In which we return to Malcolm
Malcolm stirs in his sleep as an owl hoots from somewhere close by. He is used to this summer disturbance and subconsciously ignores its importunity.
Then he is blearily awake as a thought penetrates his coveted first hours of slumber.
Helen.
He stretches out a hand and feels the bed-clothes where she usually humps her body in an effort to stay as far away from him as the bed will permit. Normally he is amused at her childish desire to sleep in peace. Now, however, he is disturbed by her distance, in fact not even sure she’s there. He pulls his torso heavily upright, staring hard into the darkness to make out the protrusion of quilt that would reassure him of her presence.
Unable to decide conclusively, he stretches his free arm backwards and fumbles for the lamp.
The bedclothes on Helen’s half remain as they were when he tumbled exhausted into his side. He remembers the relief he felt that nothing further would be required of him tonight. A glance at the clock confirms that he has been asleep for two hours. It is nearly tomorrow.
Malcolm groans. If the pressure at work does not let up he will be six foot under before the planned move. There is little time left for sleep, even with a Sunday lie-in. Whatever can Helen be up to?
He’d wanted to discuss a trip to Iceland with her. Maybe for late September when the job is off the ground and can be left for a couple of weeks. The brochure’s alluring descriptions of geothermal activity and sledge excursions have stayed at the back of his mind since he discovered the information on his colleague’s desk a few days ago. Such an idea has fuelled his energies in a new way. He intended talking the matter over with Helen after returning from his mother’s at three, but there was a note saying she’d gone to buy Carla a birthday present and would go straight on to the little gathering she was having to celebrate.
No harm done. He will book it either way. He knows what Helen likes after all this time and they will need to get away together quite soon if they are not to join the divorce statistics. She should be glad he is not one of those husbands for whom their wives have to organise the annual jamboree.
He lies awake for a few minutes and then falls into a dreamless sleep.
