affairs and beach stones

16th December 1957

LAST NIGHT, VERY late, he came to the flat.

'You did like her, didn't you?'

I was groggy from sleep and had stumbled from bed in just my pyjamas, still half dreaming of him, and there he was: tense-faced, damp-haired from the night. Standing on the doorstep. Asking for my opinion.

'For God's sake come in,' I hissed. 'You'll wake the neighbours.'

I led the way upstairs and into the sitting room. Switching on a table lamp I saw the time: a quarter to two in the morning.

'Drink?' I asked, gesturing towards the cabinet. 'Or tea, perhaps?'

He was standing on my rug just as he had when he first visited – upright, nervous – and he was staring directly at me with an intensity I hadn't seen before.

I rubbed my eyes. 'What?'

'I asked you a question.'

Not this again, I thought. The suspect-interrogator routine. 'Rather late, isn't it?' I said, not caring if I sounded peevish.

He said nothing. Waited.

'Look. Why don't we have a cup of tea? I'm not quite awake.'

Without giving him time to argue, I fetched my dressing gown, then went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

He followed me. 'You didn't like her.'

'Go and sit down, won't you? I need tea. Then we can talk.'

'Why won't you tell me?'

'I will!' I laughed and stepped towards him, but something in the way he was standing – so steady and straight, as if ready to spring – stopped me from touching him.

'I just need a moment to gather my thoughts—'

The kettle's scream interrupted us and I busied myself with measuring, pouring and stirring, aware all the while of his refusal to move.

'Let's sit.' I held out a cup.

'I don't want tea, Louis ...'

'I was dreaming of you,' I said. 'If you want to know. And now here you are. It's a little strange. And lovely. And it's late. Please. Let's just sit down.'

He relented, and we sat at opposite ends of the chesterfield. Seeing him so twitchy and insistent, I knew what I had to do. And so I said: 'She's a super girl. And a lucky one.'

Immediately his face brightened, his shoulders relaxed. 'Do you really think so?'

'Yes.'
'I thought perhaps you didn't, you know, take to her.'
I sighed. 'It's not up to me, is it? It's your decision ...'
'I'd hate to think the two of you couldn't get along.'
'We got along fine, didn't we?'
'She liked you. She told me. She thinks you're a real gent.' 'Does she.'
'She meant it.'

Perhaps due to the late hour, or perhaps in reaction to this declaration of Miss Taylor's appreciation, I could hide my

irritation no longer. 'Look,' I snapped, 'I can't stop you seeing her. I know that. But don't expect it to change things.'

'What things?'
'The way things are with us.'
We looked at each other for a long moment.
Then he smiled. 'Were you really dreaming of me?'

After I gave my seal of approval, he rewarded me richly. For the first time, he came to my bed and he stayed the whole night.

I'd almost forgotten the joy of waking up and, before you've even opened your eyes, knowing by the shape of the mattress beneath you, by the warmth of the sheets, that he's still there.