The One Read Free Page A

forgiving in its warmth. The dry heat was mellowing, becoming softer. She spent the days outside, gardening, reading or drawing, making the most of the weather’s hospitality.
    It was here in the garden that Tom found her—some weeks later—sitting comfortably on the swing seat, reading and sipping beer from a delicate, amber bottle. He watched her for some time, before a shift in his weight caused a twig to snap. Paton glanced up, disoriented, before smiling broadly up at him in recognition. Her stomach lurched with that familiar butterfly feeling of desire.
    ‘Hi,’ she said.
    ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be happy to see me.’
    ‘How have you been?’
    ‘Ok,’ he said. ‘You?’
    ‘Ok, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you. I was wondering when you’d turn up.’
    ‘You’re so sure I would?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I wasn’t.’
    Paton moved over, and patted the space next to her. ‘That’s where you and I are different. I look at something and take it at face value. You have to analyse everything. Pick it apart. You shouldn’t do that, you know. You should just let things…be.’
    ‘I wish I could be as sure as you.’
    ‘Maybe I’m sure enough for both of us,’ she said.
    ‘Maybe that’s not enough.’ He looked directly at her, challenging her.
    Tom hadn’t moved, and Paton gestured again for him to sit with her.
    ‘I’m prepared to take that chance, Tom. Are you?’
    With his hands stabbed deep into his pockets, Tom half-smiled at her. Her innocence, her knowing, her surety, had become an enticing self-challenge. He sat next to her on the swing, easing his frame into the tiny space beside her. He reached for Paton’s hand, and bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed her fingers.
     

- 11 -
    Paton was woken by a far off rooster, his cockle-doodle-doo daring the morning to appear on his watch. It was still dark—the sun not yet risen—and the street light outside still burned bright through the slits of the bamboo blind. She watched the gentle rise and fall of Tom’s shoulders as he breathed in and out, and pulled up the sheets to cover her naked body against the chill of the morning. The sheet was twisted around his legs, and he stirred as she untwisted it, and pulled her to him.
    ‘Morning,’ he mumbled, speech slurred with sleep.
    ‘Hey,’ Paton replied softly. ‘I’m just about to make some coffee. Want some?’
    ‘Sure.’
    She slid out of bed, slipping a kimono around her body, drawing it in close, the silk liquid against her skin. He could hear her padding around the kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards, sorting through cutlery, filling the kettle.
    She returned with two mismatched mugs, and held out one to Tom.
    ‘White with one, right?’
    He nodded and took the mug she offered him, and sipped the hot liquid.
    Paton removed her kimono and hopped back into bed, careful not to spill her coffee as she got in.
    They were quiet for a few minutes before Tom spoke.
    ‘Last night I came to tell you that I can’t… couldn’t… do this. I can’t lie to you, Paton’
    ‘Oh.’ Paton let him finish.
    ‘I’ve been thinking about you—this—a lot. I don’t want to hurt you, but… you are not who I imagined I would end up with. And that’s why I’m saying this now. Before this goes too far. Further than it has.’ Tom put his cup down on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet covering him, but only just.
    Paton seethed at his words, the anger white-hot and melting over the twisted knots in her stomach.
    ‘You want to know what I think, Tom? I think you are lying to yourself. And I don’t understand how you could do that. What we have is real. This… this is real.’
    Tom got up from the bed and located his clothes, strewn like discarded toys around the bedroom. He pulled his jeans on first, unable to find his jocks, then his singlet, and his feet slid into his thongs. The sense of déjà vu was unsettling, disquieting but Tom was resolute. He knew what he