Authors: Frederic Lindsay
'It's
functioning.’
He
turned
into
silhouette
so
that
she
could
see
the
rod
of
his
penis
erected
from
his
body.
Feeling
him
inside
her,
she
wanted
to
say,
I
never
imagined
you
dead,
not
ever,
I
never
played
that
game.
When
he
lay
by
her
side,
she
said,
'There
wasn't
anywhere
for
me
to
go.
You
were
dead.
I
put
down
the
phone
and
later
I
was
outside.
The
odd
thing
is
I'd
got
dressed
for
a
walk.
I'd
gloves
and
boots
and
a
heavy
coat
and
scarf,
though
I
didn't
remember
putting
any
of
them
on.
In
the
woods
I
met
someone
who
told
me
your
friend
Monty
Norman
is
a
kind
of
Nazi.’
She
waited
for
him
to
answer,
but
he
sighed
and
drew
another
breath
like
a
man
asleep.
He
took
her
again
just
before
morning.
This
time
again
she
was
awake.
She
had
lain
awake
all
night
waiting
for
morning
to
come.
Finished,
the
weight
of
him
stretched
along
her
body, he
whispered
into
her
ear,
'I
killed
a
child.’
Mysteriously
the
words
connected
to
no
event
in
her
mind
but
ran
instead
out
into
an
unknown
of
possibilities
so
that
it
was
an
easing,
before
the
shock
came,
when
he
confined
it
to
the
narrow
reality
of
what
it
was.
When
his
car
plunged
through
that
corner
it
had
hit
an
eleven-year
old
girl
on
a
bicycle.
The
force
of
the
impact
threw
her
forward
so
that
before
the
car
went
into
the
wall
it
almost
struck
her
again,
though
by
that
time
she
was
dead.
She
wept
for
the
child
and
for
him.
Hardly
knowing what
she
said
offered
reassurance.
It
was
an
accident,
no
matter
how
terrible
not
his
fault.
'The
brakes
failed,'
he
said.
'That's
what
happened
and
now
I've
to
hope
that's
what
their
experts
find.’
'Then
they
will.’
'The
front
was
smashed
up.
I
don't
know
about
these
things.
Maybe
that
will
make
it
harder.
What
do
you
think?'
She
saw
the
Peugeot
with
the
bonnet
sprung
open,
the
lamps
emptied
out
like
scooped
eggshells.
'I
can't
bear
it.
You
might
have
been
killed.’
'I
wouldn't
know
how
to
make
the
brakes
fail.
How
do you
think
you
would
do
that?'
'Make
them?'
'Make
them.
Cut
something
or
untighten
something.
I
told
you
I
don't
know.
But,
of
course,
it
would
have
to
take
some
time.
Not
much
point
if
they
failed
coming
out
of
the
garage.’
She
sat
up.
'No
one
would
do
that.’
He
lay
on
his
back.
Only
his
eyes
slid
to
the
side
following
her.
'Do
you
remember
the
time
someone
put
contraceptives
into
my
briefcase?
You
said
the
same
thing
then.’
He
lay
there
waiting
for
her
to
speak,
and
she
knew
it
was
important
to
find
something
to
say.
After
a
time,
he
got
up
and
began
to
dress.
'Thank
God,
I
hadn't
been
drinking.’
He
said
that
as
he
was
fastening
the
buttons
on
a
shirt,
his
tone
quite
ordinary.
And
later,
slipping
his
feet
into
his
shoes,
'They
call
it
reckless
driving
apparently
if
it
comes
to
a
charge.
The
maximum
penalty
for
reckless
driving
is
five
years.
A
policeman
told
me
that,
he
said
it
wasn't
enough.
Of
course,
some
of
them
were
upset
because
it
was
a
child.
That's
natural.’
She
wondered
if
the
man
who
phoned
had
told
her
Maitland
was
dead
to
punish
her.
That
seemed
unfair
since
she
had
done
nothing.
One
flesh.
Married
people
all
committing
masturbation,
one
flesh.
Monty
Norman
and
Maitland.
She
heard
him
coming
out
of
the
bathroom
and going
downstairs.
Men
could
love
men
as
women
love women.
Not
lovers,
the
idea
foolish
as
much
as
sick,
rather
like
a
man
and
his
image
in
the
mirror
–
the
image
you
love
or
dislike
but
which
is
closer
to
you
than
any
lover –
its
skin,
the
dry
roughness
of
gums,
the
weight
of
flesh
under
the
eyes,
peering
out
through
gaps
in
its
bones
at
a
blurred
twin.
Maitland
looking
into
a
mirror
and
Monty
looking
out
at
him.
What
would
she
see
if
she
looked
in
the
mirror?