation came over her as she stared at the bed she once shared with David. She couldn’t remember the last time they had made love. It could have been as much as weeks before he died, or longer – Helen just couldn’t recall. She’d tried before now, but it was no good; she couldn’t remember the actual occasion, any circumstances around it, anything that made it noteworthy. When she thought about sex with David it all blurred into sameness; there was nothing particularly memorable about it. They had it down pat, knew each other’s moves, knew what was expected. Maybe that’s what it was like for all married couples after a while. She would have remembered if she’d known it was to be the last time they would ever make love. But so many things would have been different if they’d known . . .
‘Helen?’
She jumped, jerking around.
‘Sorry,’ said Gemma in a raised whisper.
‘What are you doing up?’ said Helen. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No, Lola took care of that. I was just putting her down when I heard you come in.’
Helen just nodded, she didn’t offer anything.
‘So, big night?’ Gemma prompted.
‘Ah, yeah, no, sort of . . . yes, it was.’
Gemma was frowning. ‘Is everything okay, Helen?’
Helen could feel them coming on again, tears, spontaneous bloody tears always ready to rise up and betray her. She remembered the days after David died, how she couldn’t cry. These days she couldn’t seem to stop.
‘Helen,’ said Gemma, concerned, ‘what’s the matter, what happened?’
But Helen couldn’t speak, she was trying too hard to keep the lump down in her throat, stem the tears. She pressed her fingers to her eyelids, holding them back.
‘Come out here for a sec,’ said Gemma quietly. She led her down the hall into the front room, away from the sleepers. ‘What is it, Helen? What happened? Where have you been?’
‘I was with Myles,’ she sighed, wiping her eyes with her thumb.
Gemma looked at her expectantly. ‘By “with Myles” I take it you mean . . .’
Helen nodded. ‘We slept together,’ she said gravely.
‘Was it that bad?’
‘No. Yes . . . no, it’s not that, it’s not him, it’s me.’ She took a breath. ‘I drank too much, and I threw myself at him, like some kind of animal let out of a cage.’
Gemma shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t think that would bother most guys.’
Helen stared down at the floor.
‘Sorry,’ said Gemma. ‘So what happened?’
‘After . . . it was over, well, I freaked out.’
‘Freaked out how?’
‘Crying, wailing, general hysteria,’ she said, staring blankly in front of her, reliving it.
‘What did Myles do?’
Helen looked up. ‘He just held me till I calmed down. And then he told me he loved me,’ she croaked, her voice breaking again.
‘Wow,’ Gemma murmured. ‘Though I can’t say I’m surprised. I always said he was besotted with you from the start.’ She looked at Helen, at the turmoil on her face. ‘So how do you feel about him?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I’m confused, it just feels like . . . too much. Like it’s not right somehow.’
Gemma was watching her helplessly.
Helen sighed. ‘Sorry, Gemma, I’m not making much sense. I’m just so tired. I think I’ll try to grab a little sleep before Noah wakes up.’
‘That’s probably a good idea.’
Helen walked back into her bedroom, slipped out of her clothes, and pulled on a loose T-shirt. She climbed carefully onto the bed so as not to disturb Noah. He was curled into a ball, a tiny bump under the covers. Helen lay there, staring at the ceiling, but all she could see was Myles, feel the weight of his body on top of her, his lips and his tongue sliding across her skin. Her heart started to race, and she felt hot, throwing the covers off. The sheer intensity of her feelings was overwhelming. Helen had never felt like this before. But it was all wrong. She couldn’t get Myles out of her head, but she couldn’t even remember making love to her own husband. David was becoming nothing more than a shadow from a former life; it was as though every touch from Myles were smudging him out of existence. How could she do that to him, how could she allow that to happen?
Daybreak
Helen stood on the side of the road holding Noah’s hand firmly. She didn’t know this place; there was nothing around her as far as the eye could see, just the tarmac of the road like a black ribbon unravelling through the desolate flat landscape, dusty and dry. She could see the bus in the distance, gradually approaching till it loomed larger and larger, coming to a stop right in front of them, the doors swinging open with a swoosh. Helen looked down at Noah and gave him a reassuring smile. They stepped up into the bus together.
‘Myers!’ Noah exclaimed.
Myles was driving the bus. He smiled at them, waiving the fare. They sat right up front, watching out the large windows as the bus picked up speed. Then she saw him, standing right in the middle of the road ahead. But Myles wasn’t slowing down; he kept right on. She tried to call out to warn him, but she didn’t have a voice. The bus kept going, getting closer, till she could see David’s face.
Helen lurched upright, gasping for breath. Her legs were trembling as she stumbled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, dropping to her knees and throwing up into the toilet. She leaned back against the tiled wall, catching her breath. She was still trembling, and she’d broken into a cold sweat. She felt unsteady as she got up onto her feet and turned on the shower. But standing und
er the stream of warm water, smoothing soap over her skin, Helen’s mind drifted again to Myles, and last night, and her heart started to race. Oh, for crying out loud. Helen dropped the soap and turned off the hot tap. She had to pull herself together. She turned the cold water on hard and stood there until she was shivering.
‘Is it Sat-day, Mummy?’ Noah asked when he woke up, seeing her dressed in tracksuit pants and a T-shirt. He was obviously getting accustomed to her working full-time.
‘No, sweetie, it’s only Tuesday. Mummy’s going to stay home with you this week,’ she said, trying to sound chipper. ‘What would you like to do?’
‘Can we wake Unka Tony up?’
‘Not yet, we have to let him have a bit of a sleep-in.’
When Gemma got up with Lola soon after, she regarded Helen curiously. ‘You’re not going to work?’
‘No, I’m not,’ Helen said in a tone that did not invite further discussion.
‘Aren’t your in-laws lined up to have Noah today?’
‘God, you’re right, Gemma,’ said Helen. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
She called them right away, and though the disappointment was plain in Noreen’s voice, she didn’t push it. She simply said to call any time this week if Helen needed them. When she hung up the phone, she wandered out to the back room and leaned against the doorway, watching Noah playing with Lola. Not playing with so much – Lola wasn’t really up to that. But Noah delighted in pulling faces and making silly noises, singing selections from his preschool repertoire with all the accompanying hand actions, shaking her toys and rattles. Any reaction from Lola, even though at this stage they were mostly involuntary ticks, was enough to keep him going. Helen wondered who would tire of it first.
The phone began to ring. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said, turning up the hall. She picked up the handset from its cradle on the wall.
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