She left the hallway light on and went upstairs. She would not be ashamed to let a man see her nude. Her figure was still passable, her breasts were still firm and had not sagged, just a few wrinkles on her stomach and a couple of stretch marks. Joan Doyle studied her nakedness in the full-length wardrobe mirror, experienced a glow of self-satisfaction. They might have been a thousand miles from civilisation, marooned on a dried-up waterhole in the middle of some vast arid desert. Just the buzzing of insects in the surrounding undergrowth. 'I hope not,' He reached under the seat, came out with a hammer, placed it in the glove-box, stail sticking out. He'd be all right, he'd only gone down to the Davises and you could not really expect a man (she was repeatedly trying to convince herself these days that Keith was no longer a boy) to be home prompt from courting. Just hammer me good and hard, lay me out.' There were times when you had to make a joke out of a crisis.įor once Joan Doyle had not waited up for her son to come in. 'For you to hit me over the head with if I suddenly try to make a break for it.
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She struggled frantically, tried to bite him, was twisting her body round in order to free her legs so that she could kick him. She hoped that he would marry Kirsten, in a way it would be like getting married herself all over again, reliving their happiness, remembering how things had once been between herself and Bob. It was one of those evenings when she found herself indulging in reflections, a nostalgic mood brought on by her son's courting. Suddenly he was awoken by a movement, jerking him back to reality not the restless stirring of his companion, but a sudden surge by Kirsten, the click of the catch on the passenger door, the creaking of rusty hinges.Īt eleven o'clock she made herself a cup of tea and sat and drank it in the kitchen.
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