Page 155 of Where Do We Go From Here?
‘Gladys Knight,’ he says, putting down the coffee pot and holding out a hand. ‘Dance with me.’
Wendy carries the final dirty plates from the table, adds them to the pile, then rubs her hands on her hips and steps between Harry’s open arms. Their bodies seem to fit together more easily than yesterday. She wonders if this is another side effect of the joint.
‘Since when do you listen to soul?’ she asks.
‘Since Spotify started suggesting it,’ Harry says, sliding one arm round her back, and moving her into a playful tango hold.
‘Clever Spotify,’ Wendy says. ‘I like.’
Because Harry breathes out heavily, she tips her head back to look up at him so that she can identify the nature of the sigh.
‘I do love you, you know,’ he says.
‘Me, too. This has been one of the nicest Christmases ever, hasn’t it?’
‘Don’t let the kids hear you say that,’ Harry laughs.
‘No, no, I won’t.’
He kisses her then, and for the first time in ages – for the first time in years – she wants more. She opens her mouth to let him in.
‘Allo, allo!’ Harry says comically, once the kiss is over.
This makes Wendy crack up laughing for no reason she can identify. ‘Allo, allo?’ she repeats, in a silly French accent.
‘Hey, you started it with your French kissing.’ And then he wheels her in so tightly she can hardly breathe.
She wakes up the next morning to find herself spooned by Harry’s body. She can feel his morning hard-on pressed against her buttocks and, feeling vaguely embarrassed, she edges gently away.
She pokes one arm out from the quilt to confirmwhat her nose is telling her: that the cabin is once again freezing. ‘Shit,’ she mumbles.
‘What?’ Harry asks. He’s apparently wide awake.
‘Forgot to stack the wood stove. It’s arctic out there.’
‘Huh,’ Harry says. ‘I’m sure it warms up pretty quickly, doesn’t it?’
‘It does onceyouget up and relight it.’
‘Sorry, don’t know how,’ Harry says, rolling onto his back. ‘It’s gonna have to be you, babe.’
‘I’ll give you instructions,’ she offers, rolling over so that she’s now cradling Harry. She tickles his waist in an attempt at forcing him from the bed.
‘I still think, with all your experience…’ Harry says, through laughter. ‘OK, I’ll get up and light the paraffin thing, if you want.’
‘Ooh, no,’ Wendy says. ‘It stinks. Plus I don’t think it’s very healthy – breathing the fumes and what-have-you…’
Because it’s ultimately easier to do it herself than to motivate Harry, she braces herself and gets up, returning five minutes later with mugs of tea.
‘Here you go, lazy man,’ she says.
‘Oh, you love it,’ Harry says, through a yawn. ‘You love being my charwoman.’
‘Huh?’ Wendy says, sipping her tea. ‘Charwoman? Now you’ve blown it!’
‘Blown what?’
‘There’s a massive pile of washing up down there. Which is now entirely your job.’
