The Night Watch by Sarah Waters

twilight, lit her fingers and her face… Hush, Vivien , Viv remembered her saying. The memory was stark, after all this time-stark and terrible-the grip of her hand, the closeness of her mouth. Vivien, hush .
    'Thank God for that!' said Reggie, when they were inching forwards again in the other direction. 'Talk about not drawing attention to ourselves. What on earth was all that for? Are you all right?'
    She didn't answer. She'd felt the grinding of the gears, the lurching forwards and backwards of the car, in what seemed to be all her muscles and bones. She folded her arms across herself, as if to hold herself together.
    'What is it?' asked Reggie.
    'I saw someone I knew,' she said at last; 'that's all.'
    'Someone you knew? Who was it?'
    'Just someone.'
    'Just someone. Well, I expect they got a bloody good look at you and me, too. Hell, Viv…'
    He went grumbling on. She didn't listen. He stopped the car at last in some street near Blackfriars Bridge; she said she'd take a bus from there, and he didn't argue. He pulled up in a quiet-looking spot, and drew her to him so that they could kiss; afterwards he borrowed her handkerchief again and wiped his mouth. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, too, and, 'What a trip!' he said-as if the afternoon had been some sort of disaster; as if he'd forgotten, already, the stream and the ruined mill, the initials on the wall… She didn't care. The feel of his hand on her arm, of his lips against her mouth, was suddenly frightful. She wanted to get home, be on her own, away from him.
    But as she opened her door he reached for her again. He'd put his hand into a pocket in the dashboard and was bringing something out. It turned out to be two tins of meat: one beef, and one pork.
    She was so distracted, she started to take them. She opened her bag to put them away. But then something seemed to give way inside her, and she was suddenly furious. She pushed them back at him. 'I don't want them!' she said. 'Take them- Give them to your wife!'
    The tins fell, and bounced from the seat. 'Viv!' said Reggie, astonished, hurt. 'Don't be like that! What have I done? What the hell's the matter? Viv!'
    She got out, closed the door and walked away. He leaned across the seat and wound down the window, still calling her name-still saying, in amazement, 'What's the matter? What have I done? What-?' Then his voice began to grow hard-not so much, she thought, with anger, as with simple weariness. 'What the hell have I done, now?'
    She didn't look back. She turned a corner, and the words faded. After that he must have started the engine again and driven off. She joined a queue at a bus-stop, and waited ten minutes for a bus; and he didn't come after her.
    When she got home, she found the flat full of people. Her sister Pamela had come round, with her husband, Howard, and their three little boys. They'd come to bring Viv's father some tea. Pamela had warmed it up on the stove, and the narrow kitchen was stuffy and hot. There was washing draped on the laundry rack, hoisted up but dangling almost to the floor; Pamela must have done that, too. The wireless was on full-blast. Howard was sitting on the kitchen table. The two eldest boys were charging about, and Viv's father had the baby in his lap.
    'Nice day?' asked Pamela. She was drying her hands, working the towel into the creases between her fingers. She looked Viv over. 'You've caught the sun. All right for some.'
    Viv went to the sink and peered into her father's shaving mirror. Her face was pink and white, blotchy. She drew forward her hair. 'It was hot,' she said. 'Hello, Dad.'
    'All right, love? How was your picnic?'
    'It was OK. How's things, Howard?'
    'All right, Viv. Doing our best, aren't we? How d'you like this weather? I tell you-'
    Howard could never stop talking. The two boys were the same. They had things to show her: noisy little pop-guns; they put in the corks and fired them off. Her father followed the words on everybody's mouths-nodding,