Thursdays in the Park by Hilary Boyd Page A

could cope with that.’
    George nodded slowly.
    ‘What I said about you tonight was true, Jeanie. I love you. I always have and always will.’
    She nodded agreement because this, at least, was true.
    ‘We’re solid, aren’t we . . . you and I?’
    Jeanie just looked at him.
    ‘I mean, I know the sex thing . . . isn’t great . . . but apart from that. I couldn’t bear to lose you.’
    Jeanie turned away. She suddenly felt too tired to say one more word. They didn’t seem to be on a level playing fieldany more. She knew he was still hiding something: she’d seen his eyes flick. And now so was she.
    ‘Night, George.’
    ‘Night.’
    ‘It’s like buses, nothing for years then two come along at once.’
    Rita strode up the hill, Jeanie keeping pace. They reached the top of the path, buffeted by the wind, and drew breath, the landscape of London stretching ahead of them, panoramic, beyond the Heath.
    ‘It’s not funny,’ Jeanie retorted, although they both began to laugh.
    ‘Honestly, darling, we should be oiling our bath chairs, not fighting off the lustful hordes!’
    Jeanie had texted Rita as soon as she thought it fair that morning. Despite her tiredness, she’d spent a sleepless night after leaving George. At five she’d gone down to the kitchen and watched the sunrise, picking at some of the strawberries left over from the night before.
    ‘Should I have let him?’ This was the question that had tormented her all night. ‘If I had, maybe it’d simplify things . . . get us back on track.’
    Rita took a long slug of water from the bottle she carried, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Even at short notice she looked immaculate in tight grey tracksuit bottoms and a pink lycra vest.
    ‘If it felt wrong, it was wrong. End of.’
    ‘That simple? Can we sit down for a moment?’ Jeaniesuddenly felt faint. The bench was damp and she wondered fleetingly if it had rained in the night.
    ‘This is really getting to you.’ Rita eyed her friend with concern as she brushed a twist of cellophane fastidiously off the seat before sitting down. ‘It wasn’t about Park Man last night, was it? You comparing them?’
    She considered this. ‘It didn’t seem so at the time. It seemed like an attack I was fending off.’
    Rita raised her eyebrows.
    ‘I know, it’s George we’re talking about, but you didn’t see him, Rita, he was in a frenzy.’
    ‘Of desire?’
    ‘Not really . . . more desperation.’
    ‘Not a good look. But Jeanie, what do you feel for George? Do you still find him attractive? Did you feel any desire when he kissed you?’
    She shook her head. ‘I used to, but I’ve stopped thinking of him in that way. And last night he didn’t give me a chance to feel anything.’
    ‘Except anger. So what did he say this morning?’
    ‘I didn’t wait. I couldn’t face him.’
    ‘Oh, darling.’ Rita saw the tears almost before Jeanie was aware of them. ‘Are you going to talk to him about it?’
    ‘I don’t see the point.’
    ‘What, so you’ll just go on as you were, as if nothing’s happened?’ Rita’s look was incredulous.
    ‘What else can I do, Rita, if he won’t
talk
to me?’ Jeanie snapped.
    ‘OK, OK, don’t get shirty.’
    ‘Sorry, but you don’t understand. You’d never get yourself into this ridiculous situation in the first place.’
    Rita’s silence seemed to confirm this.
    ‘And Park Man?’
    Something softened in Jeanie at the thought of Ray, and the hold she had kept on herself since George’s attack seemed to fall away.
    ‘He’s separate from all this, Rita . . . he’s just Ray.’
    Her friend looked sceptical, taking another long swig from her water bottle, wiping the neck and offering it to Jeanie.
    ‘Do you still have sex with Bill?’ She suddenly wanted to know that the rest of the world functioned normally.
    Rita laughed. ‘It’s not love’s young dream, but yes, it’s fun with Bill, we know what each other likes . . . and we find ways to rev it