Moonlight Cocktail replaced In The Mood from the band, drifting across the brick walls, muted
but still audible.
“Shall we dance?”
asked Keith. He took her into his arms, resting his hand lightly on her back.
They revolved slowly around the tiny courtyard in silence.
She felt safe in
the cradle of his arms. He smelt of Brut
aftershave; of sweat and day-old shirt; brandy on his breath. She could feel his erection pressed against
her. It didn’t feel threatening or
disagreeable. It didn’t remind her of
her father. It was … lovely.
When the melody
stopped, he held her for a moment longer and took her back to the bench. Once again they sat at either end.
“Sorry ‘bout
that,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she
murmured.
“I have no
right.” He was silent while he sipped
his brandy. “I’m poz.”
She knew at once
what he was talking about.
“Oh,” she replied
in a small voice. All at once she was
overcome with sorrow. She felt like
weeping at the pain of life, at all the horrors and suffering and pain. Her own pain was lessened. She rolled back her sleeves, and showed him
the scars on her forearms.
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