she said. ‘I love the Serpentine. Can we still hire a rowing boat at this time of the year? Is it too late?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. It was the last week in September. ‘We might be able to get a boat for a few more days. You want to try?’
Those wide-set brown eyes got even bigger.
‘You mean now?’
‘Why not?’
She looked at her watch.
‘Because I’ve got to get to work,’ she smiled. ‘Sorry. I would have loved it.’
‘Then how about tomorrow? First thing. Before the crowds get there. We’ll get an early start. I’ll meet you at your place after breakfast.’
I still hadn’t seen her flat.
‘Or I could come to your place after I get through at work tonight,’ she said.
‘Tonight?’
‘That way we would really be sure of getting an early start.’
‘You’ll come to my place after work?’
‘Yes.’ She looked down at the clouds in her coffee and then back at me. ‘Would that be okay?’
‘That would be good,’ I said. ‘That would be great.’
Maybe the thing with Cyd had started off as some dumb infatuation when I was still reeling from Gina leaving me. But after we slept together for the first time it really wasn’t like that any more. Because Cyd’s mouth fit mine in a way that no other mouth ever had – not even Gina’s mouth.
I’m not kidding – Cyd’s mouth was a perfect fit. Not too hard, not too soft, not too dry, not too wet, not too much tongue and not too little. Just perfect.
I had kissed her before of course, but this was different. Now when we kissed, I wanted it to go on forever. Our mouths could have been made for each other. And how often can you say that? How often do you find someone whose mouth is a perfect fit for your mouth? I’ll tell you exactly – once. That’s how many times.
There’re a lot of nice people in the world, a million people who you could fall in love with. But there’s only one person out there whose mouth is a perfect fit.
And despite everything that happened later, I still believe that. I really do.
In the early hours I watched her while she was sleeping, loving it that she was on my side of the bed, happy that she knew so little about my old life that she hadn’t automatically taken Gina’s side.
I drifted off knowing that we had begun, and it was up to the two of us what side of the bed we slept on.
And then she woke up screaming.
It was only Pat.
Probably disturbed by drunks staggering home at the fag-end of a Saturday night, he had stumbled out of his bed and crawled into mine, never really waking, not even when he threw a leg over Cyd’s waist and she woke up as if someone was kicking in the window.
She turned towards me, hiding her face in her hands.
‘Oh God – I thought – I don’t know what I thought. I could see you. But I could feel someone else.’
I put my arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her. Pat was out cold on her side of the bed, his mouth open, his arms above his head, his smooth round face turned away from us, but one leg still draped over Cyd.
‘I’m all right, I’m all right,’ she said, gently removing Pat’s leg. She slid over me and got out of bed, not sounding all right at all.
I thought she was going to the bathroom. But when she didn’t come back after five minutes, I went looking for her. She was sitting at the kitchen table wearing a shirt of mine that she must have found in the laundry basket.
I sat down beside her, taking her hands. I kissed her on the mouth. Softly, lips together. I loved to kiss her all different ways.
‘I’m sorry he scared you,’ I said. ‘He does that sometimes. Climbs in my bed, I mean. I should have warned you.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you sure?’
She shook her head.
‘Not really.’
‘Listen, I really am sorry he frightened you like that. I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’ll put a lock on my door. Or tie him down. Or –’
‘It’s not Pat,’ she said. ‘It’s us.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We haven’t really talked, have we?’
‘Sure we have. I told you about Gina. You told me about the guy who was into the bamboo. The one who wasn’t Rhett Butler. We talked a lot. We got all the sad stories out of the way.’
‘That’s the past. I mean we haven’t talked about now. We don’t know what the other one wants. I like you, Harry. You’re funny and you’re sweet. You’re good with your boy. But I don’t know what you’re expecting from me.’
‘I’m not expecting anything.’
‘That’s not true. Of course you are. Same as I am. Same as anyone is when they start sleeping together or holding hands in beautiful buildings and getting all dreamy over the coffee and all that. Everyone is expecting things. But I’m not sure if they’re the same things.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well – do you want more children?’
‘Jesus. We just slept together for the first time.’
‘Ah, come on. You know in your heart if you want more children or not, Harry. I don’t mean with me. I mean with anyone.’
I looked at her. As it happens, I had been thinking about it a lot.
‘I want more children if the person I have them with is going to be with me forever. Okay?’
‘But nobody can guarantee that they’re going to stay together forever.’
‘Well, that’s what I want. I don’t want to go through it all again. I don’t like seeing all the pain and disappointment that you pass on to some innocent little kid who didn’t ask for it and who doesn’t deserve it. I didn’t like going through all that with Pat and I’m never going through it again, okay? And neither is any child of mine.’
‘Sounds very noble,’ she said. ‘But it’s not really noble at all. It’s just your get-out clause. You want more children, but you only want them if you’re guaranteed a happy ending. Only Walt Disney can guarantee you a happy ending, Harry. And you know it. Nobody can ever give you that kind of guarantee. So everything just – I don’t know – drifts.’
I didn’t like the way this was going. I wanted more kisses. I wanted to watch her sleeping. I wanted her to show me beautiful buildings that I never knew existed. And the boats – we were still going on the boats, weren’t we?
‘You can’t just transfer your heart to another woman after your marriage breaks up, Harry. You can’t do it without thinking a little about what you want. What you’re expecting. Because if you don’t, then seven years down the line you will be in exactly the same place you reached with Gina. I like you, and you like me. And that’s great. But it’s not enough. We have to be sure we want the same things. We’re too old for games.’
‘We’re not too old,’ I said. ‘For anything.’
‘Too old for games,’ she said. ‘As soon as you’ve got a kid, you’re too old for games.’
What did she know about having a kid?
‘I have to go home,’ she said, standing up.
‘What