tends to lead to another round of lovemaking, they have been here hours longer than they intended.
Rose has seen the window shimmer with dusk and then close to darkness. She knows it is late, but she doesn’t dare ask Toby the time, even though his watch ticks right against her ear. She is horribly worried and doesn’t care at all, both feelings happening simultaneously. She can’t remember being this much in love with James, but she must have been. Why would she have married him otherwise?
It’s all so confusing, and mostly what Rose wants in this moment is simply to kiss Toby again, to brush her hand across his face, to nestle into the hollow between his neck and collarbone (for she is lying on top this time).
“I can’t go,” she says, “and yet I feel dreadful that Enid is waiting up at the cottage for me. I wasn’t very nice to her today. And she is James’s sister. It’s not her fault that her flat was bombed.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” asks Toby, running his hand over Rose’s bare back.
“Myself, I guess.”
“And to what purpose?”
“So that I’ll like her more than I do. So that I won’t feel so guilty about not liking her.”
“Ah. Here’s a question: Does it matter whether you like her or not?”
“No, I suppose not.” Rose pushes up from his chest so that she can look into his blue eyes. “And truthfully, I don’t really think she likes me much either.”
“There you go, then. Mutual loathing. Nothing like it.” Toby smiles and Rose thinks that he is much more handsome than James, and though she shouldn’t care about something as petty as this, she enjoys making the comparison anyway.
Toby walks Rose home, up Ashdown Road in the dark, right to the edge of the path to her cottage. She won’t let him come any farther in case Enid has retired upstairs and sees them in the back garden.
They stand at the edge of the path, kissing in the shadows of the trees, not wanting to break apart.
“I should go,” says Toby.
“Yes,” agrees Rose. “You should go.” But this announcement just makes them cling more tightly together.
Something knocks into Rose and she squeals loudly enough for Toby to clamp a hand over her mouth. It’s the dogs, back from their day on the forest, banging exuberantly against her legs. They are ecstatic at finding Rose in the darkness, so close to the cottage where the horsemeat is kept and where there is a warm blanket in the sitting room to lie on and rest their tired bones.
“They’ve got something,” says Toby. The dogs are tugging at opposite ends of what looks like a coat sleeve. He bends down, pries Harris’s jaws open, and dangles the item in front of Rose. “Looks like they’ve caught a rabbit.” The carcass of the animal hangs from his fingers; all that’s left is the skin and the four paws.
“Horrid dogs,” says Rose. “They’re very good hunters, I’m afraid. Don’t throw it away. They’ll just go after it again.”
Toby slings the rabbit skin over his shoulder, like a poacher. “I’ll dispose of it on my way back to the pub,” he says. “Better get those hellions indoors before they kill something else.” He gives Rose a quick kiss and turns to make his way back down the road.
The dogs crowd against Rose, not minding that their prize has been taken away, glad to have found her instead. She pats their flanks, scratches the tops of their heads. “Come on, you horrible dogs,” she says. “Let’s go home.”
Thankfully Enid is in bed when Rose gets in. There’s nothing to eat, and she forgot to go to the shops, even though that had been her excuse for leaving the cottage. She breaks off a hunk of cheese from the block in the larder and eats it standing in the middle of the kitchen. I’m turning into an animal, she thinks, but the thought doesn’t really displease her.
She leaves the dogs in the cottage when she goes back out a half hour later on patrol. It seems that Clementine means to stay the
Rose has seen the window shimmer with dusk and then close to darkness. She knows it is late, but she doesn’t dare ask Toby the time, even though his watch ticks right against her ear. She is horribly worried and doesn’t care at all, both feelings happening simultaneously. She can’t remember being this much in love with James, but she must have been. Why would she have married him otherwise?
It’s all so confusing, and mostly what Rose wants in this moment is simply to kiss Toby again, to brush her hand across his face, to nestle into the hollow between his neck and collarbone (for she is lying on top this time).
“I can’t go,” she says, “and yet I feel dreadful that Enid is waiting up at the cottage for me. I wasn’t very nice to her today. And she is James’s sister. It’s not her fault that her flat was bombed.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” asks Toby, running his hand over Rose’s bare back.
“Myself, I guess.”
“And to what purpose?”
“So that I’ll like her more than I do. So that I won’t feel so guilty about not liking her.”
“Ah. Here’s a question: Does it matter whether you like her or not?”
“No, I suppose not.” Rose pushes up from his chest so that she can look into his blue eyes. “And truthfully, I don’t really think she likes me much either.”
“There you go, then. Mutual loathing. Nothing like it.” Toby smiles and Rose thinks that he is much more handsome than James, and though she shouldn’t care about something as petty as this, she enjoys making the comparison anyway.
Toby walks Rose home, up Ashdown Road in the dark, right to the edge of the path to her cottage. She won’t let him come any farther in case Enid has retired upstairs and sees them in the back garden.
They stand at the edge of the path, kissing in the shadows of the trees, not wanting to break apart.
“I should go,” says Toby.
“Yes,” agrees Rose. “You should go.” But this announcement just makes them cling more tightly together.
Something knocks into Rose and she squeals loudly enough for Toby to clamp a hand over her mouth. It’s the dogs, back from their day on the forest, banging exuberantly against her legs. They are ecstatic at finding Rose in the darkness, so close to the cottage where the horsemeat is kept and where there is a warm blanket in the sitting room to lie on and rest their tired bones.
“They’ve got something,” says Toby. The dogs are tugging at opposite ends of what looks like a coat sleeve. He bends down, pries Harris’s jaws open, and dangles the item in front of Rose. “Looks like they’ve caught a rabbit.” The carcass of the animal hangs from his fingers; all that’s left is the skin and the four paws.
“Horrid dogs,” says Rose. “They’re very good hunters, I’m afraid. Don’t throw it away. They’ll just go after it again.”
Toby slings the rabbit skin over his shoulder, like a poacher. “I’ll dispose of it on my way back to the pub,” he says. “Better get those hellions indoors before they kill something else.” He gives Rose a quick kiss and turns to make his way back down the road.
The dogs crowd against Rose, not minding that their prize has been taken away, glad to have found her instead. She pats their flanks, scratches the tops of their heads. “Come on, you horrible dogs,” she says. “Let’s go home.”
Thankfully Enid is in bed when Rose gets in. There’s nothing to eat, and she forgot to go to the shops, even though that had been her excuse for leaving the cottage. She breaks off a hunk of cheese from the block in the larder and eats it standing in the middle of the kitchen. I’m turning into an animal, she thinks, but the thought doesn’t really displease her.
She leaves the dogs in the cottage when she goes back out a half hour later on patrol. It seems that Clementine means to stay the
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