Touch Read Free Page B

present.’
    â€˜Haven’t I? Haven’t I?’
    Her eyes were wide with happiness. Annik took the pack-age and opened one end. A little jeweller’s box slid out. She tilted her head.
    â€˜Is it something nice?’
    â€˜It might be.’
    He tried to be jolly.
    â€˜Go on, open it!’
    â€˜Ok.’
    She said it with a tinkling, silvery tone. Not a word, but a droplet of pure sound spilled from her throat. It made him afraid again, that little thread beginning to unravel and tug him into the unknown. He took another mouthful of wine and topped up his glass.
    â€˜Go on.’
    Annik took the box and flipped it open. Serge toyed with the ring of olive stones on his plate. His present was a necklace of amber beads. Annik pulled them from the box and draped them on her neck. She was trying to fasten the clasp.
    â€˜Oh, I’m so clumsy, Serge. Come on, help me!’
    He helped her to fasten the clasp, squinting without his glasses. Annik rose from her chair and kissed him softly on the cheek.
    â€˜It’s lovely. I’m sure it’s lovely. I’m going to look!’
    She left the kitchen and Serge heard her running upstairs to the mirror. He poured more wine. The bottle was almost empty. Annik’s glass was still untouched. He downed that too and sat back in the chair, rubbing at his eyes. Thank God tomorrow was Saturday. Footsteps scuffled in their bedroom upstairs, then silence.
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Serge waited. He began to roam around the kitchen, touching things. The working surfaces, the steel sink, a Mexican plate hung on the wall. Annik had made a sponge cake with almonds arranged into a smiling face on top. He could smell cinnamon and lemon zest. Serge pushed the cake from its tin and peeled off the greaseproof paper. It had risen perfectly. How odd to find perfection here, in a cake. He sat down again and waited, sipping at the wine until the glass was empty and then the bottle was empty. He could hear Annik’s footsteps on the stairs, then in the corridor.
    When she stepped from the shadows into the candlelit room Serge felt the tug of fear again. Annik was still wearing the necklace. In front of the bathroom mirror she had slashed her face with lipstick, drawing it down over her cheeks like tribal scars.
    â€˜Serge?’
    It was as if she couldn’t see him, even though he was there. Even though he was sitting there. Her voice trembled as she said his name.
    â€˜Serge?’
    He couldn’t answer. He was crushed by tiredness.
    â€˜Serge, darling, am I beautiful?’
    He said nothing. There was nothing to say...
    â€˜Am I?’
    She began to sway in front of him unbuttoning the black dress.
    â€˜Stop it, Annik! For Christ’s sake stop it.’
    He was shouting. Annik stepped back, clutching her arms across her chest.
    â€˜Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!’
    He crouched on the kitchen floor, pressing his head against the table leg. There was silence, Annik frantically buttoning her dress. She knelt down next to him and took his head in her arms, stroking his hair.
    â€˜It’s alright, it’s alright. I’m here.’
    She sat down next to him and rocked him in her arms. Soothed him against her breast, pressing her hair against his face. The candle went out, leaving the kitchen dark except for faint lights from the neighbours’ houses. Somewhere a dog barked and there was an answering yelp. Somebody went out of their house, spoke to the dog, coughed. A door slammed shut. Then a small motorcycle buzzed past. Like that day when the wasps had swarmed in the vine.
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Annik stood up slowly and drew Serge into a chair. She brought another candle and set it into the candlestick, lighting it with a silver cigarette lighter. The amber necklace glowed against her skin. The top button of her dress was still undone and Serge could see where her breasts began and smoothly divided. The candlelight showed the lines around her mouth, the violet