Beneath the Earth by John Boyne

eyelids fluttered a little as an image came to her mind – her lips against the boy’s bare brown breast – and she swallowed as he turned to look at her, his eyes a fierce blue, his nose fleshy at the nostrils, his tongue pink as it emerged from his mouth and gathered the beer suds from his upper lip in a slow sensual gesture. Unsteady on her feet, she rose, leaving her drink unfinished, and walked towards him; in the narrow space between the front and back bar he stepped aside to let her pass. Her shoes slipped on a spillage and she almost collided with him, their bodies close together for a moment as she looked in his face. He smelled awful and wonderful. The man beneath the ANZAC sign watched them, ready to pounce. ‘Steady, missus,’ said the young Aborigine, and she felt a shiver run through her body as she moved forward, back out on to the street, where the heat overtook her again. She thought she might tear her clothes off and run naked down George Street, screaming in delight. But, of course, she didn’t.
    Archie made no reference to the disappearance of Mrs Crossley and Agatha thought to bring it up one day, to ask why he thought Mrs Crossley had dropped them so suddenly, but in the end she decided against it. She didn’t want to hear his answer.
    But now, this morning, it was almost impossible not to suspect the worst. She turned away from her observation of the progress of the bridge and went around to Archie’s side of the bed, burying her face in his pillow, trying to define by scent whether or not he had slept there the night before.
    It was an extraordinary thing, of course, for a husband and wife not to retire together from a party – it was not the sort of thing that would ever happen in London – but it was exactly what had taken place the previous night. They had been invited to the home of the Forsters, a couple who lived only a short walk from their apartment, and had strolled down together in the late evening to join a very jolly party. Agatha was having a wonderful time, particularly because Archie was being so solicitous of her, but then they had both turned at the same moment and caught the eye of Mrs Crossley across the room. The lady froze visibly for a moment, her expression set in stone, before relaxing her features and adopting what Agatha defined as a practised expression. Archie, holding Agatha’s elbow, tensed, swallowed and said nothing. The tableau was quite extraordinary, Agatha felt. The three of them locked together in some ridiculous way, no one willing to be the first to say or do anything.
    â€˜Look,’ said Agatha finally, the word catching in her throat. ‘Look who it is.’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Archie, and now Mrs Crossley advanced towards them both, wrapping them up in a flurry of kisses and self-admonishments for not seeing them more frequently.
    â€˜I’ve just been so busy of late,’ she explained. ‘I intended to write but never found an opportunity. My brother came to visit, you see, from Canberra.’
    â€˜I didn’t know you had a brother,’ said Agatha coolly.
    â€˜Oh yes.’
    â€˜What’s his name?’
    Mrs Crossley stared at her, her expression fixed, but then she smiled a little. ‘His name is John,’ she said. ‘He’s the member for Darwin so splits his time between the Northern Territories and the capital. You can look him up in the Members’ Directory if you don’t believe me.’
    Agatha flushed scarlet. ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Naturally I didn’t mean—’
    â€˜And how are you, Archie?’ said Mrs Crossley, turning her attentions to Agatha’s husband. ‘You have quite a colour these days. Been spending a lot of time outdoors, have you? You always seemed more the indoors type to me.’
    â€˜Well, yes, a bit, I suppose,’ muttered Archie.
    â€˜You promised to lend me that book, didn’t